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"…should have had her door guarded-"

"Guarded? That's ridiculous. And we couldn't possibly have known she-"

"-probably halfway across the sea by now-how could she be so-anything could have-"

"I know." said Jaime quietly from behind her. Brienne breathed hard as she put her armour on as fast as she could, talking more to herself than her husband-but the dread in his voice only served to double the mounting terror in her heart. Every second, she thought of something else that could have happened to her daughter. And each thought was more unbearable than the next. She found that her hands were shaking as she tightened the straps.

"Shipbreaker Bay…" she murmured. "You know why they call it Shipbreaker Bay-"

"Don't say that!" Jaime snapped. "For the sake of the gods, don't you think it hasn't already crossed my mind?" She heard him sigh. "Gods, this is my fault isn't it?"

"No…" Brienne felt sick. "No. It was mine."

There were a few moments of silence as both recalled the events of the previous evening.

"Well." Brienne gritted her teeth as she slipped Oathkeeper into the scabbard at her side. "She won't get far."

"Hang on!" There was a vague sound of steel clashing against steel behind her. "You know armour is a bastard with one hand."

"What are you doing?" She turned to him-then her stomach dropped. "No."

"Oh, Brienne, of course I'm coming with you." Jaime rolled his eyes as he fumbled with his own straps.

"No you are not! Has it slipped your mind that you are banished? That the queen will have your head if you ever set foot on Westeros again?" Brienne marched up to him, stopping his hand with hers. "There is no way you are coming."

"Brienne." Jaime looked up at her, his eyes desperate. "You can't possibly imagine that I am going to sit here and do nothing while you look for our daughter?"

"Yes, I can. And that is what you are going to do." she said, firmly. "Besides, you must stay with my father-he is too old to cope on his own, you know that. And you are too old to be travelling like we used to. I cannot be worrying about you as well."

She could see that she had offended him, but could not bring herself to care. Nonetheless, he continued to argue. "Brienne, I will not sit here in idleness while my daughter is in danger! Don't you remember everything we did to protect her?" He took her hand, holding on much too tightly, his eyes unnaturally bright. "Don't you remember the oath I swore to you at Winterfell, before she was born? Men fought and died for us-we fought, killed and damn near died-don't you remember Ser Davos, Stefen, Podrick Payne-"

"Of course I remember…" Brienne felt a pang of grief for every man, and especially for Pod, whom she often thought of, whose last moments haunted her…but she knew she had to put her foot down. She looked straight into her husband's eyes. "Jaime, I swear to you by the old gods and the new that I will bring our daughter back-"

"Oh gods, woman, why not kneel and swear me your sword?" Jaime sounded strangled. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, getting gradually more desperate. "I will not-"

"You must!" Brienne raised her voice to something far less formal. "There is no way that I am taking you with me! Jaime, I will not see your head on the battlements of the Red Keep! Think of your brother-wait. Tyrion." Brienne stopped dead, another thought seizing her. "Jaime, write to your brother."

"To Tyrion?" Jaime paused, distracted.

"Yes. Tell him that his niece is on the mainland, and that he needs to send whomever he can spare to find her." Brienne checked her sword a final time, before looking back at her husband, who was looking almost defeated. Now-his expression was pure fear-the fear they both shared for their escaped daughter. She could hardly bear to look at him-but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "Write to him immediately. Take care of my father. I'll bring Johanna home, I swear I-"

Suddenly-Jaime threw his arms around her. He held on fast, burying his face in her shoulder. Despite her panic-she could not help but hold on for a second. She drank in his warm, familiar smell, the softness of his greying golden hair…it had been sixteen years, sixteen whole years… "Please be careful. You know that I couldn't stand to lose either of you. I love you…"

"As I love you." The answer was almost automatic these days. But she meant it no less. More, as the awfulness of the situation washed over her. "I'll bring her home." she whispered into his hair. "I swear it."

…

Brienne gripped the tiller of the boat with both hands, never taking her eyes off the sails. Johanna had managed to steal the better model-though that was a good thing. Maybe she'd made it over Shipbreaker Bay more easily with a reliable boat…

Her head snapped up to the sky as she forced herself not to cry. Johanna…stupid girl. She clenched her hands harder. How could she do this? She had no idea, none at all…the things she could learn on Westeros, about Jaime, about everything that had been done to save her…anything could happen to her now. Even once she crossed the sea-Brienne knew her daughter was hot-headed, naïve-she had never known anywhere but Tarth, Tarth which she had made so safe, where she had no one but those who would love and protect her, where she had never left Evenfall Hall alone…they had done everything. Everything.

Brienne pressed her lips together. As much as she hated to believe it…a child like Johanna would want nothing more than to escape. Her heart ached as she thought of her, the way the daughter she loved beyond anything she'd thought possible could glare at her in such a way, could break her heart with just a few words...She and Jaime had done everything they could to protect their baby, ever since the moment she existed. The thought that she may be hurt, that someone could hurt her, that she was alone in a world she knew almost nothing of...it was more than she could bear to think about...All she could do was travel as fast as she could.

Carefully, Brienne stood up to check the ropes, passing by the empty crates she had in her hurry not bothered to discard. After further securing the knots, she considered it foolish-they were just dead weight. Bending down, she picked the first up and threw it over the side of the ship. Then the next. They disappeared under the water, before floating away. Finally, she turned to the third and largest. She bent down to pick it up…but found that she could not lift it. Frowning, she tried again, confused. What could possibly-?

"Don't, love, you'll hurt your back."

Instantly-Brienne was furious. Of course. She ought to have known. Sighing in disgust, she threw open the lid of the crate. "For the sake of the gods, are you a child?" she shouted, her voice echoing into the night. "How dare you! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"We have been married for sixteen years," Jaime said, standing upright, leaning on the side of the crate. He looked at her, his eyes filled with determination. "You must know me by now. When I swore myself to you, I meant every word. I don't give a damn what the rest of the world thinks of me, but I will not be Oathbreaker in your eyes." He reached out, and took her hand firmly in his. "We are doing this together."

Johanna slung her bag firmly over her shoulder as she marched through the cobbled street. She was soaked through and freezing. The harsh sea breeze blew her hair so hard that she had to bow her head as she struggled through this town, only miles from the coast. Likewise staggered every man she passed on the streets, illuminated only by catches of fire, caged on posts along the street. She had no idea how they remained ignited. The Stormlands were, it seemed, aptly named.

The excitement of reaching the mainland had worn thin quickly as she had realised that the beaches were guarded by huge rocks, some almost completely hidden beneath the waves, foolish for anyone but the most experienced sailors to navigate. And so, with her bag in her mouth and her sword clutched under her arm, she had abandoned the boat and swam the final mile to shore. She had always been a strong swimmer-her father had taught her well at home-but the rough sea made it almost impossible to see. She had prayed to every god she knew as the harsh, salt-water had slapped her face and numbed her hands.

But she had made it. This was Westeros.

There was short-lived jubilation as she had collapsed onto the cold, stony shore, and adrenaline had powered her through fields and over hills, until she had seen the lights of this small town. There, she had decided to find a bed for a few hours, to hide and to sleep, before she set off for Kings Landing in the morning. She could see on her map-the Crownlands were beside the Stormlands. It could not take more than a day to reach the capital, could it? One could cross the whole length of Tarth in a day if one did not stop, surely it could not take much longer than that?

But now, every step was heavy. She was freezing cold to her bones. She looked up at the houses and shops that lined the streets looking for a tavern. Finally-she spotted one. It was small, the stone bricks dirty and the windows boarded up-but she could not afford to be selective. She knew that she had to get in front of a fire soon or she would catch her death. There were merry noises coming from the inside, men singing and laughing. This reassured her-laughter meant good people, did it not?

With numb hands, scarlet from the cold, she pushed the door open.

"She sighed and squealed and kicked the air!

Then she sang: My bear! My bear so fair!

And off they went into the summer air!

The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair!"

Instantly-she was almost pushed back into the wind as a large man collided with her, knocking her sideways. He was not as tall as her, but perhaps twice as heavy. When he turned to her, his face was red from drink and very merry. "Oop!" he hiccoughed. Then, as he took in her appearance-he leered at her, his eyes becoming bright and hungry. "Nice legs there, love. Ain't you gonna to show me what's between 'em?"

Johanna was so shocked she was almost rooted the spot. She had never heard anyone speak like this before-never in her life. It was horrible-she wanted to disappear there and then. Quickly, she recovered her senses, a hand on the hilt of her sword. Behind the man, beyond the other singing and drinking men-she could see a roaring fireplace. It called to her freezing, weary bones. "Move aside, sir." she said, her voice polite, and yet as forceful as she could.

The man laughed. "Ain't you a feisty one? Like that in a woman…" Suddenly-he lunged forward. Johanna almost screamed, but she managed to dodge him in his drunkenness, darting forward amid the tables of the tavern. Still, her hand clenched her sword tightly. As quickly as she could, she dashed toward the fireplace, practically collapsing in front of it. Finally, she could feel the warmth of the orange flames on her wet clothes and hair…she prayed that the man would not approach her again.

"From there to here. From here! To there!

All black and brown and covered in hair!

He smelled that girl on the summer air!

The bear! The bear and the maiden fair!"

"And here she is!"

Johanna's head snapped back up, clutching the hilt of her sword tighter. On a chair close to her, a man sat, his dark hair to his bearded chin. He clutched a pint of ale in one hand, though he had been neglecting it as he sung louder than any other man. Johanna eyed him suspiciously, wondering whether to get up and run again. She did not like the way that the man, and the large group of men he sat with, was looking at her.

The man smiled with surprisingly white teeth. "Someone try to drown you, then?" he asked, his eyes glinting. He had a nice smile, if heavily lined, his dark hair woven with grey. He was older than her father, but not as old as her grandfather. "Or perhaps you're a mermaid, come from the sea? Hey, gorgeous?"

Johanna did not know what to say. So she said nothing.

"Don't say much, do you?" the man teased. He leaned forward, his voice becoming softer. "Why don't you open that pretty mouth and sing for us, hey? Mermaids have beautiful voices, everyone knows that. Lure sailors to their deaths…"

"Oh, just cut to the fucking chase and give her a kiss!" one of the other man called, to much laugher from the crowd of men. Johanna could feel her cheeks burning. "Go on, Bronn! Girl like that-someone else'll have her before the night's out."

Johanna felt like drawing her sword and running through every one of their horrible, leering faces.

But the man named Bronn was looking at her strangely now.

"You look...familiar…" he said, folding his arms. "Have I fucked you before?"

"You certainly have not!" Johanna snapped, furious-before realising that she had spoken.

Suddenly-the man named Bronn's eyes widened. His mouth fell open in amazement. "No…No way…"

"Listen to that!" cried one of the other men, chuckling. "Talks like she's highborn, don't she? Wouldn't mind listening to that of an evening, hey? Better than any whore's mewling…"

But the man named Bronn had got to his feet. He took several steps closer to Johanna. Instantly, she shot to her feet, clutching the hilt of Flamemaker warningly. "Not another step!" she shouted to him, braver than she felt, glaring at him. "One more and I'll cut you down!"

To her astonishment-the man began to laugh. "Fucking hell, of course it is! Gods, you're the image of your mum when you make that face!" He shook his head, a hand running through his hair. "Kids grow fast, don't they! Can't believe it's little Johanna!"

Johanna felt her heart begin to pound. "How-how do you know me?"

The man laughed harder. "'Course I know you! Golden-headed lion cub-just like your dad, ain't you? And tall as a fucking house-surprised I didn't see it straight away!" He offered her his hand, looking expectantly up at her. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater." he introduced himself proudly. "Or Uncle Bronn, I suppose." he added, looking pleased with himself. "Well, it's good to see you, lass. Ain't you grown?"

"Time for titles now, is it?" called one of the other men, gulping a mouthful of ale.

Johanna looked up at this Ser Bronn, frowning slightly. There was such expectance in his eyes, such familiarity-as if she ought to know him. "I…er…who are you?" she asked, stupidly.

Bronn did a double-take. "Of course you know me! Bronn! Come on, your dad must have mentioned me at least once! We travelled together for years! Hey, look at this-" Suddenly-he rolled up his tunic to reveal a pale pink scar on his gut, long and thick beneath his navel. "Got this protecting you, I did! Fighting for you and your mum up at Winterfell-hurt like a bitch. Nearly killed me, it did. Worth it though, eh?" He looked up at her, expectant again…but his face fell when he saw nothing but confusion in her eyes. "Eh?...You've...never heard of me?"

Johanna was beginning to feel less scared of him. She looked back at his scar before he covered it again. "What do you mean, you got that for me? And you knew my parents?"

"Of course I knew them!" Suddenly, a flash of darkness passed Bronn's eyes. He grimaced. "Sorry. I was just imagining what your mother would do to me if I'd shagged you by accident…" His face contorted as if in pain.

Johanna was not swayed. Questions were swimming through her mind like nothing she'd ever known. "How did you know them? What is Winterfell? And what do you mean you fought for me?"

Slowly, Bronn put down his mug of ale. He looked hard at her. The last of his drunkenness seemed to leave him as his voice lowered. "Who are you travelling with?"

Johanna drew herself up to full height. "No one," she said impressively. "I'm travelling alone, on my way to-"

But Bronn stopped her with a wave of his hand. He looked up at her in shock. "Gods, I knew Jaime was as dumb as they came, and Brienne was never too bright, but this is something else…" He looked around, as if checking the room for danger. Then-he lowered his voice even more. "You've…you've fucking run away, haven't you?"

"I haven't run away." Johanna scoffed. "I am not a child-"

"Oh, shit…" Bronn shook his head. He looked back at his friends, who had gone back to drinking…before he rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Look, get your bag off the floor. Gods, I'm sicking of fucking Lannister drama queens..." He stretched, his neck clicking from side to side. "I suppose I've got to bloody take you home now, haven't I? Fucking typical-this was my night off! The wife was out of town and everything-of course something like this was going to happen…"

"NO!" Johanna stood her ground firmly, her hand still grasping Flamemaker. "I will not!" It came out more childish than she had hoped-but still, she stood strong.

Bronn sucked his teeth impatiently-but his eyes were wide. "You have to come home right now. If I know your dad, he'll be on his way to the mainland looking for you right this minute-and then he'll lose his head to match that fucking hand of his-"

"What?" Johanna blinked in shock, feeling as if hands had just clasped themselves around her throat. "What do you mean, lose his head? Why would my father lose his head?" A slight flicker of fear awakened in her stomach.

Bronn look up at her. He stared for a few moments…then took a deep breath. "You really don't know nothing, do you?"

"I do!" Johanna insisted, drawing herself up. "I know that I was supposed to be q-!"

Slowly, Bronn let his breath out. "I really shouldn't…" he reasoned aloud…then-he seemed to give up. "Sit down. I'll get us some wine."