'Still not convinced we're gonna be back in time for Tyrion's trial.'

Bronn knocked the heel of his boot against a burnt-out stump and a massive clod of mud fell to the ground. He felt several pounds lighter. 'I mean, what we got, two weeks? Y' think she's just gonna pop up somewhere along the way? Thing is, it ain't easy finding folks who even want to be found. And unless this wench is real simple, which I ain't discounting, seein' as she got involved with you in the first instance; I can't see her particularly wantin' to be found. ' He repeated the knocking action with his other boot, for similar results.

Predictably enough, his fellow traveler didn't respond.

It's like talking to meself. This is going to be a long trip.

Bronn mimicked a girl's voice: '"Hey Jaime, I know I barely escaped with me life last time we hung out, with yer family members all hating me guts and wantin me dead an' all, but I miss yer cock so I reckon we should give it another shot."'

Disappointingly, the Kingslayer still didn't react.

Lannisters. Why am I always stuck babysitting them?

Bronn scraped at the thick clag now coating the once-fine leather of his boots. 'Fuckin' hells. This shithole of a road needs re-surfacing. Get yer father onto that would you, M'Lord? Not like the Kingdom is short a coin. We did win the war.'

Not expecting any reply, and receiving none, Bronn leaned back against the dead tree. He slipped a flask from his tunic pocket, unscrewed the lid and took a long drink, then shook it in Jaime's direction.

'I mean if Lord Tywin took more of an interest in maintainin' thoroughfares and general castlery upkeep, he'd have less time for imprisoning his own offspring. Not to mention tryin' to kill their whores, don't y'think?'

That quip did provoke a muted sigh. 'It's the King's Road. It's always been like this,' Jaime muttered. Then he returned to staring off into the distance in a preoccupied trance.

Bronn also surveyed the view from the hill. As views go, it was undeniably impressive. If not quite to his personal taste. Despite obscuring drizzle, the jagged blight of the Capital they'd left that morning loomed huge behind them. Perched on the edge of the otherwise scenic coast, its blackened turrets spiked defiantly into the skyline like a persistently malignant tumour.

Panoramic views are over-rated. Give me the view of a warm bar and a serving wench's tits as she hands me a steaming hot meal any day, Bronn thought. And some decent conversation.

The rain intensified, and a chill wind whipped up from the sea, making the people on the road below huddle into their coats. Bronn swigged from his flask again, appreciating the burn of it down his throat, then used it to gesture at the hurrying figures. 'After yer Lord father's done with fixin' the roads, and mendin' the damage Stannis done, he could clean up them damned gypsies too. Place's over-run with 'em. Actually, you should get the Kingsguard out here, wipe the vermin out.'

Jaime rubbed his temples. 'Are you planning on complaining about everything this entire journey, sellsword?'

'I'm a Knight now, not a sellsword. And I weren't planning on comin' on this journey in the first place.'

'Well you shouldn't have taken gold to kill an innocent girl,' Jaime snapped.

'Which I didn't actually do, you'll note -'

'Which you only didn't do because my own brother upped the offer.'

'The offer yer own sister originally made -'

'My sister would have half the Kingdom's innocents killed on a whim. You don't have to assist her!'

Bronn shrugged. 'I'm a sellsword. What d'you expect?'

'Oh. I thought you were a Knight.' Jaime's heavy sarcasm.

'I am, M'Lord.' Bronn acknowledged his error. Grinned. 'But old habits die hard.'

Lannisters. Everything always such a drama. Always at each other's throats, and so touchy with it. At least I got him talking.

'Let's face it. If you'd never found out, where's the harm? You'd have gone back to yer old life and she'd have gone back to hers, and we'd all be happier.'

Jaime got to his feet and came to stand over Bronn, his expression bleak as the weather. He looked like he'd never been less happy in his life. 'If I was paying you for your psychological insights, your blathering might be useful. But I'm not. I'm paying you to help me find the commoner girl, whom you assisted to leave. Because you know her, you know the locals, you know the area she grew up, and because otherwise?' The Kingslayer paused for emphasis. 'I'd have killed you already.'

'Keep yer pants on. It's cos of me the wench is even still alive.'

'It's because of my brother she's still alive. And let's hope she stays that way, or rest assured you won't.' Jaime turned away. 'As grateful as I am to Tyrion for saving her... I could wring his godsdamned neck for letting her leave.'

'I think yer sister'll have that arranged for you.'

'Tyrion ... ' Jaime seemed pained with conflicting desires . 'My brother will be fine until I get back. The trial may clear his name, but if not, then... he needn't worry.'

'You gonna champion him, then? If you have to?'

'Of course. He's my brother.' Spoken slowly as if Bronn were retarded.

'Your father won't like that. Your sister neither. No doubt she'll choose some behemoth as the Crown's champion.'

'I don't doubt it.' Jaime turned to look over at the other members of their traveling party, and Bronn's gaze followed. Already settled in for the night amongst the trees, the rest of Jaime's men were gathered by the glow of a small fire. Even from this distance the hulking figure of one of them stood out like a mountain among pebbles.

'Speaking of behemoths. Why's he with us for, anyways?'

Jaime's eyes narrowed. 'Cersei insisted.'

'Figured as much.'

'Clegane is a loyal Lannister man.'

'Oh I know.' Bronn's tone revealed his scepticism of loyalty as a concept. 'So what does your sister think is the purpose of this expedition?'

'I'm supposed to be scouting the Riverlands, in preparation for a larger attack on Riverrun.' In what was surely a first, Jaime's voice lacked any interest whatsoever in war strategy.

'I see. And you reckon she bought that?'

Jaime frowned. 'I don't particularly care if she did or not.'

'Ain't you worried? You really think Cersei's sent The Mountain Who Rides along with us as a goodwill gesture?'

Jaime's sword hand stretched, tensed. Bronn could have sworn a light suddenly gleamed in his eyes. 'Ser Gregor won't hurt Ivvy.'

'Hate to disagree with y' there, but the Mountain can hurt whoever the fuck he likes.'

'He's a loyal Lannister servant, and in case you've forgotten, I am still a Lannister.'

'Yep. You're a Lannister, Tyrion's a Lannister, Cersei's a Lannister, Tywin's a Lannister. Which Lannister you think the Mountain's gonna maintain his devoted loyalty to, exactly?'

Jaime looked unperturbed. His right hand fingers flexed again, and for some unfathomable reason, a small smile crossed his face. 'Get some sleep, sellsword. We have an early start in the morning.'

'I keep tellin' you, I ain't a sellsword no more, Kingslayer.'

'And I haven't slain a King in a while.' Jaime's parting shot as he walked off towards the fire.

Bronn drained the last of his hip flask, burped.

Lannisters. Fucked in the head, every one of them.

By the time the sun was up, they'd already ridden ten miles. Jaime wanted to stay on the King's Road and question merchants and those manning the roadside stalls. Bronn considered this a waste of time, that they should ride straight to the Riverlands.

But who cares for my opinion. I'm not the one in charge.

He leaned on the pommel of his saddle as Jaime interviewed yet another couple of clueless vendors. Some of Jaime's interrogations were more violent than others, depending on the subject's willingness to co-operate. Which made for easy entertainment. Bronn picked his teeth with the tip of a peeling knife, watching the peasants squirm at the questions fired at them. Jaime held his sword lightly in one side, the threat evident. As he strode back and forth the blade glinted. Both peasants looked ready to make a run for it, despite the likely risk of being skewered. One can only hope.

Grey clouds covered the sky and the rain fell on and off, making everyone's leathers damp and greasy. The wind had ice in it. Most of the soldiers chatted amongst themselves, all except for the Mountain, whom Bronn had yet to hear speak. The huge man remained apart from the others at the front of the squadron, right behind Jaime, Bronn noted. He towered a good head above every man there on his equally mountainous horse; a red roan. It must've been half draft. Its feet looked wide as dinner plates.

After the disappointingly bloodless interview was finished, Jaime remounted and motioned for the rest of them to start up again.

Hope we stop for a meal sometime soon, Bronn thought. I'm starving.

They rode along the gradually less populated King's Road, until by late afternoon only a few travelers passed by. The small settlements and camps that had lined the roadside closer to the Capital also vanished. Now it was all valleys and burned woodland, with only the occasional hunter's hut to show any sign of human habitation. By evening, the trees were thick on either side.

Once Bronn thought he smelled charred meat, and looked around. But the wind changed and the scent with it.

A turn in the road brought a flash of movement up ahead, and Jaime kicked his horse forward. Bronn followed, as did the Mountain. In a few minutes the three of them caught up to the back end of a train of covered wagons, with various farm animals attached to the vehicles with chains. Loose horses ridden by children or cripples, cages balanced on precarious angles off their backs. A pervasive stench of goat and chicken shit mingled with burnt meat. The smelly cavalcade completely blocked the road.

'Fuckin' gypsies,' Bronn grimaced. He spat on the ground.

Jaime swung his horse off the road and weaved through the trees at a sharp canter, with Bronn and the Mountain following as best they could. One of the carriages exploded into a cacophony of barking, as what sounded like a dozen dogs protested their approach. 'Who's in charge of this.. convoy?' Jaime shouted, jumping his horse back onto the road and wheeling around to block their path.

The leading wagon stopped, and the driver leaned forward. 'Aye,' he grunted.

'I am here on the King's business, and I wish to search your carriages,' Jaime demanded, over the din of the dogs. His tone was one of unimpeachable authority. He trotted back along the carriages, rapping the wooden slats with his sword. 'Everyone! Out!'

The driver eyed Jaime, Bronn and finally the Mountain with well-deserved suspicion, but made no protest. I'll give it to the Kingslayer, Bronn thought. He does have a knack of getting folk to do what he says. A motley assortment of peasants began to scramble out of the wagons, many of them women, with what seemed an unending stream of filthy kids. Bronn didn't know which smelled worse, them or the goats. The assorted animals milled about in the mud, bleating and neighing, clanking their chains. A large white horse caught Bronn's eye, as it arched its elegant neck and stamped. Perched atop it, a small rider in a hooded cape.

'Hey, Jaime,' Bronn called out, pointing. 'Ain't that yer father's...?'

Jaime and the Mountain both recognised the stallion at the same instant, but the Mountain was closer. He spurred his big roan forward, reaching to grab the white stallion's bridle. With his other hand he raised his sword as if to strike its rider. But the rider was just as quick, and pulled the white horse backwards and away. With a practised war-time manoeuvre, the stallion pivoted, leapt in the air and kicked out, landing a blow on the Mountain's horse fair in the chest. Then the stallion and its hooded rider were gone up the slope in a flurry of mud.

'What the fuck are you doing?' Jaime yelled at the Mountain, who cursed as his roan stumbled from the kick. Bronn followed Jaime as he took off after Lord Tywin's missing white stallion, the Mountain lagging some way behind.

In the dusk, it was hard to see beyond shapes. They followed the hoof prints to a ploughed field and could see the white coat of the stallion out in the middle, shining like a ghost against the dark of newly-turned earth. Staying on firm ground Jaime circled around one way, Bronn the other, and they soon flanked their target.

'Really? My father's war-horse? Because no-one's going to recognise that,' Jaime rode up alongside Bronn and shook his head at the perceived idiocy.

Good thing Ivvy was smart enough to ditch it, then. 'Cos that sure ain't her riding, as I think the Kingslayer knows.

'I did tell Tyrion it were a dumb idea,' Bronn admitted out loud.

The stallion was blowing and sweaty from the soft going by the time they reached it, and despite frantic kicks from its rider, easily allowed Jaime to grab the reins. The Mountain caught up with them as well, despite his big roan now limping badly.

The men dismounted and got a good look at the rider who's hood had blown back. The Mountain laughed, the least cheerful sound Bronn had ever heard. His voice was deep as a grave-pit. 'I heard she was young, but not that young. And not that fucking ugly.'

Even in the dim light it was clear the rider was barely eight years old, with a face like a deformed rat. With scurvy. Although impossible to tell if she was in fact scowling at them, she did sound rather indignant. 'Thunder'th mine! The thaid I could 'ave 'im!'

'You ride like hell, kid,' Jaime said, with some small admiration.

'E'th mine!'

'Hush now, we just wish to talk to you about your horse,' Jaime reassured. 'Nothing more.'

'Lord Tywin's horse,' the Mountain growled.

'Does that give you reason to attack this child?' Jaime turned on him, suddenly furious. 'Or was that stunt back there because you thought she was someone else?' He strode towards the Mountain with purpose, hand on his sword. 'Explain your action, Clegane.'

Surprised by the Kingslayer's recklessness, Bronn quietly distanced himself from proceedings. Fellow has a death-wish. Count me the fuck out.

'Could've been anyone. I was getting Lord Tywin's horse back,' the Mountain rumbled. Both his hands went to the hilt of his double-handled blade, almost twice as large as Jaime's.

'Were you? Only, it looked like you were less interested in retrieving the horse and more interested in killing the rider.'

'I don't care what you think it looked like.'

Jaime and the Mountain faced each other, gripping their weapons. Expressions grim.

Fuck it. I ain't getting paid nothing if the Kingslayer gets himself slaughtered. Bronn cleared his throat, waved to get their attention. 'Hey, Gregor. Your horse looks right fucked. Good thing we got this one.'

The Mountain turned to him a glare that could melt steel, but the tension was broken.

'Your horse,' Bronn nodded to the poor lame beast. 'I think you need to replace it.'

A moment's pause, then Jaime and the Mountain took their hands from their swords and backed off. Clearly the issue was far from resolved, but it seemed the confrontation could wait.

'E'th mine! The thaid I could 'ave 'im,' the gypsy kid wailed. Snot ran from her crooked nose.

Fuckin' gypsies.

Bronn gingerly lifted her down off the stallion's back, holding her at arm's length in case she had lice. You never can tell with gypsies. She weighed very little, a dirty bag of bones. Jaime knelt beside her. 'Stop sniveling now. You got to ride a Lord's war-horse for a while, that was fun wasn't it? And what's even better, you lived to tell the tale. How many little girls can say that?'

'Thunder!' she hiccuped, unconsoled.

'He'll be well looked after,' Jaime assured her.

Bronn raised his eyebrows. Judging by what had happened to the Mountain's previous horses, that wasn't really the truth.

The Mountain began to undo the tack from his red roan. Jaime scooped the gypsy girl up into his saddle, remounted behind her. 'I'm not going to hurt you. But you're going to tell me every single thing about the person who gave you this horse,' he said to her.

They rode off into the dark. The Mountain, having transferred his saddle and gear to the stallion, now raised his great sword over the lame roan's head. Bronn, who'd always had a soft spot for animals, shuddered and averted his eyes.

Killing men is one thing. Women too, oftentimes has to be done. But horses? That's a step too far.

He was glad the little gypsy wasn't there to see such a gruesome end.

Knowing gypsies, he doubted Jaime would get much out of her. And, as far as Bronn was concerned, that was perfectly fine.

Because Ivvy is sure as shit better off not being found. The Mountain's here to kill her, that much is a given. Obviously Cersei's sent him for that purpose. And no-one's a match for the Mountain, whatever the Kingslayer may think.

And what does Ser Jaime Lannister, firstborn son of Tywin Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and Warden of The West, Captain of the godsdamned Kingsguard for fuck's sake, plan to do with a commoner girl, even if he finds her before the Mountain splits her in half? The whole thing's a farce.

Yep, the best thing for Ivvy is if we never find her. There is not one bit of good can come from a highborn man and a lowborn girl being together.

Whatever the Kingslayer may think.