The wolf calling at night kept Bronn awake. It wasn't a pack of them, answering to each other. Just a singular mournful howl, long and low, repeated from various distances away but every one seeming more ominous than the last. Making the hairs on his arms stand up.

Wolves really are the masters at putting the creeps in a person. They're just flesh and blood dogs, but funny how in the middle of the night they make your imagination run to supernatural things. Lucky I ain't never had much of an imagination.

Well before dawn Bronn gave up on sleep. He rose, pulled on his hooded cape to protect from the pattering rain, and stoked up the fire. A pot had collected water and he boiled some tea. Then he sat there in the dark staring into the hypnotic flames, thinking back over his life. Early morning solitude always lent itself to soul-searching, he found. The people he'd met, the friends he'd made; the people he'd killed, the friends he'd killed. In the end he couldn't think of much he'd have done different.

Sunlight cracked over the horizon and the rest of the camp stirred, to begin the day's preparations. The Kingslayer supervised his men in getting the horses ready, then came over to put out the fire. No breakfast was being cooked, so Bronn had to presume they were going to skip that part of the preparations. He watched Jaime pour himself a cup of the tea but not sit to drink it, choosing to stand instead, his boot tapping a rhythm on the ground.

'That creature keep you awake too?' Bronn asked. Sans breakfast, he found a weeks-old strip of beef jerky in his coat pocket, examined it, and took a bite.

Jaime stopped fidgeting momentarily and cocked his head. 'You mean the wolf? No.' He waved a hand. 'Don't worry about it.'

'Oh? You met it before and give it a tummy-scratch?'

'It's a dire-wolf. She lives alone, and is local to this area. I'd say we'll reach RedHollow by the afternoon. Sooner, if we get going.' This being all Jaime appeared to care about, he positively radiated impatience.

'Not sure how that equates to 'Let's not worry about the monster wolf'.' When Jaime didn't bother to elaborate, Bronn went on. 'Speakin' of dangerous beasts, what d'ya plan on doing about...?' he nodded in the direction of the Mountain, who was loading his gear onto the new white stallion. With ease the tall man hefted heavy supplies and strapped on his long sword, its point nearly touching the ground despite the stallion's height.

The stallion which belonged to Lord Tywin, Bronn recalled. Before Tyrion thought fit to give it away to a commoner girl he didn't even know, just because the concept amused him.

Jaime looked thoughtful. Their gargantuan companion clearly troubled him as well. The gypsy child had revealed nothing of any use, predictably, but since the Mountain's obvious attempts to kill her when she'd first been spotted aboard Tywin's stallion, his motives for being here were no longer any secret.

'We'll just... have to keep an eye on Clegane,' Jaime finally said. He didn't seem all that confident.

'Why don't you just send 'im back to the Capital?'

'And alert Cersei that we're onto her schemes? No, she'd only have him out again on a solo mission. At least this way we can watch him. As they say, keep your enemies close.'

'Well, that's one philosophy.' Bronn shrugged. 'I tend to prefer 'Kill your enemies in their sleep and then fuck off as far away as possible.''

'I can see how that works for someone like yourself,' Jaime said, sarcastic. 'I'm a touch more notorious.'

'No, M'Lord, really?' Bronn snipped. We all know you're the acclaimed Kingslayer, settle down. 'Well then, Ser Famous, I'd've thought you got all the more reason to wipe yer enemies out before they get to you first.'

Jaime downed his tea in a gulp. 'Nice theory. Except everyone I know, or who knows me, or who knows someone who knows me, is my potential enemy. All it takes is the right opportunity or incentive. And wiping out the entire population of KingsLanding and a significant portion of greater Westeros, in their sleep, or out of it, seems... rather impractical.' He checked over at his men's activities. 'Either you or I shall be on our guard with Clegane at all times, he won't have a chance to act. Now come on sellsword, we're leaving.'

Bronn stood up, picked his teeth with a twig from the doused fire. 'Just don't say I never warned yer, Kingslayer.'

Thanks to Jaime's eagerness they reached RedHollow just before noon. The village was located in a cleared depression of land bordered by tall trees. It was a small but industrious-looking community; with business dwellings leaking smoke from furnaces, produce stalls, different types of livestock milling in pens, and a cluster of well-tended huts in a circle around the main street.

Bronn and Jaime rode in alone, leaving the Mountain behind with the rest of the squadron on the outskirts of town. Jaime left strict instructions for Clegane to remain at a distance, but in plain sight. The villagers were guarded as villagers always are, but helpful. It didn't take long to track down the one-armed kid. Bronn didn't know how he lost his arm, how he knew Ivvy or what the story was between him, her and anyone else, but one thing was immediately evident the instant Bronn dragged him out of his hut. The kid was fucking terrified of the Kingslayer.

It took very little encouragement on Jaime's part for the kid to break down and tell them everything. From the girl's arrival a few weeks ago, the details of her time here to, most frustratingly, her departure only yesterday morning. It was a short and somewhat painful interview for Callem Cole, although almost as painful for Bronn was having to listen to his godsdamned annoying stutter.

'Just missed 'er then, M'Lord?' Bronn wise-cracked, as Jaime remounted and Callem staggered back inside. 'I did say we should've come here right off. Without all that fuckin' around.'

'And mayhaps pass her someplace on the road? What bloody good would that have done us?' Jaime, irritated, wiped the blood from his knuckles onto a sash.

'You made quite the impression on that lad.' Bronn chuckled. 'His face went white as a ghost soon as he laid eyes on yer. Didya promise to kill him once or somethin'?'

'Or something.'

'It appears you been neglectin' yer promises. He's still breathing.'

'Ivvy was fond of him.' Jaime's voice softened and he gazed off into space, as if remembering a moment or past conversation that was important to him.

I bet she was, she's been cohabitating with the kid for weeks. Sentimental fool you are, Kingslayer, Bronn thought. It's one thing to like a girl. It's quite another to have romantic notions of her loyalty. 'I've never found it beneficial to do anything on account of a wench's affections,' he said out loud. 'Being as they go up and down like a whore's -'

The Kingslayer cut him off, irked at the interruption to his reverie. 'I think we've established that your life's wisdom isn't particularly helpful, so do stop imparting it.'

They rode back towards where the Mountain and the rest of Jaime's men waited up along the treeline.

'Sooo... she's riding a bright bay mare,' Bronn scratched his beard. 'No doubt stolen?'

'No doubt.'

'... and accompanied by some other fellow on a one-eared carthorse?'

'Mmm-hmmm.' Appearing troubled by this, Jaime reined his horse to a halt. Bronn likewise stopped alongside. Without warning, Jaime drew his sword in a swift action and pressed the edge of it to Bronn's throat. Threatened under his breath: 'And I don't want a single soul else to know those details.'

''Course, M'Lord.' Bronn used his gloved hand to push the offending blade away. 'Yer don't have to say.' Bit touchy about your girl's friends, Kingslayer?

They rode on in silence for a minute.

'Where was they off to, y' reckon?' Bronn wondered.

'Wherever she's headed, she didn't want the Cole boy to know.'

'Worth questionin' any other villagers?'

Jaime shook his head. 'I've already made enquiries of a few local traders; it appears she kept to herself. If Callem didn't know, no-one did.'

'Well, apart from this fellow she's with.' Bronn knew better, but just couldn't help himself.

Jaime glowered, but showed more restraint this time. At least he didn't whip out any weapons. 'The Cole boy said the man was wearing bright coloured garments, and carrying some kind of instrument.'

'Aah, a musician.' Bronn grinned knowingly. 'They always get the girls.'

Jaime, stone-faced. 'Do shut the fuck up, sellsword. Before I really have to hurt you.'

Of course there were no identifiable tracks. The rain last night had washed them all away. The men split up and were sent to question any travelers on the road, but when their reports came back none of them included two people together, a bright bay mare or a carthorse, even from those marketeers who traveled the route daily.

'I don't think she's using the King's Road.' After three hours, Bronn felt compelled to point out the bleeding obvious.

'No, she'd be on the back trails... the ones the Hilltribes use,' Jaime mused.

'Let's go find them, then.'

'Unless you've lived with the HillTribes, good luck.'

More hours of fruitless searching around RedHollow, yielding nothing. No hidden trails, no girls or wayward musicians. All the horses they encountered had both their ears. Drizzling rain leached into clothes and dripped off hoods, turned the road surface into a quagmire, making the day even more unpleasant.

Despite their lack of progress, Jaime still seemed energised. Flanked by his bannermen, he rounded up the troops and listened carefully to all their information, encouraging, praising, and outlining plans for the next day.

Without a clue where Ivvy was going, this is all just a wild goose chase, Bronn figured. Thinking of geese made him hungry, so he was very glad when evening drew close and Jaime lead them all towards the Crossroads Inn. Get some half-decent food here, at least. Meals are never great at the Crossroads, but Lannister camp provisions are fucking woeful.

The sound of the wolf's forlorn howling accompanied them into the Inn's courtyard.

'I swear that thing's following us,' Bronn muttered. His wet clothes weighed and chafed as he left his horse to the stable boy and walked with Jaime up to the front door.

'It's not following us.' Jaime scoffed. 'Why would it follow us?'

'I dunno. Why do wolves ever follow people? 'Cos they're hungry?'

After such a miserable day, the rich scents of stew simmering hit him like a gift from the gods. Bronn swung himself into the nearest table, as the arrival of Ser Jaime Lannister and such a large contingent of men sent the staff at the Inn scurrying like mice to serve them. Jaime asked the usual questions and received the usual answers; no-one knew anything about Ivvy. The InnKeep was more interested in obsequious brown-nosing, wanting to know after Lord Tywin's health, and when would his Lordship be back to visit them again, gods praise him and bless his health and happiness forever more. Bronn laughed into his stew. One surprise was that the food actually tasted as good as it smelled, and after seconds and a few ales he was back feeling quite his normal self again.

It was late, and all the more attractive barwenches had already been procured and taken upstairs. Bronn checked out what was left, then opted for joining Jaime by the open fireplace. The Mountain sat across from them, engaged in some kind of dice and knife betting game with another soldier. Bronn had no idea what they were betting, but the other soldier looked suitably nervous.

'What's on yer mind, M'Lord?' He plonked himself on the bench seat beside a pre-occupied Jaime, who was using a quill to mark out days on a parchment.

'My brother,' the Kingslayer said, studying the sheet.

'Oh, not missing commoner girls then? Surprises all round.'

'Tyrion's trial is soon and... I'm not certain we'll be returned in time for it.'

Bronn leaned forward with elbows on his knees and considered things for a moment. They waited until a fat kitchen boy cleared away some glasses. Bronn considered questioning him about Ivvy, but he was mighty sick of questioning people for one day and let the boy leave. Jaime concentrated hard and made another mark on his paper.

'If the worst come to it, if there was a trial by combat, you'd be Tyrion's champion?' Bronn knew the answer but asked regardless.

A shrug. 'Yes. My father's disowned me anyway... but Cersei?' Jaime sighed, looked conflicted. 'For so many years I've considered her my priority, it's hard not to... as a matter of course... put her first in all considerations.'

Is it? Bronn had never understood why people were so invested in what others thought about their actions. Must make everything you do so damn difficult. 'I can see why you're compatible,' he quipped. 'Cersei always puts herself first, too.'

The Kingslayer frowned. 'She's my twin. I'm allowed to insult her. You're not. If you value your life, that is.'

'Well 'tis the only life I do value,' Bronn agreed. 'Folks only go gettin' themselves in trouble when they start valuin' other folks lives.'

'Yes, yes.' Jaime rolled his eyes. 'You don't see the point of love or family. But sellswords aren't known for their family dynasties, are they?'

Bronn was heartily tired of defending his new status of Knight, so he let it slide. 'I hate to mention, but here we sit discussing your sister, searching for your... mistress. And you a member of the Kingsguard.'

Jaime folded the paper, picked up his quill. 'Yes. What of it?'

'Well, ain't members of the Kingsguard meant to be all, forsaking love and family and stuff like that? There's rules on that sort of thing for men in the Kingsguard, I heard.'

'There are,' the Kingslayer gave a crooked smile. He twirled the quill between his fingers, headed for the stairs. 'But I'm not not like other men. So their rules don't apply to me.'

Arrogant bloody cunt, Bronn thought, admiringly. No wonder the wenches love 'im.