Chapter 10

"I still cannot believe that you did this!" The words hit the same time as the icy water—stinging and harsh. Jaime sputtered, muscles clenching as he tried to shield himself from the next bucket.

"If you do that one more time I swear—" His fingers scrambled for his sword, only to find it missing. And of course the wolf-bitch stole my sword, he thought, huffing. Finally daring to open his eyes, he squinted at the girl before him, taking in the hands placed angrily at her hips. "What the bloody hell was I supposed to do? You disappeared, remember? That left finding a ship up to me. It's not like we'll be floating down the Rhoyne in a pleasure barge!"

"Oh, and ship full of whoring, gambling Braavosi nobles is so much better?" Arya let the buck fall down, the remaining ice chips sliding out onto the Myrish carpet.

"Who cares? They think I'm some wealthy lord from Westeros, and it's not like we haven't got the coin." At least Daenerys had the sense to fill up our purses.

"And of course I've got to play your swooning new lady wife?"

Jaime grinned sheepishly. Granted, he'd been drunk when he thought of it, but it was the least questionable option. "Either that or you'll spend two months being courted by all kinds of Braavosi nobles."

Arya just glared at him. "If you even try to put your hands on me—"

"You'll dagger me in the neck. Noted." As they had followed the swirling Braavosi robes from the tavern, Jaime had noticed a purple-face man with blood streaming from his nose. Not that his friends noticed—they were all too busy drowning in their cups or the serving wench's breasts. "It's just till we reach Volantis, then you can go back to swinging a sword and rolling in shit or whatever else you do." With that Jaime left the room, wringing out the end of his soaked tunic as he walked.

It was a strange ship, like nothing he'd ever seen back in Westeros. Incredibly long and swift was the hull, perfect for the narrow rivers frequent in the East. Despite being wickedly quick, the ship was fashioned as to serve its patrons every luxury imaginable—draped, mysterious rooms filled with exotic fruits and women, tiled ballrooms and baths, and even a fighting arena to train in at your leisure. The captain, Tychys Sanerion, had given his Westerosi guests a fine cabin, insisting that the "newlywed Andals" travel in upmost comfort. Jaime didn't doubt that it had more to do with the heavy purse he had handed over on their way aboard, but did not argue with the loud Braavosi.

"Could you point me to the baths?" he said, stopping the first man he'd come upon in the long hallway.

The man looked up, cheerfully babbling in something that sounded a bit like Valyrian before pointing to an azure-painted door. Jaime clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement as he pulled open the ivory handle. A sweetened steam greeted him, billowing out into the hall. Stepping inside, he found a mostly empty pool attended by two willowy girls, who smiled obediently from their perches.

Stripping out of his damp clothes and unbuckling his hand, Jaime slid into the steaming water, groaning at the heat worked at his muscles. I've got to say…this bath is quite nicer than the one I shared with the wench.

"Gooday to you ser!" A voice called from the opposite side. Jaime held up a hand politely, nodding.

"Day, is it?" He wondered out loud. The man chuckled, wadding closer till Jaime could make out his features in the fog. He was fair of skin, with flecks of silver by his ears hinting that he was a bit older than Jaime himself. "Are you from Westeros?"

"Aye, Eliar Durwell of Duskendale, but I do business in the capital. You?"

Duskendale, he remembered, was a large port city just north of King's Landing. "Ser Kevan of House Lorch, from here and there," he said casually, not daring to use his real name. Oh how my father and uncle would have loved this.

"And what brings you to the great barges of Braavos—business or pleasure?"

Jaime chuckled before responding. "Pleasure I suppose, I'm here with my new lady wife."

"Ah, the northern beauty I saw climbing aboard, I suppose! A wild creature from the looks of her! Reminds me of a girl I once saw in the capitol… Lady… Arabella?... Amerila?... Ary—"

"Bryanna," Jaime said quickly, cutting him off. "Lady Bryanna," he repeated, sharply this time.

Eliar raised his palms from the steaming pool in appeasement. "You have nothing to worry about, my friend. I've got a girl at home. But these Braavosi," he tutted, "they're the ones to watch out for…"

Clearing his throat, Jaime eased back against the tiled pool wall. "Do you have news from the capital?"

"Aye. In fact I got a raven just the other day. Apparently there was an attack on the queen."

Water streamed from his shoulders as he sat up, intent. "Is she all right?" Although he had heard sailors in Braavos chatting about tidings in the kingdoms, none had mentioned the outcome of that night. If the Tyrells took the keep already…this whole mission is for naught.

Eliar gave him a questioning look. "Why, of course she is, my friend! There are stories that some unmarked soldiers, dressed only in pink, snuck in, only to be roasted alive by the queen herself!"

Now it was Jaime's turn to look quizzical, but he did his best not to roll his eyes. Doubtful, but at least they say she is unharmed.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with the Westerosi trader, Jaime excused himself and climbed out of the bath. One of the girls handed him a thick towel and a clean tunic and breeches, winking as he dried himself off and changed.

Arriving back at his cabin, Jaime quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside. Arya had left only one beeswax candle burning, so he softly blew out the flame before glancing over at the bed. Tychys had rejected Jaime's demand for two beds, insisting that Jaime "take his rights" with his new bride. He sighed, looking down. Arya's chest rose and fell beneath the silk sheets, her movement somehow more noticeable than the faint rocking of the swift ship. Walking around to the opposite side, Jaime pulled back the sheets and climbed in.

"Get out," Arya groaned, rolling over as he lowered his weight onto the mattress.

"Your my wife, wolf girl. Remember?" he teased, earning a halfhearted smack.

"I'll still knife you in your sleep," she murmured, voice thick and hoarse.

Jaime smiled, almost tempted to reach out and stoke the tumbling curls splayed out in front of him. "I'm sure you will," he whispered, shutting his eyes.

I have just got to say how much I'm enjoying writing this story, and I hope that you are enjoying it too! As always, reviews are always welcome and thanks for reading!