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With low rustling of thorny hedges Jaime made his way around the small hills, the sound of his group company behind him. In the distance, coming over from the other side of the little ridge alongside the Mander, he listened to the sounds of battle at the other side of the river. The moon was fortunately high in the sky, its full shape allowing them enough light for his little foolishness.

Thinking he caught a crackle in the low undergrowth, not caused by them, Jaime crouched down in the thicket, signalling the others to follow his lead, the thorns biting in the leather between his white enamelled armour. He picked a branch from under his arm, shortly distracted by the white peeking out under his black cloak.

He didn't feel very comfortable in the armour anymore. If pretence would have allowed him, he would have worn a crimson Lannister armour for the campaign. He had so willingly become a member of the Kingsguard, so many years ago, not alone for the honour, but for his sister, to be close to her. She had convinced the Mad King to anoint him for her. In hindsight Jaime didn't want to imagine what she had done to make him. He joined, only to lose her shortly after for so long. Nevertheless he had worn the white with proud, proud to be a knight of the Kingsguard. Now he felt nothing anymore – how foolish he had been.

He shook the drack thoughts off, turning his head left, his eyes searching for the Robb Stark. The boy crouched not far from him in the bushes, sword in hand, a bag, similar to Jaime's, on his back. Jaime whistles to get his attention, raising his free hand in a questioning gesture towards the direction he thought the sound had come from.

The boy understood, turning his head. Jaime was still puzzled by what happened next, he had seen it several times over the course of the night but still wasn't sure what he saw. It appeared the boy's body lost all tension, barely keeping upright, his chin fell on his breastplate, and with that, the gigantic Direwolf of his began to move with predatory purpose. Like on the hunt the wolf closed in on the area Jaime had ordered the boy to scout, moving with surprising stealth. Jaime's eyes were fixed on the wolf, Grey Wind – what funny names the Starks gave their furry lapdogs. The familiar tension before a fight build up in Jaime's muscles, mixed with anxiety. If they would be spotted they would certainly be dead before the night ended.

Nothing happened – Jaime had lost sight of the wolf, as unbelievable as it might was. He turned back to the Stark-boy. The auburn crowned Northerner stirred slowly out of his trance, shaking his head towards Jaime. This was good, he had just imagined the danger. This was precisely why Jaime had offered Stark to come with him, this Direwolves of them were much more useful than any scout they could have found under the weasels in the Reach.

A grin hushed over Jaime's features. He looked back, letting his gaze wander over his small company. Twenty men, more or less, semantics. Himself, the Stark boy, Northerners, Westermen, and of course the two who made saying 'his men' rather stupid sounding to Jaime: Brienne - even if he was sure he could have lived with saying 'men' when it came only to her– and Dacey Mormont. It had a certain entertainment value to him that Robb Stark had his own unusual tall woman warrior with him, though his might not be as tall as his she was far more elegant.

If his little thorny rose knows who rides with her wolf? Jaime asked himself silently, malicious images forming in his mind. The pup should be more careful not to get stung.

Jaime gestured the warriors to resume the approach. Slowly they continued their way through the inconvenient greenery until finally, after what seemed like an eternity of crouching to thorns and animal shit they reached the slope of the hills. Once again Jaime gestured them all to wait, moving forward only with his sister's husband's son until they had a good view on the improvised palisades.

Jaime felt a freeing satisfaction by the thought to finally do something again. The last few weeks had been rather anticlimactic for him, downright frustrating. While Robb had taken command of a host of his own, to better his chances of very special treatment in his expected wedding night - by laying siege to Highgarden - Jaime had followed the rest of the troops to Brightwater's Keep, only to be called back before the first engagement with grumpy Lord Stannis the burner, as the men in the Reach called him by now.

The Ironborn had come over the Mander and threatened their flank at the siege of Highgarden. So stupid Ned had called them back to aid his pup. Jaime would never admit it openly but the man understood logical warfare better than he let show. – At least his sister wasn't humping him for nothing.

So now the plan was to beat the Ironborn back in the sea first, before marching back to Brightwater's Keep – Stark surely wanted him to go lame, Jaime suspected - taking on Stannis in full force, hoping the Dornish moved their army north to surround him. Not eighteen years ago it had been Dorne and Reach against North, Vale, Riverlands and Stormlands at the ruby ford: now it would be Northerners, Westermen, Riverlands and Dornish against Baratheon and Reach, how quickly everything changed, Jaime only hoped they wouldn't start settle old scores – accidently of course.

But first they had to deal with the Iron Fleet.

Jaime had been positively surprised learning upon arrival that the Stark-boy had already taken Highgarden just two days prior their arrival. He had taken the castle by storm, securing them a safe haven against Victarion Greyjoy and his men. His wife to be however would not be very happy with him. As soon as she found out her wolf had had his men levelling the excessive gardens so the army could find space in between the castle walls she would surely be upset.

Maybe no special fucking in the wedding night then. Jaime chuckled to himself, glancing to the unsuspecting boy to his side. He had seen the mounts of hacked rosebushes in front of the castle, she would not be happy.

Victarion Greyjoy and his Iron Fleet had arrived only days after them, prolonging their short travel from the Shields with plundering on the way and something else that had taken them so long. Jaime wasn't so curious to waste his time theorising about it. The Ironmen had made camp on the other side of the river, waiting.

It had taken long discussions about how to proceed until a plan for this night had been conceived. Kevan, together with Ser Brynden and Roose Bolton would take the host and make battle on the castle's side of the river in the afternoon with a part of the host. All the while they were engaged stalling the Ironborn long enough until darkness before attacking in full, Jaime and a small collection of idiots would cross the river, aiming to hit them where it would hurt: Their ships.

The Ironborn worshipped their ships, loved them more than their women - not hard knowing their women. Jaime hoped seeing their precious tubs burning would divert their attention, destroy their moral and would allow the host to crush them without devastating casualties. That was the important part: the royalists never expected to lose this battle, but losing too many men, even winning would mean defeat. The ships were waiting tied tight together on the other side of the river, in a small camp with few guards, one or two fires would be enough to set the sails and rigging in flames, the ships would blaze in these flames without hope of rescue. A dangerous mission, but one Jaime intended to survive - he had to piss on graves later in life. He only had to figure out how to get in the crypt in Winterfell first.

From their lookout he could see the battle, the flags of the Riverland troops in the centre. The Riverland Lords had demanded the centre, even against Ser Brynden's advice. The old knight was the only one left of them Jaime could stomach. Since Edmure Tully had been made Hand of the King the men of the Riverlands, who had been beaten to a bloody pulp in the Kingswood were suddenly bursting with pride and overconfidence.

This appointment once again showed to Jaime how his sweet sister and stupid Ned guided their mummery of court, without much brain. He could bash open their heads and would find nothing in the skulls. Tully would be a useless Hand. Of course Jaime had never expected the foresight to appoint Tyrion from his sister, but he had at least thought she would be wise enough to choose Kevan.

"Cersei recognises kin only as long as her will is followed." Kevan had told him when Jaime had engaged him about the events one night, alone in an overly flowery hall of Highgarden. He had sounded concerned, pressed down by the events of the last months. "This is something she has learned from your father. I am now nothing but your brother's minion to her, not blood or kin, only an enemy. And I fear soon you will be nothing different to her either."

A particular high pitched scream from the other side of the river ripped Jaime out of his reminiscing. Whoever this had been, he had had a strong voice to be heard from so far, or it had been particularly painful. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, his eyes wandering over the wooden spikes turned in his direction in an attempt to constitute a palisade.

"What do you think – nephew?" Jaime asked seriously, despite the taunting. He had really started to develop some kind of respect and liking for the boy, he didn't want to, but the boy had grown on him, like his sister had done. Starks! – No matter what, somehow they get under your skin. - Jaime observed the boy once again, falling into his weird trance, this behaviour worried him.

"There are ten guards in front of us." He announced whispering, shortly after his body had regained tension again. "But if we go around them to the bank of the river there are only two."

"I will ignore how you … you know what" Jaime stated smug but taken aback, his bad feeling however further worsen by the wolfish grin the boy shot him. He composed himself and added: "We climb on the ships and start our little roast and then we get the seven hells out of there."

Robb nodded sharp, his features hard, stern like his father's. A similarity Jaime forced himself to overlook. The boy was already so much like his father, Jaime was sure, if he wouldn't look like a Tully he would feel compelled to break his nose. Slowly they slipped back to their group waiting in the shadow of the hill. Jaime let his eyes roamed over the warriors. Dark cloaks draped over the colours of their loyalties; if they would have been further north they could have been mistaken for men of the Nightwatch.

"We will split." Jaime announced to the crowd. Letting the heavy leather bag on his shoulder glide to the ground. "We will move together to the bank. Then you nephew," He turned to the Stark boy, grinning teasingly "Will take half the men and set the fires while the rest will keep the Ironborn busy with me. We head out now, keep silent. As long as they don't know we are here it will be easier."

Jaime mustered his host, seeing the resolve in their faces mixed with the anxiety. Brienne though looked stone-faced as always. Nonetheless, this stunning blue eyes of hers betrayed her nervousness to Jaime. He was sure she was silently praying to the gods to be send to burn the ships. She tried to hide it, but Jaime had long discovered that she was a maid not only in the sense that she hadn't bled for a man yet but also hadn't shed a man's blood in sufficient quantities to kill. Jaime wouldn't exercise leniency on her however, he preferred her sword arm at his side, bashing in crotches and teeth rather than lighting the cooker.

After dividing the troops and redistributing the leather bags Jaime ordered them to move out, holding Robb Stark back at his shoulder. The boy glared at him with a sour expression. His feelings apparently hurt by Jaime' orders.

"Don't pout nephew! " Jaime smirked provocative, bringing him closer he added seriously. "Don't get killed. They will blame me." He chuckled pushing a speechless boy from him, before joining Brienne at the front of the column.

"You think you can top stomping around for a change? So we can take them out silently?" He grinned at her, his eyebrows raised mockingly.

"Lannister" She growled under her breath as unladylike as imaginable, causing Jaime to chuckle. She glared at him with piercing eyes before she turned her focused to her front, starting to ignore Jaime.

"Wench!" he whispered to her, adjusting the grip on his sword for the coming slaughter. He enjoyed their little banters way too much for his own taste. She was so easy to provoke and even if he saw the anger in her eyes she never acted on it.

Crouched in the shadows the small group slowly approached the riverside of the Mander, the sound of flowing water drowned by the sound of the ongoing battle on the other shore cloaked their approach. This would be an advantage for them, the men left behind to guard the ships would have their attention focused on their kinsmen fighting rather than the presumably empty shadows around.

Jaime stopped the group with a gesture of his hand close to the globe of light radiated by the fires in the camp. He removed the dark cloak from his shoulders, not willing to be hindered by it, signalling Brienne to follow his example. He nodded his head, gesturing her to follow him alone, both sneaking closer to the palisade.

Two Ironmen warmed their selves close to them at a fire on the ground, their backs turned. They would be the first for the night. Jaime once again turned to his companion, taking in the beautiful eyes, so misplaced in her face. Brienne of Tarth looked back at him determined, nodding sharply. He could see she was ready for battle, shining with a demeanour most men in the host on the other side of the water should envy her for. Jaime returned her gesture, adding a little smile to it before moving over the palisade to his target. He could have sworn however he had noticed the beginning of a blush on the blue knight's face. Smiling oddly satisfied by the thought he went up behind the right of the two men, hearing Brienne approaching the other.

In a quick deadly strike Jaime rammed his sword through the man's throat, using his free hand to muffle the dying cry. He didn't pay attention to Brienne trusting in her abilities. He twisted his blade for good measure feeling the body collapsing against him. He let the dead man drop to the ground carelessly, nearly decapitating him when removing his sword from the fleshy throat.

He looked to his side, sighing annoyed seeing his giant woman struggling with her victim. Instead of simply cutting his throat she was choking him from behind, her superior strength slowly overpowering the Ironman. Nonetheless she was visibly struggling with keeping her victim quiet in the process. Anger boiling up in Jaime, she was risking everything by trying to suffocate the man unconscious rather than simply killing him. He had no time for such idiocy. He took his dagger from the hilt, creating a sound, and moved in front of them. Shooting her an annoyed glare he cut the man's throat unceremoniously. Brienne's blue eyes widened in shook by his action, her mouth dropping open her, face paling while the man's blood run down her blue armour.

"Don't dance. Kill." Jaime whispered harshly, Brienne still starring at him startled to a statue. Shortly after, her face turned to an angry outraged expression, silently condemning Jaime. For once he didn't care. Her reluctance had already caused them enough trouble back in the Kingswood. When he had asked her to join him on the campaign he had made it clear to her that this would be a war. He could not risk everything because she didn't want to do the deed. He glared back at her, hissing angrily: "You want to be a knight? Then you should start killing. This is a war not a joust."

Jaime left her stand at the fire stomping back to the palisade signalling the rest of the unit to join them. While they climbed over the obstacles and divided, Jaime went back to Brienne feeling a pang of guilt for being so harsh with her. He adjusted the grip on his sword again and took her by the arm with him. She hesitated at first but, eventually she followed him through the tents and longships dragged on the bank.

In five smaller groups his men went through the forest of the Ironborn camp, making sure to kill or subdue as many guards as possible without making a sound while the Stark boy and his troop climbed on the ships. The leather bags they had carried with them were filled with oil to be sprayed it on the sails of the centre ships.

The pair didn't encounter anyone until scream from somewhere near the ships destroyed Jaime's wonderful plan, forcing another annoyed sigh out of him. How could these idiots ruin such a simple plan?

Together with Brienne he made his way towards the screech, his boots sinking in the muddy ground. They reached a small clearing in the tents, two of their companions surrounded by Ironmen. Jaime didn't think, he charged them without screaming like an idiot, killing one of the enemies by bringing his sword down on his back, cutting in his spine. The man collapsed screaming in pain. Jaime ignored him, moving to the one beside him. The men with a long white beard ripped his eyes wide open in shock before Jaime killed him.

The skirmish was over surprisingly soon, with seven Ironborn lying dead or beaten unconscious by Brienne, in the mud. One of his men had gotten an axe blade in his shoulder, but he would survive. Jaime sent him with the other of the formerly surrounded back to the hills, bracing himself for another wave of Ironborns surely to come.

Nothing happened. Puzzled, Jaime gazed around him, not understanding what was happening, until another scream from the direction of their escape route reached him. He set to sprint when the first ships went up in flames to his side, now all the Ironborn would be warned.

Together with Brienne he ran back to the point of the first blood, finding a small battle. Stark and his group had already left the boats, apparently greeted by two dozen Ironborn waiting for them. Jaime beheld the scene, noticing the wounded he had sent to the hills lied already dead in the mud alongside his companion. He threw himself in the fight immediately, once again using the element of surprise to cut down the Ironmen. The rest of his little host appeared slowly, joining in the fight, but so did more Ironborn, all the while the battlefield was illuminated by the rapidly burning ships.

Jaime killed his enemies left and right using his dagger in the left hand to deflect attacks while using his superior swordsmanship against foes. He had just pulled his sword out of a man's loin when he noticed another Ironborn fighting a few paces from him. In the orange light of the ships he looked surprisingly comparable to stupid Ned. Feeling malicious, Jaime walked up to him battering on one of the northerners. He didn't wait or gave a warning, simply, with great pleasure, drove his sword in the man's face, a grin on his own.

Heavily breathing he mustered his victim, the resemblance fading slowly. The Northerner to his side, the one he saved mumbled something Jaime ignored. Shacking his feelings aside he looked over the battlefield, screams erupting from every side. The giant wolf of Stark killing men in a rampage that was even frightening Jaime.

His eyes suddenly spotted Robb Stark getting driven against the bow of a ship, desperately fighting of a giant Ironman with a broad axe, his own sword flying lose in his hand. It was close for the boy, he had no chance right there. Jaime spurted towards him, not thinking. The boy stumbled back, falling to the ground, the axe raised over the Ironborn's head. Before Jaime could reach him, the axe came down.

Jaime's mouth opened into a dreadful scream, before realising someone else, a Northerner threw himself between his Lord's son and the axe, trying to fend it off with his sword. He had no chance too, the axe split his upper body. The Ironborn returned his attention to the boy who was still struggling back on his feet.

Jaime was there before anything else could happen. He raised his sword cutting through the wrists of the man, his axe falling into the shallow water of the Mander. He used his dagger and drove it into the man's chest, kicking him on his back. He turned, reaching out with his hand.

"Come on nephew, time to leave." Still looking as dumbfounded as if he had seen his first pair of tits Robb Stark took his hand. Jaime pulled him on his feet. He called out to the rest of his men to run. It was truly time to leave, most of their attackers were dead, the rest fled to tend to their ships, no longer interested in fighting but in the futile notion they could save at least a bit of the burning Iron Fleet.

Only six of Jaime's army made it out alive, including him and the Direwolf. To Jaime's surprise the Mormont woman proved herself as good of a fighter as Brienne. Both women made it. They stumbled over the palisade, disappearing together in the dark of the night to the shadowy hills.

-##-

With exhaustion soring his limps Jaime sat in the grass. The moon was still high in the sky, its light supplemented by the shine of the burning Iron Fleet. Nobody had followed them. So Jaime had stopped their retreat to watch the fruits of their labour. He doubted the Ironborn would be able to follow them, from his hill he could over watch the Mander and the riverside easily, calling for retreat by the first sight of hunters, in addition he was sure the Direwolf would warn them.

The survivors of his plan sat in a half circle apart from him, he had sought his privacy. He watched satisfied how the battle lines of Victarion Greyjoy broke apart under the pressure of the flanks. Even from afar Jaime could see the Riverland Lords once again proved to be as useless as their newly appointed Hand of the King. Even with the Ironborn scattering back to their precious ships they couldn't break through the lines in front of them.

With their fleet burned and the battle lost the Ironborn would be unable to pose any threat anymore. And Jaime was sure stupid Ned Stark would make sure the survivors would find themselves clad in black in the cold North sooner rather than later. Wasn't it nice to have such a considerate Regent?

The rustling of grass on his side diverted Jaime's attention. Tired, he gazed up, finding Robb Stark looking questioning down at him. Jaime sighed, indicating the boy to sit down.

"What can I do for you?" Nephew he added in his mind to tired for taunting.

"I wanted to thank you. For saving my life." The boy sounded pondering, exhausted and brooding. Oh no Jaime thought he was getting close to be his father again.

"If you would have been killed, nephew" Jaime began, teasing him with a grin again. "They would have blamed me. Not to mention your wolf is quite helpful." The boy mustered him sternly, nodding without a word. Maybe he is smarter than he seems Jaime raised his eyebrow subconsciously. The boy averted his eyes to the ground looking like he wanted to say something. Jaime had no patience to deal with hesitancy so he asked bluntly: "What?"

"Pate" The boy said cryptic, hesitating to continue: "He sacrificed himself for me."

"And?" Jaime asked, not quite sure what the boy's problem was, he had a suspicion, and still he added matter-of-factly: "You are his Lord's son."

"And?" Robb retorted, looking up to Jaime with a hard facial expression. "They fight and die so willingly for me, expecting my guidance. And I have to be what they hope me to be? How?"

"If you want an answer to that question." Jaime smiled empathically a little bit more understanding. "How to cope with the burden you received by being born a noble. Why they pour all their hopes and loyalties in you because you are a Stark, follow you, old and young, believe in your blood like sheep. How to be strong. … I cannot give you an answer nephew." Jaime said truthfully. "What you want does not matter, you have as less as choice in your life than commoner. You just must do it. But believe me. Better suffering their absolute worship than them calling you Kingslayer. … I know, not helpful."

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