Hayley, Jaime and Alton were making their way back to King's Landing. They had stopped at an inn earlier, where Hayley had bought them each a horse with a bag of gold Lois had given her. Now they were riding through a wide swath of destruction, miles of blackened fields and orchards where the trunks of dead trees jutted into the air like archers' stakes. The bridges were burnt as well, and the streams swollen by autumn rains, so they had to range along the banks in search of fords.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooten's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring fed pool…"

"What are you doing?" Hayley demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

"Be quiet," Hayley said, with a look that suggested she would love to leave him floating in the pool among the corpses.

"Please, Jaime," pleaded Alton. "Lord Mooton is sworn to Riverrun, we don't want to draw him out of his castle. And there may be other enemies hiding in the rubble…"

"Hers or ours? They are not the same, coz. I have a yen to see if the wench can use that sword she wears."

"If you won't be quiet, you leave me no choice but to gag you, Kingslayer," Hayley said.

"Unchain my hands and I'll play mute all the way to King's Landing. What could be fairer than that, wench?"

"Hayley! My name is Hayley!" Three crows went flapping into the air, startled at the sound.

"Care for a bath, Hayley?" Jaime laughed. "You're a maiden and there's the pool. I'll wash your back." He used to scrub Cersei's back, when they were children together at Casterly Rock.

Hayley just turned her horse's head and trotted away. Jaime and Alton followed her out of the ashes of Maidenpool. A half mile on, green began to creep back into the world once more. Jaime was glad. The burned lands reminded him too much of Aerys.

They were riding past a trampled wheatfield and a low stone wall when Jaime heard a soft thrum from behind, as if a dozen birds had taken flight at once. "Down!" he shouted, throwing himself against the neck of his horse. The gelding screamed and reared as an arrow took him in the rump. Other shafts went hissing past. Jaime saw Alton lurch from the saddle, twisting as his foot caught in the stirrup. His palfrey bolted, and Alton was dragged past shouting, head bouncing against the ground.

Jaime's gelding lumbered off ponderously, blowing and snorting in pain. He craned around to look for Hayley. She was still on her horse, an arrow lodged in her back and another in her leg, but she seemed not to feel them. He saw her pull her sword and wheel in a circle, searching for the bowmen. "Behind the wall," Jaime called, fighting to turn his half-blind mount back toward the fight. The reins were tangled in his damned chains, and the air was full of arrows again. "At them!" he shouted, kicking to show her how it was done. The old sorry horse found a burst of speed from somewhere. Suddenly they were racing across the wheatfield, throwing up clouds of chaff. Jaime had just enough time to think, "The wench had better follow before they realize they're being charged by an unarmed man in chains."

Then he heard her coming hard behind. "Horn Hill!" she shouted as her plow horse thundered by. She brandished her longsword. A few last arrows sped harmlessly past, then the bowmen broke and ran, the way unsupported bowmen always broke and ran before the charge of knights. Hayley reined up at the wall.

By the time Jaime reached her, the shooters had all melted into the wood twenty yards away. "Lost your taste for battle?" he asked.

"They were running," Hayley said.

"That's the best time to kill them."

She sheathed her sword. "Why did you charge?"

"Bowmen are fearless so long as they can hide behind walls and shoot at you from afar, but if you come at them, they run. They know what will happen when you reach them. You have an arrow in your back, you know. And another in your leg. You ought to let me tend them."

"You?"

"Who else? The last I saw of Cousin Alton his horse was using his head to plow a furrow. Though I suppose we ought to find him. He is a Lannister of sorts."

They found Alton still tangled in his stirrup. He had an arrow through his right arm and a second in his chest, but it was the ground that had done for him. The top of his head was matted with blood and mushy to the touch, pieces of broken bone moving under the skin beneath the pressure of Jaime's hand.

Hayley knelt and held his hand. "He's still warm."

"He'll cool soon enough. I want his horse and his clothes. I'm weary of rags and fleas."

Hayley was shocked. "He was your cousin."

"The operative term being 'was.' Have no fear, I am amply provisioned in cousins. There's Lancel Lannister, and Stafford Lannister, and those two young boys… what were their names? Oh yes, William and Martin." Little did he know that only one of the people he'd named was still alive. "I'll have his sword as well. You need someone to share the watches."

"You can stand a watch without weapons." She rose.

"Chained to a tree? Perhaps I could. Or perhaps I could make my own bargain with the next lot of outlaws and let them slit that thick neck of yours, wench."

"I will not arm you. And my name is…"

"…Hayley, I know. I'll swear an oath not to harm you, if that will ease your girlish fears."

"Your oaths are worthless. You swore an oath to Aerys."

"You haven't cooked anyone in their armor so far as I know. And we both want me safe and whole in King's Landing, don't we?" He squatted beside Alton and began to undo his swordbelt.

"Step away from him. Now. Stop that."

Ignoring her protests, he grasped the hilt of his cousin's longsword with both hands, held the corpse down with his foot, and pulled. As the blade slid from the scabbard, he was already pivoting, bringing the sword around and up in a swift deadly arc. Steel met steel with a ringing, bone jarring clang. Somehow Hayley had gotten her own blade out in time. Jaime laughed. "Very good, wench."

"Give me the sword, Kingslayer."

"Oh, I will." He sprang to his feet and drove at her, the longsword alive in his hands. Hayley jumped back, parrying, but he followed, pressing the attack. No sooner did she turn one cut than the next was upon her. The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. Jaime's blood was singing. This was what he was meant for, he never felt so alive as when he was fighting, with death balanced on every stroke. His chains forced him to use a two-handed grip, though of course the weight and reach were less than if the blade had been a true two-handed greatsword, but what did it matter? His cousin's sword was long enough to write an end to Hayley Smith.

High, low, overhand, he rained down steel upon her. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together, upswing, sideslash, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, step and slide, strike and step, step and strike, hacking, slashing, faster, faster, faster…

…until, breathless, he stepped back and let the point of the sword fall to the ground, giving her a moment of respite. "Not half bad," he acknowledged. "For a wench."

She took a slow deep breath, her eyes watching him warily. "I would not hurt you, Kingslayer. I swore an oath to get you back home safely. We shouldn't be fighting. What if those shooters come back?"

"They won't come back. We already scared 'em off."

"Okay, throw down your swords!" said a voice.

Jaime looked up. Suddenly, he and Hayley were surrounded. "Oh, yeah," Hayley said sarcastically. "We scared 'em off all right."

"I don't think these are the same guys from before," Jaime said.

"Definitely not," a guy with red eyes and pale skin agreed. His name was Urswyck the Faithful. "We are the Brave Companions."

"Oh, good," said Jaime. "The Brave Companions are in the service of House Lannister. They can escort us the rest of the way to King's Landing."

Urswyck gave a nasty laugh. "Not anymore, Kingslayer. We now serve Lord Bolton, and the king in the north."

Jaime groaned. "And people say I have shit for honor?"

Urswyck was unhappy with that comment. At his signal, two of his men grasped Jaime by the arms and a man with no nose drove a mailed fist into his stomach. As he doubled over grunting, Hayley protested, "Stop, he's not to be harmed! Lady Lois sent us, an exchange of captives, he's under my protection…" She was interrupted when another guy punched her in the face and knocked out two of her teeth.

The Brave Companions tied Jaime and Hayley back to back atop Hayley's horse. Then they set off to meet their leader Vargo Hoat. They found him sacking a small sept with another dozen Brave Companions. The leaded windows had been smashed, and the carved wooden gods dragged out into the sunlight. A fat Dothraki man was sitting on the Mother's chest when they rode up, prying out her chalcedony eyes with the point of his knife. Nearby, a skinny balding septon hung upside down from the limb of a spreading chestnut tree. Three of the Brave Companions were using his corpse for an archery butt. One of them must have been good; the dead man had arrows through both of his eyes.

"I hope you're pleased, wench," Jaime whispered at Hayley. "If you'd armed me, we'd never have been taken. If they try to rape you, just shout, 'Sapphires!'"

"Why would that stop them from raping me?" Hayley asked.

Before Jaime could answer, Vargo Hoat came over to them. Jaime could feel Vargo's disgusting breath on his neck. "Kingthlayer," he slobbered. "You are my captith."

"My lord, I am Hayley Smith," Hayley called out. "Lady Lois Griffin commanded me to deliver Ser Jaime to his brother at King's Landing."

"You thut up," said Vargo Hoat. "I'm talking to the Kingthlayer, not you."

Greed was the key to this man, Jaime thought. If he could be turned once, he could be turned again. "Lord Vargo, you were foolish to leave my father's service, but it is not too late to make amends. He will pay well for me, you know it."

"Oh yeth," said Vargo. "Half the gold in Cathterly Rock, I thall have. But firth I mutht thend him a methage."

A Dornishman and an Ibbenese man pulled Jaime down from the horse's back. One of the guys who had been shooting arrows at the dead septon grabbed the chain between Jaime's wrists and used it to yank his arms out in front of him. The fat Dothraki took out an arakh.

"What are you planning to do with that?" Jaime asked.

"He'th gonna cut off your hand," said Vargo.

"Okay, very funny. Now let me up so we can talk business…"

The Dothraki brought his sword down, severing Jaime's sword hand at the wrist. And Jaime screamed.