Riverrun's Lannister Camp

"Pardon me, Lord Jaime?"

"Hm? And who are you?" The golden-armoured Jaime Lannister tilts his lion-shaped helm at the boy before him. A wiry one, chinless with brown hair and weak eyes, unfit for a battlefield. That's when he notices the blue bridge herald on the boy's surcoat — the Lannister's free hand reaches for his sword pommel. "Now what's a Rivermen doing here?" he growls. "Eager to test your steel?"

"N-No, my Lord! I'm Willem Frey, son of Ser Cleos Frey, your cousin."

"…Ah, those lot," Jaime clicks his tongue before relaxing. In truth, that side of his family is barely considered Lannisters, looking more like weasels than lions. Emmon Frey's blood is quite unworthy of Aunt Genna, siring meek boys like you… "Right then, what's the matter? Ser Emmon wanting someone to finally train him to fight?"

"Well, Lord J-"

Jaime flicks the boy's forehead hard, leaving a bright red mark. "It's Ser Jaime, Frey. Did your father never teach you the difference between a Lord and knight? Any low snot-nosed brat like you can become a Lord, but it takes skill and dedication to become a shining knight like myself," he grins beneath his visor. The boy should be ecstatic to learn from a Kingsguard but his face is simply stuck in nervousness. "Care to repeat what you said before? With proper titles?"

"Of course, Ser Jaime. I came here with Ser- Aie!" the boy yelps as an arrow nearly plants itself in his foot.

The Lannister groans at the interruption and picks it up for the quiver with all the others. "Run to camp now, Willem. That surcoat will do no good in catching arrows." With the boy out of his way, he turns back to the stretch of land and water between him and the salmon-heralded walls of Riverrun. At its ramparts are the snickering Tully bowmen, ready with more arrows. "OY! Don't you people have manners!?" he shouts. "Don't disturb my talking!"

"Your blood will spill, KINGSLAYER!" a man in an ornate black cloak yells before snatching a bow from the Tully guards. With a true aim, his arrow breaks directly on Jaime's chestplate, amusing the Lannister. "You and that IMP will PAY!"

"Do NOT bring my brother into this!" Jaime draws his golden sword, the bright glare from it intimidating the more eel-boned Tullies. "Come down and fight me, you cravens!" Alas, his enemies have no spine. This is a near-daily occurrence now with Jaime demanding a fight while the Tullies prance about in their castle. In truth, this siege is starting to truly bore him. Where's the fight? The thrill? The blood running down his blade? "We have Edmure Tully you fools! The Tullies will soon be Lordless!" Another arrow — Edmure's capture seems a distant past now. That surprise assault was one for the singers. Two more arrows graze his helm. I wonder what that boy wants… Seeing no progress in his demands, Jaime sheathes his sword before leaving for the camp. A raven caws at him, disappointed at the lack of flesh.

He hands the quiver of arrows to the smiling Ser Tytos Brax atop his horse. "A dozen arrows," the older knight chuckles, "at least we're wasting their quivers. I'd say we wait 'til Winter, Ser, and march on the frozen rivers whilst freezing their nets."

"Aye, and freeze my balls off as well." At least I've sired children, he nearly adds. With Riverrun being placed between Tumblestones and the Red Fork, the Tullies have ample supplies of salmon and trout. And though they have Edmure, he's much more useful alive than dead.

Soon the smell of roasted lamb and coals grace his nostrils. The camp is lively this afternoon as no one expects a battle or skirmish any time soon. Soldiers and camp followers flit about between tents while the ringing of smiths' hammers fill the air. Near a group of horses, he finds the Frey from before; Jaime takes off his helm before talking, letting loose his golden mane. "Willem." At the call, the boy stands at attention. "Why are you here again?"

"I've come with Ser Addam Marbrand, my-"

"Ser."

"S-Ser Jaime," the boy gulps, "by orders of Lord Tywin. I know nought more, Ser."

father's orders? That can't be good. "Lead me to Addam, then."

The two slink past the many colourful tents before arriving at Jaime's red-and-gold one. Upon entering, he sees the red-haired Addam laughing at Genna Lannister's jests, both of them already holding half-empty cups of wine. Jaime's squire, Jaan Vikary, runs over to the knight and starts to dismantle his armour. "Ah, Jaime!" his friends greet him with a bright smile. The wine seems to have seeped a bit into him. "Lady Genna here was just talking about you. I take it the siege hasn't gone that well?"

"Slow progress, they say," the Lannister sighs before putting on a red doublet decorated with golden lions. Giving his aunt a quick kiss on her hand, he takes a seat at the head of the small table; Jaan is quick to provide him with wine, a small reprieve for today's disappointment. "You told your squire to retrieve me?"

"I know you, Jaime. You'd have spent the whole day shouting at those Rivermen 'til your sweat wet you like a river," Addam laughs, earning a smirk from the Lannister — the armour is uncomfortably hot during the day. Until Winter marches South, at least. "I think it's best to inform you both of my mission after all, just in case one of your men decides to shoot me."

What about Ser Emmon? he nearly asks, but even Tytos Brax knows what a stupid question that is. He's grown even less receptive to the Frey ever since he joined this campaign. We could have conquered Riverrun weeks ago if he didn't slow down the building of siege equipment, Jaime grumbles. Since when did he think he'll be rewarded with Riverrun? Besides, Aunty Genna is the one spearheading that relationship. "Is that why you're wearing Bracken clothes, Addam? Or is it because the red stallion matches your hair?"

"Matches my hair and steed, doesn't it? Shame that the Brackens are our enemies…"

"Behave yourselves," Aunt Genna huffs, the rolls on her arms swaying as she demands more wine. "I have a busy day today and can't spend too much time here. Get to your point, Ser."

"Apologies, my Lady," the Marbrand bows his head. "Lord Tywin's plan for this is simple: disrupt any possible sense of cooperation between House Bracken and Blackwood."

"Cooperation," Jaime scoffs. "Spend a night here and you'll hear them shout from Riverrun."

"But their sons may not hold the same blood ire," Addam wags his finger. "And that's where my riders come in. We'll set aflame Raventree Hall from root to stem, light a flame in the Lordlings' little hearts, and let anger do the rest. Do it well enough and Stone Hedge will turn to ash," he cackles, a glint of light catching his brown eyes. "After that, well, we can easily snatch it from their grasp. I see no losses in our men for this, Jaime. Not the initial raids, at least."

"Heh, a fine plan indeed," the Kingslayer clinks his cup with his friend's. "However," he glances at the Frey, "better to keep that one here. It'll keep him safe, lest you'll draw Aunty Genna's-"

"If the boy can't ride and follow his knight, what good will he be as a man?" she quickly rebukes, causing Willem to flinch. However, her expression softens with some lingering thoughts. "Still, keep an eye on my grandson. He can be quite… Flighty at times."

"He's improved since last year," Addam smiles whilst tussling the boy's hair. "Better swordplay and can certainly light a torch. I'm sure he'll be a fine knight in no time."

"Take pride in Ser Addam's knighting, Willem, for there's only one other who's better than he," Jaime proclaims, referring to himself of course. "So… What other plans did my father conjure? He won't be satisfied with just one."

Addam taps the rim of his glass, filling the tent with nervous tension. "The Mountain's disappearance — along with Amory Lorch and that sellsword company — was a great blow to our continuous supply. For that, Daven will arrive in a couple of weeks to help secure our supply lines."

"My cousin, huh?" Jaime muses, leaning back into his chair. An improvement from that brute Gregor Clegane and his merry men. He dares not the Mountain a knight, something he and the Hound have in common. The sight of gore beneath a red cloak comes to mind but he shakes it off. "I'll ready the singers with The Rains of Castamere. You know how much he enjoys that," he jests, but it doesn't earn a smile from his friend. "Other issues, I assume?"

"Seven save us, I wish that was all," Addam groans before downing his cup. Willem is quick to refill it. "You surely have heard of the one named Lady Stormcrow?"

"…Whispers here and there, yes. A new Lady of the Vale, was it? Some queer black-haired witch who prefer the company of birds to men, at least that's what the messenger I sent father returned with. Can't say it's an improvement on Catelyn Stark's hag of a sister," Jaime shrugs.

"An improvement it is not," his friend sighs. "Damn wench came to our camp one day and treated with your… father. Well, challenged him, more like. Now the Vale is also moving against us, though our scouts have yet to see offensive movements other than the occasional Wildlings."

The Lannister snorts at the revelation. Someone like that coming to the camps is funny enough, but to challenge his father? The Old Lion of the West? The man who single-handedly remade House Lannister's glory and crushed all the Houses who opposed him? The man who would… "A foolish and empty boast, Addam. Even if she did conquer the Eyrie who would want to legitimise her claims? Certainly not my s- nephew Joffrey," he catches himself, luckily unheard by the others.

"And neither would the Valemen, Ser," says Aunty Genna as she swirls her wine with a smirk. "Though not our friends, their noble Houses are known for honour and valour compared to her savages in furs. If not the Vale knights, I'm sure many green men in Tywin's host could cut down those smelly lot."

"Aye, that might be so, Lady Genna… But not when they're armed with sorceries."

Jaime raises his brow. "Pardon?"

"Lady Stormcrow… How do I put this?" Addam pinches the bridge of his nose in thought, earning strange looks from the Lannisters. Even Willem is unable to stand still, rocking foot-to-foot. "On that day, the warg brought her birds to camp and threatened to destroy us with whirling storms. If not for… Lord Tywin's negotiations, who knows the damage she would have caused."

…

Jaime bursts out laughing, surprising both his friend and the squires. For that Addam snatches the wine from the Lannister's hand and slams it on the table, nearly spilling it on the ornate doublet. "Oy, what gives!?"

"Damn it, Jaime, we nearly died there!"

"Oh, be serious, Addam. Her coming to father's camp was suspicious, yes, but I very much doubt she caused an actual storm." His Aunty nods as well — someone with common sense. "It's Autumn, is it not? 'The season of storms' Robert used to say before the boar got him. Maybe that's what it was, just some ill wind coming from somewhere. Tyrion could explain it better than I." His friend's eye twitches at the mention of the smaller Lion. As much as Jaime cherishes their friendship, he'll admit that Addam has no love for Tyrion.

"…I am serious about Lady Stormcrow, Jaime-"

"Sure you are."

"-and Lord Tywin is already making moves against her. As does Ser Kevan, Lord Stefford, and even your cousin Daven! We had a war council, we decided on-"

"'We'?" Aunty Genna scoffs, the chair creaking dangerously beneath her. "I know my brother well, Ser, and I've attended a few of his councils. Why, there is no 'we' on the final decision; it's all Tywin. The most Kevan ever gave was reports and choices, never a disagreement to his elder's plans. Always the obedient little brother," she chuckles, swirling her cup before sipping it. "Tywin's smart, yes, but no one is exempt from errors such as this one. And with him, he won't accept criticisms all that well."

Jaime scratches at his growing stubble; I should cut it soon. "We could write a message to father voicing-" but his words are cut short by a pinch to his cheek.

"Sweet nephew, what part of 'won't accept criticisms' don't you get?" his Aunty tuts before releasing it all red and sore. "Voice something once and he'll shun you for half a year," she sighs. "Let my brother realise it on his own — this is his campaign, after all. He's smart, he'll realise his mistakes soon enough."

"B-But Lady Genna, Ser Addam is right," stutters the Lannister's grandson. "The crows and ravens are spying on us! The warg speaks with them on the wind!"

Aunty Genna pinches the boy's ear and tugs him to a kneel. "Don't fill your heads with fairy tales, dear, else you won't be a good knight. And that goes for you too, Ser," she glares at Addam, "for it's your influence over his."

"Sevens be- Ugh, I should have called a war council…"

"And be laughed at by all the Lords and knights," Jaime smirks, earning a few giggles from his squire Jaan. The Marbrand's stare silences the boy. "Even Ser Emmon wouldn't be so receptive of your claims, Addam."

"Lord Tywin's orders. Did you not hear what I said before? This was all Lord Tywin's orders!" Addam looks at Jaime's face and then to Aunty Genna before down at the floor, tapping his cup. After a length of silence, the knight lets out a long sigh before standing up, his eyes as fiery as his hair. "Willem, we're leaving." The squire is quick on his feet and readies the helm and sword; Jaime raises a brow at the sudden change. "If my Lady and Ser of Lannister are not heeding Lord Tywin's words… Then I'm not arguing. But here." he takes out a sealed letter from a pouch and places it before Jaime. "Your father's orders. Do best to heed them."

"…Sure," he places it with all the other documents; Addam clicks his tongue at that. "What? I'll read it later."

"I know you, Jaime," Addam sighs before putting on his helm. "Ready the horses, Willem, and tell the others we're heading for Raventree Hall."

"Ah, before you go," Jaime stops him at the tent flaps and hands him a small bottle of Dornish red. "When you return to camp, can you give this to Tyrion? His imprisonment must've been quite dry and he's fond of the bottle."

"Too fond," his Aunt adds.

"Either way, say it's a gift from his brother Jaime. Hopefully, I'll ride to him soon enough, whenever the Tullies decides to surrender," he smirks, "or die." But to his surprise, Addam hands him back the bottle.

"I'll come back after I burn some weirwood," he says, climbing onto his red-maned stallion. "Besides, the Dwarf's not at camp; he's heading to Harrenhal. Your father's orders, Jaime." And with that, the Marbrand rides off with his squire.

…

The bottle breaks at his feet.

Riverrun's Lannister Camp

"Cousin, maybe it's best to reconsider-"

"What, Cleos? Stay here and wait out this bloody siege? See if my brother returns on a horse or in a sack? Sevens be damned, have you no backbone, Ser? And here I thought you share blood with him," Jaime glares at the Frey, prompting him to sink into his chair in dejection. The other Sers and Lords stay quiet at his outburst — he's the leading commander of this camp after all, yet asking for help seems like a wasted effort with them. He gives them all a once-over, seeing only tired faces after he pulled them out of their dinners. "Do I need to repeat my command?"

"I think everyone here heard them well enough, Ser Jaime," the wispy Lord Andros Brax sighs, looking a good deal gloomier than his son Tytos. Giving Tywin's letter one last look, he hands it over to Ser Forley Prester before rapping his fingers on the table. His dark eyes give Jaime no sense of agreement. "A hundred riders, is it?"

"At least, else we won't be able to cover enough ground and find Tyrion." The Lord's eyes twitch at his name; not many here hold love for the smaller lion. And least of all my father, Jaime thinks, adding to his worry. Considering his father's propensity for cruelty… "If my Lord prefers, we can ride out tomorrow morning and let the men rest tonight. We won't find much under the red comet's light."

"That is not the problem here, Ser. May I remind you that we're at war?"

The Lannister scoffs. "You're truly asking that question, Lord Andros?"

"Yes I am, young man. We have the Rivelords under siege in Riverrun, we have their Tully heir, and we have our siege engines at the ready. Yet why are we still sitting on their lawns!?" the Lord spreads his arms wide, earning a few spirited nods from the others. Jaime clicks his tongue at the gesture. "And with this in progress, you want to take away the riders? By the Sevens, it's as if you want this campaign to end!"

"My good Lord, I plan to see the Red Fork turn red from Tully blood. But with riders?" the Lannister smirks. "If you plan to drive your lance into their moat and walls, then be my guest. Or perhaps ride up our half-finished siege towers and onto their ramparts?" That one earns a few smiles from the knights. Taking a quick draft of water he continues: "Over twenty-five hundred riders are in our camp, some of which are freeriders and weighing greatly on our coffers. Sending them South will ease their tensions, I know that quite well."

"Easing tensions," the Lord sneers, "this is just an excuse for you, our leading commander, to cure your boredom by cutting down some farmers and their-"

Jaime slams down his hand, cutting the Lord's words short. "…I'd advise you against questioning my honour, Lord Andros Brax. I'm no Mountain nor Black Goat, I can assure you."

"Of course not," the Lord smiles beneath his wrinkly moustache. "My apologies, Kingslayer."

…

"To clear this accusation you have for my nephew," Aunty Genna breaks the stillness, "he's been meaning to lay a strong siege against Riverrun from the very beginning. Yet I hear it was the voice of a certain knight who opposed the method, something about keeping the castle's beauty. An odd notion, even for a Lady," she sighs. "Alas, I was not in those meetings to know who it was."

Ser Emmon opens his mouth but a single glance from his wife snaps it shut. Jaime wonders why he's even a knight.

The letter has now been passed on to Lord Quenten of Banefort, his hooded herald not nearly as dark as his eyes. Giving a glance to the Lannister, he hands the paper to the Freys before whispering something to Lord Regenard Estren — Jaime doesn't like their expressions. Lord Quenten is the first to speak: "It seems to us that the Imp's departure-"

"My Lord, my brother carries a name. I prefer you to speak it."

"Of course, Ser Jaime. Well, Tyrion Lannister's departure for the Southern regions of the Riverlands was done per the orders of Lord Tywin. And from the date it's only been a few days since, giving us no reason to send aid."

"And who are we to refuse Lord Tywin's orders?" Lord Regenard shrugs limply as if that solves the problem.

"Are you disobeying Lord Tywin's- Nay, your father's orders, Ser?" Lord Andros adds with a sharp look, earning an eye-roll from his son Tytos. "A Kingsguard you may be but he's the Warden of the West."

"I'm not disobeying father's orders, my Lords, I'm adding to them. Tell me, does anything there say that my host is not allowed to move? Or when he asks us to gather hedge wizards and wood witches for some bloody reason, are we to fiddle with our bolts and thumbs in camp? May I remind you that Rivermen scatter in our presence?"

"It's the spirit of his words and not what's written, young man," the Lord huffs.

"But I disagree," says Aunty Genna as she sips from her wine. Considering her size, it'll take quite a lot to get her drunk. "I know my brother better than any of you here. And from this letter," she snatches it from Ser Emmon's hands, "I know he meant us to search for these wizards and witches, as said by my nephew." Jaime gives her a small nod; where would he be without his Aunt?

The commanders glance about with nervousness, a few whispers bouncing among themselves. His father's reputation far precedes his old body, meaning that many here already fear retribution for disobedience. Not that it's unfounded, Jaime thinks, reminding himself of The Rains of Castamere. Yet all the more problems to make them do something.

It's the black-haired Ser Garth Greenfield who first pipes up. "You know, some gossips among the men said that a woods witch is living in a nearby hill. We could certainly ride there, I won't mind my prophecies told," the young knight chuckles. This one seems to be on my side. "Who knows, maybe I'm destined to wed a beautiful maiden."

"I think you'll be fucking boars before a maiden, Garth," Ser Tytos laughs. "Frankly, watching you shout at the Tullies have grown quite stale, Ser, and my steed has been demanding for longer rides. Same with my men… I can bring about twenty to this excursion." His words seem to stab his father quite good, earning a deep frown from the Lord.

Due to the two's inclusion, soon more men volunteer to join Jaime's force. And though he welcomes them all with a smile and a laugh, he knows that they don't care about Tyrion. They care about Jaime, the golden Lannister, the one who serves Kings and Queens. And killed one of them. Maybe they hope to earn favours from him, to give their sons as squires and voice at the King's court. Who wouldn't want to be knighted by a well-known Kingsguard? He can see a few — maybe Tytos, Cleos, and perhaps Garth — who wants to help. A sorry lot for my brother's rescuers, he thinks, but three hundred men are not something to be scoffed at. And that's not counting the freeriders leeching off Lannister gold.

"Of course, you'll need to appoint a head commander for this camp," his Aunty points out, "since you'll be searching for Tyrion."

"Lord Andros," Jaime smiles at the frowning Lord, "I hope you'll receive this position graciously?"

"…I serve Lord Tywin with duty and discipline, Ser. I'll see this castle be taken, no thanks to you."

Thank the Seven, please do it swiftly. "And Ser Emmon, I assign you with securing the defences and proper functioning of the Eastern camps." Though the Frey answers, Jaime nods at his Aunty instead; she smiles at him back.

"All of you, we'll ride tomorrow morning with full colours. Let those Riverlords cower before our might!"

Riverlands

The night is short for Jaime, mostly filled with calls for the freeriders and uneasy sleep. He dreams of strange things: a churning black sea and his brother in the midst of it. Is he laughing, is he drowning, or both? It gives him no rest whichever way.

By morning he's nearly forgotten it — he has a mission to accomplish. The sun has yet to peek above the trees when the horseback host crosses over the Red Fork by wooden ferries. A soft breeze caresses the Lannister banners, a welcome signal for their departure. The darkness and morning glare should distract the Tullies from bombarding their transports, then again, they're some distance away from Riverrun.

Staring through his open visor smiling men and nervous horses; with freeriders they now number almost four hundred. His young squire Jaan is beside him atop a smaller horse, chainmail rattling with nervousness. It's the boy's first outing for he stayed at camp during the battle at Golden Tooth, only seeing the bodies and crows after the battle. If Gods be good, this should be enough-

Someone taps his thigh. He turns to see Ser Cleos in grey and blue, a small smile on his face as he gives Jaime a warm packet wrapped in paper and twine. "For you, cousin." Curious, he opens the packet to reveal… A delicious smelling pie. "Still warm from the oven. Asked a cook, Gyl his name was. Said he's delighted to serve a Kingsguard," the knight chuckles. "You've not eaten breakfast, right?"

"…Right. Thank you, Cleos." Jaime bites into the pie and nearly burns his tongue. Beef and onions, not bad.

"No need to be nervous, Ser. I'm sure we'll find your brother."

"Nervous?" he scoffs. "I'm a Kingsguard, Ser. I lost any sense of that even before killing Aerys."

"Mother said you have certain tells when nervous, mostly in your eyes. Something about looking sharp?"

…Jaime snaps his visor shut. "Damn it Aunty…"

"I'm sure Lord Tyrion is safe, Jaime. He may be a dwarf but he has a sharp mind."

His ferry is the first to land, spooking some of the horses. Once on firm ground, Ser Cleos closes his visor before calling for his company. With their large numbers, it's far more effective to split them rather than command a single large mass: Ser Tytos commanding a hundred men, Ser Cleos another, and Jaime controlling the rest. Though that decision displeased some of the Lords, he must know that they're willing to find Tyrion for Tyrion's sake, not for fear of Tywin.

It takes a while longer for the four hundred men to cross the Red Fork, and by that time the sun is clear above the trees and bathing them in warmth. "The other me must have seen us," says Tytos, referring to Lord Blackwood. "Will Riverrun make a move, you think?"

"It's foolish to chase us down and even more foolish to try and ride into our camps," Jaime replies. "We outnumber however many are in that castle, though that doesn't mean they can't do-"

*CRASH*

"-that…" he sighs as a stone clip the edge of a ferry and creates a large splash — the men pull the ferries with fervour now. Another stone flies from a catapult atop Riverrun's wall and hits a ferry in the middle, sinking it in mere seconds. "Seems that no one's killed," he comments, watching the boatmen swim ashore.

"Well now," Ser Garth chuckles, "returning's going to be a pain."

"Must have moved their catapults," says Tytos, "else they wouldn't even be able to reach us."

"Pray that Lord Andros and my Aunt finish the siege before we return." And with that, the Lannister host rides on.

The split was not only to cover more ground, of course. To bolster the riders' resolve, Jaime promises to pick up the Mountain's responsibility and forage through the Riverlands. He explicitly orders his fellow commanders to disallow rapes; a Kingslayer he may be, they're not savages. And to those with weaker spines, he allows them to seek out any witches and wizards as per Tywin's orders. No backbones…

The host soon marches through a small forest with riders keeping an eye out for possible ambushes. The leaves are already falling here — Winter marches South — and annoying him by quite a great deal. A leaf lands on his visor, prompting a low curse from the Lannister.

Someone behind him whistles in admiration. "What a beautiful sight," says Ser Garth, as if a man his age never saw autumn before. "Golden colours fitting for a painting, right, Ser?"

"It looks like the last autumn," he huffs, trotting his steed on the dense ground padding of leaves. "And hard to see through as well," Jaime adds, picking another leaf from his helmet.

"Oh, don't be so sour, Ser," the knight laughs. "As someone from Greenfield, this autumn looks quite special, as if painted by the Maiden herself."

"I thought the Smith is the one who paints," says Jaime's squire.

"Either or, lil' one. But I must say, is this not a good omen for the Lannisters? Their red in the night sky and their gold in the forests. Not one to believe in prophecies but," he shrugs, "who knows?"

Thinking more about it, the leaves do remind him of Cersei's lustrous mane. He picks one from the air with the perfect shade of gold… Yet it has none of her warmth, her softness, her smells, nor her charms. Truly, how long has it been since he last fucked her? To be in her bosoms and delighting himself to her taste?

A month?

Two?

For heavens' sakes, he missed their son's coronation! So much for a Kingsguard, Jaime smirks to himself. But at least he can be glad that the oaf is dead and buried — he gives a silent thanks to the boar — and thus more time to be by her side…

"Finally admiring the autumn, Ser?" asks the knight.

"I'm thinking of the Red Keep," Jaime answers coolly, "for I'm a Kingsguard. There must be some duties asked of me, and if only we have ravens to ask them." And speak my victories to Cersei.

"Aye, a dead King — Long Live King Joffrey — must bring some chaos to King's Landing. Shame we missed the funeral feast and the coronation meals! Must be amazing to see your nephew atop the Iron Throne, huh? I heard it's harder than a mammoth's tusk."

"Yes. Nephew," Jaime smiles, glad his expressions are hidden by his helm. "He'll have to seek for a Queen, though I'm not sure who." The red-haired Stark comes to mind, and with Eddard Stark's death, it may quell any ill response from the North.

"Her grace knows best… But what of her then?" Ser Garth wonders. "The King's dead and that means she's a regent of King Joffrey? No doubt many in the Realm are seeking her hand, for beauty or…"

"Any man is lucky to wed a Lady such as she," says Jaan with a bright smile, "for she's the gold of Westeros, the pride of Casterly Rock, and-"

"This talk of my sister is getting annoying," Jaime interrupts sharply. "We're looking for my brother, not for her grace." The two apologise as Jaime rides forward, glad to be away from their chatter.

Those comments… It lit a fire in him, fury and passion more fitting for Robert than a Lannister. Any man would be lucky to receive her hand but even luckier to avoid Jaime's cut. If he has a say in it, Cersei would be for no one but himself. A Lannister with a Lannister. And why not? If dragons could bed dragons, then why not lions? But that does bring a sobering thought: a Lannister is on the throne. All he needs to do is cut the royal banner in half to declare to the Realm. Yes, what a wonderful thought.

The morning light welcomes them as they exit the forest. Now picking up their pace, Jaime sees a rider breaking off from Ser Cleos' company and rides towards him. "A message, Ser," the young man huffs. From the way he holds himself, this one must be a squire. "We spotted a small village South of here, some houses and a sept, it seems. Should we move there?"

"Our first forage… Garth! Tell Tytos we're moving South!" he commands his fellow knight. "Who knows, Tyrion may be there as well." With words to his squire and a flick of an arm, the company slowly turns to move South. But the messenger interrupts him again. "What is it?"

"The riders, we also spotted a woods witch in the forest. Golden hair and red dress, sitting atop the trees. Should we-"

"Capture her?" He knows that these men have more discipline than the Mountain's lot, but by how much? "Village first, young man. Don't waste your time wrangling some poor woodsman's wife."

"Aye, Ser."

Before long, the small village comes into view. Well, what's left of it, that is. There used to be many buildings here but most of them have been turned into cinders. The fearful commonfolks are holding hammers and planks, many around their broken and shoddy homes. "Ser Gregor has been through here," says Cleos with some disappointment. A seedy-looking septon follows him in tow. "No livestock here, Jaime, nor sign of Tyrion."

"Is that so…" Jaime replies, scanning the buildings before spotting something on the sept. "You," he snaps his fingers and beckons the septon, "what's that near the windows?"

"Uh, t-that's the Tully banner, M'lord, for they're our-"

"Remove them," he commands, "and put up Lannister lions by today. Doesn't matter if it's crude, but the Tullies no longer-"

"FOR LADY KANAKO!"

Two men burst out of a nearby shrubbery and throw their spears at Jaime. The Lannister is quick to react and raises his shield to- "GEH!" The impact's harder than he expects, splintering the shield but luckily enough to deflect it away from him. The other lands near Ser Cleos, kicking up some mud and spooking his horse.

With speed, Garth cuts down the largest man by his jaw, spilling blood into the mud. The other is shot down by arrows, ending their assailants' lives. "Damn it… Jaime, are you-"

"I'm alright, Cleos," Jaime groans before throwing down his broken shield. He turns to the septon and nearly runs over the whimpering man. "Is that how you welcome a knight, holy man? A spear to his face?"

"N-N-No, M'lord, but-"

"I'm a knight, not a Lord. You can ask the Warrior for clarification yourself." Jumping down his horse, he thrust his golden longsword between the septon's ribs, ending the man's life in a sputter of breaths. The horrified smallfolk watch from behind doors and fences, some crying out the septon's name. "You are all no longer under the Tullies' herald! All of you are under Lord Tywin Lannister's banner!" he shouts whilst wiping down the blade. "I don't want to see salmon heralds once we return, you hear!?"

Garth kicks one of the corpses before rifling through the beaten mail and clothes. "Only a few coins," says the knight, "and a carving of… A frog?"

"Leave them then," Jaime sighs, "and Jann, bring me that spear." As the men return to their horses, the squire hands the weapon to him. It's a crude thing made of some softwood, its metal head decorated with bits of frayed rope. Must be a strong thrower, he concludes before easily breaking the shaft. "Let's move on."

As the host continues through the flatter lands of the region, Jaime opens his map for their next destination. "Garth, what was that place you mentioned? The one with a woods witch?"

"High Heart? Only heard a few things about it from the prisoners. They get quite chatty in their confinement."

"Does it lie near Acorn Hall, Lord Smallwood's seat?"

"Smallwood," the knight chuckles. "I think so, Ser. We did break his force at Golden Tooth, didn't we?"

"Without killing him," Jaime folds up the map, "but I doubt he's anywhere near there. Sounds like a good place to rest, isn't it? Perhaps a few more villages along the way." And maybe Tyrion will head there as well. It'd function well as a Lannister base…

"You think that's where Lady Kanako lives, Ser? A strange name... must be his wife from Essos then. Leaving a woman in charge of his land," the knight chuckles, "what a greenboy's mistake."

The host soon comes across a larger village, this one not so burnt out and dead. With quick commands, they take the chickens and send some riders back to Riverrun with the cows. Jaime smiles as Jaan cuts down a Tully banner and demands the village head for a lion one. "Doing Daven's job early," Jaime laughs, earning a nod from the Frey.

In another village, a man tries to kill Ser Garth's horse with a frayed rope spear, but the knight's steel intercepts and cleaves through the assailant's skull. And like before, Jaime puts the village head to the sword. "Again, poor armaments," says Garth as he snaps the spear. "Makes me want to pity these fools."

"Until they try to kill you."

"Yes, until that."

In no time at all, the sun now rests above the Western horizon. "That looks like High Heart to you?" Jaime asks, pointing at a tall hill that stands alone between two streams. "A good vantage point for camps."

"Like a bloody Dothrakii," Garth replies before galloping to it.

Though there are no trees, they make do with the white stumps littering the hill's top. The red comet glows brightly in the night sky. Lannister red. But even with that, they have no luck at finding a witch here; no one's surprise. "I bet she left some time ago," says Garth as he bites down on a drumstick.

"For the next world, yes," Jaime chuckles, now out of his armour and in coloured wools. A soft breeze brings some chill, reminding him of the years to come. The campaign should finish soon, lest Winter deal-

"Ser," Jaan kneels next to him, "the outriders stopped a group of men near here. They say," he gives the Lannister a careful glance, "they say it's Lord Tyrion."

…

"Fetch me my sword and chainmail," say Jaime as he finishes his chicken. "They better not be lying."

"Wait, are we returning after this?" Garth asks with worry, but the Lannister ignores him as he climbs up his horse and rides down the hill. His squire and a dozen riders follow in tow, chattering amongst themselves on this possible end on foraging.

The annoyed Jaime speeds through the stream and onto where his men are awaiting, a small form kneeling by their feet at sword-point. Near them a raggy bunch of men — and a little girl? — stand with nervous expressions. Stopping by them, he jumps down his horse and asks: "Right, what's going on here?"

"A dwarf, Ser, claimin' to be Lord Tyrion," says the man holding the blade — one of the Tyroshii freeriders — before poking the back of the dwarf. "But this one's black haired and wearin' motley! Tell me, Ser, what's the punishment for impersonatin' a Lord?"

Ignoring the man, Jaime crouches down and swings his lantern near the dwarf's face; a set of mismatched eyes look back at him. "Well, this is an awfully warm welcome isn't it, brother?" Tyrion smiles.

"TYRION!" Jaime drops the lantern and hugs his dwarf-of-a-brother, causing the smaller Lannister to wheeze as his breath is squeezed out. "What happened to your hair!? Motley!? Gods, I thought you were dead!"

"I might be if you keep hugging me," Tyrion groans before being let go. Dusting off his clothes, he pushes away the Tyroshii's blade from his face. "Lest you want to deal with father's ire?"

"O-Of course not, M'lord!" they stammer out, sheathing their weapons.

"Gods," Jaime picks up his lantern and stands up, looking down at his brother, "what sense did father have in sending you? You can't fight! You were kidnapped before that!"

"Oh, father has his ways. Besides, I have my ways of fighting, Jaime," Tyrion smirks, raising the knight's eyebrow. A crow caws overhead, casting a light shadow over them. "It's a long story, dear brother, one I'll tell after a night's rest."

"Ah, this one's the fabled Kingslayer?" asks a rugged man with a wolfish smile. With sharp eyes he looks through Jaime, widening his grin. "Expected more gold to be on him, not some dingy steel," he chuckles darkly.

"And who are you?"

"Bronn, your brother's hired sword," says the sellsword before spitting into the grass. "Though now he owes me more gold than you can ever imagine."

"Lannisters don't need to imagine wealth, Bronn. Jaime's just bad with numbers," Tyrion japes, earning barking laughter from the sellsword. Jaime sighs at the slight. At least he's the brother I know and love. "Right then, what do you have cooking at camp? Bronn and I are starving!"

"Before we return… Who's that?" he points at the blonde girl smiling at them from atop a horse. For a horrifying moment, he thinks it's his brother's baseborn daughter, but the girl doesn't have his dwarfish looks nor eyes. So young… It's not my brother's whore, is it!? He looks at his brother, whose expression is full of conflict and worry. Strangely enough, it's the same with the sellsword.

"Ah, her... That one's named Rumia."