Each day dragged into the night, and night into day. Time was lost. Had it been days? Weeks? Years? Jaime Lannister was far from knowing. What he did know was the night grew colder as the winter's chill crept down into the south freezing the mug beneath him and kissing each blade of grass with its frigid frost come morning. Just as his body would grow used to the cold, the camp would be on the move once more, further south, deeper into the Riverlands until finally he was reminded of the sweet warmth of summer. He no longer worried about losing fingers and toes during the night, instead, he was left caked in mud. It stuck to his trousers and rested deep beneath his nails leaving them black with grit - or maybe it was shit. It was a great possibility, though one he refused to put great thought into. He was better off believing it was nothing but wet dirt that seeped through his clothes and brought an itch to his skin. Most days, it was enough to drive him to madness, his wrists shackled together and his neck chained to a plank standing upright in the ground preventing him from doing much more than shimmy up to stand. Remaining seated in the dirt became a constant state, his neck becoming bruised too quickly by the struggle to rise, leaving his muscles weak and weary after the slightest of movements. His body was left still, leaving nothing but teeth to chew at the dry skin of his lips or his fingers to pick as his nail beds. Jaime's still body left his mind to run rampant. It held fears of home: Had his sister been able to cope with his absence? Had his father sent Lannister forces marching into The North to liberate him? His skin crawled at the thoughts that consumed him, or maybe it was the flies that fluttered over his skin, and he was left with a single solace: Julianna .

When he shut his eyes, he could still see her as if she were seated right in front of him on her pedestal. Jaime envisioned her pale, freckled, flesh bare to the room with only a mere silk robe resting low that hung off each elbow. It would drape over her lap like the skirt of a gown, the silk sliding ever so slightly to expose more to him as she painted her face like the rest of the whores. Her hair wouldn't be tied up in knots - she would have learned better since their first times together - it would hang, cascading, down her back in its perfect golden waves-

He cursed himself for the thoughts about Littlefinger's whore - his name day present. It should be his dear sister in his thoughts to keep him motivated in the darkest of times, not her. Yet, Cersei's hatred still ran deep within him. He could hear each venom-filled word spat at him. Every once of blame that only he could take, but not Cersei, she was never the one responsible. It all had stung more than the slap she had placed against his cheek. It was her harsh passion for their love that had Jaime returning to the gentle Julianna. She had been nothing but innocent the day he had laid eyes on her, and he had taken it from her with a series of thrusts and the grip of his hands on her hips. It wasn't just the pleasure he remembered, there was the gaze of her eyes into his and her promise to him.

I'm yours.

Would he be so foolish to think that Baelish would have upheld their agreement? To think his whore would still be waiting-

The creak of the heavy cage door keeping Jaime confined left him wincing as it opened. They weren't on the move again, were they? The boy certainly didn't win another battle, did he? Pale eyes gazed through matted blonde strands that hung low into his face and watched as another prisoner was forced into the mud as his feet. The young man was shackled around his ankles and wrists, simply to keep him from running. He was no risk to the Kingslayer. The pair sat in silence until nightfall when a single guard made his quiet round around camp. As Jaime shut his eyes and begged for sleep to take him, the young man's voice slipped out into the air as a whisper; "You don't remember me, do you?"

Jaime's eyes rolled as they opened and his jaw slacked, though it became clear that his annoyance couldn't be seen through the darkness as the man continued to speak; "Alton Lannister, my mother is Cynda Lannister-"

Ah, another Lannister, that was why Jaime had earned the pleasure of his company. Jaime squinted through the night at the dark-haired man, with his hooked nose and youthfulness that told him that he was barely a man. He didn't look much like a Lannister, so he had to be a cousin, a distant one. His mind racked, trying to remember this distant relative, Cynda ."Is she the fat one?" Jaime spoke without hesitation, his hair raising from its sleepy lean against the post he was propped upon.

"Well, perhaps she's gotten a little larger than she-"

Jaime scoffed, "No, no. There's only one fat Lannister. If she was your mother, you'd know it."

The air was silent for a moment, just long enough for Jaime to think the boy was done only to be met with his mumbled words yet again, "I squired for you once, you know?"

And now you are trapped here, with me. A heavy sigh took Jaime's withering form as he shook his head to flick the hair from his eyes. He stared at him with features, his mouth dry and body stiff with the promise of sleep but he was no longer tired. No, he was growing more awake with each word that left his lips and the thought that crossed his mind. He was no longer isolated in his cell alone, for however long it may be he had another Lannister at his side. Alton, a Lannister soldier, maybe together they could get out of there. Jaime just needed to figure out how. "When?"

"The tournament, the day of Willem Frey's Wedding."

His brows furrowed at their center, Jaime's head leaning back as if he were looking up at the stars. Instead, they ran over each joining of the cage around them. The blacksmiths had done a good job, the only way out would be the creaking door. "I went to Willem Frey's wedding?" He thought out loud. Jaime didn't remember such an affair, then again, he had been to many tournaments, and most seemed to blend into one.

"You did," Alton nodded rapidly, smiling as he could reminisce on his one moment of glory, "your squire had gotten so drunk the night before that he threw up."

"Poor lad," Jaime sighed with mock pitty, eyes moving over the door to the muddy cell. It was locked. They would need to get the keys somehow. "That was my brother's doing, I seem to recall. I remember you-" but did he really? He had so many others in his service before, it was easy to forget a squire or two, even if they were your own blood one way or another. Jaime was quick to make a safe assumption: "You'd never squired for anyone before."

"That's right. I ran up and volunteered: Let me, my lord. Let me. My father was furious. Afraid I'd embarrass our family in front of the family. "

Slowly, it was all coming back to Jaime. It was a dull affair and an easy triumph. Alton had just been a boy back then. "You didn't though."

"You really remember?"

"You knew when you were needed and when to go away. It's a rare talent." Jaime almost smiled at Alton, his head leaning back against the post as he spoke, "Most of my squires, they mean well, but young men with big jobs, they tend to overdo them."

"I remember everything about that day." Alton became lost in his utter fascination of serving one of the greatest knights in Westeros for but a day: "Your helmet, your horse, the rake lines in the dirt along the list, where the sun was in the sky when you knocked Balon from his horse, and the dent in your shield when you handed it back to me. I'll remember it all until I die. That was the best day of my life. And I remember being on the field after it was over. All the competitors were done. I was the last one out there and I couldn't leave. I couldn't bring myself to go and sit with my family so far on the edge of the feast you could barely even see the bride. And I couldn't bear to tell them what it had been like squiring for you when I knew that they could never have the faintest idea what I was talking about-"

"I understand completely," Jaime muttered and watched as Alton's face muttered into disbelief. How could the Kingslayer relate to a poor pitiful Lannister cousin who would never know what it was like to sit among the nobles of Westeros? Jaime had to hide his scoff as he looked into the night. He had memories, both good and bad that remained vivid in his mind. Memories and experiences that very few, if anyone, would be able to have the faintest idea about. He had killed Areys Targaryen after all, just how many knights had killed their King? His hands gripped into fight fists in his shackles as his mind was quickly haunted by the feeling of the Mad King's blood on his hands. How it tarnished both his sword and golden armour. Jaime could still hear the hysterical laugh that could only come from madness. He could see the looks of betrayal in his eyes as he slashed at his throat, killing him with one single swing of his sword.

Then there was the light of goodness, the memories that diminished the darkness and stress that lingered within him. Once, it had been his sister, but now it was his most recent nameday - or had another come and gone again without him even realizing? - Littlefinger's brothel wasn't the fondest of places to remember. Yet, Jaime remembered the deep red curtains that added the illusion of privacy. How the setting sun peeked through the windows and cast shadows across the rooms and his face as he moved through the brothel dressed white cape of the Kingsguard - one he would dishonour yet again. The smell of sex had cursed his nose and the promise of Littlefinger - one that he was sure to have been a fool for trusting - I can promise the utmost discretion. Then there was Julianna and how her hands grasped her robe tight in front of her breast. Jaime could remember each slender digit of her finger, the freckles on her cheek, and the uneasiness in her innocent blue eyes. They were wide, framed by thick lashes - thinking back on the gaze they held as she tried to speak so sly, he could have counted each one. Trying to refuse her hadn't been easy, and he had quickly folded and fucked her. Julianna had been tight and warm around him and she had quivered for him. He still didn't know, even know, if it was from pleasure or pain - but he had been sure to please her the second time - which he could remember just as vividly.

"How could you?" Alton bit out, recoiling back to a meekness quickly after, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to doubt you."

"Like you, I've had to act quickly once-" Yes, that would be an adequate answer. "It's hard to-"

"It's hard to put it into words," Alton agreed, a smile growing as he felt as if he were relating to The Kingslayer-

But could anyone relate to him, truly?

"It's like stepping into a dream remembering it all now," Jaime forced a smile, pulling against his chains just enough for him to lean in closer to Alton but not enough to hurt his throat, "I'm not well-suited for imprisonment. Shocking, I know. Some men are. Ned Stark, I imagine he made an excellent prisoner right up until the end. Not be, though. My life has left me uniquely unfit for constraint, but the memories-"

Alton interrupted: "And have you thought about-"

"Of course. Every day." Alton watched him wide-eyed, silently asking him: Why? Why hadn't the great Jaime Lannister facilitated a grand escape that would be remembered as a great Lannister war story? "Good prisoners breed good jailers, apparently. The Starks," and their men, "are very careful." Jaime's voice dropped, his plan finally unfolding in his mind now. This was his chance, and quite possibly the only one he would get. "But there is a way, I think. It wasn't possible until now."

"What is it?" Alton leaned in close, desperate to serve Ser Jaime as he had those many years ago at Willem Frey's wedding tournament.

Jaime eyed the guards as they passed, his voice lowering as to go unheard; "It's actually quite simple. You only have to do one thing."

"Tell me, let me help you."

Alton was in his reach now, Jaime practically whispering in his ear. "You'll have to die." They looked at each other for but a moment, Alton's eyes wide with disbelief. There was no time to call for help, as if would come, as Jaime leaned in quickly his neck near choked by his collar as he headbutted Alton. It rendered his Lannister cousin defenceless for just enough time. Chained hands came down on his face, then again and again with a rattle until his body stilled. There had been just enough commotion to attract a single guard who fumbled with his keys at the door before stepping into the wretched cell. He moved with great caution, hovering over Alton's body before crouching down to uncover the horror of a bloodied face. Jaime had grit his teeth and fought through weakness to wrap his chains around the jailer's neck and choked the life from his struggling body. Relief flooded Jaime as his hands took hold of the cold metal that were the keys to his bounds. The keys to his freedom.

Julianna, I'm coming home.