Sorry this took so long to update, but I will update again either today or tomorrow.

Warning: very light mention of suggested sexual assault in this chapter, and canon typical violence.


CHAPTER 22: A Bloody Dress

The men that had taken Sansa and him captive were led by Vargo Hoat. His men were Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff (occasionally called Raff the Sweetling), Dunsen, and a man known only as the Tickler.

Jaime didn't like them much.

At all, actually. He was still loath to believe they'd been taken captive by some minor knights in his father's service. In the service of his father's mad, dead dog Ser Gregor, in actual fact. He could have bested them all easily, but when the Tickler had snuck up behind Sansa and held a dagger to her throat it had all been over.

As soon as Sansa had screamed, the alarm bells that had been faintly ringing in his head since they'd met them on the road sounded in earnest. He'd ripped his sword from his sheath as fast as he could but had been too late. There was a knife at her throat. The threat in the Ticker's glittering eyes was clear: a move from him and it would mean her blood.

Jaime had told them in his best impression of his father to let them go… and he'd been promptly ignored. Thinking of it now made his blood boil. He was Jaime of House Lannister… how dare they ignore him? These common men of his father's army. He was just grateful they hadn't realized who they were and hauled them back to King's Landing. No, they just thought them minor scions of Houses Frey and Crakehall.

"Would anyone even notice if they just… disappeared?" one of the men, Polliver, had wondered aloud earlier and Jaime's stomach had dropped. His fate would be death… and Sansa's as well, although he knew her's would be a longer time coming.

"Not likely," Vargo Hoat the Goat had snorted.

Jaime knew they were men who rode with Ser Gregor. After their Ser's death they'd apparently abandoned the Lannister army. That was worse news for him, and any hope he'd had of threatening them into releasing them as Jaime Lannister instead of Dameon Frey vanished like dew in the morning.

His hands were tied together on his own horse and flanked by two of the Goat's men. They had taken him captive after making the threat to Sansa. Jaime had tried to cut them down when he felt their hands on his shoulder and had succeeded in killing one of them. Another he had wounded, before he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Someone had kicked him in the stomach and when he staggered brought the flat of their sword on his head. He'd been subdued shortly after that, when the man holding Sansa had hit her in the stomach and made her yell.

His defeat had been all but assured by their numbers, but the threat to Sansa assured his surrender.

They'd been riding back the way they had come and then to the east. They were headed to Casterly Rock. Maybe they hadn't abandoned the Lannister cause then and wanted rewards for bringing them to Lord Tywin. But then Jaime remembered what they had said about their disappearances…

"My mother would pay for my return, and Lady Cat's. As would Lord Tywin."

"Uh huh," said the Goat.

"He will," Jaime insisted. "My lady mother will be most displeased with this delay. We are expected at the Twins."

"Shut up."

"If you let us go now, we won't be delayed much more than a few hours-"

Vargo turned his horse around and casually thrust his fist into Jaime's stomach. Jaime coughed and doubled over. The man hit harder than Jaime had expected.

"Shut up," Vargo suggested again, his voice pleasant. The others laughed, but Vargo only seemed vaguely amused and didn't join in.

A few hours later, they were stopping for the night. Jaime was pulled roughly off his horse and hauled to a large tree. They kicked his feet out from under him and Jaime fell against it, then slid to its base. Sansa, who had been made to ride in front of Polliver and endure his hands on her waist and legs, had been given similar treatment and was shoved against the tree next to him.

They didn't kick her to the ground, however, and Polliver shoved her hard against the tree. He had a hand on her hip and his face was creepily close to her's. Sansa looked distinctly uncomfortable and moved her head away. Polliver caught her jaw in his hand and brought her face roughly to his. Aggressively, he kissed her. Sansa made a small noise at the back of her throat, but Polliver held fast as she tried to wriggle away.

Jaime had seen enough.

He shook off the hand on his shoulder and jetted to his feet. In a moment he had a hand around Polliver's thick neck and had pulled him roughly away from Sansa. She moved with Polliver from his tight grip on her, but a small space had opened between them, nonetheless. Jaime wedged himself between them, feeling hands pull at his shoulders but moving too fast to be stopped.

He shoved Polliver hard and when the man fell, Jaime kicked him hard in the groin. He fell to the ground, groaning, Sansa forgotten for the moment.

Then Jaime was just as quickly pulled back harshly and slammed into the tree by two men, the Tickler and Chiswyck. Both glared at him nastily.

"Lady Cat's of the Crakehalls. They're land poor, but rich in everything else. The lady is worth her weight in gold, but only if she comes back to her father still a maiden," Jaime said urgently, focusing on Vargo Hoat who had come to watch the fight.

"Is that right?" Hoat looked at least mildly intrigued.

"Yes. Lord Crakehall would pay much for his daughter's return, perhaps even a knighthood to whoever delivers her to him, as well."

Polliver snorted as he awkwardly stood up and started toward Sansa again. She hadn't moved from the tree and watched him in horror and fear. She'd been indifferent until now, but she did not cry or hyperventilate. Grudgingly, Jaime respected her that. Most highborn ladies would have been.

Vargo Hoat held Polliver back by the shoulder, looking thoughtful (an expression that he made look painful on his meaty face).

"How much would she be worth to Lady Genna?"

"The same. More, even."

The Goat considered for a moment. "Leave her be, Polliver. That's an order."

"You don't give orders here, Hoat."

"Want to try me?" Vargo sounded as pleasant as he ever did, and a strange, wandering smile on his face. He didn't look concerned in the slightest.

Jaime was sure, looking at Polliver's face, that a fight was going to break out then and there. But after a few tense seconds, Polliver's face smoothed, and he put his hands up in a surrender motion. Then, with a glower to Jaime and Sansa, he stalked off.

In short order, Jaime and Sansa were tied to each other, then to the tree. Jaime thought about asking they be allowed to lay down but didn't want to push it. He might have been the stupidest Lannister, but not even he was that dull of wits. Sansa was breathing hard next to him, and he could tell her previously unflappable façade was fading quickly in the darkness.

"Are you alright?" he whispered to her.

"Yes. Are you?"

He didn't comment on the wobble in her voice. "Yes."

Jaime and Sansa were silent until all their captors were asleep, four or five hours later. Jaime almost slept a few times, but Sansa was tense next to him the entire time.

"What are we going to do?" Sansa whispered as only snores drifted to them.

"There'll be an opening sooner or later," Jaime whispered back. He felt uncharacteristically endeared to the girl who had yet to cry despite her delicate appearance and mannerisms. "I've face greater odds before and gotten out just fine. We'll be okay, Cat, I promise."

Sansa had started to breath heavily, despite his reassurances. He could feel the panic coming off her in waves.

"Sansa," he started, his voice barely above a whisper when he used her true name.

She interrupted him. "Jaime, I… listen, I trust you now, but well… I wasn't quite sure when we left King's Landing… don't, don't be offended."

"I'm not," he said truthfully, if confusedly. Of course, Sansa hadn't trusted him. Jaime had known that. With his family at war with her's and how cruel his brother kingsguard had been to her, how could he expect otherwise?

"So, I… there's a dagger strapped to my leg," Sansa continued in a quiet rush.

Jaime sat up as much he could. "What?"

"Joffrey gave it to me ages ago, said he'd bloodied it with the blood of Stark men, and it was only right I should have it. I think everyone just forgot I had it and I've kept it hidden in my rooms since. I thought for sure Polliver would feel it when he was touching me, but he didn't."

That changed everything. "Can you get to it?"

"Yes."

"Do it."

Sansa scrunched her legs up close to her and maneuvered oddly to reach. She hiked her dress up to her knees and carefully wedged it from the tan rope that held it to her lower leg. After a few tense seconds during which Jaime was sure one of their snoring captors would wake up, Sansa relaxed her legs with a short, gleaming dagger clasped in her hands.

"Cut the rope. Can you?"

In answer, Sansa sawed at the heavy ropes tying them to the tree. She sawed with difficulty for a full minute before the rope went slack and he could move his hands again.

"Give me the knife," Jaime said, and when she pressed in into his hand, he made short work of the remaining ropes tying them together. "Quietly now," he said as they carefully stood up. He handed the dagger back to Sansa.

"I'll get the horses," Sansa said and crept near-silently to where they were tied. Jaime nodded and turned to the sleeping men. He needed his sword. Leaving without it would leave them more vulnerable than before.

Jaime carefully slipped the shoes off his feet, tied their laces together and draped them over his neck. His boots were too loud. The grass and dirt were cold on his bare feet, and a few times he stepped painfully on small branches as he stalked towards the Goat, who had Jaime's sword next to him.

Holding his breath, Jaime grabbed his sword and sheath with both hands… even as a hand grasped his ankle and in a quick move, pulled him to the earth.

"They're getting away!" the Goat yelled as he wrestled on top of Jaime.

In a swift move, Jaime had ripped his sword from its sheath and held it with both hands. Then, his sword slower than he would like in the enclosed space, he slashed Vargo Hoats's neck open with one blow. Even as blood poured from the grievous, deadly wound, Jaime was regaining his feet and pivoting.

Sansa, with the reigns of their two horses in her hands was cornered against a tree again by Polliver. Sansa's eyes were wide and reflected eerily in the moonlight. There was fear that hadn't been there before.

Jaime found his feet and stumbled to them, his sword held aloft and ready. But he hadn't been needed, he saw immediately as he came to Polliver, ready to kill him. Sansa had still had the dagger and she'd used it.

It was imbedded deeply in Polliver's chest, directly over his heart. As Jaime approached, others stirring around them, he knew the man was dead. He looked behind his shoulder at the waking enemies, then at the shocked, frozen Sansa. He watched as she slowly, like someone who wasn't all there, reached to Polliver's belt and pulled a long, thin sword from it. Sansa gazed at it, but didn't make another move.

Jaime acted quickly. In a single move Jaime had pulled the dagger from Polliver's heart, shoved the dead man to the ground, and without hesitation, picked up Sansa. Hoisting her easily in his arms and with the dagger and sword still gripped in his hands, he put her quickly in her horse's saddle. Then he swung onto his, and handed the dagger back to Sansa.

To Sansa he said, sharply, "Let's go!"

Thankfully, she had recovered enough awareness of mind to give the horse her heels and in a second, they were speeding away.

"They'll follow us!" Sansa yelled at him, her voice high. Her bloody dagger was clenched in her bloody hand.

"No," Jaime called back. "We killed the only two of them with any leadership ability. The others were followers. I doubt they'll follow, and if they do, not for long." He didn't think she'd heard much of what he yelled, but his sentiment was clear when they did not appear to have been followed.

Still, they rode hard. And when they had to stop or the horses would die, they merely slowed. They didn't stop moving until noon or later the next day. Then, exhausted and with no other choice, they went into the forest for a ways and found a shady spot to sleep.

"How far are we from Riverrun?" Sansa asked when they woke. They hadn't addressed her first kill; if she felt no need to, Jaime certainly didn't. She'd tied her dagger back on her leg, after cleaning it on the folds of her dress. Jaime stared for a moment at the blood on her dress.

"Half a day, I think. We'll be there soon." He looked away.

No answer was needed, and within a few hours they were back on the road.