The drizzle spat in their faces as Jaime and the girl back-tracked through the trees. The further they went along their previous route, the more apprehensive the girl became. Her earlier euphoric mood had evaporated into the rapidly darkening sky, and low thunder grumbled. She clutched the long-handled axe to her chest. Their pack had been left behind, to be collected sometime later. Or, not the girl thought. In which case, to be found eventually by some wandering Tribesman, who may spare a passing thought as to who it once belonged to.

'You know he might go straight back and tell them,' she said, recalling how Callem had fled down the hill as if the Red God himself were on his heels.

'He might,' Jaime agreed, unconcerned. 'It matters little. Half a mile is not far.'

They jumped down a culvert, ducked under the sweeping leaves of a willow tree. White butterflies sheltering under it scattered into the air like confetti. The girl wiped grit from her eyes and shifted the axe to her shoulder, trying to think only of Sooty, of seeing Sooty again, and not of the dozen armed men who wanted to capture and probably kill them, who they were now deliberately seeking out.

'So, are you clear on what you're doing?' Jaime said, as they moved furtively in a crouch along a dry creek bed that bordered the track.

'Getting killed?' she replied, testily.

'Your humour is as always, refreshing,' Jaime said, grabbing her arm to pull her up the steep bank and into an area of thick bracken, 'but I do actually need to know that you understand what we're doing.'

'Oh what we're doing?' she said, anxiety making her snippy, 'Well, while I'm getting killed I guess you'll also be getting killed, only a little less quickly. That sword looks pretty good on you, so it's possible you may take out five or six similarly-sworded men before the seventh, eighth or ninth one manages to overpower you in a bloody melee -'

'Shh, girl,' Jaime clamped his hand on her mouth with unexpected force. He stopped so that he could slide his hand down and grip her chin, turning her face to his. 'There will be plenty of blood, but I assure you none of it will be ours. Now, I know you're scared. But answer me. What did I tell you to do once we reach these villagers?'

Along with the controlled urgency of his tone, the girl couldn't ignore the anticipation in it. She despaired of his attitude. We're likely going to be captured or cut into little pieces and he's enjoying himself? I may be agreeing to do this, but at least I know it's madness.

'What did I tell you?' Jaime repeated, giving her chin a little squeeze to get her attention. Unnerved by his baseless confidence, she repeated his instructions back to him. 'I'm hanging back until you distract them by... ' she gestured at the sword he held with such familiar ease by his side that it appeared to be an extension of his arm. '...by fighting. Until it's chaos. Then I go get Sooty.'

'Very good,' he nodded. 'Get your horse. That's all you need to do. I know you know some of these villagers, but remember they made their choices.'

'I just don't understand what you're going to be -'

'I'm going to be killing people,' Jaime cut her off. 'If that troubles you, you may wish to avert your eyes.' His own eyes simmered with a restless energy that was becoming increasingly familiar to the girl, as if he were alight from within. As if inside of him a flame was preparing to roar into an inferno as soon as he gave it enough oxygen. She wondered if he'd always been this foolhardy, and if so how it was that he still lived.

'You're one of those men, aren't you?' she said, narrowing her eyes. 'The kind who only feels alive when they're fighting or fucking.'

Jaime stifled a laugh and almost let her go. 'Very insightful, girl, you truly have a gift. I guess today is my lucky day.'

She jerked herself free of him. 'I'm sorry I lack your enthusiasm. But they have my horse, so let's do this.'

They hurried through the trees until they reached an area of open marshland, where the track had been built up with soil and sediment to cross over a shallow pond. Jaime dragged her down beside the muddy dam that had been created by this crossing. Further along, the track curved around behind a thicket of trees and out of sight.

'Why here?' she asked, squirming into the long reeds which grew thick around the murky dam. The wind blew the reeds flat one way and then the other, skittered over the water and howled back into the trees. The long grasses all around shook, and coldness from the damp earth seeped into her clothes.

'They won't expect an ambush on low ground, in the open. Most attacks are from hills or higher up, to give the attackers the advantage.'

'So what's our advantage?' she wanted to know.

He didn't answer, just kept looking along the track.

After around five minutes that felt like centuries, the girl could hear sounds gradually separate from the howling wind; multiple boots scraping on dirt, metal jingling, hoof beats. It sounded like a small army. She scrunched lower into the reeds.

'Gods, we're going to die,' she muttered.

'Have faith, girl. We won't die today.'

She felt sick with nerves, the taste of apple and bile in her throat. 'You're completely fucking insane, aren't you? I'd almost look forward to proving you wrong if only it weren't going to be so painful.'

He held a finger to his lips. His eyes shone a light, bright green, blazing with certainty and excitement in equal measure. He looked lit up, inspired, ready to leap into the embrace of chaos and death as if they were old friends. Suddenly he leaned over and kissed her. She was too stunned to even respond.

'Trust me,' he whispered. Then he crept low over to the side of the track and sank down into the shadows, by the base of the little overpass.

The girl kept still, peering through the weeds and cattails. She couldn't see Jaime any more. The air on her wet clothes was cold, but she didn't feel it.

She heard the tramp of footsteps growing closer, metal clanking. She could see movement, a mass of bodies, coming around the corner of the track from behind the trees. A horse at the front with its head bent down being led by a long rope, another horse at the back with packs on, and between the two animals rows of men on foot, marching with a sense of purpose.

The horse in front had an awkward hobbling gait, its bent head bobbing with every stride due to the two chains that ran from each bit ring to down under its belly and around its hind legs, where leather straps on its fetlocks linked them. Raw skin glistened in patches along the horse's flanks where the metal had chafed, and dried sweat coated its fur like powder. Unable to lift its neck higher than its knees, the horse groaned as it breathed, and froth ran in long streams from its champing, gaping mouth. The girl almost didn't recognise Sooty, didn't want to recognise her, but Callem's words made it true.

'They have chains'. The girl gripped her axe tighter, fought back the impulse to charge immediately into the midst of the villagers and free her horse. She knew she had to wait. But every dragging, clanking hoof beat closer was a stab to the heart. How could they do this to you, Sooty? Any sympathy she may have had for the villagers was gone, blown away by the cruel sight of Sooty's foaming mouth. Any nerves she'd had dissipated with it. All she felt was a cold determination settle in her guts. You want to have my horse, you fuckers? Let's see how much you like having her once I cut her chains.

Now the group of men were clear of the trees. Now they were approaching the dam, their footsteps rhythmic and sure. Now they were crossing the overpass.

The girl bowed her head, stilled her mind. She heard a splash, and a thud, and the sharp smack of a blade as it sliced into flesh. Jaime. She heard the footsteps falter and disunite. She heard a villager yell out in alarm, a micro-second of silence, followed by the hissing of numerous swords being unsheathed simultaneously. The clash of steel on steel.

Chaos. Her cue. She pushed herself up out of the reeds and vaulted onto the track.

Men on all sides of her, running, their attention on Jaime. Jaime meeting them as they came at him, his sword a silver blur, overhand, underhand, upswing, backswing, striking so hard that sparks flew, but moving easily as if in a dance he'd practised every day. The men were drawn into his orbit and then flung out of it, sideways or backwards or face-down, blood bursting and splashing from perfectly timed slashes, their lives gushing out of them before they realised it was done.

The girl was momentarily awed but didn't let herself dwell on it. She turned and dodged between the men as they moved forward. A scream that sent needles down her spine, bodies colliding; she didn't look back. Zig-zagging around boots and hurdling legs, then she was at the front and there was Sooty's broad rump and dreadlocked tail. 'Sooty,' she said, and the horse rolled her eye back and whinnyed in reply.

The girl sensed a movement to her right and instinct threw her under Sooty's belly. She rolled, just as the man who was holding the lead-rope brought his mace down into the spot she'd vacated. Sooty's big hooves stamped on the ground, sending the lengths of chain attached to her fetlocks twisting and writhing like fat snakes.

The girl righted herself on the opposite side of her horse, used the momentum of the roll to swing the axe up. 'Hey girl, whoa girl,' she soothed, as Sooty began to desperately plunge and paw, making the chains impossible to see in the clouds of dust. The man with the lead-rope hauled back on it fiercely and Sooty fell to her knees; her nose snorting dirt.

The girl could sense someone else approaching from behind, but she didn't turn or allow herself the distraction. If I am killed now then at least let Sooty be free, she prayed to gods she didn't believe in, as she brought the axe crashing down without any conscious aim. A blow struck her from behind on the shoulder and she was knocked sideways, the axe wrenched from her grasp.

She hit the side of the track on her stomach and couldn't breathe. In front of her she saw Sooty's white flecked mouth arc upwards as she tossed her head, the chains sweeping free in a long trail beneath her. I did it, the girl thought, relief flooding through her.

Sooty also realised she was free. The big horse heaved herself up off her knees and swung her now-unrestrained head around like a battering ram, collecting the man on the end of the lead-rope as he tried to turn, and sending him flying through the air with a grunt. Then on her hindquarters she spun around so fast, all the girl could see was an explosion of gravel. Hooves lashed out with startling speed and the man tumbled sideways, his arms cartwheeling.

Another man ran forward from where he'd been standing behind the girl, holding the club he'd used to strike her with. This time he brought it down between Sooty's ears, but Sooty lunged into the blow and it glanced off her thick chest. The club flipped into space and the man was sucked under Sooty's bulk like an undertow, his body squelching sickeningly under her hooves.

The girl crawled over to the edge of the track. She couldn't see her axe anywhere and the club was lost in the frenzy of Sooty's trampling. Everywhere was haze and dust and people falling and shouting. Sooty squealed and kicked out and someone's head tipped backwards with a crack. The girl climbed to her feet, pain shooting through her shoulder as she moved.

She whistled and Sooty was by her side, jigging and stomping. The loose chains running from her bridle and hind legs slithered like tentacles in the dirt.

The girl scrambled up onto the horse's back and wound her fingers into her mane as Sooty reared again. Incredibly, the only men around them were sprawled at improbable angles, dark splotches and bloody hoof prints littering their bodies and the ground. The other packhorse stood uncertainly in their midst, unsure exactly what it should be doing.

From atop Sooty's back the girl could see further down the path to where Jaime and three men were still standing. Even as she clicked Sooty forward, Jaime stepped to one side to avoid a parry, then slashed his own sword down faster than the girl's eyes could follow. His opponent buckled at the waist like a puppet with the strings cut, and even before this man had hit the ground Jaime had already pivoted and thrust again, skewering the second man through the base of his neck. Jaime's blade withdrew smoothly and the man froze in mid-stride, before falling slowly through the dust, an imprint of him seeming to hang as an after-image in the disturbed air.

The third and last man had already lost his sword but bravely scooped up a dropped weapon and attacked. Jaime deflected his strike as if they'd rehearsed it beforehand, and with a casual flick of his sword sliced the man's leg from groin to calf. The wound yawned open, steam rose from it into the air. The man gasped and went down on one knee, still holding his weapon, a machete. He strained to stand up, but his leg failed and he leant on the weapon to keep from toppling sideways.

Jaime sauntered over, appearing eerily untouched despite the carnage around him. He reached across and knocked the machete away.

The man fell onto one hand. His breath was laboured and when he looked down he seemed amazed at the amount of blood already slick on the ground as his femoral artery pumped it out. He sat back heavily, legs outstretched, the circle of red widening around him until he looked to be sitting on a shiny crimson cloak.

The girl rode Sooty up to Jaime and the man. She saw now that the man was Brodrick, the one who had given Jaime so much attention that evening near RedHollow. Jaime stood and watched him bleeding out, without expression. Sooty stopped beside him. For a while, the only sound was Brodrick's ragged breathing and the trickling of his life running out onto the sand.

Finally, he lifted his head and looked up at the girl. 'What are you doing, Delivery Girl?' he croaked. 'I wouldn't have thought it of anyone, but 'specially not you.'

Jaime stepped forward. 'Silence!'

'Why do you care?' the girl answered, ignoring Jaime and addressing Brodrick. 'You're not a soldier any more, you should have let us be. If I choose to aid a prisoner to escape, then that's my business.'

'You're betraying the whole of the North with your actions! Lord Robb Stark would have -'

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but the girl got in first. 'What do I care of the North? Or Lord Stark? What have they ever done for me and my family? I have looked after my family, I owe no-one loyalty.' When Brodrick didn't immediately respond, she went on, angry: 'Twelve villagers, who knew me and my family... to recapture this one prisoner? For what? Some misplaced sense of honour towards a Lord who wouldn't even know your fucking name if you died for him?'

Brodrick laughed then, softly, his chest shaking, leaning on his arms which were now wrist-deep in his own blood. 'You have no idea, do you, girl? Dear gods, you really have no idea.'

'I said, silence!' Jaime ordered, lifting his sword and pressing the tip of it into Brodrick's cheek.

'Leave him!' the girl cried out, but Jaime pressed the steel deeper.

The girl slid down off Sooty and grabbed his arm. 'Leave him!'

Jaime's arm tensed. Brodrick, his face now so white that he looked like a ghost, kept his eyes fixed on the girl. His voice was mocking. 'Oh the irony. Your brother tried to kill the boy who is King, and now... this? You must really hate Kings, Delivery Girl.' He laughed again, weakly. 'Seeing as you have such a thing for King -'

With one swift movement Jaime's blade ran through Brodrick's cheek and out the back of his skull. The girl dragged at his arm but to no effect, and as he yanked his sword out, Brodrick's last words bubbled out through the hole in his face. The ex-soldier slumped face down, and slowly keeled over.

'He was dead already, it was a mercy,' Jaime said.

The girl shoved at him, hard. 'He wasn't dead, he was talking to me!'

'He said your brother tried to kill the King, I presumed you'd want him dead.'

'You presumed wrong!' she glared. 'What did he mean, that I must really hate Kings?'

Jaime wiped his sword on Brodrick's coat. 'He was merely trying to provoke you. Last words never have the great significance people think they do.'

The girl didn't answer him, just stared at Brodrick's fallen body as the rain fell harder, in a torrent, diluting the pool of blood and washing it away in pink ribbons around her feet.

Author's note: this chapter is dedicated to all my reviewers, who are not only entertaining but inspiring. I was inspired to write another looong chapter so thank you ;)