Steelshanks Walton was a straightforward man, dour by nature, blunt in speech and unapologetic for it. In his experience, most decent soldiers were of the same sort. Not given to grandstanding or glib tongues, the men who lived and died by their prowess in battle were direct and uncomplicated, and said the truth of things how they saw it.

Jaime Lannister, while famous for his act of treason against his former King, and born into a family known for its treachery and political manoeuvrings, appeared nonetheless to be at heart a simple soldier, like Steelshanks himself. He certainly fought better than any soldier Steelshanks had met before, and to achieve that level of physical skill required a clear aim and single-minded diligence. In Steelshank's view, these attributes in a person usually precluded other more devious qualities, such as political ambition or scheming.

So when Steelshanks had first asked Jaime what the story was with the commoner girl, he'd taken his answer at face value. 'Travelling companions', nothing more. Steelshanks had fished for a few more details the next day, even straight out asking if Jaime had 'fucked her', in the hope he might hear some juicy tidbits to dwell on in the cold nights alone in his own blankets. But Jaime had been dismissive, saying he was not and had never been a man to be tempted by random women, no matter how available. He took his vows as a member of the King's Guard seriously, and taking advantage of a lowborn girl was beneath someone of his status.

Steelshanks, priding himself on being able to detect bullshit a mile away, had believed both these things to be true of Jaime Lannister. He'd put the issue aside and given it not another thought for most of the week.

Jaime wasn't very sociable with the men of the Dreadfort. Apart from spending rather a lot of time talking to the Tarth woman late of an evening, he wasn't around much. His frequent absences from the evening meal and around-the-fire conversation were put down by Steelshanks to him being tired, preparing mentally to see his family again, or just having a solitary character. His preferral to sit in the wagon instead of ride his horse was also put down to fatigue. But as the week went on and they journeyed ever closer to KingsLanding, it began to dawn on Steelshanks that Jaime's version of events regarding his 'travelling companion' was missing certain important elements. Namely, the reason behind why he appeared to be completely obsessed with her.

Looks like he has the Lannister talent of deception after all, Steelshanks thought that evening by the fire, catching a glimpse of Jaime ducking into the back of the parked wagon yet again, despite having not five minutes before excused himself from their campfire chat by citing a headache. A persuasive liar, but a liar nonetheless. Steelshanks recalled how earlier that day when they'd stopped to water the horses and prepare food, Jaime had taken the Maester aside and questioned the amount of anaesthetic he was administering to the injured commoners.

Well, not the commoner boy, he didn't give a shit about him, only the girl, and Jaime didn't so much as question the dose, as basically demand Qyburn reduce it immediately, in no uncertain terms, Steelshanks remembered. Jaime had said he didn't see why the girl had to be drugged daily to the point of being senseless. When Qyburn had argued that without it, the pain would be too stressful, Jaime had disputed this by saying she had to get used to her disabilities at some stage, and a bit of pain was a small price to pay for being conscious. Also that the girl was 'no weak, sensitive maiden,' and would cope fine.

Qyburn had nodded ingratiatingly and said he'd reduce her dose gradually over the next few days. The Maester had warned that removing it altogether would cause vomiting and other unpleasant withdrawal symptoms. Jaime had reluctantly agreed to this. 'By the time we reach KingsLanding, I want her completely off it. No dependence whatsoever,' he'd ordered.

He has plans for the girl at KingsLanding, Steelshanks thought. A half-wit could see he's both protective and possessive of her. Jaime was totally ignoring the Cole boy, who had arguably suffered worse injuries, yet couldn't let a few hours pass in any given day without checking in on the girl. I'll be a blind Knight's squire if he isn't acting like a man bewitched.

Steelshanks was bothered by this realisation, not least because he hated to have the wool pulled over his eyes by convincing liars, but also because he was counting on the return of Jaime to his family as being a simple exchange of man for gold. Sure, the Maid of Tarth had other plans that involved getting the Stark girls as well, but as far as Steelshanks was concerned that had nothing to do with him. He planned to present Jaime to his father Lord Tywin, receive goodwill to his liege Lord from the Royal family, and receive personal compensation in the way of gold for his work in escorting Jaime safely. That was it.

The potential complications of Jaime's involvement with a common girl were not anything Steelshanks was remotely keen on being a part of. In fact, it had the possibility of casting a tarnish on the entire endeavour, and more importantly, affect the size of Steelshanks' reward.

He swilled the rest of his wine and decided to make it his mission for the next day to get to the bottom of the matter. His own honest nature, and mistaken presumption of Jaime's similar nature, may have caused Steelshanks to be initially fooled, but he was no fool. He would ask around, keep his eyes open, then confront the Kingslayer with his suspicions and demand to know what his intentions were at KingsLanding. That way, the Dreadfort men would be forewarned as to any awaiting nasty surprises.

The opportunity to investigate came earlier than Steelshanks had expected, as his men readied their horses the next morning. Jaime was riding his horse again for once, as the Lady of Tarth's lame gelding had finally come good and was sound enough for her to ride. As Steelshanks tightened his own mount's girth and pondered if he should approach Jaime today with hard questions, the man himself approached Steelshanks first.

'A moment of your time?' Jaime asked, although the tone was not that of a request.

Steelshanks put down the flap of his saddle and turned to face him.

'The weather has been kind to us. How long would you say until we reach the Capital?' Jaime wanted to know.

'Less than a week now. Maybe three or four days, depending on the terrain and our horses.'

'I'm pleased to hear it. It's been a long time, I fear I shan't recognise the place.'

'The Capital don't change,' Steelshanks grunted. 'Same shit, different aresholes.'

'Well observed,' Jaime smiled. 'I have been considering how best to deal with some... issues on our arrival. Brienne and the two villagers. Brienne will no doubt be a target for the Tyrells wanting vengeance for Renly. The wench says she had no part in it, and I believe her. I would ask that you and your men be mindful of that likely confrontation.'

Steelshanks said nothing, thinking only The Maid of Tarth and her innocence or guilt is no concern of mine.

Jaime seemed satisfied though, taking his silence for consent. 'And the villagers. I would install them in the servant's quarters in the Red Keep, until they are fit to... resume normal lives. Neither deserved what happened to them, they were casualties of those seeking to capture me, and I feel responsible. I would like them to be treated kindly until they fully heal. I would ask that you claim them as part of your own party from the Dreadfort, and during your stay in the Capital I want no mention of them to be made to anyone else there.'

'The villagers are not my -' Steelshanks began.

'I know. They are not your concern. How much gold would it take for them to be?'

Steelshanks grinned. 'We could discuss it.'

'Later,' Jaime agreed, also smiling. He mounted his horse and rode away.

Steelshanks watched his departure with shrewd eyes. But first I must determine the girl's worth to you, Kingslayer. Keeping your secret may cost you more than you're thinking.

For the remainder of the day, Steelshanks paid close attention to the wagon and the people who attended on the two inside. Qyburn administered to their wounds, The Maid of Tarth brought them their meals, and during a rest stop not far from a shallow stream, the Tarth woman carried the girl out to the running water and helped her to wash. The Cole boy accompanied them, looking pale and weak with the stump of his arm heavily bandaged.

Steelshanks spied on the trio unobtrusively, from a sparse patch in the surrounding hedge. The Tarth woman presumed them to be out of sight of the rest of the travelling party, and undressed the girl to her underwear, including removing the wrapping from her maimed foot. She then lowered her into the water. The girl squeaked at the chill and the brisk current, then laughed. She seemed untroubled by being virtually naked in front of either the woman or the Cole boy.

An uninhibited little hussy, Steelshanks decided. Most likely the Cole lad is already enamoured of her, spending all day together in the closed wagon. He glanced at the boy and wasn't surprised to see him staring with poorly disguised fascination at the near-naked girl bathing not five feet away. While the two females chatted, the boy looked struck dumb and barely spoke, giving only a self-conscious smile when the girl directed a question to him.

Steelshanks knew of the boy's pronounced stutter and general reluctance to speak at all, to anyone, because of it. But even apart from this, his shyness around the girl was noted. The boy appears quite smitten.

Steelshanks had no more reason to stay and watch longer, having come to the conclusion that the girl was freely-natured and the boy was infatuated, but he lingered anyway. There was something entrancing in the easy way the girl bent to splash water over her shoulders, the lithe grace of her movements as she leant backwards on her hands to rinse her hair. She was obviously a person who had spent her life in outdoor pursuits, as shown by her lean physique, and all-over olive skin colour. Even on her breasts, Steelshanks noticed, as the clear droplets of water turned her slip translucent. Either she sun-bakes topless or it is her natural hue. Steelshanks could feel himself grow hotter as he watched, and forced himself to turn away. Little harlot. Your face may be disfigured and hidden by bandages, but with a body like that you would not want for male attention. You could have a face like a mule and many a man would pay a lot of gold for that to warm their blankets, even for an hour. Steelshanks' desire for gold being greater than any of his physical desires, this last thought pleased him greatly as he made his way back to the camp.

Steelshank's next move was to question all his men as to any prior knowledge of the girl. It didn't take long to discover that she had apparently been a delivery person of sorts, although Noble seats such as the Dreadfort and Harrenhal had not been included in her custom. The illegal nature of most of her deliveries made them more often to be to other common-folk, and those unlikely to report her.

While intriguing, it was not really information that was particularly helpful to Steelshanks, in determining why exactly Jaime Lannister was acting as he was. It was hardly likely that her proclivity to petty crime was what interested him. Her physical charms didn't explain it, either. If rumours were true, Jaime had no need or care of that. His own sister's charms were reportedly all he cared for. Not that Steelshanks gave a rat's arse about the Lannister's odd cravings, from a moral perspective.

Steelshanks' enthusiasm for his self-appointed detective work waned by mid-afternoon, with hardly half his men questioned. Only two claimed to have actually seen the girl before, and none knew anything beyond that she was a trader with flexible values. He'd almost decided to leave the mystery unsolved, when he asked the question to one of the Cooks and got a bite.

'Yeah, I know the Delivery Girl,' the man said, not looking up from peeling the pile of turnips that sat in front of him in a basket. 'Used to unload her goods ev'ry month or so at the Capital when I worked there for Baker Dallyn, two years ago.'

'What do you know of her?' Steelshanks asked. 'Name? Age? History with the Noble houses? Family? Background? Anything?'

'None o' that. I only ever seen her out and about a cuppla times, y'know? Maybe talked to 'er once or twice. She said she could get me this ingredient we was thinking of using in our cakes. Made anyone who had a bite develop such a craving for it, that they would be desired to return every day for more o' the same. I left the Bakery soon after that, so I don't know if she ever did supply it. But I heard Baker Dallyn is now fair making a killing with them cakes.'

Steelshanks turned away, disappointed to just hear more of the same tales.

'I only paid attention to her that one day, because of her muckin' around with the jewels,' the Cook added.

'What jewels?' Steelshanks asked, pausing.

'The choker of jewels she were wearin'. I presume it belonged to one of her customers, but she were playing around with it, taking the piss, like. Talkin' posh. She's wearing the jewels, see, and prancin' around in some tart's borrowed dress. Normally she was all, wearing boy's clothes and the like, and her hair in braids or somethin', all covered up with a hood. But this day she had pinned it up in a style like all the Southern Ladies wear, and she was actin' the fool with this young apprentice from Mott's smithy. Anyhow,' the Cook went on, scrubbing the peeled turnips in a bowl of water, 'The two of 'em was being like the Royals, y'know? For a laugh. He were calling her 'Your Grace,' and bowing and kissing her skirt, and everyone around were laughing and lovin' it. 'Cause with her hair up and the jewels and the dress, that Delivery Girl were the spitting image of her.'

'Of who?' Steelshanks still wasn't quite clear on the point of this story.

'The Queen, o'course,' the Cook said. 'She were the spittin' fucking image of the Queen.'

Steelshanks almost laughed out loud at the obviousness of it. Well, well, well, Kingslayer. It seems there is more to the story after all. 'Just travelling companions' my arse.