Kettleblack searched with the other two Kingsguard men for over an hour. Closer to two, before they called it off. Any later in the day and the Queen would notice and want to know why they weren't at their daily positions, and Jaime had specifically said it was none of her concern and that there was no need for her to know.

But she knows more than y' think, Kingslayer. More than you, least ways.

In the Round room, Jaime looked tired. 'She must be somewhere. Why haven't you found her?'

Swann spoke for the three of them. 'We've looked in all the outer wards, around all the outbuildings and staff quarters, gone through guest's rooms. And some of the Tyrell's weren't too happy about us barging in on them, neither. So unless you want us to search through the inner Keep..?'

'No. That won't be necessary.' Jaime heaved a sigh and rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. On the table top, his hands opened and closed restlessly, as if they needed something in them. A sword handle. A knife. Someone's throat.

'Near every one of the Dornish and their servants have been questioned, but they hadn't noticed anyone... anyone who wasn't one of their own party, or anyone at all who was wearing a green dress with white pattern...'

Jaime closed his eyes.

'...we asked questions of most of the royal staff and servants without... well, we were as discreet as we could be... without...'

'Fuck,' Jaime interrupted Swann's account. He sat up abruptly. 'This is impossible.' His eyes swept the room like a cold wind. 'She's one girl, why can't we find her. I don't understand.'

'I'm sure we'll find her eventually, Ser,'

'No, eventually isn't good enough. I need her found now, before anything happens to her.'

'Nothing's probably happened, she's, well, maybe she's with someone.'

'Who would she be with?' Jaime's already cutting tone sharpened.

'I don't know, Ser,' Swann said, nervously.

'She probably with some Dornishman down an alley,' Kettleblack volunteered. 'Learnin' all about the wonders of his Sunspear.' Swann smiled at this play on the Capital of Dorne, and then turned away to hide it.

Jaime's jaw ticked and he pinned Kettleblack with an icy stare. But it didn't affect Kettleblack. He was contentedly humming inside, secure in the knowledge that he had what Jaime wanted so badly. It was a nice warm feeling, superiority.

'I hope she isn't, 'Jaime warned. 'It would be rather incompetent of you to miss something as obvious as two people fucking in an alley, wouldn't it?'

Kettleblack shrugged. 'Where there's a will there's a way. And there's no will quite so compelling to a Dornish lad as sampling the local goods. Speakin' from experience with the local goods, them serving wenches can find a way in a -'

Jaime leaned swiftly across the table and grabbed the buckle of Kettleblack's white cloak, where it fastened beneath his neck. The strength in the grip was daunting, and Jaime's voice when he spoke was deathly serious. 'If you don't curb your tongue I will cut it out.' Everyone at the table froze. This was no idle threat, just hard fact.

'Jesting is all, Ser.' Kettleblack swallowed, caught unawares by the murderous sincerity in the Kingslayer's eyes. Don't push your luck, he reminded himself. It's fun to stir the pot, but the man looks dead keen to crush someone's skull between his fists. He must really have it bad.

Jaime released his grip and sat back. 'You're all dismissed,' he said, curt.

The three Kingsguard men stood up from their seats and filed out. Kettleblack resisted the urge to loosen his cloak where it remained bunched tight under his chin, and made a point not to hurry as he walked. He hooked a thumb in his sword belt. Who is fuckin' Jaime Lannister, to make an arse o' me in front of my peers? If I weren't already laughing at him behind his back I'd be mightily pissed.

Kettleblack chanced a quick look behind him as he reached the door to the room, and saw Jaime was still upright in his chair, staring into space. On his face was such raw pain and anguish that Kettleblack blinked in surprise, unsure he'd seen right. It was as if someone had reached into the sitting man's chest, pulled out his heart and now held it bloody and dripping out in front of his eyes.

Kettleblack turned away, disturbed, feeling like a peeping tom who'd accidentally spied on something so intimate he couldn't ever speak of it to anyone.

'Stew? Is that all she's getting?' Kettleblack lounged back in the seat opposite Cersei, grinning at the food she presented to him. He plucked a bone from the brownish gruel, and popped it between his teeth.

'You said she was a peasant, I'm not sure what you expect they eat?' The Queen's smile was as insincere as it always was.

'Well you shouldn'ta gone t' the trouble. Does she get any wine with it?' He laughed amiably. 'Never mind.'

Cersei hovered on the cushion's edge, trying as always to look fully in control of herself, but having consumed over a cask of wine by midday already, failing rather more than usual. She looked as though she wanted to speak but couldn't find the right words.

'Well, I'll be taking this down t' the girl, then,' Kettleblack said, unbending his tall frame in preparation for rising to his feet. Cersei arranged her face into a slightly curious but nonchalant expression.

'This girl. She travelled with Jaime and... and Qyburn said they, they... well anyway.' Cersei fluttered her pale hand as if the details were trifling. A hesitation. 'Qyburn said she was... pretty? In a common sort of way, I'm sure. ' She pulled a face, as if it really wasn't the slightest important.

What does she want me to do, say the wench is ugly? Kettleblack knew full well the Queen was fishing for reassurance, but it was more amusing for him to fan her insecurities.

'Aye, she ain't bad,' he said, with an exaggerated leer.

'As Qyburn said. Pretty.' Cersei pronounced the word with such spite that it may as well have been the direst insult. 'Young, I take it? Youth has its own fleeting bloom.'

'Yeah. Young,' he agreed. Cersei stared at him but he just sucked on the bone and grinned back.

Finally she sighed. 'It's just that I find it extremely hard to believe that Jaime is... infatuated with this thing. Qyburn said he was... very attentive to her, always with her, fawning over her...' Cersei's face grew more and more despairing as she went on, before she caught herself and snorted a laugh. 'I mean it's all so ridiculous. Jaime would never be interested in someone like that... that way. Qyburn, I'm sure he means well, to come and tell me himself, he must have had such qualms about the whole thing but... well, really. Jaime just feels pity for cripples and poor folk sometimes. He was definitely not himself last night when he... he wasn't at all himself. Quite... unlike him. It's clear now though, he holds himself responsible for this thing's misfortunes, and is feeling guilty.' As if realising she'd let her words run away from her, the Queen stopped. Although it looked as though she still had a lot more to say.

'That'd be it,' Kettleblack said, with a lazy shrug. 'I find meself feeling responsible for pretty girls all the time, an' all.'

'Your insinuations are uncalled for,' Cersei snapped. 'It's bad enough Qyburn being mistaken about such a thing, without your tasteless japes. Please refrain from them, or you'll not be on my Kingsguard much longer.'

'Yes Y'Grace,' he smirked.

Cersei stood up and walked to the window, pausing only long enough to glance irritably outside as if the mild sunny day were mocking her with its pleasantness, before pacing back. The train of her gown swirled as she turned. It was low-cut and corseted, the skirt full and glittering with lines of inlaid gems, the long sleeves almost reaching the floor. The effect was majestic, imposing. She's a passionate woman, Kettleblack thought, his groin stirring. He shifted his position.

Cersei clasped her fingers together to stop them fidgeting. 'The last thing I need is this kind of distraction. I'm up to my neck in demands and duties as it is. Jaime coming back now and disrupting things like this is hugely inconvenient, especially if he doesn't intend to help me organise this wedding. I'm meant to be supervising the walk-through for the servers right now, and then I have the seating details to attend to. And into all this he returns, bringing back some stupid little, some conniving little... little slut,' Cersei struggled to keep her tone neutral. 'I mean what could he possibly be thinking with this... this lunacy?

'Well, he's probably thinking with his -'

'Enough! Hold your tongue!' Cersei rounded on him, green eyes flashing. Kettleblack's heart beat faster. Oh but I do love it when she gets roused. Her cheeks all flushed, and them spitfire eyes. Come on then, my sweet. Let me have it.

But she said nothing more, just trembled and worried her hands together.

'I'll be going then,' Kettleblack said after a longish silence. He stood up, took the tray. Cersei nodded, her mouth twitching. The rage had left her and she looked small and deflated in her wide-sleeved, ornate gown. Like a child playing dress-ups.

She did look uncannily like her. Something he hadn't told the Queen, as yet. A juicy tidbit he could drop into a conversation later maybe, if he wanted to provoke a reaction. Qyburn hadn't mentioned it either as far as he knew; maybe the old goat's eyesight was going the way of his hair. Maybe the old lech wants to keep that information to himself, along with whatever else he's planning.

Kettleblack had noticed the weird similarity in the girl straight off. When he'd walked into Qyburn's room early that morning he'd been lost for words, which was unheard of for a smooth-talker like himself. Totally taken aback. The girl had turned to face him and he saw she had a recent and impressive-looking scar curving like a scythe imprint above one cheek, but then her apricot-coloured hair fell in a thick wave to cover it. All he saw after that was the same eyes, same lips, same cheeks; it was startling. I mean, she's younger, her skin colour's different, her hair a different shade but... well, fuck.

The Queen's regal features and superb bone structure on a commoner...? Gods be good, the incongruity was delicious. Like seeing a shiny rare jewel in a pile of pig's muck; you can't really believe it's there, and that no-one has snatched it up yet.

He thought it all over again as the girl stood in front of him now, watching him with unfriendly eyes as he set the food tray down on the bench. Unfriendly, perfectly almond-shaped eyes, with dark lashes. Bedroom eyes. Oh, my sweet. As soon as she opened her mouth though, the illusion of unattainable beauty was somewhat dampened.

'What are you looking at, fuckwit?' she said, in an accent straight from the lowliest village shack. Kettleblack laughed inside. Even his mum sounded classier than this little wench. And that was saying something.

'You, honey,' he charmed, with his best lop-sided smile. Girls usually loved the way one side of his mouth tilted up, they said it was cheeky. Irresistible. How come I never seen this one before? he mused. If she's been out on the road as Qyburn says, well I been out on the road myself for years. Where has this tasty morsel been all my life?

'Where's Jaime?' the girl glowered, hands on hips. She stood with legs planted apart, causing the dress to pull tight around her hips in a distracting manner, and under the long hem she appeared to be wearing dirty old black boots. They matched the dirty black bag she kept slung over her neck. Kettleblack didn't know what to make of her. But that only made him more interested.

I don't think she knows how to wear a dress properly. She don't seem to be using her feminine wiles on me at all, to try and get herself out of here. He pondered if she even knew what she looked like. She probably don't look like this when she's out on the road. She probably looks like a thousand other dirty little delivery boys in grubby old coats and hoods two sizes too big for them. Who could tell under all the dirt what they ever looked like.

So no flirty come-ons from this one, then. Kettleblack was disappointed. Although her hostility was in itself exciting. And the way she stalked about the room with no thought to how that damn dress outlined every bounce of her breasts... he could feel his breeches tightening. Between the Queen and this one he was going to explode.

The wench may not be an obvious seductress, but she had snared the Kingslayer, according to Qyburn, and that was no easy task. He'd give her credit for that one. Bit of a coup. Seeing as good old Ser Jaime had never apparently been the type to play around. Ever. Which Kettleblack had always found a bit fucking odd, if you asked him. Something's wrong with a man who don't take advantage of his position and handsome face to get his cock wet every now and then.

But turns out the Kingslayer was less a paragon of restraint than he'd pegged him as. Being locked up in some gods-forsaken Northern cage for close to a year would mess with anyone's head, Kettleblack supposed. Being away from all your normal comforts, only yourself and some nubile young tart prancing about? Sure and it only takes a moment of letting your guard down, a bit of unintentional body contact and all of a sudden, your cock takes over. No matter what your vows or your morals, who's at home waiting for you. Before you know it, you're pumping your bastard up into some slut's belly, and then a lifetime of taking responsibility for it. Lord knows, Kettleblack knew all about that. Minus the taking responsibility part, of course.

'Ser Jaime is currently elsewise occupied. He won't be seein' you today,' was what he said to the girl. Much to her evident disgust. She scowled in half a dozen different ways and stamped around the small room, while he waited, enjoying the show. She had a limp, and the soft swell of flesh above her bodice jiggled with each step. His hands itched to squeeze it. A fiery little slattern, I bet you'd be a handful. More than a handful. I wouldn't mind some scratches from you, honey. I wouldn't mind you putting up a bit of a fight, it would make the reward at the end all the sweeter...

Deep in his reverie, Kettleblack was ill-prepared for the speed in which the girl snatched up the food tray and hurled it as his head. He dodged to one side but the sharp edge caught his brow and hot stew splashed across his white cloak. For an instant anger flared in him, and it must have shown on his face, because the girl laughed.

Laugh at me, would you slut? Kettleblack imagined himself back-handing the glee off her face, then ripping off that infuriating green dress. You wouldn't find my cock so funny, I don't think.

He collected himself and rubbed his eyebrow. I'll have to give you credit for being a dab shot with a full tray of food, too, he admitted wryly to himself. It was fairly amusing, when he thought about it. 'You're quite the feisty one, aren't you,' he said.

'I want to see Jaime! Have you even spoken to him? Does he know I'm here?' she snarled. Her fists clenched and through her full lips her teeth partly bared. She looked like a proper savage, and the prospect of wrestling her into submission now seemed fraught with real risk. Kettleblack revised his fantasies to include some kind of restraining device. I mights need tie her up first, for safety's sake.

'Honey, I was talkin' to him just before. Ser Jaime's very busy right now, all of 'em are. Your chuckin' your food around ain't gonna help the time go no faster.'

'I don't like it in here, it's suffocating,' she complained. 'Tell Jaime I want out. Out of... I want out of the Red Keep.'

'Now, now. He only wants to see y' safe. Too many people out there, would take advantage of the likes o' you.' This ain't even a lie. That dress wouldn't last five minutes outside the Red Keep.

'Tell Jaime I need to see him. Please,' the girl said. Her tone had lost all its antipathy, and the corner of her lip quivered. Kettleblack felt sorry for her. Only a youngster really. None too bright. No fuckin' idea about the Kingslayer or his family, or that old pervert Qyburn. Oh well, she'll learn soon enough. Or not. None o' my business really, any of it.

He stooped to pick up the tray, shook it to get rid of the last drops of broth, and flicked stew remnants off his cloak. 'I'll let him know, honey, ' he said. 'Don't worry. I'm sure he'll come sort y' out soon enough.' And if not him, then someone will. So either way, you'll be sorted out.

He turned sideways and opened the door with the key, keeping one eye on the girl in case she tried to run past. But she just stared at the floor with her hands limp by her sides, misery etched on her face. She looked very frightened and very young, and Kettleblack unexpectedly had the urge to simply put his arms around her and comfort her. Just a hug, a small human kindness. For a brief instant, he even considered opening the door wide and saying Go for your fucking life, kid. But of course he didn't do any of that, and by the time he'd relocked the door behind him and started strolling across the yard, the momentary compassion had faded so completely he barely remembered thinking it.

A.N: This chapter is dedicated to Neko for the astute observations about Jaime's weakness in the first review. I so laughed.