Bronn leaned lazily back against the door, and appraised the small room. 'Nice place they put you up in. Does it come with room service?'

'Yeah. Royalty even drop in,' the girl said. Her face was smeared with dust, and her voice raspy, as if she'd been screaming for hours. Bronn recognised her immediately, of course. She was not the sort of person you forgot in a hurry.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He wondered where her savage horse was. Dead probably. Wouldn't abide being apart from her for a minute, and had an unfortunate habit of attacking anyone that got in the way. He wondered if she had been screaming. Getting that eye injury can't have been a pleasant experience. Finally, he wondered what in seven hells could have happened to the Nobility-shy, authority-avoiding, reclusive delivery girl he used to know, to bring her to this. Locked up in the Red Keep, and dangerous enough to the Queen to have her pay for her death.

And luckily for the wench, valuable enough to Lord Tyrion Lannister to have him pay more to save her. Funny how life turns out, sometimes.

'Aint seen you in a while.' Bronn drawled. 'Almost didn't recognise you.'

'I washed my hair and I'm in a dress. What of it?'

'Yeah. You grew up, too, by the looks.' He couldn't help but notice her new curves. She used to be such a skinny little thing, like a boy. 'But whatever you done; I don't think it was a real good idea to be having that face 'round these parts. It's just gone and rubbed certain folks up the wrong way.'

'What d'ya propose I do with it? It's my fucking face.' She scowled, coughed.

'You coulda dirtied it up a bit. Covered up some of that pretty.'

'Pretty? Ha.' She jabbed a finger at her eye. 'Have you missed this, pray?'

'Scars are sexy,' Bronn said, keeping his expression neutral even as hers twisted with disbelief.

'I walk with a limp, too,' she told him, standing up and demonstrating a few steps forwards and back. Then she turned and fixed him with a familiar childish glare, as she'd done years ago when she was a kid and anyone had dared to contradict her. She didn't even pretend to look frightened. She aint changed that much, he thought. Still fucking difficult.

He shrugged. 'Makes yer bum wiggle.'

'I'm glad you think this is all an improvement. Should've maimed myself years ago. So.' She kept staring at him, but he said nothing. 'You're here to do me in, huh?'

He inclined his head, nodded. You could at least try and look worried, girl. I'm standing here with a weapon and a reputation, and you can't even make an effort to take me seriously.

'Do you have any water at least?' she sighed. 'I'm dying of thirst.'

He couldn't help a grin sliding across his face at that. 'Can't have that can we? How would I kill you then?'

'That's right. You couldn't. So, do you?'

'Tell you what. I ain't got none on me, but there's a cart waiting outside. All you gotta do is be dead for a half hour, and once I get you outta here we'll get all the water you like. Fuck it, we'll have wine.'

She grinned too, and he could see her visibly relax. Maybe she really was worried. 'Thought you meant to kill me?'

He crooked a finger at her. 'C'mere.' She walked up to him, frowning. 'Hold out your arm.'

She held it out, unafraid. 'Is this going to hurt?'

'Not at all,' he said, taking her wrist in a firm grip. Of course it would, but he needed her to be still. With one smooth stroke he drew his dirk diagonally across her forearm, and for a second her skin gaped like a mouth before blood welled and spilled along the line like a split gourd.

The girl's arm jerked reflexively, but Bronn held tight and turned it over, letting the drops run off her wrist and splatter to the floor. Neither of them spoke, just watched the red splashes patterning on the stone like watercolour roses. After a minute the flow eased, and he shook her hand a little, then let go. She pressed the arm against her side and winced.

'No, didn't hurt at all,' she snipped, rather ungraciously he thought.

'Would you rather it was your throat?'

'The Queen paid you to kill me, didn't she.'

'She did, and I have. Now get yer dead self in the cart outside before I change my mind and leave you here.'

She didn't need to be told twice. Slipping out the door as Bronn held it open for her, she blinked for a moment in the early light and took a deep breath. Stumbled slightly. He helped her up onto the covered wagon, which the Queen had arranged as a way for him to dispose of the body, then stepped back. His eyes scanned up and down the deserted laneway. 'Under the canvas, make it snappy.'

The girl lifted the edge of the heavy material and immediately recoiled. 'What the fuck is...?'

'Dead bodies, what you think? Pigs, a horse, chickens... maybe an urchin or two in there. Some Dornish revellers partied a bit too hard. Busy night, for corpses. Now c'mon, no time to be squeamish.' He motioned with his chin, arms crossed.

The girl grimaced and crawled on top of the heaped cadavers. A couple of bloated flies buzzed and resettled. She wriggled down until she was lying flat, sandwiched between a week-old pig and a headless man. Bronn winked. 'Comfy?'

'Never been more so,' she assured him.

'Not a peep from you til we get out.'

She nodded.

'Good. Hold yer nose.' Bronn dropped the sheet and tucked it under. Threw a pile of sacks across the material to weigh it down, then he went around to the driver's seat. He swung himself up and clicked the horse on.

The outer wards were nowhere near as crowded as earlier, most people having headed for the Sept to take up vantage positions for the King and his new bride as they emerged. Bronn steered around the nearly empty pavilions, and detritus of last night's revelry. At the gates, a brief conversation. The guards knew he shouldn't be driving the undertaker's cart, but they must've been appraised by the Queen that he'd be coming through, because they had no questions. As Bronn passed under the portcullis, he had to veer his cart sideways to avoid a horse and rider galloping through in the opposite direction. 'Mind your fucking wagon!' the man shouted, and Bronn turned his head to hide his face. Ser Jaime Lannister. No need to complicate things.

Out in the streets of the Capital, Bronn let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. So far, so good. Maybe I can please everybody yet. The Queen thinks the girl's dead and disposed of... who's to tell her she aint? The horse jogged down the street of Seeds towards Cobbler's Square. The wheels creaked and bounced on the cobblestones. In the square, a few solitary traders were setting up their stalls in preparation for the afternoon's festivities. Bronn reined in a good distance from them, and got down.

The girl lay still amongst the bodies with her eyes closed as he lifted the covering. The scar on her face added to the effect, she did make a very convincing corpse. He wrinkled his nose. Ugh. That really is putrid. 'Having fun with your new friends? Up.'

She opened her eyes and scrambled out. Bronn grabbed her arm and held her hidden beside him, as he tugged on the headless man's jacket, dragged the breeches from the stiff legs. 'Get that dress off and put these on,' he ordered. Without hesitation, the girl pulled off her green dress as if relieved to be rid of it, balled it up, and lobbed it onto the bodies. Bronn gaped a little at her bare breasts, then forced his mouth to close. Always was uninhibited. Fuck me.

The girl dressed in the dead man's clothes, which were at least three sizes too big for her but she held them on with a belt sashed tight around her waist. Then she used a strip of hessian torn from one of the sacks to tie back her hair. Flipped up the hood, and was lost in the shadows of it.

Bronn smiled. 'You look like a filthy beggar.'

Her teeth flashed in the hood. 'Good.'

'Come on, let's go. The Queen don't like vagrants hanging around the Capital, causing trouble.' Bronn took her elbow to guide her, but she leaned back into the wagon and grabbed her black bag that had been tucked down the side. Then she let him walk her over to a stone bench set into the wall, where a saddled and bridled white horse, streaked with mud, stood with its head down.

'Can I get some water now?' the girl whined. Bronn gave her a push toward the bench. 'He'll have some for you,' he said. The girl took two steps and stopped when she saw the small figure of a man sitting in the shade.

'Who are you?' she asked suspiciously.

The dwarf looked up at Bronn and feigned disappointment. 'Did you not tell her who was meeting her here? I'm hurt, Bronn. I would at least like to take credit for saving a peasant's life, considering how rarely I do it. And especially considering how personally risky this venture is.'

Bronn chuckled. 'She wouldn'ta known you, anyways. She ain't well versed in who's who amongst you lot.'

'Well, that's refreshing,' Tyrion said. 'An uneducated peasant, my favourite.'

'Are you the Imp?' the girl asked, in a distasteful tone of voice Bronn knew would cause the dwarf to bristle.

'Yes I am, sweetling. And you must be the whore,' Tyrion countered.

'I'm no whore. I'm a butcher's daughter.'

'Let's not quibble over titles. I don't have much time before I need to be back by my wife and sister's side for King Joffrey's wedding feast, an hour's hence. They think I'm a little ill-disposed, but there's only so long a shit can take. And dear Joffrey will be devastated if I were to miss any of his big day.'

The girl made a snorting sound. 'Did he get all his presents yet?'

'I believe so,' Tyrion replied, thoughtfully. 'He didn't like mine too much, which is a shame.'

The girl laughed and the hood fell back as her chin lifted. 'Maybe he'll like the others.'

Bronn could see Tyrion staring with fascination at the girl's face, revealed in the morning light. The dwarf tipped his head to one side and rested one finger on his chin as he studied her. 'Interesting,' he said, at last.

'What's so interesting? My scar?' the girl said, annoyed. 'Like you can talk.'

'No, not your scar. Although it is impressive; not quite up to the standard of mine but we can't all be so lucky. No, I was just noticing your resemblance to my dear sister. Which is... interesting.'

'What resemblance?'

'It makes me take an instant dislike to you, I must say.'

'I'm nothing like that fucking evil bitch!' the girl snapped with vehemence.

'Well, that response does make me like you a little more. And your face certainly goes some way toward explaining... reasons. Behind certain family member's recent... irrational behaviour. Your being a whore, and crippled, also counts in your favour, as I've always had a soft spot for those things. But let's not dwell on me, as I said, time is short. Bronn!'

'Yes M'Lord?'

'Can you transport me back to the Keep for the feast on your... cart?'

'Yeah. I'll get you back. You may not smell so good by the time we get there, though.'

'Even better, I'll say it's my bowel problem. Now you... what's your name, girl?'

Bronn interrupted before the girl could be rude again. 'She don't give her name out to strangers, as a general rule.'

Tyrion sighed. 'I see. Uneducated and ungrateful with it. I'm so glad I decided to play the hero here. My bloody brother owes me a lot more than 500 gold coins for this.'

At the mention of his brother, Bronn noticed the girl's defensive expression soften. She looked hopeful and yearning, desperate and sad, all at once. Her mouth opened and Bronn wondered if she was going to be stupid enough to ask if she could see him, but she must've realised how impossible that was, so she just said quietly, 'Jaime.' On her lips, the name sounded like a prayer.

'Yes. My brother. He told me last night that he owed you a debt, so I'm honouring it for him. While he... gallivants around the city on a fool's mission. I have realised that you're trouble, girl. Trouble I don't need, trouble my sister doesn't need, and trouble my brother, despite what he thinks at the moment, definitely doesn't need. Not that I care about my sister, in fact I am enjoying deceiving her very much, but I am rather fond of my brother. To my endless detriment.'

'Jaime,' the girl said again, this time barely louder than a whisper.

'It's better this way,' Tyrion said, briskly. 'At least you're alive. Which I've always found to be beneficial. Now, off you go.'

The girl looked confused. Tyrion pointed at the white horse nearby. 'Your steed awaits. And in the saddlebags, 500 gold coins. I believe that was the deal you made?'

'Yes but, but... how?'

'Luckily I'm Master of Coin. A tedious job, but it does have its perks. There's a full water flask and some food in there, too. Hurry up girl, before I begin to dislike you again.'

The girl turned without another word and started towards the horse, hobbling on the uneven stones. Bronn looked down at Tyrion and smirked. 'Ain't that your father's horse?'

'That muddy old thing?'

'Yep. The mud you smeared on it don't do much to disguise it.'

The dwarf looked affronted. 'Now why would I give a commoner my father's best war horse? Lord Tywin Lannister is always a champion of the small folk, and benevolent towards whores everywhere, besides. Flogging and raping whores for minor transgressions would never cross his mind. It would be unjust in the extreme for me to give away his horse to a poor wretch, when he's done so much for the poor wretches of the world already.'

Bronn listened to this speech with patient cynicism. 'Right you are then. Just looks a hell of a lot like your father's war horse.'

'Well, it can hardly be. I believe my father's war horse ran away from the stables this morning. No one has seen it anywhere. Funny how a horse can just disappear like that.' Tyrion's eyes widened in innocence.

'Funny,' Bronn agreed. They watched the girl as she drank deeply from the water flask, wiped her mouth, then gathered up the horse's reins. 'You think she can get on, with that limp she's got?' Tyrion wondered.

'Trust me. She were born on a horse, that one,' Bronn said. 'Mother were a horse savage, you know.'

'Really? And her father a butcher, she said?'

The girl had mounted and was riding the great white stallion towards the gates. With her hood back in place and her baggy clothes, the guards showed no interest at her approach.

'Nah,' Bronn shook his head. 'She took him to be, but that butcher weren't her father. No way known. She looked nothing like her brother or sister. You ask me, someone else got in there, for that one.'

'Who?' Tyrion wanted to know.

'Her mother were attractive, and travelled around a lot, too. Coulda been anyone. Coulda been your Lord father himself for all I know,' Bronn shrugged.

'You do seem well acquainted with her. What's her name?'

Bronn laughed, then cleared his throat. 'Ivezhzheana,' he pronounced, the consonants low and guttural.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure that's her name, or are you not feeling well?'

'If I were gonna make up a name, you think I wouldn't have chosen one a bit easier to say? Means 'wild and beautiful', I believe. Or... 'don't touch my goat.' One or the other.'

Tyrion was suddenly impatient and hopped off the bench. 'Enough of the wild girl. Let's get back before my sister pitches a holy fit. She wasn't too keen on Jaime's absence at the ceremony, she'll be even less keen if neither of us are there for the feast.'

Bronn considered telling Tyrion he'd passed Jaime entering the Red Keep, as he himself had been leaving it, but decided not to bother. The Lannister brothers would catch up soon enough, and then it was entirely Tyrion's business to tell Jaime all, part, or any, of what actually happened this morning. Bronn would get gold in his pocket from the Queen and Tyrion both, and, in the end, that was really all that mattered.