Ivvy rode out of KingsLanding with 500 gold coins and a white warhorse. Her arm stung where Bronn's blade had sliced it, and her empty stomach rolled and clenched, but her head was clear.

What will 500 gold coins buy? A new life for me? A new life for my sister and her children?

It was more than she'd expected, yesterday. Maybe more than she deserved. All the decisions she'd made had led her right on up to death's door. Step-by-step, she saw that now, each ill-considered choice another move closer to her demise. Like a fated path laid out for her and she had followed it. Ever since she'd first kissed Jaime, and believed herself to be invincible. Believed she could do whatever she wanted, have whoever she wanted, and no-one could stop her. Maybe ever since she'd first laid eyes on him sitting there by the roadside, and instead of continuing on her way as she should have done, she'd brazenly gone on up and talked to him.

You aren't invincible. You can't do whatever you want. You can't have whoever you want. Somethings can never be yours, no matter how much that hurts.

But you do have a life at least, she reminded herself. A life far from KingsLanding. She could never go back, she knew that much. But as the Imp had said, being alive had benefits.

I have a life, far from Jaime. But don't think about Jaime.

She urged the charger into a brisk trot, along the road heading North. He responded immediately to the merest brush of her heels. The air was fresh and cool, with a sharp breeze biting at her bare hands. Behind her, the sprawling silhouette of the Capital gradually receded. The noise and odours faded, the road became less crowded. She enjoyed being on the back of a horse again; the rise and fall of his swinging gait, the steady clop of iron shoes. Dodging between loaded wagons and barrows, the weak sun glittering on the melting muddy frost heaped in the ditches. It felt good. Fuck, it felt great.

Despite shaking with nerves as she'd ridden through the gates, her palms slick with sweat on the reins, the guards had barely glanced in her direction. After having resigned herself to the certainty of dying, it seemed too simple to now be free. But, despite everything, here she was. Each breath she inhaled to her lungs, mingled as it was with the dust and manure kicked up by passing traffic, tasted sweeter than any she'd drawn before. Every rocking surge of the stallion's strides carrying her further away from KingsLanding felt like a blessing.

Further away from Jaime. But don't think about Jaime.

She wondered if the Queen would be feeling victorious now. Watching her son, King Joffrey, at his wedding feast, Jaime by her side.

You'll think you've won. You'll think I am dead, and you have your son and your brother both.

But not for long.

Ivvy smiled.

I don't have Jaime. Or my brother. But maybe... She thought of the now ever-present nausea that had settled in her guts, the way even the smell of food made her sick... maybe one day soon I'll have a son. Or daughter. A little blonde daughter, with green eyes.

Green eyes, like the Queen. Blonde hair, like Joffrey. But without the black rot inside of them. So, Queen. Maybe we're even. You took my brother away from me, and I took your child. I gave you back your brother, but not before he gave me a child.

There was a symmetry to it that pleased her. Even as the memories of Jaime came crowding in, his eyes, his hands, the feel of him, his voice, his laugh; Ivvy blinked hot tears from her eyes and shook her head to focus, but even so... Even so. She could almost see past the pain and find the rightness in it.

500 gold coins. Maybe I'll call into RedHollow on my way home. See how the poacher's kids are doing. She thought of the poacher lying on his back, his white eyes filling with rain. He died for a reward that would have helped him raise them. Maybe now I can help them.

And Callem, maybe he would be there too. Cautious, shy, sensible Cal, who'd got mixed up in something beyond his control. Ivvy felt a warmth spread through her at the thought of Callem. I wonder how you're coping at your father's smithy business, with only one hand? Do the horses stand still for you to shoe them? I wonder if you ever feel as though something is missing in your life? Something or someone. Like a lame, half-blind girl, who is good with horses, and bad at most everything else?

She reached down and scratched the stallion's neck. His crest was hard and smooth, but he didn't even twitch an ear as she stroked him, just continued on ahead without pause. It made Ivvy remember how much Sooty had loved a scratch, the faces she had pulled in enjoyment. Ivvy sat back up in the saddle, and felt sad.

Ahead of her around a serpentine bend was a market set back off the highway, in an area of trampled grass. Horses with spotted coats shifted their big, feathered hooves and shook their ratty manes, while dogs with ribs like palings slunk between the wheels. The carts parked in a semi-circle were high-sided, covered with material, keeping the goods in them hidden from prying gazes.

Ivvy knew this place. She knew the sly-eyed vendors who peddled their banned wares here, who sold services that were frowned on inside the Capital. She knew they could pack up and clear the entire area in less time than it took a soldier or law-man to travel from one bend in the road to the other. She knew, because for many years she had also sold her goods and services here. The whiff of illicit dealings, the seedy undercurrent of forbidden trade... it was all so reassuringly familiar.

She turned her horse towards the market. The gypsy horses eyed the stallion as he approached, flicking their ears. A tan dog yipped and danced around his legs, nipping at the air. The people manning the stalls slid their eyes towards her, probably noticing the quality of her horse compared to theirs, then turned away. It was as if they acknowledged she was one of them. The horse was not, presumably stolen or otherwise ill-gained, but she was. Ivvy rode past, as light rain began to spit in her face.

A skinny child appeared suddenly from behind a tree like a wraith, dragging a goat by a rope around its neck. The stallion didn't react to any of the distractions, just continued obediently on until Ivvy halted him at the back of the parked vehicles, behind a sloping windbreak made of logs and greased canvas. One edge of the material was loose and snapped in the wind, with a sound like a whip cracking.

The stallion has no initiative, Ivvy realised, as her mount stood silently without moving a hoof. Sooty would be snorting, wary of the sounds and the sights, but this horse just responds to my commands without thought. He doesn't turn towards noises to investigate, he doesn't spook or lay back his ears. He doesn't enjoy scratches and he doesn't have an opinion. He simply does what he's told, and no more.

Ivvy realised what was troubling her most about the horse. Not only was he clearly an animal much too well-bred for a peasant, and therefore bound to arouse suspicion, but he was too well-trained. In a fight, he would wait for orders, not use his smarts. He would never alert her to dangers she couldn't see. An enemy could raise a sword to cut off this stallion's head, and he wouldn't move unless she told him to. If this was what the King's family considered a great warhorse, then no wonder they've all been holed up in KingsLanding, waiting for the war to end.

Ivvy sighed, squinting into the increasing drizzle. The little gypsy girl with the goat had followed her around to the back of the market and was now staring at her. Ivvy stared back. The goat had horns shaped like snakes and yellow eyes. The kid looked around eight or nine but may have been older. She had a deformity in her face that made her mouth skew oddly, her teeth jut out. But she didn't appear afraid of strangers. With a finger made entirely of dirt she pointed at Ivvy's white stallion and lisped, 'Whath hith name?'

Ivvy shrugged. 'He doesn't have one.'

'He'th niceth,' said the little girl. 'Should give him a name.'

Ivvy gestured at the goat. 'What's your goat's name?'

'Lightning.'

'That's a powerful name for a goat. Is he fast?'

'Yeth,' said the little girl, with a hint of pride. 'I can ride him.'

Ivvy almost laughed but stifled it. The kid is resourceful. 'Can you ride a horse, too?'

'Yeth.' The girl wiped her mouth self-consciously where spit had gathered in the corners of her twisted lips. 'But I'm not allowed to ride the cart hortheth.'

'Oh.' Ivvy thought for a moment. 'Do you go to the Capital, much?'

'No we never go there,' the little girl said.

Ivvy nodded, then jumped down from the saddle. She ran her hand down the stallion's neck, rubbed his withers, but he showed no sign of having felt it.

Ivvy unstrapped the saddle bags, hefted one onto each shoulder. She turned to face the little girl, who was watching her shrewdly.

'Are you giving me your horth?' the little girl asked, as if she'd been expecting it. As if strangers gave her horses everyday. Ivvy was surprised. She herself had only made the decision a moment earlier. The kid is perceptive. Resourceful and perceptive, she'll go far.

'Yes,' Ivvy said. 'If you want him. He does need a name, though.'

The little girl dropped the end of the rope she'd been clutching, allowing the goat to wander off towards the trees. She tilted her head and regarded the stallion. 'I'll call him Thunder.'

'Good name,' Ivvy agreed.

As she walked off through the slanting rain, she didn't look back.

Out on the road she put her head down and pulled her hood tight. No-one would be looking for her on foot. If anyone was even looking for her. No-one knew she was still alive, except Bronn and the Imp, and who would it benefit them to tell? Not even Jaime. But don't think about Jaime.

She thought instead about her brother. Mycah.

I still don't know where you died or where you were buried. But that doesn't really matter. You aren't there anyway. You're with me, I know that now. You were always with me.

It had taken her a long time to understand; she'd almost lost her own life to understand it. How a person dies, where they die, means nothing. It's who they were when they lived that counts.

500 gold coins. Maybe I'll buy a fucking headstone anyway, put it up some place you liked to go. Maybe on the river bank, near the Crossroads, where we used to skip stones. Maybe near RedHollow, where we tickled trout. Maybe that wolf will come by, seeing as she tried to protect you and all. Seeing as she protected me.

Ivvy thought she would like that. Will you be there sometimes, Mycah, if I make a place to come and visit you? Will you talk to me again?

The loud clip clop of hooves interrupted her thoughts, and she stepped to the side of the verge to let the horse and wagon pass. But as the tray drew alongside the driver leaned over, tipped his hat back and chuckled.

'Delivery Girl,' he said. 'That you again?'

Ivvy looked across at Nugget's shaggy head and white flecked belly, then up at the driver. She could smell the lingering scent of pumpkins and apples. She grinned.

'You needin' a lift?' the farmer said. 'I'm heading back to the Riverroad. Should be a week or so's trip. But there's plenty of room to sleep in the wagon, now the produce is sold.' He reined in Nugget and rested his gnarled hands on one knee, looked Ivvy up and down. 'If you're all done and finished here, that is.'

'Yes,' Ivvy said. 'I am.'

A.N: Once more, a huge apology for the delay. This is the 3rd last chapter. The next will be Jaime's one and only POV. I hope you will enjoy finally seeing inside his head. Thanks everyone again, for reading this story.