Jaime stared up at the ceiling and valiantly fought the urge to simply roll off his bunk and throw up all over the floor. He hadn't been on a ship since the Siege of Pyke twenty fucking years ago, and as he turned over on the narrow cot and vainly tried to use a pillow embroidered with the burning tree of House Marbrand to smother himself to sleep, he determined that this would be the last bloody time that he ever set foot off solid ground again.

Jaime had found Addam Marbrand on the beach at Dragonstone, chatting up a buxom young lady with full breasts and silver hair, and paying absolutely no attention to the rowboat full of soldiers that were waiting on his pleasure.

'Can I hold your sword, m'lord?' the young lady had been proposing; batting her eyelashes, 'it looks ever so long.'

'Where were you when I needed a wife?' Addam had purred in reply; his deep voice dissolving into a strangled yell as Jaime clapped him hard on the shoulder and pulled him around to face him.

'Ser Addam!' Jaime had sweepingly greeted, 'fancy meeting you here!'

'My lord!' Addam had acknowledged; his face assuming all the guilty mortification of a child caught in the act, 'I had not –'

'House Lannister has not yet declared for either Targaryen pretender, Ser,' Jaime had gravely interrupted; drawing himself up to his full height and imperiously folding his arms as the maiden gathered her skirts and fled, 'would you kindly explain to me what you and your men are doing here without the expressed permission of your liege lord?'

'My lord,' Addam had hastily responded with a look of deep horror, 'I assure you –'

'Is House Marbrand entertaining delusions of independence?' Jaime had grimly pressed on, 'do I need to send a singer to your hall to serenade you with a certain song?'

'My lord, this is unjust,' Addam had blurted; regaining some of his habitual vigour, 'I have served House Lannister unfailingly since I was a boy; my loyalty to you and to your late lord father is absolute –'

'Is that so?' Jaime had interjected, 'and yet here you are, breaking the policy of neutrality that I have imposed on my bannermen and chatting up dragonseed while you do it. What am I to make of that?'

Jaime watched with no small pleasure as words failed, then deserted, his childhood friend; Addam's cheeks turning redder than his hair while Jaime frowned deeply at him; relished the fact that he was still able to frighten the life out of his bannermen when it suited him; then burst out laughing; hugging his sides as Addam's expression went from respectfully-terrified to exasperated in less than a second.

'Fuck you, Jaime!' Addam had exclaimed.

'Fuck me?' Jaime had replied; his head jerking in the direction of a nearby copse of trees, where the silver-haired maiden still lingered in plain sight, 'I find that very hard to believe after what I've just seen. You used to set a much better example to your troops.'

'And you used to be much less of a bore, my lord,' Addam had snorted.

Jaime had given Addam a shove, and had duly received one in return, when his gaze had fallen once again on the dozen disgruntled soldiers in the rowboat, and on the ships flying Westerlands colours further out in the bay.

'How in seven hells did you lot get here so quickly?' Jaime had asked.

'We set out first, with only the frigates,' Addam had said, 'the rest are still on their way.'

'The rest?' Jaime had repeated in disbelief, 'how many ships are still coming?'

'We'd all given you up for dead after your accursed wedding; what else were we to do?' Addam had indignantly responded, 'stay in the Westerlands like a lot of cowardly little boys and let the murder of our liege lord go unpunished? What do you think? That your men don't love you?'

'Are there even enough men alive in the Westerlands to man these ships?' Jaime had hastily enquired; ignoring the uncharacteristic surge of affection welling up in his chest.

Addam had responded with a sullen shrug that reminded Jaime of Arya, though the two were nothing alike; and a somewhat awkward silence had followed, during which the two men had stared at each other's boots and pretended to shiver in the cold.

'The queen has forbidden me to come to King's Landing and fight,' Jaime had said; once the silence had become intolerable.

'I… heard about that,' Addam had cautiously ventured, 'though perhaps Her Grace is in the right, your hand does not –'

Jaime had shot him a wrathful glare, and Addam's hands had shot rapidly into the air as though Jaime were aiming a crossbow at him.

'So I take it you'll be wanting my cabin, then?' Addam had asked.

'Smart boy,' Jaime had congratulated.

'Do I want to know why you're so eager to get yourself killed?' Addam had pressed.

Jaime had shrugged at that.

'Daenerys has sent a friend of mine to get herself killed,' he had replied, 'and I'd rather that didn't happen.'

'Arya Stark?' Addam had gracelessly enquired.

'Maybe,' Jaime had shrugged.

'Dirty old man.'

'Speak for yourself.'

The ship gave a particularly unpleasant roll on the waves, and Jaime flung the pillow away from him and squeezed his eyes shut. Arya arose from the darkness, as she had been the last time that he had seen her; grey and lovely in the early morning light while she dressed and buckled on her sword belt.

'You're not going to change your mind,' Jaime had said, still abed, 'are you?'

'I don't have the strength to fight with you now,' Arya had curtly replied; pulling her boots on, 'you know why I must do this. You know that it needs to be done.'

'Agreeing with it doesn't mean I have to like it,' Jaime had persisted; sitting up, 'just…will you at least consider what I said about Aegon? Please?'

Arya had sighed deeply to herself, and had stood for some time with her back to him; before turning suddenly around, stomping unceremoniously over to the bed, plonking herself down next to him and embracing him tightly.

Jaime had felt her heart beating red and violent through her clothes.

'Please don't die,' Arya had whispered; her head nestling in the crook of his shoulder; her arms tight around his back; 'if your hand…if it becomes too painful, or too much when you're fighting…promise me you'll stop. You have to promise me.'

'You're not even going to forbid me to go?' Jaime had joked in reply; 'you wound me, Lady Stark.'

'Promise me, Jaime,' Arya had growled; her fingers digging into his back.

Jaime had kissed her shoulder, and held her closer to him.

'I give you my solemn vow,' he said.

They both knew he was lying.