Monday, 5 July 1813
Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros
My Most Dear Jaime,
You are usually very prompt in responding to my letters, so lacking any response to the last one has me gravely concerned. Our dear friend and I are verging on panic. Please, please, send us even a single line to indicate you are well. I can scarcely breathe for worry about you.
With all my love and devotion,
Princess Daenerys Targaryen
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Thursday, 8 July 1813
King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros
Lord Commander,
It appears I did not make myself clear enough. When I requested information about my brother's whereabouts, I was not asking for a vague reply about him being "most assuredly in the environs of the Ghiscari peninsula". I was, instead, asking for the exact latitude and longitude at which he could be located.
Your recalcitrance in providing them leads me to believe that Jaime is missing in action. How is this possible? He's a duke, by all the gods— he cannot simply be missing. The war is over, ser, or had you not realized? There ought not to be any more hostile movements or incursions; our men should be in the process of shuttling home, not deployed on last-minute incursions for gods-know which arcane reasons you military types use to justify your atrocities.
I expect an actually informative response via raven within a sennight. And it had better be a good one; you do not want my future goodsister writing you as well. She can commit assault and battery with a quill like no one I've ever seen, and I include my own esteemed self in that company.
With all due respect (I'm sure you can figure out for yourself exactly how much that is),
Lord Tyrion Lannister, Acting Hand of the King
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Wednesday, 14 July 1813
Westeros Forward Command, Pentos, Essos
Lord Tyrion,
I must protest the informality and blatant rudeness of your last letter. I am not only Lord Commander of His Majesty's military forces but a marquess in my own right; I outrank you a dozen different ways. I insist you address me with the deference owed me as a peer and soldier of high consequence.
It may surprise you to learn that I am quite aware of the cessation of hostilities in Essos, since I am the one who initiated and executed the order for it. Since you require tedious amounts of detail, rather than permitting a generality to suffice, do me the honor to read the following.
The information I have received thus far is that a lingering contingent of Dothraki guerrillas, in rebellion against the recent treaty, attacked His Grace's camp and set most of it alight. With the loss of the camp, a high number of dead, and the harsh living conditions inherent in that area of the world, the company has been separated into many smaller groups in the interest of survival, and a comprehensive accounting of men is not possible at this time.
Be assured that steps are being taken to ascertain His Grace's location. Supplies and search teams have been dispatched, and a number of men have been retrieved already. Those who have had to go farther afield for food, shelter, and water will take longer to find.
I have had the honor of receiving a letter from Her Highness already— my arse is still bleeding from the chewing-out she gave it, thank you very much— as well as missives from the Earl of Winterfell, the Countess of Tarth, and even the ruddy Duke of the North. I understand why Lady Tarth would write; her long-standing friendship with your family is well-known. But why in the name of all that is holy am I being harassed by Starks?
In service to the crown— not its Hand,
Field Marshall Randyll Tarly, Marquess of Hornhill
Lord Commander of His Majesty's Forces
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Tuesday, 20 July 1813
King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros
Tarly,
I understand how a man so critically stupid can be a marquess— damn those pesky rules of inheritance— but how in the name of all the gods were you named Lord Commander? I could do a better job, and I am a notorious coward.
You are being harassed by Starks, you bloody fool, because Jaime's second-in-command is Captain Jon Snow, who you know damned well is Ned Stark's bastard, and a much-loved one, too. You'd better find him and my brother or between the Lannisters and the Starks, your life won't be worth a copper star.
With immense sympathy for the unfortunates to whom you've likely passed down your tragic dimness,
Lord Tyrion Lannister, Acting Hand to the King
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Wednesday, 21 July 1813
Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros
Dear Brienne,
Their camp was attacked, their company disbanded. There are many casualties, it is said. No one knows where they, or anyone else, has gone, though they are searching.
After attaching this message to the raven with my own hands, I will be leaving Casterly Rock to begin my journey to Tarth. We cannot be with Jaime and Jon at this time, but I know the days will pass easier if we have each other.
I shall be taking the land route via the Gold Road as per Tyrion's insistence; he says that should I need a maester's care while I travel, it will be easier to find one than were I aboard a ship, and I must concede his point.
Ravens can be sent to Deep Den, King's Landing, Bronzegate, and Storm's End; I shall check at each for any messages from you. Tyrion has been instructed to send forward anything from Essos to me at those locations, as well.
I know it is that time of year when the pirates begin to harass you again; pray do not risk yourself with any of the dangerous flourishes I know you enjoy so well. Just dispose of them efficiently and move on to the next. If something were to happen to you, I do not know what Jaime would do, once he comes home.
And he will come home, Brienne. So will Jon. They have to come home to us. They must.
With great affection,
Princess Daenerys Targaryen
P.S. Make sure my old crossbow is in good condition, and there are many bolts for it, for I intend to help you with the pirates as I used to when Viserys and I lived with you in our youth. I am quite well and hearty now, and shall be all the moreso when I finally arrive at Evenfall.
P.P.S. Yes, I shall take every caution and precaution— Podrick will accompany me, and a maid, and a half-dozen outriders, and Robb is insisting I bring one of the puppies, and we shall stay at inns instead of camping. If anything befalls me, it will take a concerted effort, and frankly, I am simply not interesting enough to merit the bother.
P.P.P.S. Do not mistake the puppy for some harmless little thing; at only months of age it is already the size of a mastiff. When it is full-grown, it will be as big as a pony. I shall hitch it to a gig and have it take me around for marketing. I cannot wait to terrorize the shopkeepers. (There, have I put a smile on your face?)