Updated 4/13/19: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 23

Jaime VII

Jaime Lannister was about ready to chew through the iron bars, out of desperation and hunger. They had been captive for a week and they were still making their way to Pike. Although Jaime knew very little about seafaring, it felt like they were taking the most meandering path possible. He also had his suspicions because a day couldn't go by without the Ironborn arguing with Littlefinger's man.

The man came down to taunt them once in the light of day and Jaime had recognized him as a crewmember of his old ship. He must have signaled to the Ironborn when to board, Jaime thought moodily. His appearance was unkempt and smelly and when he smiled he had a handful of blackened teeth. Not that Jaime could judge on appearance when he was still covered in the blood of the men who'd tried to take him in the cabin. Pod had attempted to get the blood off his face by ripping off part of an undershirt and dipping it in the measly cupful of water they received each day. While his efforts had been in vain, they were appreciated all the same.

Littlefinger's man prodded the bars with a cutlass, causing ugly black ripples to emanate around them. It got to the point where Jaime launched himself at the bars so quickly, that the man fell backwards trying to scramble away, leaving a trail of blood where he'd accidentally diced himself on his cutlass. They never saw him again.

They were fed a handful of crackers with fatty meat twice a day. It was barely enough to take the edge off their hunger. It hadn't been more than a handful of days and Pod was already looking hollow-eyed and weak, though he still kept whispering soothing phrases to Jaime.

"It'll be alright, Lord Jaime. We can survive this. It won't be long before someone finds us."

Jaime would have found it funny were the situation not so desperate.

I appear destined to spend yet another year behind bars, Jaime thought sourly, thinking back to his captivity with Robb in the other world. He had been weak and his muscles wasted when he'd finally been released. Then he'd lost his right hand. It had taken years to get his muscles back.

The situation was made yet worse when, on the third day, Jaime succumbed to a seizure. As was usual, his head was pounding. He thought it might be from dehydration, but then nausea had twisted his stomach up into knots, so when their meager breakfast came, Jaime passed it off onto Pod. His squire tried to argue, but Jaime snapped at him and the boy had curled up like a wounded puppy.

He regretted being so harsh to the boy but it was short-lived when his vision blacked out. When he came to, he was curled up on the floor of their cell. A sour smell permeated his nostrils and mouth indicating that he had vomited.

Pod was shaking his shoulder vigorously. "Lord Jaime?! Lord Jaime!"

"Not so loud," Jaime managed to croak out in a tinny yellow voice and it cut through his squire's orange voice. He groaned and was grateful for the darkness in the ship.

"Are you alright, My Lord?"

"I will be. Just let me rest. You did well, Pod. Sorry for yelling at you," Jaime mumbled.

"It's fine, My Lord. I saved it for you. Are you hungry?"

"Gods no, eat it. I will have no appetite today," Jaime replied. The boy is far too stubborn for his own good, he thought. When their dinner came, Jaime practically had to stuff his portion into Pod's mouth to make him eat it. The Ironborn who brought the food had taunted him for being seasick, but he grew bored when both he and Pod remained steadfastly quiet and unmoved.

Now, Jaime was ravenous with hunger and it was causing his temper to ratchet up. He thought about screaming himself hoarse, but a headache still lurked behind his eyes, and he wanted to save himself anymore pain. Podrick was curled up in a corner shivering. The ship sat low enough that seawater frequently splashed them through the porthole so that they were never dry. Despite being tired and hungry, the boy never once uttered a word of complaint.

Boy, you are a saint. The Seven should augment their number with you as an eighth person: the Knight, Jaime thought. He sat down and pulled him close. "We'll get out of here, Pod. You wait and see."

The hours dragged by. Jaime watched the light fade from the porthole and they fell into darkness. Pod had curled into his side and fallen asleep, judging by the steady rise and fall of his back where Jaime was holding him. He continued staring into the dark when the usual pattern of feet on deck was interrupted. They were beneath the quarters of the men, so they typically heard them all retiring to bed, but there had been no parade of feet. They were all still on deck.

All was quiet. Too quiet.

Jaime strained to hear anything, but dared not move lest he disturb Pod.

Hours passed and then Jaime heard the scraping of wood, which caused him to perk up, straining to look out the porthole. Can't see a bloody thing. The ripples of sound that he typically relied on were too quiet to see much resonance. They must be attacking a ship, Jaime thought and felt dread creeping up on him. It was rare when an Ironborn ambush did not end up with all the occupants of the ship dead.

Quite suddenly he heard battle cries and screams rent the night.

Pod sat awake. "What's going on?"

Jaime strained to see in the dark. He caught a dozen different shades of red up off to his left. "I think our ironborn had a failed ambush."

There was a telltale splashing of bodies hitting the water and more triumphant shouts.

"Take that, you filthy blaggards!"

"Go feed the fishes!"

"Tell your drowned god the Stranger sends his regards!"

Jaime grinned in the darkness. "Pod, we might be getting rescued!" Then his smile fell. "I hope they're not worse than the Ironborn."

"Would that be possible?"

"Let's not think about that."

He heard the muffled wavering pale tones of someone blubbering and begging for their life and then their scream was abruptly cut off. Another splash. Cheers in orange, gold, and red sounded through the night and then there was a stomping of feet as men climbed on board to the Ironborn's ship. Jaime followed their progress intently. About a dozen people walked up and down the Ironborn's quarters, chatting excitedly in green and yellow, but their voices were still too far away to hear what they were saying.

He heard someone shout in what could only be in joyful gold tones and then they dashed off the ship.

They must've found something of the Ironborn's they liked.

Finally, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Both Jaime and Pod were on their feet. The soft glow of lantern light spilled down the staircase and as soon as the lantern was visible it spilled on them.

The man carrying it hesitated and said, "Prisoners! I didn't think Ironborn took any," a voice said in a calm sea blue. The voice tickled at the back of Jaime's mind, like a long forgotten memory.

"Would you let us out? I will reward you handsomely."

The lantern bobbed closer and a bald man with scars on his face and square jaw peered at him closely. His eyes grew wide and he exclaimed, "Jaime?!"

"Uncle Gerion?" Jaime breathed and felt his knees grow weak, but he gripped the cell bars even harder to keep on his feet. Because of his previous life, it had been near thirty years since he last saw his uncle. He vaguely recalled a young man, with a cocky grin, and a head full of blonde hair not unlike a lion. It had irritated his father and he ordered Gerion to cut off his hair, but ever the troublemaker, Gerion grew his hair out until he could tie it back into a ponytail.

The day Gerion left on his quest to find Brightroar, he remembered he and Tyrion had been upset. His uncle had ruffled their hair like they were children and said, "Next we meet, I'll have Brightroar by my side. You just wait and see."

Then a year or so later, Tywin commissioned a fleet and reports came back that Gerion had vanished. They had never so much as heard a whisper about him again. And now suddenly here he was, studying both him and Pod.

"How in Seven Hells did you end up in the bilge of an Ironborn ship?" Gerion asked.

"That's a long story."

"I'll get the full details later. Give me the short of it."

"I am on a diplomatic mission for my king. A traitor on my last ship signalled for the Ironborn to come aboard. They slaughtered my men in their beds, took me, and scuttled the ship."

"That sounds premeditated."

"It does, doesn't it?"

Gerion glanced at the man with him, speaking without words. Jaime turned to the other man and saw the spitting image of a Lannister, though built a little thicker.

"Did...did you have a son?"

"Oh no, Callum's not mine. Looks Lannister though, doesn't he? Enough talk, let's get you out of here. Any idea where the keys are?"

"I assume they were on the captain," Jaime said, with not a little bit of amusement in his voice, "whom you threw overboard when you killed him."

There was a long silence as Gerion deliberated. "Shit. I knew we should've searched the bodies. Don't fret, we'll get you free. Callum, go find Vicente. He can pick locks, can't he?"

"Yes," Callum replied in even deeper blue tones than his uncle. He turned and headed back up the stairs.

Once Callum had left, Jaime asked, "How long have you been back in Westeros?"

"Only about two months. We're heading to Lannisport now, actually. We're not more than a day away."

"I need to get to the Reach. It's urgent."

"Hmm...I'll see about asking David if we can change course."

"David?"

"Aye. I'm part of a nomadic group called the Shepherds. He's the leader."

Jaime frowned at him.

"Don't look like that. I'm certain he'll be amenable. It's the other people who are sharing this ship with us that you'll have to worry about. There's about half a dozen other merchants on this ship."

Wonderful. More avenues of information for the enemy, he thought. He'd have to keep a tight lid on his thoughts. He'll have to emphasize to Pod the need for secrecy.

"Who's the boy?" Gerion asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"This is Podrick of House Payne. He's my squire."

"Squire, huh? I never took you for the mentoring sort."

"I have to pass on my legendary sword skills to someone!"

"That's right. You're not the heir anymore. I bet that pissed my brother right off."

"Actually, I am no longer of the Kingsguard."

"Did Tywin buy off the King?"

"King Robert Baratheon has been dethroned. It's King Aemon Targaryen now."

"When did this happen? We've been in towns recently and none of them said anything about the king being dethroned."

"A few months ago. We've been trying to keep it quiet. That way Robert's brothers won't have much opportunity to gather their forces. You're also on the other side of Westeros. It may not have trickled this far yet."

"You're allied with this...Targaryen?"

"I am," Jaime replied haughtily.

Gerion smirked and was about to say something when they heard footsteps on the stairs again. "We'll talk later."

A lean young man with black hair and dark skin sauntered into view. "What is it now, old man? I'm busy."

"It'll take naught but a minute. Then you can get back to stripping the ship down," Gerion said. "I need you to pick this lock on these prisoners' door."

The man looked at the lock and snorted. "I could pick that blindfolded." He swooped down and in a few seconds the lock clicked. He left the door open and swept out of there without another word.

Jaime pushed open the door and into the corridor. He staggered after being confined in such a small space for so long, but regained his legs and followed his uncle out of the ship. They passed the crews quarters and Jaime saw about half a dozen men tearing the entire place apart.

"You expect to find anything of worth among the Ironborn?"

"We're nomads. Almost everything has value. I doubt we'll be taking much of what the Ironborn have, filthy squids that they are."

They trooped across the gangplank straddling the two ships.

"What do you have there, Gerion?" A voice in calm blue tones called out to them. The man who said it was bent over another and carefully wrapping his arm. "You're done. Don't get the wrap wet. It should be good for two days. Come to me every morning for a potion. It'll keep you from getting infected. Now get some rest." He was thanked in gruff orange tones and then turned to them. In the lantern light, Jaime could see he was an older man with short, thick white hair with deep lines carved into his face, not all of them age lines either. He pinned Jaime with eyes as dark as coal, looking him up and down before turning to Gerion.

"This is my nephew, Ser Jaime Lannister and his squire Podrick Payne. They were captives of the Ironborn. Jaime, this is David Reeft. He's our leader."

"Really? How very fortunate for you that the Ironborn have eyes bigger than their stomachs."

"You were waiting for them," Jaime said.

"Yes. One of the crew spotted the ship just before sundown. It was difficult to say where it was going, but the Ironborn are if anything predictable. We stayed up and waited below deck and sure enough, they came sauntering aboard like they already owned the ship. We rushed them from multiple sides."

"Honestly, there were only a dozen of them against about two dozen of us," his cocky demeanor then faded. "I shouldn't say 'us.' I didn't do anything. I won't kill."

Jaime snorted. "Pacifist?"

"Healer. I prefer to bring people from the brink of death rather than send them to it."

"Good for you. My uncle tells me you're the one to talk to about changing the course of this ship."

David's eyebrows shot up and after a moment he nodded. "I suppose I am. The Shepherds make up most of the passengers. What do you want?"

"I need to get to the Reach. It's urgent."

Once more David was studying him in the dark. Jaime wondered for a moment what he could possibly be seeing in the lantern light, but he nodded. "Very well. I will argue your case to the Captain and the other passengers. Shouldn't be too difficult. The Reach is quite fertile and hungry for trade, even if we just left there."

"That's it?" Jaime asked. "What do you get out of this?"

"The knowledge that one of my own is happy. He's been looking forward to seeing you again for some time. Far be it from me to deprive him of the company of his first family member since he left Westeros. I'll talk to the Captain first thing tomorrow. In the meanwhile, why don't you head to the galley? You boys look famished."

Pod had remained silent the whole time, but at the mention of food he nodded eagerly. Jaime sighed. They were both starving. They needed food and an undisturbed rest, but he did not trust this David, no matter what his uncle said about them. He would have to tread carefully while he was amongst the Shepherds.

They found the galley easily enough as it was the best lit room on the ship. The cook looked them up and down critically, but then handed them a bowl of stew with an apple each. Pod was less than dignified as he scoffed down the best meal he'd had in over five days, but Jaime didn't lecture him on it. Gerion had followed them and sat with them, taking nothing for himself, but just watching them quietly. Jaime ate slowly and watched back.

"How did you come to be apart of this...group, Uncle?"

"They helped me. I got a nasty injury in my side. I was bleeding pretty badly and on the verge of passing out in the streets when Callum and Cyrus found me. They brought me back to David and he patched me up. I was injured badly enough that it took three weeks to recover and they made me feel like family. I gave them some gold and offered my services as a fighter, which they accepted. That was about five years ago."

"Were you ever going to come back?"

"I was, Jaime. I stayed away because of Tywin. He would've married me off the moment I set foot in the Westerlands."

"I suppose I can understand that. He tried the same thing when I got back, but I had the king backing me and issued a royal decree to prevent me from marrying anyone not on our terms," he said.

Gerion grunted and then lowered his voice even more. "How did you get caught up with a Targaryen king?"

Jaime regarded him for a moment and then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Uncle. It's not that I don't trust you, I don't trust your friend David."

"He's a good man, Jaime. I'm not such a fool to believe that words alone will convince you, but I recommend you trust him. The Shepherds are comprised of people from a wide array of backgrounds. We could prove useful to you."

"I guess you Shepherds will have to prove it to me. Why the name Shepherds? Do you actually have sheep in the hold below."

Gerion actually laughed at this point. "No, we're not shepherds in the literal sense." His smile did fall away and he grew uncharacteristically serious. "David and a good portion of the others are healers, trained by David. We call ourselves the Shepherds because the Stranger is well known for guiding the souls of the dead. By healing, we aid the Stranger in who lives and dies. In essence, we assist the Stranger in the shepherding of souls."

Jaime actually stopped eating to stare at his uncle. The Seven help me, my uncle has joined a cult. And yet the Stranger was one of the Seven and he knew the Gods existed, but to what influence did they have on other people? He would have to tread very carefully around David and his group.

"Why don't you finish eating, nephew? I'll see about getting you a room," Gerion said, nodding at Pod who was now dozing off at the table.

Jaime merely nodded and began munching on his apple. A few more people trickled in, including the black-haired youth and the stout blonde fellow with his uncle before. They were in high spirits and chattered loudly, much to Jaime's irritation, but he did his best to hide his glare. He wasn't looking for more enemies. Thankfully, they gathered in another part of the room and left him alone.

Gerion appeared at the door and waved them over. Jaime nudged Pod and together they made for the door. Poor Pod was drooping in a rather undignified manner, but the boy had been steadfast and optimistic during their captivity.

"The captain demands payment when you get some gold on you, but he's got a room available. I hope you don't mind sharing with your squire."

"I'll buy the man a whole new ship for a trip to the Reach," Jaime muttered.

They walked down another flight of stairs and walked nearly to the end of the hall. Gerion knocked on the door. When he heard no one, he turned the lock with a key and opened it to a modest cabin with two beds, so that Pod no longer had to sleep on the floor. There was a trunk on the floor that contained pillows and bedclothes.

Pod didn't even bother with the pillows. He went over to a bed and threw himself on it. Jaime was just heading for his own bed when his uncle stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"I told myself, I'd do this the first time I saw you. I expected the circumstances to be a bit more grandiose, but things being what they are, it's important you have this," he said. He undid the sword at his belt and handed it over.

Jaime looked at it curiously and noted the pommel was a golden roaring lion. He slid the blade from the sheath for a closer look and felt his heart plummet in his chest. Valyrian Steel. He looked up at Gerion in shock. "Brightroar?"

"Aye, I found it."

"Where?!"

"It's not as adventurous of a tale you might imagine. It was hanging up in a blacksmith's shop. A lucrative blacksmith, to be sure. I didn't have enough gold by that time to buy it from him, so I stole it. Nasty bit o' business and I about nearly died. I won't be welcome back in Mereen anytime soon, but there you have it. As the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms and the heir to Casterly Rock, that sword is yours by right."

"Thank you, Uncle," Jaime whispered and Gerion faded down the hall to return to his own bunk. He took the time to make his bed because it allowed him the opportunity to think. Had Gerion been alive in his other life just hanging on to Brightroar? He must have died before he could return to us. He finally collapsed onto the bed with a sigh and before he realized it, he had fallen asleep. For the first time since he left Winterfell, not a single nightmare interrupted his slumber.