His host had grown considerably smaller after he left Harrenhal. But Jaime was glad for it. He had never had much sympathy to spare for religious fanatics. They would be put to better use at Harrenhal, he knew. His host was still large enough to see him safely to Riverrun. Even though he could not overhear the whispers among his soldiers. There were outlaws raiding the country, a woman was said to lead a group that left hung Freys and Lannisters at every tree they past, and then there were the wolves. But Jaime feared no wolves, neither animal nor human. Nonetheless, he was relieved he had armed company. Even more so because he knew that he could do not very much in his defense, except for knocking a wolf out with his golden hand. Jaime was brave, not stupid, and so he very much appreciated his company.

Today it was Honor's turn to carry him to his next destination, Darry. It would take the host four days to arrive at his cousin's castle. Lancel. He had not forgotten about him, particularly not after what Tyrion had told him the night he had set him free. Jaime still didn't believe it. He did not want to believe it. But then again, Jaime knew how much Cersei loved her family, in every way possible. He would find out, Lancel would tell him the truth, by force or otherwise.

As Jaime sat in the saddle his thoughts drifted back to the happier times with his sister. How she smelled, how she laughed, how she would shudder from the touch of his fingers. Now his touch would make her shudder still, but from disgust. The touch of a golden hand is cold, he thought to himself. And his mind took another turn. He had dreamt the night before. About Estella. The peasant girl with her green eyes. Why, he could not tell. Was it that she reminded him of Cersei? But then again, they were nothing alike. She was much younger, probably in her early twenties. It was unlikely that she had ever felt a man's touch, had ever loved a man the way Cersei had loved him. She was unmarried, as much as he knew. The day after they left the cottage behind, Jaime had asked some of his men what they knew about the people living there. A man, his wife, and his daughter. He doubted that she was the mother they talked about. They would have noticed a younger child, children were naturally attracted to knights and soldiers. But there was no child.

In his dream her skin had been as soft as silk and she was not afraid of him. She had kissed his golden hand and told him that she loved him and that everything would be alright. But her lip would still bleed and when he thrust into her she started to laugh until he understood what she was laughing about. Him.

"Did they take your hand, or your manhood?", she asked, laughing hysterically. Full of rage, he beat her with his golden hand until her head was nothing but a mushy mass. That was when he realized the golden hair beneath the bits of bone and brain. Had it been Cersei all along? Had he gone mad?

Jaime shuddered. It was better to put these thoughts aside.

"This is a good place to camp out and rest for the night, don't you think, my lord?", Ralwyn Prester said.

"Yes, it is. Tell the men to call it a day. Peck," he turned to his squire, "see that my tent is ready and that the horses are taken care of. Ser Ilyn. With me."

This session went way better for Jaime than the previous one. He died only eight times, his body would be raw on the morrow, though. But he would prefer an aching body to the turmoil that made his head hurt any time. He was all sweaty when he arrived back to the camp. His tent was ready, his men sat by their cookfires, and he wanted to look at some maps before laying to rest.

"My lord," Peck approached him before he could reach his tent, "there is a visitor waiting for you in your tent."

"A visitor?" Jaime had not expected any visitors, let alone here. "Who is it?"

"I... I don't know her, my lord."

"Her?"

"Yes, my lord. It's a woman. I've never seen her."

A campfollower..., he thought. He wondered when the whores that followed a host had become so bold. But he would not have it. He had a host to lead, a whore was the last thing he needed.

"I appreciate that you want to company but it is-" He paused abruptly, locked in the gaze of a pair of green eyes.

"You?", he said after a moment that it took to poise himself.

"I'm sorry, m'lord, I don't mean to disturb you or take too much of your time. I need your help."

Her hair was in disarray, just like the first time they had met, but she seemed not the least bit collected as she did the last time. She looked rather agitated, but beautiful all the same. Sketches of his dream appeared before his inner eye and he had to take his eyes away from her, oddly afraid that she might guess what he had just thought about.

"What kind of help do you need?"

"It is about my father. He is very sick. He might die, if no one tends to him."

"Well, Estella... that was your name, wasn't it?" He knew her name, of course. It had haunted his mind since the moment he first heard it. She nodded her head. "Estella, I would really like to help you, but I'm not a healer. If I were I'd grow a second hand, but as you can see," he lifted his hand to prove his point, "I'm not."

"My lord," she said, "I'm not here to be fooled."

That took him aback. She is bold, he thought again. Not many people had the nerves to talk to him like that.

"My father lies dying as we speak, and I need a healer, or a maester. I followed your host until Harrenhal, but they refused to help me. I'm not asking you to turn your host around, I'm only asking for a healer, a maester, or some medicine if you cannot spare anyone. Please."

The fact that she had been refused at Harrenhal made him regret his decision to install Hasty as castellan. He moved to the table, wondering what to tell this desperate woman. There was no maester in the host, and if he had one he could not spare him.

"In a few days we will arrive at my cousin's castle. Darry. There you'll find your maester, or any other help my cousin can offer you. I myself can't offer you anything but a safer journey."

He looked at her. She didn't move, but he saw that she pondered his words in her head. After a few moments she said: "Alright. Darry, then."

Without another word she turned and left the tent. Jaime did not move, unable to turn his head from the spot where she had stood only seconds ago. Only her smell remained – the scent of green grass, spring flowers and sunshine.