More of a lion than a Lannister

"The bear, the bear, the bear!"

"All black and brown, all covered in hair."

"The bear! The bear!"

"Oh, the people all said, come see the fair maid!"

"A maiden? He knew, but I'm a bear!"

"All black and brown, all covered in hair!"

"Sniffing the maiden, the scent of mead!"

"Tear off her skirts and bare her... hahahaha!!!"

Raucous singing echoed along the muddy road through the Riverlands. The Brave Companions had mangled the lyrics beyond recognition, filling them with obscenities.

Vargo Hoat rode at the head, leading the song in his hoarse voice. Though the wound on his ear still throbbed and his head felt heavy, the spoils from plundering the farm and the enormous ransom soon to be his had put him in a fine mood.

Merriment filled the air.

Looted valuables and pieces of silverware hung beside everyone's saddle, proof that their pursuit of the Kingslayer had yielded plenty of incidental "spoils."

To them, war seemed not a calamity, but a lavish feast bestowed by the gods.

Farther back, the boisterous singing reached Jaime Lannister's ears. His head had been hanging low, but he could not help lifting it slightly to sneer, "If Robert Baratheon were still alive, he'd certainly get along with this lot."

"That king who grew so fat he could barely climb onto a horse always liked singing this song after whoring or getting drunk."

His voice was low, yet always carried a trace of flippant mockery.

Even after having a hand cut off, after his former pride and honor had been thrown into the mud and trampled like rubbish, like a stray dog, and even after being tricked into drinking a whole great jug of horse piss, he still had not broken that habit of speech.

Brienne frowned at his words.

Though a captive, she still upheld the chivalry in her heart at every moment. Any mockery of the late king made her uncomfortable.

"King Robert was a mighty warrior."

"He defeated Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in single combat and won the war!" Brienne defended him stiffly.

"Heh. If I hadn't killed the Mad King, all he'd have got was a ruin..."

Jaime instinctively curled his lip in disdain at that argument.

Seeing Brienne cast him a puzzled look, he froze for a moment, then hurriedly changed the subject with a sneer:

"A king, and he ended up drunk in a forest, gutted by a boar."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"Just like us. A noble Kingsguard and the maid of Tarth, now prisoners of this pack of scum."

"We ended up here because we were outnumbered. There's no shame in that, Kingslayer!"

"Yes, outnumbered."

Jaime reflected thoughtfully, "Back then, that old man Barristan could charge into an army ten thousand strong all by himself and cut off Maelys the Monstrous's head."

"If being locked up in Harrenhal so long hadn't rusted my swordsmanship and my bones, these bastards couldn't have beaten me even if they'd all come at once!"

He gritted his teeth, his eyes filled with frustration.

As the youngest Kingsguard in history, Jaime had never doubted his own excellence.

Brienne wanted to retort sarcastically, but her gaze fell on the hand he had lost for speaking up to save her, and she swallowed the words on her tongue.

She took a deep breath, her gaze drifting involuntarily toward the seemingly calm figure riding at the front of the column.

"You shouldn't have worked with him."

"That fellow called Corleone could have been an innocent man. Now he's helping villains do their dirty work, betraying his own farm and lord."

"Traitors aren't worthy of trust."

"Trust?"

Jaime chuckled. "Trust is rarer than Valyrian steel here, my lady. Don't forget, there's a Kingslayer sitting right behind your arse."

But as he spoke, he turned his head slightly, glancing ahead. "I don't need to trust him."

"I only need to know what he wants, and I'm quite certain he wants more than simply to stay alive."

"This morning, just standing there, that fellow looked more like a lion than any Lannister. He even reminded me of..."

Jaime had meant to say "my father," but before the words left his mouth, their quiet conversation drew Yego's attention up ahead.

He rode over and barked, "Shut your mouth! No talking! And you too, you cow, unless you want a taste of being dragged along behind a horse!"

Before Jaime could react, Yego drove the end of his scabbard hard into Jaime's ribs without ceremony.

"Ugh!" Jaime grunted, doubling over in pain, but he clenched his teeth and made no further sound.

Brienne glared furiously, but before she could speak, another voice beat her to it:

"Hey! Easy, you Dothraki savage!"

It was Urswyck.

He rode over, roughly shouldering Yego's horse aside with his own, and snapped, "Don't break him!"

"Whether it's the King in the North or Lord Tywin Lannister, they want the Kingslayer alive and kicking, not a corpse. He's worth a fortune in gold dragons!"

Yego gave Urswyck a cold glance, his hand resting on his sword hilt, and said bluntly, "Then kindly watch the prisoners and stop them from always thinking about escaping."

"If those gold dragons run off, I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to the horses!"

The words were openly provocative. Urswyck's face darkened at once, and his hand also went to his waist. "What's that supposed to mean, Yego? Looking for trouble?"

At those words, the Brave Companions gathered around them, splitting into two factions.

Just as Corleone had expected, Rorge, Fang, and the other new recruits stood behind Urswyck, while seven or eight veterans of the Brave Companions gathered around Yego.

For a moment, the air bristled with tension.

"All of you, shut the fuck up!"

Vargo Hoat's roar came from ahead.

He reined in his zebra and turned, glaring at both groups with eyes bloodshot from his hangover and fever. He threatened them without ceremony, "Keep moving, all of you! The next man who dares start a fight among us, I'll cut out his tongue to eat with my wine!"

He had already noticed signs of the split within the Brave Companions and Urswyck's ambition.

But Vargo knew that their first priority was to return safely to Harrenhal. He wanted no complications along the way.

At the commander's rebuke, Yego snorted coldly. Ignoring the ashen-faced Urswyck, he squeezed his horse's flanks and rode forward, returning to his place between Corleone and Vargo with every appearance of unwavering loyalty.

Urswyck stared venomously at Vargo's swaying back and licked his lips, feeling barely able to contain the urgency within him.

In the end, however, he kept his head and did not pursue the matter.

The two groups quickly dispersed and resumed their journey.

Looking at Jaime beside her, his head hanging low, Brienne asked with some concern, "Are you all right?"

Yet Jaime slowly raised his head, without a trace of anger or pain in his eyes. Behind his filthy hair, those green eyes burned with a light she had not seen in a long time.

He bared his teeth in a fierce, savage grin.

"All right?"

"I couldn't be better, my dear Brienne!"

Brienne froze.

Jaime offered no explanation. Instead, he flexed his remaining left wrist and discreetly slipped a small curved dagger into his sleeve.

The cold touch of metal was like a spring breeze, awakening the lion slumbering within him.

Instinctively, Jaime's gaze swept ahead.

Was it you, Vito Corleone?

He asked himself silently, feeling that his guess was far too outlandish. The man was plainly nothing more than a lowborn farmer, barely managing to survive on his medical skills.

Yet Jaime could find no other reason to explain why that Dothraki would help him in full view of everyone.

And the instant he looked up, Jaime's heart gave a sudden jolt.

Ahead, Corleone had turned sideways at some point and was watching him calmly!

Those fathomless black eyes seemed to have already seen the turmoil surging within him. Then Corleone gently raised his right hand, holding a finger to his lips.

As though saying, "Shh."

Then, beneath Jaime's gaze, he inclined his body in an exceedingly elegant little bow from the back of his inferior horse.

The gesture was as fleeting as an illusion. Before even Jaime could react, Corleone had turned back as though nothing had happened, continuing to sway gently with the movement of the column.

His back became ordinary and silent once more, as though that fleeting glimpse had never existed.

Jaime gripped the dagger tightly, his knuckles whitening with the force.

He recalled Corleone's bearing just now. That manner, that presence-he had been even more composed than the Hands of the King and nobles Jaime had seen!

Just as I thought!

Vito Corleone!

Jaime drew an excited breath and could not help marveling inwardly, Compared with those useless Lannisters in my family, you're more like a... true lion!