Diffracting Walton

He seemed to have cast off his former dejection entirely, becoming the wild, unrestrained eldest Lannister son once again.

Corleone could not help smiling and shaking his head. With a teasing note in his voice, he said, "You certainly look refreshed, Lannister."

"What, did Roose Bolton arrange the full package for you yesterday and restore your virility?"

"I happen to know Harrenhal has several rather famous brothels. I've been here before, and their skills are quite good."

That was no idle boast. His predecessor had indeed scrimped and saved enough money to spend it in Harrenhal twice.

Though he had only paid for the cheapest services...

That was men for you: save where you could, spend where you should. Even if it meant going without food or drink, the money had to go where it counted.

After more than half a year of hard work, someone earned all your money just by spreading her legs and closing them again. Who could you complain to about that?

"No, no, no, my dear Vito."

Jaime shook his head repeatedly, his face alight with the gleeful smile of a child playing a prank.

His green eyes turned toward Brienne, who was thoroughly uncomfortable in her clothes, and he gave her a mischievous wink. Then he deliberately raised his voice, making sure everyone in the training yard could hear him clearly. "My experience was far more wonderful than those dull services!"

"Yesterday, I had the honor of sharing an unforgettable lovers' bath with a certain highborn lady!"

"The feeling, tsk, tsk... it was a delight beyond words, enough to wash away all the weariness and ill fortune of my journey!"

At that, Corleone looked toward Brienne and immediately remembered that something like this seemed to have happened in the original story.

But it certainly had not been as sleazy as Jaime made it sound.

Jaime was probably just amusing himself at the expense of this dour, serious woman from Tarth.

Sure enough, the moment he said it, Brienne's face flushed bright red.

"Shut your filthy mouth, Jaime!"

Mortified and furious, she clenched her fists and stepped forward, looking ready to drag Jaime off his horse.

What was surprising, however, was that Brienne had not called Jaime "Kingslayer" once since this began.

Only Yego, standing to one side, narrowed his eyes. His large hand unconsciously tightened around the sword hilt at his waist as his gaze swept back and forth across Jaime's handsome, punchable face.

He seemed to be considering whether he should follow Dothraki tradition and challenge this blond bastard to a duel to the death to decide who would have the big woman.

But after weighing it for a moment, he slowly released his sword hilt and shook his head.

Defeating a cripple would hardly demonstrate a Dothraki warrior's valor, much less make that tall, strong, she-bear of a woman take a liking to him.

On horseback, Jaime watched Brienne's furious frustration and smiled even more smugly, as though he had won a battle, continuing to tease her without restraint.

Corleone could not help chuckling either, adding a sarcastic remark or two at just the right moments. For a while, the atmosphere in the training yard became remarkably relaxed and friendly, as though the bloodshed, scheming, and dejection of recent days had briefly been dispelled.

Yet this rare moment of harmony was soon shattered by a commotion and a stream of vicious curses.

"You damned bastard! You stinking gutter bug! I finally caught you, you piece of shit!"

"Drag him to the stables!"

"Today, I'm cutting off that restless cock of his and tossing it into the manger! Then he can watch the horses chew it up and swallow it!"

The savage shouting instantly drew everyone's attention.

They turned to see Roose Bolton's guard captain, "Steelshanks" Walton, leading several fierce-looking soldiers as they roughly dragged a man across the training yard.

The man was being dragged along the ground, desperately writhing and struggling, muffled whimpers rising from his throat. But his hands and feet were tightly bound with coarse ropes, leaving him no way to break free.

Corleone frowned, instinctively wanting to look away.

In wartime, especially on territory occupied by House Bolton, bullying and bloody acts of private punishment happened every day. It was perfectly normal.

He had no desire to interfere, especially at this sensitive moment just before their departure.

But just as Corleone was about to turn away, [Insight lv1] keenly picked out a few distinguishing features on the man being dragged.

"Rorge!"

He could not help exclaiming softly.

"Rorge?"

At that, Jaime and the others, who likewise had not intended to interfere, looked over again.

Sure enough, who else could that short, stocky figure with black body hair showing here and there have been but Rorge?

"That surviving member of the Brave Companions?"

Jaime leaned down from his saddle and whispered in Corleone's ear, "Didn't you put him in a room? How did Roose Bolton's men get hold of him?"

"Who knows?"

Corleone shrugged, a trace of gloom on his face as he answered quietly, "This is their territory. They might even have counted every hair inside your underpants."

"Oh, right. Do you wear underpants?"

"What decent man wears underpants? They're so damned tight!" Jaime first gave a derisive chuckle, then pressed on. "He's your spoils, though. What do you say? Shall we take him back?"

Corleone knitted his brows, rapidly weighing his options.

Rorge was indeed quite useful to him, but a direct confrontation with Roose Bolton's men just as they were about to leave was far too risky.

He considered it for two or three seconds, then ultimately leaned toward caution. Slowly shaking his head, he said with a trace of reluctance:

"Forget it, Jaime. We're leaving soon. Let's not cause any extra trouble... fuck!!!"

"I get it!"

Before Corleone could finish dissuading him, Jaime shouted as though struck by sudden understanding.

Without giving Corleone any chance to explain, he flashed a leave-it-to-me smile and sharply squeezed his horse's flanks!

"Ha!"

The warhorse gave a ringing neigh. Its hooves churned the soft earth of the training yard, spraying mud as it galloped toward Walton and his men!

"What the fuck!!!"

Watching Jaime race away, Corleone could not stop himself from swearing.

What the fuck was wrong with him this time?

He hadn't understood a damned thing! What did he mean, "I get it"?

"Fuck... quick! Move!"

But things had already reached this point. Jaime had charged in and forced a fight. Could he really stand aside and abandon his teammate?

Corleone made an immediate decision. With a low shout, he threw caution aside and ran after him.

Though Brienne and Yego were equally baffled, seeing Corleone and Jaime move, they followed immediately without the slightest hesitation.

Even wearing a lady's dress, Brienne was actually faster than either of them. She even had the presence of mind to snatch a rake from beside the stables as she sprinted forward in great strides.

Now that was a real man!

Behind her, Corleone could not help marveling inwardly at her flying steps and quickened his own pace.

Clop-clop... clop-clop...

The rapid hoofbeats drew closer.

Walton was ordering his men to drag Rorge along like a dead dog, occasionally delivering vicious kicks to his waist and belly. Hearing the unusual noise behind him, he initially turned with irritation.

That single glance made his scalp prickle.

A tall horse with a glossy coat had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, already charging within three meters of him!

On its back, the blond Kingslayer wore a chillingly mad grin, holding the reins in one hand as he rode straight at him!

Isn't that my fucking horse?!

The thought flashed through his mind, only for the shadow of death to drive every stray thought from his head.

Veteran of countless battles though he was, Walton's legs instinctively went weak before the warhorse hurtling toward him.

It was no joke. He could even smell the animal's odor, mingled with leather and sweat!

"Gods above!"

Walton cried out and fell backward onto his backside in a miserable heap.

"Leooooo!"

At that critical instant, Jaime let out a long whistle from the saddle and sharply hauled back on the reins with his left hand!

The charging horse instantly neighed, lifting its forelegs high and pawing violently at the air several times.

Its hooves slammed into the ground less than half a meter in front of Walton, splashing dirt onto his deathly pale face, practically the equivalent of taking a load to the face.

The horseshoes gleamed cold and hard in the sunlight. At their closest, they had probably passed less than a foot above Walton's head!

Still shaken, he looked up to see Jaime sitting firmly in the saddle, looking down on him with a face full of mocking amusement.

Raising an eyebrow, the blond, green-eyed Lannister propped his elbow on the horse's neck and leaned slightly sideways, teasing in his distinctively resonant voice, "Well, hello!"

"Did I frighten you, my dear lady?"