A Rumble in the Riverlands

Not far from the Ruby Ford, the achingly slow caravan had once again come to a complete halt. Ser Jaime wiped the sweat from his forehead. He must have grown used to the cool of the North, else he could not possibly be breaking a sweat while training with his squire.

Jon Snow, Jaime had gathered, was in some ways as reserved as his father. The cold blood of the North flowed through him, and it was nearly impossible to get him to overcommit to a blow or fall for a feint. His reserved style had little room for flourish, and somehow truly did remind Jaime of Arthur - though he had never known the Sword of Morning as a boy. Day by day, Jaime drilled Jon in technique, while regaling him with his own war stories, relishing the opportunity to tell the boy of his duel with the Smiling Knight or of great jousts.

Jousting, as it happened, was not Jon's strong suit. He could ride a horse well enough, but his lance was never going to win him any great prizes. He wasn't a great archer, either, Jaime learned. What Jaime hadn't counted on was the amount of time Jon had spent studying warfare. Jon was a much stronger reader than Jaime, and developed an interest in history as a result. His knowledge of Robert's Rebellion was near as strong as a Maester's, and he apparently had read a great deal on the strategies of war in Essos. Jaime quizzed him on it as they practiced together in the mornings and evenings when the caravan was stopped. Satisfied with his own ability to maintain his arms and armor, Jaime soon set Jon to the task of managing his assets.

"Jon Snow," Jaime said with a slight sneer (which was, in truth, one of his default expressions, and he meant it in mostly good humor), "Do you know what makes us Lannisters able to wage war the way we have - against the Iron Islands, Stormlands, and Reach, before the Conquest?" He blocked what seemed to be a testing strike from the boy. Jon was still growing, and his limited reach put him at a disadvantage.

"Gold, Ser Jaime." Jon responded through gritted teeth as he stepped carefully around the Kingslayer, searching for any advantage he could find.

"Yes, gold is a large part of it. But all the money in the world can be squandered. Knowing how to use that money effectively is critical for commanders as well as lords." Jaime lunged at Jon, knocking him off balance before the young man recovered.

"An army marches on its stomach, Ser Jaime." Jon shifted his footing again, blocking several cuts before pressing his attack once more.

"Indeed. That's why I'm not truly fit for command. I'm meant to be where the fighting is thickest. A good knight is a master of killing, not command. Command is for the lords, you know. Like your brother, Robb. You'll need to heed his command, in time."

They continued on like this, Jaime attempting to goad Jon into overreaching, and Jon defending against Jaime's physical and metaphorical posturing. Then, they heard a scream, and the world stopped.

"I charge you to protect all women." Jon muttered, sliding his sword into its sheath. "We need to go - now."

Jaime nodded. The two ran towards the source of the noise.