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THEY were up early the next morning. It was a long day of riding, but around dusk, they arrived at the gates of Harrenhal. "Riders coming through!" A man positioned at the entrance shouted. Laila was so tired of sitting on that damn horse that she was grateful to be pushed off by Rogar, but she did not like the way he handled her. She wrestled with his hold as he shoved her to the ground, alongside Jaime and Brienne. Rope still bound their forms, causing Laila to huff.
"On your knees," Rogar ordered, pushing on Jaime's back with his foot. Laila looked over at the Kingslayer, squinting her eyes at the light.
Locke slid off his horse at the sight of Roose Bolton, and stood behind the three battered prisoners. "Lord Bolton," he bowed. "I give you the Kingslayer."
He pushed Jaime's face into the wet mud, causing the Kingslayer to moan dreadfully into the ground. Laila closed her eyes, not being able to bear the sight.
"Pick him up, Locke." Roose commanded, to which Locke obliged. Jaime now stood on his own two feet. "You've lost a hand."
"No, my Lord," Locke grinned, holding the hand that he had hung on Jaime's shoulders. "He has it here."
Roose's nostrils flared. He stalked forward and snatched the hand from Jaime's person. He shoved it into Locke's hold and said, "Take this away."
"Send it to his father?" Locke suggested with an even bigger smile.
Laila and Brienne fought the urge to insult him.
"You'll hold your tongue, unless you want to lose it." Roose replied in a stern voice, before looking towards the females kneeling in the dirt. "Cut these women free. Apologies, my ladies. You're under my protection now."
Brienne stood as the rope was cut from her and Laila's bodies. "Thank you, my Lord."
Laila nodded her head, and then lifted her hand to feel it. The wound had opened again and blood began to seep through the bandage. Roose approached her, immediately holding her injured hand and looking it over. "You have an infected cut, my Lady. We will get you treated." His eyes met her own. "I'm sure Lady Catelyn will be happy to hear of your survival, Miss Laila."
Laila nodded, applying pressure to her hand. "This journey didn't particularly scare me anyways," she muttered sarcastically.
"Find suitable rooms for our guests," Roose ordered his troops. "We'll speak later."
Laila lifted her head, seeing only gray. The sky, the castle, the flags, the lines – all gray. The air smelt of burnt meat and expired dairy. Their feet squished in the wet dirt below. Everything seemed so ... disgusting. Laila couldn't complain exactly, especially with her smell and appearance at the moment. She couldn't wait to have a bath, if she was allowed one.
