It had been a tense evening in Lord Tywin’s camp. The soldiers, knowing the battle was near, spent the night sharpening blades, mending armor, or losing themselves in drink and dice. Tywin's son, however, sat alone in his tent, a goblet of wine in his hand to relax after having travelled from the Vale.

The flap of the tent opened suddenly, and the sellsword who saved him stepped inside, his easy smirk in place. “Brought you what you asked for.” the sellsword said, jerking his thumb behind him.

Before the Lannister could speak, a young woman slipped into the tent. She was slim and pretty, her dark eyes bold as they took him in. She stood with her short dark hair framing her face. She wore a simple dress that clung to her figure and some animal pelt around her shoulders keep her warm, but her confidence made it seem like silk.

“She’s a pretty one,” The sellsword continued, leaning against the tent post. “Took her off some knight. Some ginger prick three tents down.” The sellsword then excused himself, with going to find himself one and then it was just her and him left in his tent.