Ser Gerold Dayne pushed his horse harder than he would have liked to, but it could not be helped. Above him, the sun was shining. He was used to crossing the desert, and knew it well, though that would not help him much if his horse expired.

His own plans had been ruined completely. Had it all gone as it was supposed to, he would have killed the girl in the night, and quietly slipped away. Now, though, he could not even be sure if the girl was dead. Her horse had panicked, and he couldn't get a clean hit in. No doubt he had put her in a lot of pain, which was unfortunate. If Arianne had kept her secrets better, this would not be happening right now. If the girl survived, then he had risked everything, and gained nothing...

No, not quite nothing. The Princess had been in the care of the Martells, and even if she survived, she would not be unscathed. He had cut her, he knew that much.

Even as he went over everything in his head, he was turning sharply, trying to throw off any trail he might be leaving. There was no doubt he was being pursued. He could not afford to be captured. As long as there was no culprit to hand over to the Lannisters, they would doubt the Martells. So no matter what, he had to keep running. No matter what, he could not let himself be caught.

He had doubled around, and eventually arrived back at the river a few miles down from where the blood bath was. He dismounted, and let his horse drink. He had hopefully evaded his pursuers. If he was lucky, they would assume that, in his panic, he had fled into the heart of the desert. Still, most places would not be safe for him now. He drew a small dagger, and steeled himself for what came next.

He grabbed a handful of his hair and sliced it off. The dagger was not as sharp as he needed to do this properly, and it caught and tugged. He paid that no mind, and grabbed another handful. As quickly as he could, he removed his painfully recognizable hair. The silvery strands fell to the ground all around him. He cut the streak last.

He contemplated the small pile of hair around him for a moment, before doing his best to bury it in the mud on the river bank. He was sure he had done a horrifically uneven job, but he couldn't bear to check his reflection to confirm. He grabbed his horse by the reins, and walked her down the river for a while, before reaching a suitable spot to camp for the night.

As he sat by the fire at his camp, he ran his hand through his choppy hair and sighed. He hoped this would all be worth it.