Chapter Text
The Present
Brienne sat on the edge of the window, starring out into a lonely courtyard of King’s Landing. One hand brushed her hip where her sword typically lay and the other tugged at the light fabric that clung to her chest. She felt vulnerable, an emotion she had come to accept and bury, but Gods, she also felt scared. The fear had begun deep in her belly when she had realized she could not fight her way out of this. It had tried to consume her with the thought that the dread was not for herself.
The door swung open with a creak, causing her to spin around and stand against the wall, her weight shifting to the balls of her feet while her muscles coiled like springs. Tyrion Lannister stood in the doorway with a tray of hard cheese, bread, sausage, and water. He grinned when he saw her in a state of flight.
“You may be able to jump right over me, My Lady, but the two guards beyond this room will not let you get far.” As if to emphasize the statement, Brienne’s Dothraki gaoler leaned inside to shut the door. She heard the bar slide fluidly back into place.
“I am well aware of the level of my captivity. There is no need to remind me of it.” Brienne reached for the knife on the tray that Tyrion had brought to cut the food. She dragged her callused thumb along the side, inspecting its edge.
Tyrion snorted. “ Go ahead and try to use that. I have a sharper tool between my legs.”
“Why are you here, Tyrion?”
The Imp sat himself down at the small table in her cell. There was a stuffed bookcase across the corner and two novels were strewn idly on the small cot against the window. He gestured to one of them while he tore off a chunk of bread. “The Annals of the First Men? I never took you for a historian.”
“I assume you provided me with the reading.” Brienne wanted to roll her eyes at him, sitting so casually, looking well dressed in crimson and gold. She felt a fury rise up, one that had been growing as she paced the small room for days.
Tyrion offered her his attempt at a shy smile. “Why, Brienne, that would mean that I cared about your mental state, that I thought you might actually live through this ordeal.”
“You are mistaken in thinking that I care if I live through this, Imp,” Brienne stabbed the dull knife straight into the table, as close to Tyrion’s hand as her anger allowed. She shook with frustration, but when she straightened, she had regained her calmness. “What is going to happen to Ser Jaime?”
“Her Grace is keeping me in the dark as much as you-“
“Do not take me for a fool. I know that Varys revealed to you at least some of his secrets. You know all of what is going on in the Keep.”
Tyrion sighed. “I may know something if she spoke to someone about her judgment but Queen Daenerys is keeping her own counsel on this subject. Brienne, I owe you my life and while I am tired of paying off my debts, I do not wish to see you suffer. But my dear brother is still the Kingslayer.”
Brienne pulled herself into the seat across from Tyrion. She glared hard into those mismatched eyes, trying to find the compassion that sometimes surfaced behind the permanent smirk. “He is Jaime Goldenhand-“
“To the men who fought next to him. How will the Queen appear to Westeros if she does not take vengeance against the man who murdered her father? We have been over this.”
“Then let me talk to Daenerys.”
“I am trying to convince her to see you, but I think she fears that all of her resolve will melt when she stands infront of her friend, held in a cell, begging for the life of a man who has proven his honor.”
Brienne stood. “All the more reason to make her see me. You owe me that much, Imp. ” Her fists were clenched and her jaw was set. In the loose linen pants that floated down to her feet and the sheer tunic that dipped low, Brienne looked more like a Dothraki than a high born Westerosi lady. Tyrion looked as if he found himself regretting bringing even the dull knife that was still vibrating gently in the table. He had to get on the chair to pry it from the wood. Brienne simply crossed her arms and watched him. “I will hunt you down if he dies.”
Tyrion forced a smile as he gestured at her with the knife. “You are not in a position to be threatening anyone, Wench.” He backed up to the door and rapped on it just as Brienne lunged for the tray and threw it at him.
“Get. Out!”
*************
Tyrion slipped behind the burly guard, this one from Deepwood Motte, who opened the door. He did not miss the hard visage of Brienne drop and the look of despair cross her scarred face as tears sprang to her clear blue eyes. The expression was suppressed quickly, though, and as the echo of the door closing reverberated down the hall, Brienne was staring blankly back out of the window. Damn that girl, Tyrion cursed as he waddled down the stairs of the tower. Who is the greater fool, though, her for loving that man or me for believing in her?