“You saved my life,” he kept saying. “Now let me die.”
The journey had sapped all the steel from Brienne. Yohn Royce’s men were on the prowl, knocking down doors in search for the Blackfish, but the Riverlands would not give them up. She pushed the wayn carrying Ser Brynden across hamlets, and peasants and fishermen gave them asylum. The villagers tried to help Ser Brynden’s leg, and gave ointments to the nasty scar on Brienne’s shoulder, but when it was time to pass through the Whispering Wood, both wounds had opened again.
How they made it through the forest, Brienne would never know. They had run out of food, and cottages in the forest were absent because of the wolves. It was not long before they resorted to eating raw meat of dead animals and plucked berries. Thankfully, Ser Brynden told her which berries were poisonous in time. If he wanted us to die, why did he do that?
By the time they had crossed the woods, the Blackfish was thin and pale, lying on his wayn like he was part of it. Brienne, who had also lost her strength, decided they take shelter in an abandoned village near Riverrun. “I need to get my strength,” she told Ser Brynden. “Then we can continue.”
Brynden’s chuckle was barely audible. “And how will you do that?” the pale lips spoke. “The food in this house will not last us a week. The wound on your shoulder has become worse. Face it, Brienne. We fought against fate, and we lost.”
Brienne did not want to admit he was right. Thinking about it will lead me to temptation. “We go on,” she said briefly.
The door opened.
Brienne stood suddenly, reaching for her sword. As her hand clasped around the hilt of Oathkeeper, a shot of pain reached her neck. She staggered. “Who goes there?” she said, as adrenaline coursed through frozen limbs. In that time, the man on the threshold of the door had not even moved.
“Your savior,” the man said with a girlish chuckle.
The eunuch entered the room with no blade in hand, entirely indifferent to Brienne’s stance. “Ser Brynden?” he told the man on the bed. “Would you like to have your home again?”
“Answer the lady,” the Blackfish said gruffly. “Who the fuck are you?”
The eunuch’s voice tightened. “Just a man who shadowed every movement of yours without moving a muscle. Just a man who knows Riverrun needs his rightful lord. More importantly, just a man seeking an alliance for the rightful queen of Westeros.”
Brynden contemplated his words. Brienne’s sword was still poised. As the light cleared, she saw a face that she half-recognized. Was he not a member of the Small Council? “And what,” Brynden said finally, “makes you think I want to be Lord of Riverrun?”
The man shrugged. “Mayhaps you do not,” he said, signaling at the empty door. “But I suppose you do not want to deny your kin what is his by rights.” As other armed men entered the cottage, Brienne heard the wails of a babe, and a woman carrying him.
The intensity in Ser Brynden’s voice increased. “Roslin?” he said. “How did they find you?”
“With embarrassing ease,” the man said. “For your sake, it is fortunate that we care for him as much as you do. The boy needs a father, Riverrun a lord and Queen Daenerys Targaryen an ally. We have the army to take the castle, but we need someone to keep it. Do you wish to volunteer?”
The Blackfish, seemingly, only needed a moment to think it over. “Brienne,” he said, head turning in her direction, “I think it’s time you be released from your vow.”
*
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