BRIENNE

It was so cold outside that her face felt like it was burning. But, she thought, better out here than in there with them. The Lannister soldiers, men and boys alike, did not want Brienne the Beauty around. She had never heard them say it, but they gave her strange looks, and she was pretty sure they whispered behind her back. She wasn't sure they knew exactly who she was, but they knew for sure that she was a freakish big woman in an encampment that was as hostile to her kind as any.

Strangely, she wished Podrick were here. Not because he was particularly good company, but because he was an awkward outcast same as she was. And he was good at understanding. Strange how you only missed some things when they were gone.

But not you, eh, wench? said a voice in her head that was unmistakeably Ser Jaime Lannister's. No one ever misses you.

Go away, Brienne wanted to tell him. It probably wouldn't work. Ser Jaime was always on her mind now: always laughing at her stupidity. Only he wasn't real, he was just in her head. She had to remember that as well. To pretend anything else would be insanity. And the things they say about you already are bad enough, aren't they, eh, wench?

They were. She had found some respect among Lady Sansa's garrison, but now, back among the Lannister soldiers, she was "freak" or "wench" or "cow" again. For some reason it bothered her more than it ever had before. To have found a place and then for it to be cruelly torn away was worse than anything else. With Lady Sansa, her life had some value, in that she was seeking an honorable cause and the fulfilment of a long-ago promise. With Princess Myrcella, her role could have been carried out by a particularly attentive dog.

Right now, for example, she was standing out on the balcony of Crakehall castle, while the princess met with her Companions. She was not allowed to listen in, for fear that she might report their findings back to Lady Sansa. That was ludicrous, for Sansa was not only hundreds of miles away, but travelling and unlikely to stop in any one place for too long. And there seemed to be no ravens anywhere they went that could even reach Edmure Tully in Riverrun. Yet still they did not trust her.

They had marched for five days from Peckledon Castle to Crakehall, where old Lord Roland had his seat. At every castle along the way more men joined them, yet it was never enough, and every evening Princess Myrcella would lament in a low voice that her following was so meagre. "They hate my mother," she said, "so why will they sooner let her continue to reign than side with me?"

Brienne knew why. It is because they hate you just as much, or what you stand for, Princess. They want peace, not another war. But the princess never asked her opinion, and she certainly would not listen to Brienne of Tarth if she offered it unasked.

She heard footsteps behind her, turned and saw Tywin Frey, one of the princess's close confidants. "Her Grace will see you now," the boy said. (It was all 'Her Grace' and 'Your Grace' now, though the explicit title of queen was seldom used. The princess was not fully inclined to take it, for whatever reason.)

Brienne followed Ty Frey back into Princess Myrcella's chamber. Her ladyship was sitting in the windowseat, looking out into the night, while several of her other Companions milled about the dim room. "You promised to serve," she said without glancing round. "Is that correct?"

"Are you talking to me, my lady?" asked Brienne.

"I am."

"I said I would do what I could to serve you, in the time that I am with you."

"I thought you might say that." The princess's voice was full of scorn. "As… luck would have it, I am in need of someone to convey a message for me. Would that be within your considerable talents, Lady Brienne?"

"Where will this message be going to, my lady?"

"Casterly Rock, as luck would have it. If you are lucky, you might find your precious Ser Jaime there, too."

Brienne wondered how anyone could sound quite so scornful. "Is the message to Ser Jaime?"

"No. It is to an ally we might have inside the castle walls. An ally who must be confirmed as genuine before we continue to talk with them. That will be your job, too. To find out if they are really on our side."

"My lady, I have never been the greatest judge of character."

"I thought you might not be. Which is why I have a mind to send Ty with you. Then one of you might possess some wits."

It seemed that Ty Frey had not been aware of this. His brows arched together, and a flush came over his cheeks. "Me, my lady? Forgive me if I have made a wrongful assumption, but I thought you wanted – needed my help here. I helped you win over the Peckledons and the Sarsfields—"

"Peck helped me win over the Peckledons," said Myrcella. "And the Sarsfields were as much your achievement as anybody else's. As for what other uses you might have…" The princess sighed. "You are a good friend, Tywin, but it is allies I need right now, not friends. Allies who can muster soldiers to my cause—"

The boy spluttered. "I am the lord of Darry!"

"And Darry is two hundred leagues from here. Any soldiers you might call up would have three weeks' walking before they reached us. Which might not be terrible, but you have no soldiers, remember."

"I… I could raise some."

"Not without Edmure Tully's permission. And the likelihood of that, considering he still suspects me of having poisoned his scrawny nephew, is not high."

Doubtless they thought Brienne was ignorant of the goings on around her. But she was a soldier, and soldiers heard things. They might hear, for example, that the princess had taken the Darry lordling to her bedchamber once or twice in the past week. And Brienne was certain that this was the moment of rejection, the casting aside of the past. I cannot do this anymore, the princess was saying.

The boy was still stammering. "But I am the lord of Darry. The lord of—"

"You are my friend," said Myrcella, though her warm words were devoid of warmth. "And to be a friend to a queen is a great thing. But you must never forget that you are also her servant."

Ty gave her a long, helpless look. Then his face suddenly hardened, he turned swiftly, and left the room without another word.

"Should I go after him, Your Grace?" said one of the others.

"No. Leave him to come to terms with it."

There was a long pause. Princess Myrcella turned to face the window.

"It was the right thing to do, Your Grace," said the one who had spoken before.

"I know that. I don't need you to tell me that, Serrett."

The silence lengthened. Brienne had half a mind to ask Myrcella if she might go after Ty Frey. After all, he was to be her travelling companion, and sullenness rarely made for good company. But as she opened her mouth to speak, the princess spoke. "What is th—?"

Then there was a great crash. The whole room shook; the tapestries and portraits fell unceremoniously to the flags. Brienne nearly fell; one of the princess's companions did, and the princess herself stumbled from the windowseat with mad eyes. "There's something out there," she said.

Brienne wandered forward to look, pushing the princess back behind her. Outside it was very dark. The road that led up to Crakehall castle was ill-lit, so the only glow came from a strange fiery orb in the night, which was drawing slowly closer… and closer… and closer—

She dived left, tackled Princess Myrcella around the legs, and threw the both of them flat onto the pile of fallen tapestries.

The wall exploded above them. The ceiling beams splintered clean, and came hurtling down; she had to roll to avoid their both being crush. Bits of masonry and tiles rained down hard, shattering the flagstones beneath them. The four-poster bed was blown apart, down feathers scattering in all directions, and oil from the lamps skittered across the floor. Leaving them all quite literally tarred and feathered.

Then she saw that the oil on the floor was taking light. "Up, up!" she yelled, dragging Myrcella to her feet. They stumbled across the floor, through the drifting rock dust, and fell out onto the inner walkway. Somewhere over to her right, there was another great boom, and the whole wall shook; once again the princess lost her footing again. "The others!" she coughed as Brienne picked her up. "Tybolt and—"

"There's no time," she said. "We have to leave, now."

The princess opened her mouth to dispute that. But she swallowed a mouthful of dust, and coughing, she had no choice but to accept Brienne's command. Together they hurried along the wall, towards the stables in the keep's undercroft. Archers ran this way and that – some of them towards the walls, and some of them away. Then, as they came down in the yard, Princess Myrcella called out to a figure. "Robert!"

Robert Crakehall, whom they called Smallboar, turned to them. He was stoutly built, about six foot four, broad and well-equipped to carry his greatsword. He was the commander of Princess Myrcella's garrison of Companions. "Your Grace," he said hurriedly. "I beg your pardon. I was coming to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"The Lannister army—"

"We are the Lannister army." Even now, the princess did not seem to recognise the danger.

"The other Lannister army, my lady," said Smallboar. "They are here. No more of them than there are of us, but they have… well, I don't know what to say. They looked like catapults, the small ones. But they throw… well, it's iron, but hot iron, and – it knocked down the gatehouse tower in one hit."

"And then they threw it at my tower. Yes. I realised." The princess looked at him stupidly for a moment. "What are we going to do?"

Smallboar gaped back at her. "The walls are breached, my lady. They'll be coming through any moment, an' we're already routing. The only thing we can do is flee. To Sarsfield, or back to Peckledon, or somewhere else we have friends."

Suddenly, from the front gate, there was another massive crash. And as they watched, the great stone towers came tumbling down, down, down, and men were screaming as they fell, and then, through the rubble, came the loyal soldiers of Queen Cersei Lannister.

Smallboar glanced past Myrcella. "I have to go, my lady."

"You're coming with me," the girl said very quickly. For the first time, the enormity of the situation seemed to have dawned upon her, and she reacted with fear.

"My lady, I have to rally our men, give you the best chance of—"

"I said you're coming with me!" Myrcella nearly screamed it. "You too, Lady Brienne!" And she ran off – then changed her mind, and ran the other way. Brienne and Smallboar followed, trying to get ahead of her.

They ran, down with the rest of the crowd, stumbling down the undercroft stairs, to the stables. Somehow, Brienne managed to wrangle a horse, and brought it over to Princess Myrcella. The girl tried to climb up, but Brienne held her off, and climbed on first herself. "Now get up."

"I'm not coming with you. I'm going with Robert." She clung oddly to Smallboar.

"Princess," said Smallboar. "You shouldn't—"

"Do as I say!" the girl cried. Brienne decided it would be easier to do as she asked. She jumped down, and held the reins while Smallboar and Myrcella climbed up. Only when she looked back, Smallboar was not there.

"Where's he gone?" Myrcella was asking. "Where is he? Where – what's he doing up there?"

Smallboar had left them behind, running back to the stairs, down which the queen's men were already spilling. He turned back and shouted "Go, Your Grace! Go!"

Myrcella looked down at Brienne, helplessly. Then, as she was about to speak, there was a great crash, and the front doors of the undercroft were filled by a huge figure, clad head to toe in golden plate. He advanced through the crowd of Lannister men filling up the undercroft, men of confused colours and loyalties, and his eyes never left Myrcella's. And the girl's eyes stared back, haunted, as this figure came on with his massive greatsword.

Brienne did not hesitate, though. She slapped the rump of Myrcella's horse, and in the same instant, drew Oathkeeper, and charged the figure. Gods be good, she thought as she stepped forward, he must be seven, no eight feet tall. But now his eyes were moving, seeking out Myrcella's horse as it struggled to depart the undercroft.

And Brienne came charging through. She did not have a choice. No choice, and no chance. They crashed together, and Brienne swung her sword high, hoping perhaps for a miracle. But the giant turned, ungodly fast, and caught her sword in his huge, gilded hand. And Brienne was pretty sure that he would have broken it with his grasp, were it not Valyrian steel. Even so, it took all her strength to wrench it free, and all her speed to catch his returning swing in a frenzied, hopeless motion. That set her on the back foot, and with each swing, she was retreating more and more. Oathkeeper barely held. The giant wielded a greatsword, but he was so massive that he could probably use it one-handed. And when those two-handed swings landed on her blade, Brienne could feel her very sinews tearing, her bones cracking. It was all she could do to keep hold of Oathkeeper. But Princess Myrcella was gone – where, she could not say, but it was away from here. That, for now, was enough.

But even now she could feel her grip weakening. I tried, Jaime, she thought, as his strikes battered down, I tried to reach you.

And then, as her hands were slipping, Smallboar Crakehall stepped out between her and the giant. He had time to look back at her, shout "the princess!", and then he took her place.

Brienne never saw him fall. She was already running past the giant as he brought his sword down on his new enemy, who surely could not withstand him, pushing a path through the rest of the Lannister men. There were no more horses in the stables, but she could find one in the yard somewhere, surely. She pushed out into the night, and heard a cry of "Lady Brienne!" off to her right. For one mad moment she thought it might be Myrcella, but it was only Ty Frey, his face streaked with dust.

She grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders; no time for caution now. "The princess?"

"I saw her riding! She went—" He coughed, and pointed. "That way!"

"The back gate?"

He nodded.

Brienne nodded back. "Well, come on, then. Unless you're planning to die here!"

The boy chewed his lip. "I thought I might… if you see her, tell her I fought bravely. Tell her I died fighting for her heart…"

He was making no sense. "Come on!" Brienne said, dragging him with one hand, holding Oathkeeper ahead of her with the other. He did not really resist. They fought their way down towards the back gate, forcing a path through the smoke. Of horses there were none, but the attackers had not yet come round to this gate, so they were able to blunder through it as Crakehall castle burned behind them. Once they were out on the plain, it was only a matter of making it to the treeline. Despite fearing that someone would ride up and cut her head off any moment, they made it through, and hid themselves in the trees.

When things had died down to a quiet, Ty tugged on her arm. "What do we do now?" The boy was so frenzied and barely comprehensible he made Podrick Payne seem like the epitome of intelligence.

"Now," said Brienne, "we find Myrcella. And quickly, before the queen's men do." She thought about things for a moment. "She won't have gone back to the Rock, or anywhere near it. She'll have tried to seek out her army… the largest part is at Peckledon, but the queen might have gotten there first."

"She'll have gone to Peckledon," said Ty suddenly.

"You can't be sure of that."

"I'm sure."

"How do you know that?"

The boy coughed a little. "I just… know. That's where she'll have gone."

Brienne made to argue otherwise, but the truth was, she had no better ideas. "Well," she said. "It is worth a try. How far is it to Sarsfield?"

"It was a day when we came down. A day's ride. So… about two days walking. Myrcella will be there a day before us."

"Then we'd best get walking," said Brienne.

"Now?" The boy looked at her, horrified.

"Aye," she said. "No time to lose." She had learned that the best way of getting him to start walking was to simply walk off, so she did. And sure enough, he quickly caught up with her.

"Are you hurt?" she asked after they had been walking for a while. "From the battle?"

"I – no." He shook his head, then shook himself, as if to make sure. "I'm unhurt."

"Not everyone was so lucky," said Brienne gloomily. "There was… a giant. I know that sounds foolish, but—"

"Ser Robert Strong," said Ty. "He killed the king."

"He tried to kill the princess too."

They walked a little while further. "If she could hear us, she'd probably tell you to call her the queen. But she doesn't mean it. I don't think she wants it, not anymore. Not after everything that happened at Harrenhal."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No, but I can tell." He sighed. "You don't believe me. And why would you? You probably still think she tried to kill Robert Arryn."

"It was Littlefinger," said Brienne. "He did it. The lords of the Vale said so."

"The lords of the Vale were tricked. That's what Myrcella thinks."

"By whom?"

Ty looked away. "I shouldn't be telling you."

"No. But you started telling me, which suggests that you mean to finish."

He sighed. "Your Lady Sansa. Myrcella had a theory… she thinks she poisoned Robert… I know it sounds ridiculous, but—"

"It is ridiculous," Brienne asserted. "Why would Sansa poison her own cousin?"

"To make sure Littlefinger ended up in prison. Or better still, dead." He paused. "They were working together, Myrcella and Sansa. I thought you knew that. She said you were there when they spoke, in her cell."

I went down to the cell. I was never in there with them. But it couldn't be true, could it? That Sansa had made everything up, set it all in place. But she did send me to find Clegane. And she told me that Myrcella would say something, and that would be his cue, and… "It does not matter," said Brienne. "Sansa had nothing to do with it." And she would believe nothing else. Seeing he was about to reply, she said, "When did Myrcella tell you this, anyway?" That shut him up.

By now they had climbed a little ways uphill, and came to a ridge where they could look out over Crakehall, about a mile to the south. Brienne looked about – and there, on another nearby hill, she glimpsed something strange. An encampment of sorts, horses and riders standing about, a few banners flying that she could not make out.

"You don't think that could be—?" began Ty.

"It very well might be."

Having spent the better part of a year looking for Sansa Stark, the prospect that this particular search might already be over seemed too good to be true. But as she and Ty climbed the hill and saw that the banners up here were Lannister, a sense of strange apprehension grew. And then they crested the hill, and Ty pointed, and, unable to help himself, he exclaimed "That's Peck!"

So it was. Josmyn Peckledon was of Myrcella's Companions, and obviously Ty Frey knew him well. The pair approached one another and conversed a moment, and then the Frey boy called Brienne forward. "She's here," he said quietly, as Peck led them through.

They found Myrcella at the crest of the hill, watching the smoke rise over Crakehall. When she saw them approaching, a visible relief came over her, betraying perhaps more than was her intention. "You're all right?"

Now back on safe ground, Ty's confidence had returned. "Not a scratch upon us. Lady Brienne and I made it out all right. Together."

That was an embellishment, but Brienne did not betray him. "We did, my lady."

Myrcella nodded. "I thank you," she said, mustering all the humility in her heart to utter those three words – and then deciding that was probably enough for a lifetime. "What became of Robert? Smallboar, I mean?"

"He died, my lady." Brienne did not soften the blow. "And I think he saved me in doing so, truly, though I hardly knew him. He… he fought bravely. Died fighting for you."

"Crakehall was his home," said Myrcella, heavily. "I suppose I was a fool to think he would leave it."

Yes, thought Brienne. But if you had not had your tantrum around the horses, he might have survived, too.

Ty swallowed. "What will we do now?"

The princess turned to stare out over the windy moor. "My mother brought sword and fire to Crakehall. She slew my friends, my brother's brave Companions. And I have no doubt that she will send her men to Sarsfield, to Peckledon, to Cornfield, to Silverhill, all before we can reach them, and possibly before my messengers reach them. But if the gods are good… and they owe us, I think, we may be able to organise. And then we will march. We will march back to Lannisport, and we will take the city. And then we will march to Casterly Rock, and we will bring the queen's justice upon Cersei Lannister as she brought her treason upon us – or we will die in the attempt."

Author's Note:

Okay, so Brienne and Robert Strong is the sort of fight you'd expect to find in a fanfic... huh. Though at the same time, I would not be surprised if it turns up in GOT at some point, which I will be perfectly content with. Though, of course, CLEGANEBOWL is what we all really want.

I haven't written Brienne in about 84 years, so this was a refreshing chapter to write. And she has a much better arc here than she did in TSK.

So, the main part of this chapter is taken up by a fairly medium-sized battle. I killed off Tybolt Serrett (random OC from the last chapter), and also Smallboar, which was sad. You can assume that many of the other King's Companions (Rollam, for example, doesn't appear here in this chapter, but he turns up later, I believe). This chapter also sees the debut of one of Qyburn's new technological innovations; he appears to have invented some form of rudimentary cannon, but I haven't really researched the plausibility of this so I can only say "just accept it."

As well as seeing Brienne's thoughts, I think it's interesting to get an outsider's look at Myrcella, a character who complete lacks any sort of function of objectivity - though she's not necessarily unique in that.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next POVs will be Samwell or Daenerys - if you've got any preference over who will come first, feel free to comment below.