Griffin's Roost is a mess when they set foot on it.

It is clear a fight happened there recently. "Crownlanders," Ser Jaime says, pointing out at torn banners thrown on the ground. "The King must have sent a portion of his army here while he went to Tarth."

There are some Golden Company soldiers on their way to the castle. Half of them charge at the group and die fighting; the other half run when they see their combined strength—they may be a small garrison, but they can still do a great deal of damage.

Step by step, soldier by soldier, they arrive at the castle's gates. Their fight from there on is tougher, as there are more guards, and many of them are injured, but eventually they make it to the main hall.

Ser Jaime had described Jon Connington as a red-haired man with a half-grey beard and a medium-sized torso. The man in question is not sitting on his castle's throne, as she expected. The man sitting there is a lot younger and carries pale blonde hair and purple eyes.

Her assessment is interrupted by Ser Jaime's snarl. "Connington."

"Kingslayer," a man snarls back, and she realizes his looks match the ones her Commander described. "I thought you'd have already killed Robert Baratheon by now," he adds with a mirthless chuckle. "Kill your way to the throne."

"If I had wanted that forsaken chair," he replies, "I'd have taken it myself when I killed Aerys. Now, who is the wannabe usurper?"

The young man stands up. "You'll address me with respect, Kingslayer. You stand before the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of My Name, son of Rhaegar and Elia."

Ser Jaime clenches his jaw at the mention of Elia. "Nice titles," he says, sounding more nonchalant than he certainly feels, "but I fear you got your parentage wrong, lad. You may be Aegon, but not Elia Martell's Aegon. Her baby died in the sack while I was busy killing his grandfather."

Aegon huffs. "I won't bother you with all the scheming made to guarantee my survival and escape. I bet you already know anyway; stories spread fast." He takes a few steps in their direction, although maintaining a safe distance. He is surrounded by guards, most from the Golden Company. "I come with a proposition," he continues. "If you bend the knee today, Kingslayer, I'll spare you from execution and give pardon to all the men under your command. My aunt and my uncle won't harm you either. You have my word."

Silence falls in the room, and Brienne studies Ser Jaime (while ignoring her racing heart, of course). He looks impassive; she can't tell whether he's contemplating the offer or not.

Would it be so dishonorable if he did? After all, the wannabe king just promised to spare his life if he bends the knee now, something he won't be afforded if the Targaryens end up winning later on—a very possible outcome, since they have dragons at their disposal. While the right thing to do would be stand his ground and keep fighting, she wonders if he will choose his comrades-at-arms over his King—like he once chose King's Landing over Aerys.

Slowly, a smirk appears on his face. "Your word means as much to me as my word means to you, lad. None of us came to surrender, but to fight for our homes."

"Those will still be your homes if you do surrender," Aegon says calmly, "but have it your way. Seize them all."

With no moment of hesitation, the soldiers charge at them. Thankfully, she already had her sword ready, for a Golden Company man jumps at her, clearly aiming for her head. She blocks his blow just in time, and they engage in battle.

Later, she won't be able to recollect the fight very well. With many soldiers to defeat, Brienne attacks viciously while trying to leave as few openings as possible. One, two, three, four soldiers die by her hands when a huge soldier comes for her.

By huge, she means he's larger and taller than even herself. He just throws himself at her, using his weight to knock her down. Luckily, her own weight works in her favor, at it lessens the impact and prevents her from having the wind knocked out of her. They fight on the floor, both struggling to use their weapons.

At one point he throws his sword off and punches her face. She loses the grip on her sword and, before she can recover, he grabs her head and bites her cheek. She screams in pain as his teeth go deeper into her skin, and another when his knee kicks between her legs.

Suddenly his mouth is off her cheek. "A bloody woman," he exclaims. Then his hand goes to her lower armor. "Time to take a bite off the cherry."

Fuck, no. She raises her chest to grab his face and bite his cheek off, but she doesn't go as deep as him before being pushed down. Before the man can pull her armor off, though, someone pushes him away.

The two roll off her, and she takes the opportunity to sit up and reach for her sword. When the two of them sit up, she realizes her defender is Ser Jaime. Before she can thank him, or even stand up, the man pushes him again, grabs his sword and—

She can't see what happened, but she hears his scream.

With a cry, she stands up and jumps at him, stabbing his neck. He falls, and so does she, but only Brienne stands back up. She turns around to see Ser Jaime groaning in pain, gathers him in her arms and uses the confusion in the hall to flee with him. The sun has already gone down, so it's easier to go unnoticed.

Only when they're halfway back to the ship she realizes his right hand is missing.