Chapter 10 – December 6th 2019
Brienne of Tarth was a stranger in a strange land.
She was in a prison. That much she could recognize, but everything beyond that was endlessly baffling.
The first few days had passed in a blur. The flying men coming with their noisy 'firearms'. Being held down on the ground, while her arms were chained together. Waiting there for hours before being put into an equally noisy carriage. They had been taken to a camp somewhere. For a few days they had been chained up inside a tent. Men had come and questioned her, asking about an invisible man. She was too defeated to tell anything but the truth. It was no invisible man, it was a shadow.
After that more carriages had come for them. She had not been able to see from the inside but presumed they had passed through the Maidenring at some point. On the other side she had been separated from the rest. Ser Parmen, Ser Emmon, Ser Mark, and two dozen others. Some women warriors – or perhaps they were more of a city watch, all dressed in blue, had come for her. Next thing she knew she was in an unfamiliar building, something called a 'Correctional Centre'. Her garments were taken off her. More women guards examined her, appearing to measure her, and even taking something called a 'photo'. She was made to shower, before being led into a cell.
As far as cells went, she thought it surprisingly comfortable. The mattress was soft, though she could not discern what material it was made of. A sink provided water, along with a small privy. There were two beds. She looked at her cellmate. Another woman. The cellmate looked back.
She had dark skin, like a summer islander, but somehow her features were different. She had a lumpy nose, and a tangle of brown hair. To Brienne she looked fat, but the flying men often appeared very well fed.
"Who are you?" she said, so quickly Brienne almost didn't understand the words.
"My name is Brienne" she said cautiously.
The woman cocked her head. "You an alien?" she asked.
"What?" Brienne asked, the term unfamiliar.
"You an alien, from another planet?"
"I am from Planetos" she answered. "Through the Ring."
The women gave an awkward sort of laugh. "If you're an alien, why you look so much like us?"
"I do not know" Brienne said, confused.
"I'm Bekki" the woman said. For a moment the of them stared at each other. Despite her awkwardness, Brienne felt the confidence to go and sit on her own bed. It looked a little small for her, but she had grown used to that.
"You're big" Bekki commented. "Why you so big?"
Brienne shrugged. "I was always tall as a child."
"Everyone where you come from so big?"
"No, just me" she said glumly. She looked over at Bekki. "Are you from here?"
"Yeah, where else I from?"
"You look different" Brienne said, anxious of giving offence. "Your skin is…?"
"Black? Yeah. I'm blackfella. I'm abo."
"What is abo?" Brienne asked.
The conversation only grew more confusing when she asked Bekki why she was in the jail.
"Ice" she said simply.
"Ice?"
"Yeah, ice."
"Why are you in here because of ice?"
"I was driving."
"Driving?" she had seen the cars of the flying men often enough. "You were driving with ice?"
"Yeah."
"That is not allowed?"
"No, course not."
Brienne sat back in the bed; brow furrowed as she tried to comprehend all this.
Her first mealtime was an exercise in patience, each encounter more perplexing than the last. It seemed a wing of the prison housing perhaps twenty inmates ate their meals together. People stopped and stared when a guard escorted her into the room.
"Bloody hell. She's big."
"We sure she's not a man?"
"They say she's a knight."
"Is she? Are you a knight?" a woman asked. She was, to Brienne's eyes, almost grotesquely fat, with crooked teeth and short hair, and looked past her father's age.
"No, my lady" Brienne replied automatically. This provoked giggles of laughter. "Oh my god, she's serious isn't she...?"
Days past, then perhaps weeks. Aside from mealtimes, they were allowed into a courtyard outside for an hour a day, for 'exercise'. She looked around nervously for a headman's block, or a hangman's noose, but saw no sign of such. Her fellow inmates seemed to find her fascinating, and it was mutual. They asked where she was from, how she had got here. She tried to explain. That her lord, her king, Renly, had been murdered.
"You stole a plane? Cut a man's hand off? Jesus, you're a crazy bitch."
She asked after their crimes, and the answers were just as confusing. Assault, theft, burglary, driving without a license… 'Drugs' were mentioned repeatedly, perhaps by half. 'Cannabis', 'ecstasy', 'cocaine.' Only alcohol was familiar to her. These are broken women she thought. She could only ponder why such substances would exist in the world of the flying men in the first place. She couldn't quite bring herself to mention the shadow to anyone else. They already think I'm a freak, why add more?
She thought on Renly often, and the manner of his death. More than once she woke up in the middle of the night, gasping at some shape on the wall, but there were only ordinary shadows. The cell was silent, except for Bekki's snoring. Each evening, she took to kneeling by the bed, whispering her own prayers to each of the seven. But do they even have power here? Through the Ring? She could only hope. And if they existed, why didn't they stop the shadow? Why let Renly die, when he would have been such a good king? She wondered what she would do if she somehow ever got out of here. Run off and join the Faith Militant, perhaps? Would they even accept a woman?
Weeks seemed to turn to months. It took her some time to build up the courage to ask the guards what fate might await her. They could only say her 'legal situation' was still being decided and someone should visit soon. She asked what methods of execution their queen here might have. The guard looked at her strangely.
"There's no executions here."
"No executions?"
"No."
"Then where do they do them?"
"No, there's no executions anywhere. This is Australia."
"No one is executed? Ever?"
"No, not in fifty years."
Brienne tried to make sense of this. "What about murderers?"
"The maximum sentence would be life imprisonment" the guard answered.
"Treason?"
"Life as well, I think."
"Rapers?"
"Twenty-five years."
"Theft?"
"Ten years, but usually a lot less."
Eventually, one morning, another guard knocked on the cell door and told her she had a visitor. Brienne, already dressed in the green garments they had given her, followed the guard through the prison's labyrinthine corridors, her heart pounding. They passed through several locked doors, before entering a small room.
An older man met her there, wearing a black suit, with silver hair and spectacles. He had a kindly face, the first she could recall seeing in ages. A younger aid or servant was with him. "Lady Brienne" he said politely. He reached out a hand, which Brienne shook hesitantly. His hands were soft. "Did I say it right?" he asked, politely.
"Yes, my lord" she replied.
"Well I'm not a lord. We don't really have lords here, anymore." He indicated the seat opposite a small table. Brienne sat, looking at the man, suddenly fearful. "My name is Julian Burnside" he explained. "I am not a lord, I'm a barrister."
"A barrister?"
"A legal advocate. I represent individuals in court."
"Are you here to judge me?"
"No, I argue before judges."
"You speak before a lord?"
"A judge, or a magistrate, yes."
He took some time to explain his role, and the workings of the legal system. "With your permission, lady Brienne, I would like to represent you."
"Represent me?"
"Yes, to help you."
"Why would you help me? I do not know you, ser."
"I don't know you either, but I want to help you. It is unjust that you have been left waiting here so long. The government has panicked and people have suffered for it, including yourself. Besides, you present a fascinating case" he said amicably. "I would represent you, and free of charge, in this instance."
Brienne felt oddly thankful, but no less suspicious. "Then I thank you, ser. Do you know what will become of me?"
"A good question. You have been left in limbo here because, quite frankly, no one knows what to do with you, or your fellow prisoners."
Brienne's ears perked up. "Ser Parmen? Ser Emmon? Ser Mark? They are well?"
"Oh yes, they're fine. I already spoke with them. They're down at Port Philip Prison, not far from here." Julian Burnside pulled up a thick file and began flicking pages. "The legal issues are myriad. Indeed, in forty years, I don't think I've ever seen such a mess. That's good news for us, because it makes things a nightmare for the prosecution." He started ticking them off on his fingers. "To get a conviction, there must for be a trial, but where do you even prosecute a case like this? The state supreme court? The High Court? The International Criminal Court? Can you legally be tried as a person?
There was no provision in the legislation for what happens if a portal opens up to another dimension, or another world, quite understandably. You appear to be human, however, our DNA is similar enough. The CSIRO says we can't have diverged by more than a few tens of thousands of years, and you certainly appear to be an intelligent being capable of communicating with us and understanding your actions, but these are all issues our submission can raise. There is also your youth. May I clarify, how old are you?"
"I had my eighteenth nameday last year" Brienne said.
"Right, so you are old enough to be tried as an adult. But the situation is all so unprecedented. We have signed a treaty with Westeros now, with provisions for criminal prosecution and extradition, but this all happened beforehand, at a time when you would legally have been regarded as stateless. The government has cited the Crimes (Aviation Act) 1991 however. They argue its provisions to hijacking apply extra-territorially, and to all persons, regardless of their nationality or citizenship. That is what the text says, but we will argue this point. Our submission will also rest on your own ignorance of what you were doing. Your emotional state, after the death of Renly Baratheon. Tempers were high. Blood was running hot. Not to mention you seemed to be very much following the lead of others. Loras Tyrell in particular."
"I knew what I was doing" said Brienne, suddenly feeling affronted. "Stannis killed Renly, who had just appointed us as his kingsguards. It was our duty to avenge him and kill Stannis."
Burnside considered her a moment. "I have heard the accounts given, but I think I must hear it myself. How did Renly die?"
Brienne hesitated a moment, then the whole story came pouring out. She spoke of the sudden cold in the room, the feeling of wrongness. The shadow, the sword that was not there. The blood spurting from her king's neck, and the chaos that had followed. Burnside was writing notes. At its conclusion, he looked at her.
"I have been in discussions with the government. There is one thing they made quite clear to me, and despite forty years of advocating very passionately for the truth, I am actually inclined to agree. If this goes to court, or you are standing before the press, there can be no mention of this…shadow, this invisible man."
"No mention?" Brienne asked, startled. "Why not?"
"Because it makes no sense" he replied. "How can a shadow kill someone? Either it makes you all look criminally insane, or something much darker is at work. But if so, what? My people still do not understand it, and until we do, it is best others do not know. It will cause panic and hysteria, and we don't need any more of that just now. Already there are rumours…but any mention of it in the press gets laughed at." He looked at her evenly. "So I stress this point. If you mention the shadow, the government will deny everything, and simply attribute you as insane. And that is not a good thing. Ordinary prison sentences have set endings, but insanity? There is no guarantee you will ever get out."
Brienne felt uneasy at this. Lying did not come easy to her. "You want me to lie?"
"To not mention it" he clarified. "A lie by omission, perhaps. It is not directly relevant to this case anyway. I say again, you will not be asked directly about the nature of Renly's death, and should not mention it" he leaned forward in his chair. "Be aware, there are more parties involved in this case too. Mr. Dutton wants to make an example of you, but King Stannis has also demanded your extradition, your return that is, to Westeros."
Brienne's eyes widened. "Stannis will execute me if I go back."
The barrister looked at her sympathetically. "That was my impression too. But if anything, it may work in our favour. If you are in genuine fear for your lives, that gives you a very good chance of successfully seeking asylum here afterwards, regardless of the outcome."
"Asylum?"
"As a refugee. If you are you successful, you will be permitted to live here, as a free person, because you are unable to return to Westeros. It is a lot to consider I know. Still, the first thing I would advise as your legal representative. You should not mention the exact happenings of Renly's death."
Brienne thought on all this a moment. It went against her every instinct, but she could see his point. "Very well" she said finally. "I will not speak of the shadow."
######
That same evening…
Tyrion's eyes perked up, as Lady Catelyn stepped into the dining room.
The Vue de Monde was unlike any place in his world, he had known that at a glance. It was a sort of tavern, but no tavern on Planetos could be found eight hundred feet in the air. Not unless you set one up on top of the Wall he thought idly. He wondered if the owners would object to him pissing off the balcony and decided to not test the notion.
The reception on his second visit to Australia had notably cooled. His party had been very politely moved across town to another hotel, called the 'Windsor'. It was not as tall, nor apparently quite as modern, as the Crown Towers, but he had to admit it was just as comfortable. He, Bronn and Podrick had been joined by a growing trickle of exiles, including his cousins Willem Lannister, Tion and Cleos Frey, as well as Pycelle, who looked to have escaped King's Landing with his own wrinkled neck intact. The local city watch, whom Bronn had nicknamed the 'bluecoats', escorted them everywhere. "For your own safety" he had been told, and he did not particularly doubt it. He had met with many others in the weeks since, Westerosi, Australian and beyond, but nothing had quite tied his stomach in knots like tonight.
The widow of Winterfell walked carefully across the ornate wooden floor, her shoes tapping audibly. Behind her came a single bodyguard, Ser Rodrik Cassell, Winterfell's master-at-arms, and a pair of Victorian police. Rodrik gave Tyrion a looked of barely concealed contempt, which became completely unconcealed once he saw Bronn, sitting beside his own escort. Bronn returned a broad smile. Lady Catelyn appeared not to notice the exchange, focused as she was on Tyrion.
Tyrion climbed down off his chair and walked around the table. He gave a small bow, though not quite taking his eyes off her. "My lady" he said, not forgetting his courtesies. From twice his height she looked down on him.
"Lord Tyrion" she said curtly.
Tyrion strode over on his little legs and grasped the seat opposite, pulling it back for her to sit. After a moment's hesitation she did so. Tyrion walked back around and resumed his own seat. At the tables nearest them, their respective bodyguards and police escort sat down, watching them closely, as if afraid someone was going to pull out a knife and skewer the other. Tyrion glanced down at the cutlery, seeing only butter knives. Yes actually, that's precisely what they're afraid of. He looked up at Lady Catelyn. She sat there, poised, her auburn hair tied up in a tight bun. For all her lack of warmth, she remained a handsome woman.
"I must say I was surprised by your invitation, my lady" Tyrion started. "I suspected after our last journey together, you would be utterly sick of the sight of me."
"I do not come to look at you" she said, rather coldly. She paused, then seemed to soften a little. "But I do come to talk. I am glad you accepted my invitation."
Before she could continue, Tyrion held up a hand. "Talk? Of course, but actually, let us order first, then get down to business. Have you tried the oysters here? I have never tasted their equal. And the wine? Superb. Better than anything grown at the Arbor, I must admit."
Lady Catelyn frowned at him, but reached for a menu all the same. A waitress came over, appearing remarkably calm, as if meetings like this were the norm here. They made their orders. Shortly after the waitress returned with a bottle of McLaren Vale Shiraz, pouring each of them a glass. Tyrion raised his, thinking a moment. "I am not sure what we should drink to, my lady…to good health?"
"Peace, my lord" she said after a moment, raising her own glass. Tyrion nodded. They clinked together. He drank deeply, but the glass barely touched Lady Catelyn's lips.
"Quite a view" Tyrion said looking out the window. Far off to the west, the size of a halfmoon, the Ring was a strange blue crescent. "I asked if they had a ring-side view. One never quite gets used to the sight of it, I find."
"Yes" was all Lady Catelyn said.
Tyrion cocked his head. "I mean, perhaps because it is so queer" he went on. "To gaze upon something so clearly grander than yourself, or indeed, than anything else in the world. It is rather humbling, reminds me of visiting the Wall, but even more so."
Lady Catelyn frowned. "I would not know of that my lord."
"No?" Tyrion prompted. "You never visited yourself?"
"Winterfell was far enough north for me" she replied.
The conversation died for a few moments. Tyrion looked down at the city lights again. "Still, Melbourne itself is almost as humbling. There must be more wealth in this one city than all of Planetos combined. Sometimes I wish I could bring everyone here to see it. Look upon that, I would say, and tell me the game of thrones still matters."
"Perhaps it doesn't" Catelyn conceded "but many remain convinced it does."
The food came shortly. Tyrion had ordered his oysters, and a collection of other seafood. Lady Catelyn had gone for more modest fare, with lamb and cheese. When they had each taken a few bites, she looked at him again. The silence stretched out. Tyrion let her break it this time.
"You wonder why I ask you here?" she said finally. A pause. "I come only because I know my son will not stop until your brother is dead."
Tyrion had suspected as much. He took another sip of wine, marshalling his thoughts. "With all due respect to your son, my lady, he is no match for my brother. Surely the Goldroad proved that?"
For a moment Lady Catelyn looked angry, but then she looked away, suddenly solemn. "Perhaps not, but he will not be alone next time. Stannis will soon be invading the Westerlands with a hundred thousand men, and you must know of Harrenhal by now."
Tyrion gave a tiny nod. The footage of the airstrike had been all over the 'news'. Reports that he watched every evening in the hotel.
"The flying men…they offered your father peace once" Lady Catelyn went on. "Their terms were generous. Tywin rejected them, and look what happened? Half his kin are dead. If he doesn't bend the knee, the other half will be too, soon."
"I know I am biased, my lady, but I still would not underestimate my family" Tyrion said carefully. "While Tywin and Jaime live, there is every chance. With the faith against him, Stannis will see rebellions everywhere, and correct me if I am wrong, but I hear no word of Doran Martell calling his banners, nor your sister at the Eyrie. It seems not everyone is convinced of Stannis' victory?"
"Even without them, we have the numbers" Lady Catelyn said stubbornly. "It seems quite clear you will lose, in which case Jaime is doomed anyway. My only other concern is my son will join him in a grave before that happens. But perhaps we can avoid that." She looked at him earnestly. "Convince Jaime to take the black, before it is too late. It is the only way Robb will be satisfied. The only way the both of them live."
"You could always advise your son to take the black, if you are so concerned" Tyrion shot back. "It was good enough for his bastard brother, wasn't it?"
That shut her up a moment. When she spoke again, Tyrion expected her tone to be icy, but it was more of a plea. "Stannis has no particular vendetta against you, so far as I am aware, my lord. You have taken no part in the recent wars, in the plot to kill the king, in Cersei's treachery or…" she hesitated a moment. "I do not believe you took part in any attempt to harm my son."
Tyrion felt something between relief and annoyance. Took you long enough. "That is good to hear my lady, though I can perhaps understand why you thought so. It seems our dear Littlefinger has not been entirely honest with you?"
Catelyn frowned at that. "I have been trying to work it out, why Petyr would have lied to me, to say he lost the dagger to you."
"A mystery, is it?" Tyrion said, resisting the urge to sneer. "So there's no possible motive? No reason Petyr Baelish might have wanted to start a war between Stark and Lannister?"
Catelyn blinked at him. "What reason, then?"
"My lady" Tyrion said, a touch exasperated. "You and I had the good fortune to be born into prominent families, near the top, the apex of the pyramid. We're quite comfortable where we are, so perhaps its unthinkable to us that others would want to upend that pyramid. But what if you were born lower down, towards the bottom?" He watched her face closely, taking particular pleasure in the growing doubt writ across it. "Is it really so hard to imagine, my lady? Petyr Baelish was born the meanest of petty lordlings, barely above a hedge knight. Fostered at Riverrun as a child…he saw the apex, and has wanted to climb back there ever since. He climbed all the way to Master of Coin at the Red Keep already. Who is to say he didn't want to climb higher?"
"No one has seen Petyr since the city fell. If he still lives…I intend to get to the bottom of this" she looked out the window a moment, but quickly turned her attention back to Tyrion. "But there is another thing to consider now. Answer me this truthfully, my lord, who is Tywin's heir?"
"Heir?" Tyrion frowned, thrown by the question.
"Jaime is a kingsguard. Cersei a woman, and a prisoner besides. If Tywin dies, who rules Casterly Rock?"
Tyrion quickly composed himself. "By all the laws of Westeros, it would fall to me."
"And if Stannis promised to keep you in that position, absent some territories – the Golden Tooth, Crakehall perhaps, would you not be willing to accept it and bend the knee?"
Tyrion had no immediate answer to that. "You think the Westerlands would accept me as lord? Vile little dwarf that I am?
"You are Tywin's heir" she said stubbornly. "And with the backing of the king, none could question it."
Tyrion thought on all this. For a moment he remembered a scene in Casterly Rock, long ago, of a lesson hard learned. A roomful of men, a crying girl, a small mountain of silver coins changing hands. His father's face, looking down upon him sternly. Owning the Rock did have a certain appeal, even if it meant lording over a much-reduced Westerlands, but he quickly shook the notion. He thought of Joffrey, Lancel and the rest, their heads removed on the Serpentine Steps. Of Jaime, his face split open by Robert's axe. Even of Cersei, scheming bitch that she was, curled up under damp rushes in the bowels of the Red Keep.
His meal finished, Tyrion rose, for all the dignity it gave him. "I am sorry my lady. I wish no ill will upon your son, but I cannot exactly advise my father to bend the knee, and I am not quite ready to betray my family." Not yet he nearly added, stopping himself just in time.