Game of Thrones - One Shots/Imagines: Part Two (Completed)

Brienne of Tarth X Fem!Wildling!Reader (Requested by _zuana)

A/N- This imagine is for user: _zuana. I hope you enjoy it.

You were used to eating alone. Frequenting pubs, and taverns, and inns; and shovelling the food down your throat, ready to disappear before anyone became curious enough to ask anything of you. Travelling on the King's road alone was always something that raised questions, but doing so as a woman was almost unheard of. Not that you had much of a choice. Remain in your home, waiting for the war to come to you, essentially waiting for death to come knocking at your door, or leave and head for somewhat sunnier climates.

Before the Night King had come along you had never passed the wall. You had once believed that you would remain in the North from the day you were born until the day you died, and long after. But times had changed, and the dead began to march. Most of the other wildlings had stopped as soon as they had seen the first sign of safety; in fact, you were one of the only people to keep moving, save a solitary few who knew what was good for them.

You were only a few days south of Castle Black when you were met with trouble. Men had an ego on this side of the wall, and they didn't like it being bruised. Three men had followed you from the tavern that night, shouting their intentions as they got closer to you. Foul creatures, they were, too.

"She looks dirty, do you think she's dirty where it counts?"

"Bet her cunt's as sweet as summer wine."

"Wonder if it's true, what they say about wildling girls being cock hungry whores."

Perhaps, if you had kept your temper and continued walking they would have gotten bored and left you alone; Perhaps they would have forced themselves upon you and had their way with you in the woods. Maybe they would have cut your throat and taken the last of the money you had managed to hide away in your undergarments, and it was conceivable that the next morning some of the locals would have found you; alone; naked; dead. But you would never know. True, you had never been good at keeping your temper at the best of times, but something about the way these beasts spoke left you rather riled up.

You slid your blade out of its sheath, keeping it close to your side and out of sight, before stopping in the middle of the path and turning to face them. You remained silent, staring in their direction for a moment until they, all three, stopped moving, staring back at you. "Evening," you started, lifting your chin a little as you clenched your jaw. None of the so-called-men answered, and you tilted your head to the side slightly. "When someone greets you it is common courtesy to respond," you added, taking a few steps in their direction.

"Rule doesn't apply to filthy wildlings," one of the men answered, suddenly gaining a short spasm of courage before shrinking back between his two friends.

You chuckled, a grating, hard sound that seemed to echo through the trees and into the darkness of the night. "Do make up your mind-" you gave a long, drawn-out shrug, "-you seemed all too happy to speak with me a moment ago before I began responding, that is." You continued to stare at the three, shaking your head. "Or are you all just cowards who enjoy scaring young girls when they are at their most vulnerable?"

"You need to learn to hold your tongue, wildling scum." Finally, one of them had gained some ill-thought-out courage, and a smile came to your lips as you watched him take a few steps in your direction. "Your lot never should have come past the wa-" his words stopped as he reached you, a gurgle escaping his throat where you had pierced it, your blade sinking into his skin. Somehow, you always managed to forget just how much blood there was when you stabbed someone.

You had expected the other two men to run, though you were sure whether it would be towards you, in their friend's aid, or away to their own safety. But no movement came, and as you allowed your blade to slip back out of the man's neck and watching him slump to the ground, the sound of clinking armour began to ring along the road. You knelt, wiping the knife against the man's clothing. The smell was something you could never have forgotten; rich iron, so strong that it crawled up your nostrils and into your brain, leaving traces of itself in your memory.