A little bit of everything Multi Fandom Imagines

Once upon a time in the west - GoT - Part 5

(Y/n) made her way back to the brothel; it had been a long night outlining her plan to Sandor, a long night of trying to persuade the big man to contact all the others. (Y/n) knew that it was a lot to ask, but each man owed her, owed her father for saving them during the war, and each man had promised to be there whenever she needed, and if (Y/n) was going to bring down the Walkers then it was going to take more than her, Waya and Sandor to take them on.

She had told Sandor what Robert and the Judge were willing to pay for the heads of the Walkers, a sum that she knew would appeal to the mercenary side of all her father's old friends, a sum that would in fact appeal to anyone.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, bathing the town in a glorious brightening light as she pushed her way through the doors; the soiled doves were still there, but now most were sleeping in chairs, as finally most of the men had gone back to the mines or their wives, readying themselves for the day ahead, it would not be long before the whorehouse was filled once more with noise and smells, but for now, there was a pleasant calmness that had descended over the establishment.

"Good morning (Y/n)." A smooth voice said from behind her, as she started to make her way up the stairs to her room.

"You really should be careful about wandering the streets of Kings Landing at night, it isn't safe for a lady such as yourself." Petyr told her, smiling broadly as (Y/n) turned to face him.

"I assure you, Mister Bealish...."

"Petyr please." Petyr insisted, interrupting (Y/n) midsentence.

"I assure you Petyr, that I know Kings Landing as well as I know the back of my hand, despite how much our dear mayor may try and change it, and no one would dare touch me, because if they did they would find that it was the biggest and last mistake of their life." (Y/n) said, tapping the butt of one of the pistols that she had strapped around her waist.

"You are most certainly an intriguing woman (Y/n). I must admit that I have known a number of women that have taken on the roles of men in the west, but none have ever been like you; beautiful, intelligent, and deadly, it is quite an attractive mix." Petyr cooed, as he reached up his hand and pushed a few stray hairs back behind her ear, moving closer so that there was barely a chink of light between them.

"And I must admit that I have met a number of men like you before as well, Petyr. A cool, cunning, and calculated snake, with a silver tongue, and a handsome face, I am sure that you can talk most women into anything. I know that you are an educated man, that has offered his services to the mayor and the judge, in fact you are even on the town council, you are becoming quite respectable for a man that runs a brothel. And I only have to look around to see the kind of women that you are used to dealing with, and I can assure you, that I most definitely am not one of those." (Y/n) told him, crossing her arms defiantly, annoyed that Petyr was beginning to chuckle.

"It would appear that the mayor's hound has been telling you all about me. He is of course quite correct, I am privileged enough to be part of the town council, and the mayor has on occasion taken advantage of my bookkeeping skills; but I assure that I most certainly don't see you as anything like the other women here, you my dear (Y/n) are quite a rare treasure, a flower in the desert, a woman that a man would be honoured to have by his side." Petyr hummed, as he looked (Y/n) up down.

"And I must say, you look quite beautiful in my clothes, they seem to fit you perfectly, kissing every one of your curves......." Petyr began, his smooth smile changing to a scowl as a cough from behind him drew his attention.

"(Y/n), where have you been?" Tyrion asked with a smirk, as he moved around Petyr, and took (Y/n)'s hand leading her over to the table where Bronn was slumped, throwing back the latest in a very long line of drinks.

"I was with Sandor, you know how he gets if I don't go and see him, and I thought even you two would have gone by now." (Y/n) laughed, as she sat next to Bronn, the drunk man throwing his arm around her shoulder.

"Well, it looks to me like ya lucky we didn't go, looks ta me like Baelish is more than a little bit interested in ya. I tell ya what, why don't ya come back home with me, I'll protect ya from Littlefingers." Bronn slurred, grinning happily as he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Believe me, I think that I am safer with Baelish than you, you old dog; and I am more than capable of taking care of myself, if he lays one hand on me, he won't be Littlefingers anymore, he'll be no fingers. Now will you two get yourself home, come back later and I'll let you know what I have in mind for the Walkers." (Y/n) told Bronn and Tyrion, kissing them both on the cheek before she made her way up to her room, and locked the door.

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) loosened the gun belt, dropping the weapons onto the bed before she made her way over to her saddlebags, carefully rummaging through the contents as she looked for the old photo that she kept in a frame, lovingly wrapped in a length of material to protect it from the elements.

(Y/n) smiled sadly as she felt the corner of the frame, and unwrapping it from its material confines, she sat on the bed, her fingers ghosting over the image of her father, the only image of him that she possessed; he sat rigid on a chair surrounded by the men that he had served with in the war, men that she had finally talked Sandor into sending for.

On her father's right sat Beric and Thoros, two of her father's oldest friends. Thoros had been a priest before the war, and even though it was really against all he believed, he had joined Beric and her father to do his part as a soldier, finding his niche as he served as confessor for those that fell on the battlefields.

To her father's left sat the big frontiers man Tormund Giantsbane, a huge wild haired, red bearded creature, who when dressed in furs appeared more like a great grizzly bear rather than a human being. Behind her father stood the tall and handsome Jorah Mormont; Jorah was actually an English gentleman that had made his way to the new world, hoping to strike it rich in the gold fields, but instead had found himself on the battlefield of his new homeland, fighting for a better future for all. (Y/n) had to admit that he did have a dubious past, her father had once let it slip that he had sold slaves in England, but despite this fact, she knew that he was a good man, and that he had tried to make recompense for his previous life.

Next to Jorah stood Eddard Stark, a man she knew well. He was the man that had kept the others together, a loyal family man that would always stand by his friends, but (Y/n) knew that she could not expect him to leave Winterfell; Ned as everyone called him had too much to do keeping the lawless elements up north at bay, so (Y/n) had told Sandor to send for his son Jon instead. (Y/n) had never met Ned's illegitimate son, but Jon was supposed to be a gifted knife smith, and pugilist, someone that could be very handy in a fight, and (Y/n) knew that if the Walkers were involved, then a fight was what she would get.

"I'm going to do it this time, pop; this time I am going to stop the lot of them, this time I am going to watch the rest of the Walker clan dangle by their necks. All I ask is that you watch down on me, and somehow persuade the others to come here, persuade them to help me so that no one else need suffer." (Y/n) said quietly, as she clutched the photo to her chest, her eyes slowly closing as she finally drifted off to sleep.