(no subject)

[ursas]

Who| Brienne and YOU
What| Settling in as best she can
Where| Detainment Centre
When| After D8/D9 liberations
Warnings/Notes| None inherent, will update as needed


She's only been here for a few hours, but Brienne already knows a surprising amount about the nation in which she's been brought to. At least, the version that her captors want her to know. They've sat her through enough propaganda reels to drill their message in - once she'd got past the oddness of the pictures moving and talking in front of her, that had made her rather queasy to look at, at first. While their motives in bringing her here and the war they intended her to fight in were rather clear, however, there was far too much about the strange place she'd found herself in that was incomprehensible to her, and therefore extremely suspicious, mostly technological. Guns, cameras, security codes, these were all things she didn't have a word for, and now she was surrounded by them. The only thing more suspicious was why they'd needed to bring a warrior from another world, and a female one at that, to fight their war.

When she's finally let out of the separate cell they've held her in for most of the day, Brienne is pale and sweaty, and irritated with herself at how her captors have rattled her. She hopes it doesn't show, wanting to show stoic resistance in the face of whatever they throw at her. She seats herself first in the common area with her hands clasped over her knees, watching the comings and goings with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, then moves along to the cafeteria and pokes at the food, finding nothing she recognises and very little that looks appetising. She deliberately stays silent when the guards draw near, not wanting to give them any ammunition against her and seeing them as beneath dignifying with conversation, but when someone else who's obviously also detained there approaches she'll try to make herself relax a little, just to show them she means no harm.

"I take it you're not from around here, either."

Comments

[porcelainandsteel]

Sansa has been to visit Luna in the Detention Centre every day she can. Since the first time she came, she's never gone more than two days without a visit. It's the one thing she'll do that's not a calculated political move - she knows that the best thing to do would be to cut all ties with her fellow Tributes, distance herself from the war and the Rebellion, and try to assimilate as much as possible. That's how you survive. You keep your head down, and you make yourself unthreatening.

But Luna means more to her than that, especially since Sansa had thought she'd lost her. So she keeps coming, day after day. Sometimes she brings little gifts - sweets, mostly, and pastries from her favourite shops in the city. She's still doing all right financially - her sponsorship deals have dipped a little with the end of the Games and the start of the war, but she's still earning enough to have a little left over. Especially now that she's started taking an active role in designing the clothes she models.

What she's wearing today is the first dress that she designed from the start. The shoot for it finished yesterday, but she wants to show Luna. It's cut more in her own world's style than most of the clothes she models; the skirt is longer, the cut less daring. White fur trims the skirt and makes a stole around her shoulders; the fabric is dove-grey. Despite the Panem eagle on the train and the light-up gold patterns that trail around the waist, it's definitely a Stark dress. Even if nobody who can appreciate that is left here (and gods, but she misses Arya, all her annoying habits notwithstanding), that's a comfort to her.

She pauses in the common area, clutching her bag in both hands and looking around for Luna.

[ursas]

The girl is obviously a visitor - from her clothes alone it's clear that she lives in the luxury afforded to the people she's supposed to be fighting for, from the little she's seen of them in the propaganda videos she's been subjected to all day. From the cut of the fabric, the colours and the fur, and her auburn hair that falls around her face, Brienne could almost mistake her for a younger version of Lady Catelyn. She'd seen Sansa Stark from afar during her brief stay in King's Landing, but there she'd been dressed in the fashions of the south, hair piled high on the top of her head, and a far more morose look in her eye - for good reason, from the whispers she'd heard of how Joffrey had treated her. But Brienne had spent so long now searching for the Stark girls, it was no wonder she was seeing them here when everything else was so strange and foreign to her.

Still, she doesn't like to see the girl on her own here, especially as she has no idea of the temperament of the others she's locked up with. Even if they've been brought here for all the same reasons as herself, she would not want to see a young lady wander into the midst of a prison alone.

She rises from her seat, nodding formally and standing a little way away to show her that she means no threat.

"Are you here to see someone, my lady? I would accompany you to them, to ensure your safety."

[porcelainandsteel]

Sansa smiles, an open, guileless smile carefully calculated to make her as unthreatening as possible. "Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to do that. She'll be here any minute, I'm sure, and I would hate to put you to the trouble. I'm quite safe." She bats her eyelashes, and shakes her head. "After all, the Capitol are watching, and I'm sure they don't want anyone to get hurt."

That's not only a play for the Capitol's favour, but a veiled warning. She doesn't recognise the woman, which means she's probably a newcomer, and her way of speaking is not that dissimilar to what Sansa's used to, which makes her think perhaps the woman's from a world like her own. She remembers how confused she was when she arrived, and how long it took her to understand that they really could watch you everywhere. In a place like this, in wartime, not understanding that could be a fatal mistake - one she'd rather the stranger didn't make.

[ursas]

The easy smile lessens the resemblence to Lady Catelyn a little, making the girl appear to Brienne if anything a little simple, given their surroundings, not to mention her faith in the Capitol. "Of course," she agrees somewhat reluctantly. She realises how the offer must look from the other side - a stranger and a prisoner offering protection against the place she regarded as her home - and feels a little irritated with herself for speaking before she'd thought it through. "In that case, I wish you safe passage in the arms of the Capitol," it made her feel a little ill having to play along with the idea of them as benevolent in any way, "and under the protection of the Gods, both Old and New."

[porcelainandsteel]

She freezes, her mask slipping a little, her eyes widening in a way that's not remotely calculated. It's a moment before she finds her tongue. It's coincidence. It must be. But can it be, when that was one of the first things she had to explain here?

"Wh... what did you just say?" Her fingers tighten reflexively on her bag, and her mouth is suddenly very dry. All of a sudden, she very much wants it to be coincidence, wants all this to be a misunderstanding. Arya's loss is still a raw and aching wound, and it isn't fair for her to have to deal with constant reminders of the world she's left. It isn't fair!

[ursas]

Brienne takes a step back, realising she's visibly upset the girl and not wanting to appear threatening in any way. "I was merely wishing you well by the Gods of my world, my Lady. I apologise if I've caused any offence."

[porcelainandsteel]

"The Old Gods," Sansa repeats, almost accusingly, "and the New. And if I were to ask you how many the New number, what would your answer be?" She doesn't wait for an answer. It's hard to wait, hard not to give in to the frantic pace her heart's setting. "Or what a sept is, or who the Children were, or... or who sits on the Iron Throne?" Her hand's half-risen to her mouth, almost unnoticed as her eyes scan the woman's face for recognition. Somewhere along the way, recognition comes into her own face, dawning slow and a little frightened in her eyes. Tall and manly. Flaxen-haired and sapphire-eyed.

"...Or who ought to," she finishes, and bites her lip, taking a deep breath. "Gods be good, you're her, aren't you? Renly's Kingsguard? Lady Brienne?"

[ursas]

The second the girl says her name, it hits Brienne just who she's talking to, jolting her deep inside. She doesn't even notice that she's dropped to one knee, it's simply the natural thing for her to do. She's practised this moment so many times in her head, she won't mess this up, not like she did with Arya.

"Lady Sansa," she says breathlessly, instinctively reaching for her sword to place before her in a gesture of loyalty, but of course it isn't there. "I am, as you say, Brienne of Tarth. I am sworn not only to King Renly, but to your Lady Mother. I promised I would find you and care for you." And bring you back to her, she finishes silently, knowing she'd failed in that part of her task already.

[porcelainandsteel]

Sansa's heart feels like it might thud right out of her chest. She puts her hands to her mouth, almost dropping her bag but rescuing it at the last moment. "You... my mother? You knew my mother?" Nobody had told her that about the Maid of Tarth. All kinds of things, mostly unpleasant, but never that!

All of a sudden, she can feel the tears pricking at her eyes. Mother... They slashed Lady Catelyn's throat, threw her in the river, and Joffrey had told her with such relish, and...

And...

"If you were sworn to her, why didn't you save her?" It comes out bitter, sharp as vinegar. Gods be good, I sound like Arya. "Why didn't you stop them killing Robb? Where were you when she needed you?"

[ursas]

Each word stabs in Brienne's gut like a knife, but she knows she deserves them all and far worse. She'd failed in her duty. She told herself every day that she should have been there that day at the Twins, although rationally she knows all that would mean is that she'd be dead too.

"She sent me away, to exchange Ja--" she stops herself, changing her mind on how to refer to her companion in the presence of someone who was certainly his sworn enemy "--to exchange the Kingslayer for the freedom of yourself and your sister, Arya. Believe me, my Lady, not a day goes by where I do not wish I could have stopped what happened to her. She deserved far better, and I intend to avenge her."

[porcelainandsteel]

"Vengeance won't bring her back." The bile ebbs out of her, seeing that reaction, and she only feels tired. Tired, and drained, and tormented by a grief she'd almost manage to put out of her mind. She sighs, tucking her hair back behind her ear, and closes her eyes. "I'm sorry. I... it isn't fair to hold you to blame."

But there's something else, something that nags at her, on the edge of thought, until suddenly it hits her and her eyes snap open again. "What do you mean, and Arya? Who told you they had Arya?"

tosses éowyn in here for good measure

[shieldofrohan]

"None of us are." Éowyn has lost weight in her captivity here, especially when they had her in solitary confinement. She was always slender, but now she's thin. Thin, and tired-looking, for all that she still carries herself with pride. She considers for a moment, then slides into the seat next to Brienne, setting down her tray. "You're new. I didn't know they were still bringing in more of us."

[ursas]

She's stricken by how under nourished and exhausted the woman next to her looks, and she wonders if she'll look the same after weeks or months here. The quiet dignity she emanates transcends the conditions of her confinement, and for that alone Brienne already has a deep respect for her.

"I didn't realise they weren't," she replies, frowning a little, feeling even more uneasy if they've singled her out in some way.

[shieldofrohan]

"I suppose it makes sense." Éowyn looks at the other woman and smiles, though without any warmth or humour. "They had us for their play-fighting. Why not substitute us for their own citizens when they fight in earnest, as well?" Her bitterness is clear. She's too tired to hide it, made fearless by frustration.

[ursas]

"Their ... Games?" The propaganda videos she's been forced to sit through for most of the day extolled them as the mechanism by which war was kept from Panem for so long. No, a tourney was play-fighting. What little she knows of the Games, it was just plain brutality. Her mind flashed to the jeering crowd watching as she was thrown as nothing more than bait for a bear, feeling that there were parts of Westeros that would be right at home watching the Games of this world. "You were forced to fight in them, too? And now they expect you to be a loyal soldier when they've subjected you to that."

[shieldofrohan]

"They expect much that flies in the face of reason," Éowyn answers, her lip curling despite her cool tone. "If they understood loyalty or honour beyond the forced compliance of the battered slave... ai, but they do not, and I fear never shall. For to rule wisely, they would have to make some sacrifices in the service of their people, and that they will never do."

She's silent for a moment, staring down at her plate, then looks up at the other woman. "Éowyn is my name. May I know yours?"

[ursas]

"Brienne, of House Tarth." She just manages to stop herself from rising from her seat and bowing. "It is an honour, Lady Éowyn."

[shieldofrohan]

"The honour is mine," Éowyn replies formally, and inclines her head a little. Then, after a moment, "I fear Tarth means as little to me as Éorl would to you, yet I doubt not it is a noble House. Do not allow those here to convince you otherwise. They will certainly try."

[ursas]

"They can try all they like," Brienne replies with a bitter laugh. "I know who I am and what I am, and no matter what they try they cannot shake me from that."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn smiles, thin and taut. "Good," she says, and means it. "They are due a few more defeats in that respect. It is all too easy to let them win."

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou doesn't know this person, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. He shakes his head. "Nah, anyone who's cooped up in here? They're not from around here. They like dragging in people from other worlds because they can." No, he's not really happy about that. It's easy to see--he does rather tend to wear his expression on his sleeve, even though he thinks that's not the case.

[ursas]

She's not sure whether she should be comforted to know she's not the only one, or even more alarmed to find this to be a regular occurrence. The man before her was certainly taking it in his stride, even if he was clearly unhappy about it.

"In that case, I take it there really is no way to get back to where we came from."

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou shrugs. "I've heard talk of ways to get back, but if there's a way, they're the ones who have it." There's a sigh. "They're really careful to set themselves up on top."

[ursas]

"And it's our job to make sure they stay on top," Brienne adds darkly. "A fine system indeed, if they have to force strangers from other worlds to fight for it. I take it there's a lack of willing volunteers." Perhaps in that case the citizens of this place had more sense than she'd credited them so far.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Yeah, pretty much." Nitou massages a temple. This is giving him a headache for all sorts of reasons. "And they will...they will do things to make that really, really clear."

[ursas]

"I can imagine." There's not much she wouldn't put past the ones in charge here from what little she's seen of this place so far. "They don't seem to be ones for subtlety."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Nah, not at all. You should see the parties they throw." Nitou shakes his head. "Craziest things I've ever seen. They make you dress up in clothes you can barely move in or that barely cover you up or cover you in glitter and crap, and they act like it's the height of civilization."

[ursas]

That sounds like Brienne's idea of hell, and she feels slightly queasy imagining it. "I suppose there's an upside to being a prisoner after all, in that case. I'd much rather go back and watch those moving pictures they've been showing me to try to motivate me to fight for them any day than have to attend that sort of gathering."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Oh, they're good about finding time for both." Nitou makes a face at that; outside of the party food, he hates all that,too. "Very talented at scheduling things that way."

[ursas]

"Why would they want to dress up their prisoners and parade them around at a ball? What does it serve them?" It would be the most depressing party she could imagine, with such unwilling guests.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Entertainment." Nitou shrugs. "I dunno, they really, really, really love parties. I have not seen a people more passionate about their parties. Parties are their thing." He lowers his voice. "In like...all the worst ways."