Chapter Twelve: Whores, Wars and Bitter Lords

After sharing a more refined meal of fresh fruits, seasoned venison and rich, fruity wine, Freya was informed she had been given a tent of her own to use for however long it was that this new war held them there. It was a generous offer from Lord Tywin, whose own courtesies seemed not to have been lost even in their troubling predicament. It was not often that Freya used her house's standing, humble though it was compared to House Lannister, to gain any sort of favor, but that did not mean that other highborn lords and ladies overlooked it. In any case, she was always grateful for their hospitality. Smiling to herself as she walked the short distance between her new dwelling and Tyrion's tent, she thought of the stories Bronn had shared as they ate, his crude way of speaking and dry manner of humor making her laugh even now. Had she met him alone on the road, she would have been sure to steer clear of him, by now used to the ability of men like him to charm their unsuspecting marks out of their coin, or if that did not work, then likely kill them for it. But Bronn had proven trustworthy so far, though she suspected that had more to do with the promised gold than his fondness for his employer.

Stepping inside her new quarters, she found herself awash with the comforting warmth of a fire. When she spotted a young girl standing over it, she thought for a moment that she had the wrong tent.

"M-m'lady," the girl stammered, turning towards her with a startled expression. "I h-have fresh water from the river for y-your bath."

After such a long journey from the Wall, and after their unexpected detour to the Vale, there had been very little opportunity to wash. Freya suddenly felt the layers of grime and sweat caked over her. She only hoped she didn't smell as bad as Shagga. The girl was watching her with a quiet patience, as if awaiting further instruction, but Freya fumbled for any to give. She had not lived long at her family's modest castle, and so had very little experience in the way of handmaids. She had grown so used to doing things for herself that she had not thought to need one. Just the thought of having someone wait on her made her uncomfortable.

"Thank-you. Truly," she said, with an awkward smile.

The girl gave a quick bow and set to work removing the copper basin from over the flames, setting it down on a small, wooden table. Freya watched her work, her mind dulled from both the heat and the wine she had shared with Tyrion, enjoying the monotony of the actions. Glancing around the tent, she found a bedroll and furs, as well as a flagon of water and some bread. Seeing the added commodities, she found herself growing suspicious. The Lannisters may have been known for paying their debts, but what they were notorious for liking even more was having people in theirs. She only hoped Tyrion had played a large part in her setup, that it was not some ploy on his father's behalf.

"T-there you are, m'lady. S-shall I do it for you?"

Freya looked over with a frown, unsure what she meant for a moment, then a look of barely-contained horror came over her.

"Oh, no, no. I can manage," she assured her. She took a moment to think about all the lords and ladies too lazy to wash themselves, and the poor souls made to endure it. "What is your name?"

The handmaid glanced over, not used to being addressed by those she served. None had ever cared to learn her name, let alone acknowledged her presence to begin with, unless it was to have their cups refilled.

"W-Wylla, if it pleases you, m-m'lady."

Her smile became more genuine at the young girl's shy manner. She was a pretty thing, petite and dark-haired, with pale skin and grey eyes. She couldn't have been older than twelve. Freya could only guess at the sort of harassment she must have faced at the hands of the Lannister bannermen, observing her skittish behavior as she flittered about readying the water.

"May I ask who sent you, Wylla?"

"I s-serve m-many of the men here. L-Lord Tyrion asked th-that I assist you, too, and th-that I see to any needs you m-might have. He s-suggested hot water be m-made available after your long journey."

Gods bless the dear man, he had at least saved her the trouble of trudging out to the Red Fork and hauling it back herself.

"W-will there be anything else, m-m'lady?"

She had a thought to offer her shelter, should one of those men decide to take their harassment further, but before she could say anything, the girl gave another polite bow and took her leave. She imagined with an army of this size she would be a busy little thing indeed, though the thought offered her little comfort for the girl's wellbeing. Doing her best to push this from her mind, she set to work removing her clothes, finding that they too were in good need of a wash. She had others in her saddlebags that she could use for now, until she found a suitable time to make the trip to the river. Perhaps she would have Wylla do it for her. The thought of giving the young girl orders simply did not sit well with her.

Slipping the provided cloth into the heated water, she proceeded to run it over every inch of her body she could reach. It wasn't long before the liquid in the basin grew murky with dirt and blood, and after what felt like hours, she finally felt clean. Dressing in a simple, linen shirt she had to spare, she poured herself some water and rested on her furs. Her thoughts drifted immediately to Jory, and she tested her feelings on the matter, sensing more disappointment than sadness. She would not weep for him. She had not wept for anyone for a very long time.

The following morning Bronn found her stalking through the camp with a dark look on her face. Watching for a moment, he caught a few murmurs from the soldiers as she passed them by. There were a few titters, then one of them turned after her, calling, "Has someone lost their whore?" The men around him erupted with laughter and Freya fought to keep her composure, coming to a halt but not looking back. Catching her expression, the way her hand went immediately to her sword, Bronn strode towards her, taking her by the wrist before she could draw. Glancing at the surrounding knights who eyed them curiously, each man looking battle-ready in their heavy suits of armor, he leaned down to speak to her, "Best be lettin' that one go."

"You don't think I could take them?" she replied, glancing up at him with a fierce glint in her eye.

"Oh, I'm sure you could. But where would that leave us with the Lion Lord? Let the Stark boy kill these fucks, save yourself the trouble."

Wrenching herself from his grasp, she gave one last sweeping glance at the soldiers, then took the sellsword's advice. Usually she was more adept at picking her fights, but her day had been off to a shitty start from the moment she had woken.

"Who pissed in your wine?" he asked her, as he followed along beside her. She turned her unpleasant scowl on him once more, then sighed.

"Someone took my helm." The crease between her brows deepened as he chuckled. "Oh, is that funny?"

"A little," he smirked. "So which of these cunts do you think it was?"

"Could have been any one of them. They've all taken so warmly to my presence here."

"Want some help looking?"

She glanced over at him, suspicious of the generous proposal. "Are you expecting a reward?"

"What are you offering?" he replied, with a coy smile. Her sour expression finally broke, replaced with a reluctant smile of her own.

"What's got you walking the camp at this hour?" she asked.

"Tyrion's tasked me with tracking him down a whore."

"And how's that going?"

"Not well. How's this? You help me find our little lord a whore, I'll help track down your helm."

"What makes you think I'd be of any help?"

"You know him better than I do."

"So you think I'd know where he'd most like to stick his cock?"

"You've got a dirty mouth for a noble woman."

"I'm not a noble woman. My mother was, though."

He chuckled at that before coming to a stop at a crossroads. They looked each way, hoping for some indication as to the goods they sought.

"Where shall we start?"

"Best start by asking 'round. Bound to be a few floatin' around 'ere."

"Good idea. Ask the soldiers where you might find a whore. I'm sure no comments will be made at my expense."

"Thought you'd be used to that shit by now. I imagine you've been hearin' it most o' your life."

"I'm also used to resolving said shit with my fists or my blade, which in this case you've deemed inappropriate."

"I have."

"So that leaves me with no option but to endure it."

"Looks like we're in luck," he interrupted, nodding towards a woman a few tents down. She stood out the front of it, covering her bare chest with a soiled cloak as she attempted to garner the attention of any nearby men. As they drew closer, they started to see why so many passed her by. She was quite old, with streaks of silver running through her raven-black hair, years spent in the sun giving her skin a worn, leathery quality. A dark charcoal adorned her eyes, bringing out their lovely shade of green, but that was the only beauty she held claim to. Her belly was soft from many children, and her teats, though large, drooped in a way that was hardly appealing. Seeing them approach, she offered her best attempt at a seductive smile, though considering the state of her mouth, it failed to have the desired effect.

"I'd wager this one's found about as many willing men as she has teeth left," Freya said, while they were still out of earshot.

Bronn grinned. "You'd be surprised. Men aren't picky, especially when they know a day could be their last. Some might even say the fewer the teeth the better."

Crinkling her nose at the thought, Freya bypassed the woman and led the way to yet another crossroads.

"So you'd spend a night with her?"

"I've 'ad worse," he replied, "Plus everything feels the same in the dark." Catching her shake her head, he went on: "I suppose you're into the pretty lads, eh? Jaime Lannister types, all shiny hair and fancy armor."

She gave a derisive laugh. "Piss on the Jaime Lannister's of the world."

"Sure, if you're into that sort of thing."

"They're the ones quickest to make jokes, but slowest to accept their defeat. Little honor, and even less brains."

"Who needs brains when you've got sharp steel? If you needed both, this army'd be half the size it is now."

She cocked her head in consideration. He made a fair point. Pausing for a moment to scan the line of tents to her left, she thought again of her stolen helm and felt her anger reignite. She had stored it in her tent with the rest of her armor, which meant not only had someone thought it funny to relieve her of it, but they had also invaded her space as she slept. Though she still kept her dirk under her pillow out of habit, the thought of someone being so close with her unawares made her sick to the stomach.

"You lot seen any whores wandering around 'ere?" she heard Bronn ask. Turning back, she found a group of soldiers seated around a fire, in the middle of a game of dice. Just as she'd predicted, a couple of them glanced over at her and got the same mocking glint in their eyes she'd seen a thousand times before. With a deep, steady breath, she turned away. She almost jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder, old instincts urging her to go for her knife. She did not mind the company of men in most cases, but with close to twenty thousand of them milling around, each of them highly-skilled with a blade and likely stronger than her, she found herself feeling very small indeed. She had never been part of a large host, never sworn fealty to any lord or lady. She wondered where she would be now if she hadn't taken to Tyrion as she had, though she supposed their paths had aligned further than just Winterfell.

"No luck," Bronn told her, failing to catch her moment of weakness. "Someone told me to look for Ser Gerwold, but fuck if I know where to find him." Glancing over as she remained quiet, he noticed her distant expression. "Where's that horse of yours? We could make quicker work of this if you were on that beast."

"I turned him out to the field for a while. He'll return when I need him," she replied, her voice huskier than usual as she spoke in low tones. Someone had thought to tie Ferox up outside of her tent, but it hadn't been long before he had yanked the post from the ground and made an attempt to enter. Though the other horses were tethered the same way throughout the camp and could have freed themselves in the same manner, the greater part of their restraint remained in their mind, so used to bending to the will of their masters and enduring their lack of freedom. But Ferox had always found a way to escape. In his mind, he had never been broken.

After continuing on a little ways, they came across a smaller camp on the outskirts of the main host. As was the case when most high lords were on the march, a number of people had latched onto the lord's party to seek their fortune. Ignoring the leering looks she was receiving from a couple of hedge knights, Freya spotted two women tending to another by the smoking remnants of a fire.

"This one looks promising," Bronn commented, nodding towards the one on the right, a young woman with mousy hair and creamy skin. A pair of perky breasts threatened to spill over her bodice, a small waist tapering in before reaching a round ass and thick thighs. Exchanging optimistic glances, their hopes were soon forgotten as the women looked towards them. The 'promising' one turned to reveal a belly swollen with child, but it was not this detail that had Freya looking concerned. Young Wylla was seated between them, a cloak draped around her as her body shuddered with sobs. Freya went to her immediately, forgetting completely the task that had brought them there to begin with. She dropped to one knee in front of her and looked at the others for answers.

"What happened?"

The second woman, whom they had not yet taken into account, turned to give Bronn a hard look of warning not to come any closer, then replied, "Beaten and raped. We found her stumbling through the camp, bleeding and crying."

The corner of his mouth turned down in displeasure, Bronn stepped away to give the women some space, keeping an eye out for any man who might try their luck again.

Freya looked the girl over with a sweeping glance, finding bruises up her arms and, from what was visible beneath the hem of her torn dress, along her thighs. She sported a swollen, purple bruise on her cheek, a bloodied nose and, beneath that, a split lip. Though her first instinct was to ask who had done this, she knew the girl would never tell for fear of further punishment, and beyond that it would be harder still to find all those who had partaken in the violent act. Freya could only hope that when they did finally meet Robb Stark's men in battle, the animals responsible would suffer slow and painful deaths.

"You should have a maester see to her," she told the older two, "Or better yet, get her as far away from here as you can."

The other woman, a stern-looking redhead with lips that seemed almost permanently pursed in irritation, shook her head. "We came here to earn our coin. We're not about to leave-"

Freya rose to her feet and thrust her hand into the pouch on her belt, producing several coppers and a couple of silver coins. She made to hand them to her, then paused before giving them instead to the pregnant one. She took them with far greater appreciation, one hand still resting on the beaten child's shoulder as Wylla continued to sob.

"Have the maester see to her. If he gives you trouble, tell him Tyrion Lannister commanded it. Do you have a horse?" Freya asked her, and she nodded. "Once she's been seen to, ride for Darry. It's half a day's ride at the most. Seek shelter there, and if they too give you trouble, you tell them the same thing." The girl gave another fervent nod and slowly helped Wylla to her feet. Ignoring the jilted redhead's stormy expression, Freya turned and started back for the main camp, Bronn lengthening his strides to keep up with her.

"Speaking on our little lord's behalf now, are ya?"

"If he were here, he would have done the same."

"And I'm sure he'd've been just as free with his coin, too. How do you know she won't leave the girl for dead in some forest and run off with it?"

"The other one would have."

"And this one's any different?"

"If there's one thing I've learned from living on the road, Bronn, it's how to read people. That woman's with child."

"What, so you're relying on some sorta motherly instinct kicking in? If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the world's full of cunts. Like as not, that girl's not any better off than before."

Freya stopped and turned to him, and he was surprised to see how genuinely affected she was. He was sure she had seen worse things on her travels, but it was then that he realized perhaps she had been one forced to endure them.

"I did my part," she spat, "What else would you have had me do? They needed the coin more. I've no doubt I'll find a way to obtain some again. Maybe I can bet my blade against some of these pricks."

"That's not half a bad idea."

The movement of a tent flap caught their attention. A woman stepped out, quickly followed by a big, ginger-haired soldier, who reached out a grabbed her by the shoulder. She pulled away, spinning to face him with a vicious glare.

"Get your hands off me!" she growled, thrusting a threatening finger in his direction, using the other hand to secure the fur around her shoulders, "Touch me again and I will be sure to cut your throat while you sleep."

Bronn and Freya exchanged looks. There was something regal about this one, the way she held herself and her manner of dress. Her fine face held elegant features, with dark, clever eyes and high cheekbones. She could almost have been mistaken for some lost, highborn lady were it not for her low-cut dress and the cheap fabric from which it was made. The fur had likely been a gift.

As they made their way over, the ginger knight grabbed hold of her again and yanked her back into the tent. He raised his hand to strike her, failing to hear the rustle of material as more stepped in behind him. A blade appeared beneath his chin, and he looked down the rippled steel to the woman holding it, letting his whore go with a sneer, hand still poised for the intended blow. Bronn stepped in past them and guided the other woman back, offering her a look of reassurance as she turned her offended glare on him. She seemed to settle down some when she realized they were there to help, then turned back to watch Freya handle her aggressor.

"You! You fucking bitch," he jeered at her, seeming more amused than concerned for his predicament. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I'd ask the same of you," Freya told him, calmly.

"I'm keeping this cunt in line. I paid for her, and this is what I get for it, the ungrateful little whore. You'd be sucking the cock of some hedge knight if it weren't for me!" he turned to yell at the woman, "Now both of you best leave my tent, before I spoil its floor with your blood."

"I don't think so. And she's coming with us."

He laughed openly in her face, appearing to no longer care about the Valyrian steel a mere inch from his throat. "On second thought, I might keep you here with her. Two whores to warm my bed. And I've always wanted to see what it's like to fuck the famous Ladyknight."

Some of the dark humor retreated from Freya's face at the mention of the mocking title. Her grip tightened on her hilt and the knight smirked as he caught her jaw tense. He stepped closer, daring her to make her move.

"I could cut you in such a way that you'd never again have the chance to disappoint a woman in their bed," she said in a low, dangerous voice.

He stared her down, a new fury glistening in his eyes as the insult struck him, and he took hold of her by the wrist. Risking a glance back at Bronn, Freya spotted a glint of copper from the corner of her eye, ignoring the pain in her arm as the knight tightened his grip. There, towards the back of the tent, sat her helm. Rage tore through her, and without a second thought she punched the man hard in the face with her free hand. Releasing her, taken completely by surprise, he stumbled back and tripped over a bedroll, landing hard on his ass. Red in the face from both the fall and succumbing to a blow from a woman, he moved to draw his sword, only to find a second blade against his neck. He glanced up at Bronn.

"Come at her again, and Tywin Lannister'll have one less shitstain knight to die for him."

Sensing the futility of the situation, the knight remained where he was as Freya collected her stolen property. She turned to the other woman, who came towards her without needing to be asked and followed her out of the tent. Bronn waited until they were gone before he withdrew his sword.

"And I wouldn't think of trying anything with her in the night, if I was you," he warned the shamed man, "You've embarrassed yourself enough for one day. And if she doesn't kill ya, I will."

Tyrion heaved a sigh as he waddled towards his tent, his mind heavy with his father's words after another short meeting with the man. Thankful though he was that it had not proven longer, his main interest in sitting at the table with the host of other lords had been the food and wine that was provided for them – he cared little for their talk of war. Now his belly continued to rumble for its fill. He had come to find he could stomach little more of his father's company. He had wine in his tent, at least, and with any luck Bronn had been successful in securing him a woman to share his bed. Seeing all the soldiers out and about, talking, laughing and readying themselves for the upcoming battle, he wondered how Freya fared as the lone woman of the group of fighters. It was well within his power to have any man executed or sent to the wall should they give her any trouble, but then he knew well by now that she could handle herself. Still, it didn't stop him worrying.

As he entered his tent now, he was surprised to see the three standing inside – Bronn and Freya seated casually on his table as they picked at his bowl of fresh fruits, and a second woman by his bed, clutching a fur stole around her shoulders. As taken as he was by this new woman's beauty, he turned to glance between his two friends, noting the increasingly-comfortable air between them as they shared his food.

"I see he roped you into this," he said to Freya, as she bit into a ripe, juicy plum.

"Didn't take much ropin', really," Bronn replied for her.

Tyrion shot her a curious look, but she simply shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Glancing between the pair once more, a hint of suspicion to his gaze, he turned back to his beauty. "Where did you find one so pretty at this hour?"

"We took her," the sellsword replied.

"Rescued her, more like," Freya added, through a mouthful of plum.

"Rescued? From whom?"

Bronn looked to Freya as if she might have a better idea when it came to the names of all the highborns and their knights, but she shook her head.

"I don't know," he went on, "Some ginger cunt. Big fucker, no brains."

Freya chuckled. "Does that narrow it down?"

"And he didn't have anything to say about it?" Tyrion wondered.

The lady and the sellsword offered matching smirks. "He said some things," Bronn answered.

Frowning at the thought of some enormous man bursting into his tent in the middle of the night to reclaim what was his, Tyrion recalled the news he had for them.

"Well, the odds of me living long enough for him to retaliate just dropped drastically."

They gazed at him, confused, awaiting further elaboration on this sudden announcement.

"We'll be at the vanguard tomorrow."

The moment had suddenly lost its humor. Tywin was putting them on the frontline; fodder for this highborn pissing contest. Freya had made a point of avoiding swearing any sort of fealty to one particular lord or another, but somehow by befriending Tyrion she had managed to find herself counted as an unofficial bannerman to House Lannister. Being from the Reach, her house was sworn to House Tyrell by a default of proximity, but she had only ever seen one of the members – Ser Loras – from a distance, and that was by chance as he rode by during a tourney. She had never wanted to be part of some lord's war.

"Ah, well," Bronn said, with a look of reluctant acceptance, before draining the remainder of his wine from his cup. He looked over at Freya to see how she had taken the news, but she had gone into a thoughtful trance, her grey eyes focused on the floor as she took the last bite of her plum. When she finally met his gaze, he admired the lack of fear he saw. Sure, she didn't like the idea of fighting for some lord, but she never turned down a good fight.

Leaving Tyrion to properly get to know his new lady, she and Bronn stepped outside.

"Why don't you come try your luck at some dice?" the sellsword offered, feeling the urge to keep her in his company just a little longer.

"Yes, I might even win the chance to reclaim my own helm," she joked.

"If one of these fucks makes off with it again, you have my permission to cut off whatever part of him you see fit."

"Shagga would be so proud."

Bronn laughed at that, admiring the sly way her lip curled up in appreciation of her own joke, and the color that rose in her cheeks.

"And as pleased as I am to have your permission," she mocked, "I think I'll go see how my faithful steed is fairing."

"Fair enough."

He watched her as she headed for the field on the far side of the camp, his gaze only moving from her ass to meet her eyes as she turned around to speak once more. "Oh, and if you go looking for a whore, don't let it be the redhead."

"Lady Toothless it is, then," he smirked, pleased to see the jape have its effect on her. She had a pretty laugh, and he was becoming rather fond of hearing it.

It wasn't long before they found themselves in each other's company once more, as they made their way towards their individual sleeping quarters for rest and refreshments. Bronn had won a handsome sum from his dice game with the Lannister soldiers, and had planned on spending at least some of it on whatever whore happened to be available (even if it was Lady Toothless), when he spotted Freya making her way back from the fields. She had been smiling to herself, seemingly oblivious to the whispers and taunts being thrown around her as she passed by tents, and men seated around fires. It hadn't been long before Bronn found himself falling into step beside her, comfortably matching her strides.

"So," she said to him, "Was it better without teeth?"

Laughing, he went on to tell her about the game with the Lannister men, all the usual, expected rumors regarding the nature of her relationship with Tyrion, and the new, unexpected one about her and his lord father. It seemed the only active part of these men's minds was their imagination.

"I'm sure I could see their point," he teased, "With the fuss you put on for him the first day we arrived. 'An honor to meet you, my lord'. You looked ready to get on your knees for the man, and I don't mean to swear your fealty."

She shot him a sarcastic smile. "Here's an idea. Why don't you that shitty steel at your hip, and shove it up your–"

"Shitty steel? I suppose once our friend finally pays his debt to me, as he keeps sayin' he will, I'll make a trip down to the fancy sword store and pick one up like yours, eh?"

"Oh, is he your friend now?"

Nearing her quarters, Bronn held back from his next comment as they spotted a head poking out a couple of tents down. It turned towards them.

"Ah, there you are!" Tyrion grinned, ushering them over. Curious, they exchanged looks and followed him inside the tent, where they found their rescued whore seated on his bedroll and furs.

"Help Shae and I settle a bet."

Moments later, he and Shae were sat side-by-side, balancing a burning candle between their forearms. Their small audience looked on with amusement. Shae was watching him with a confident smirk, as though she already knew exactly how this was going to turn out. As the candle wax continued to run between their arms, Tyrion fought to keep from breaking away. It wasn't until the flame licked against his skin that he jerked away, letting the candle tumble to the floor. Shae was quick to pluck it up, extinguishing it with a swift puff from between her pretty lips.

"Damn you, woman. Are you immune to pain?" Tyrion asked, with a playful scowl.

His lady smirked. "Only used to it."

Freya found herself caught between concern and curiosity over the comment, unsure whether this woman had been abused or was merely into some interesting games in the bedroom.

"Let's play a new game," Tyrion suggested, rubbing at the red marks on his arm where hot wax had graced his flesh.

"I know a Braavosi knife game I could teach you," Bronn suggested, pouring out two glasses of wine, one for him and one for Freya, who waited patiently beside him.

"Does it involve the potential for losing fingers?" asked Tyrion.

"Not if you win," came Bronn's reply.

"I'm in," Freya said, pulling out her dagger.

She and Bronn looked at Tyrion awaiting his reply, but his expression spoke well enough.

"No! No knife games."

Freya returned her dagger to its sheath and accepted her cup of wine from the sellsword before joining Tyrion and Shae on the pile of pillows scattered on the ground.

"Let's do something I'm good at," Tyrion went on.

"Spending gold and bedding whores? We'll need more of both if we want to even the odds for everyone else," Freya smirked.

Bronn chuckled and took a sip of his drink as Tyrion scowled at the young woman. In truth, he'd known Freya too long now to be offended by anything she said, but for Shae's sake he held the disapproving expression. What had happened to the gentle, brooding girl he'd travelled with to the Wall? It seemed that their adventures had changed them both. Or perhaps this Freya had been the real one all along, hidden away from those she'd yet to trust. He was certain their sellsword friend had something to do with the sudden change, but in the end, it made no great difference to him; he liked this Freya better.

Shae, who had denied ever being a whore since she'd first been brought to Tyrion's tent, ignored Freya's comment. "What are you good at?" she asked the small lord, humor in her voice.

His offended look became even more exaggerated.

"I happen to be a great judge of character," he told her, "Just ask my friends here."

Freya looked to Bronn, thought for a second, and then shook her head. "I'm not seeing your point."

"This sounds like a boring game, anyway," Bronn said.

"It's not. Here's how we play. I make a statement about your past. If I'm right, you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink. And no lying! I'll know if you're lying."

Shae opted out as she considered the games rules. "I don't like this game."

Freya, however, settled deeper into the cushions, rapt by the idea.

"Fine. Bronn first, then." Tyrion shuffled closer to the sellsword and stared intently at him, as if he could read the man's past on his face.

"Your father beat you," was his first guess.

Bronn stared back at him, and then took a drink. Tyrion looked at Shae and gestured as if to say how easy the game was, but she still seemed unimpressed.

"But me mother hit harder," Bronn added.

As he refilled his cup, Tyrion considered what next to say, heartened by his correct guess. Freya watched the pair with a curious smile, silently looking forward to her own turn. She'd often wondered what guesses Tyrion had made about her past. She didn't like to talk about it much, but since she'd grown closer to him and his unlikely followers, she found herself more eager to open up, given the right circumstances.

She shifted her weight on the large pillow and waited.

"You killed your first man before you were twelve."

Bronn gazed at Tyrion, amused, and said, "It was a woman."

Tyrion scoffed, but took a drink.

Feeling Shae's eyes trained on him, Bronn looked around and met her disdainful look with a shrug. "She swung an axe at me," he said, as if to remedy the reaction. He glanced at Freya, but she seemed unfazed by the confession.

"You've been beyond the Wall," was Tyrion's next guess.

Again, Bronn seemed entertained by the man's talent for reading others, and took a drink.

Now that was an interesting one, Freya thought, taking a sip of her own wine without thinking. Tyrion caught the unconscious action and found himself suddenly more interested in the young woman beside him. She was next, he told himself.

Shae was a trifle more curious about Bronn's answer, and asked him why it was he'd had to venture so far north in the first place.

"Work," was the only answer she received.

"And," Tyrion continued, now looking to end Bronn's turn all the sooner, "You once loved a woman many years ago, but it turned out badly, so you've never let yourself love again."

Freya gazed at the sellsword, curious as to what his answer might be, before recalling the story Tyrion had told her on their way to the Wall. Bronn merely looked at him as if to ask if he were joking. Mock-realization came over Tyrion's face as he ended the joke. "Oh, wait, that's me."

He took a drink, then looked to Freya, who took the cue to shuffle in closer, smiling expectantly at her friend.

"Now you, my dear," he said, studying her face much like he had Bronn's. "You…you, you, you…"

He seemed at a loss for where to begin. He could read any number of things from her soft features, and he'd heard a phenomenal amount of tavern rumors about the girl, but since his gift lay in separating the truth from the fiction, he would have to do better than to repeat the words of drunken bar rats.

"Your parents died when you were very young."

She drank.

"Your father…was killed in battle. Your mother, stricken with grief, took her own life."

A funny look came onto Freya's face, but still she drank. Bronn, surprised by his accuracy, refilled the girl's cup. But Freya was certain that Tyrion had heard that information somewhere before.

"You decided to learn how to fight so that you could avenge your father's death."

Freya looked at him expectantly and, surprised, he took a drink from his own cup.

"You took up a sword because you didn't want to end up like ya mother."

Bronn surprised them both as he jumped in. Freya gazed at him, and took a drink. After word had reached them of her father's demise, her mother had locked herself away in her bedroom tower and hadn't come out until the day they'd found her with a dagger stuck in her heart by her own hands. Freya had watched them carry the woman out with the knife still inside her, blood stained across her soiled nightgown. She hadn't bathed or eaten since the news of her husband, nor had she ever asked to see her daughter, her only child. At only six years of age, Freya learned a valuable lesson, one that she still carried with her: weakness was the bride of Death. The only person you could trust to keep you alive was yourself.

"She was weak."

"But you had fight. And judging by the bloodied men we've left in our wake, you still do."

Finding something rather curious about the way Bronn read her, Tyrion gestured for him to continue, electing to take the spectator's position. Freya took the flagon of wine from Bronn and poured herself a fresh cup as he looked her over, using more than just her face to deduce a few truths. Though her arms and legs held muscle that came from years of combat training, she still had a slight build, and he could only imagine what she'd looked like the first time she taken up a blade. A skinny little creature barely able to lift the bloody thing, most like.

"You were a shit swordsman to begin with."

"Who wasn't?"

"And you nearly gave it up after your first failure."

She sighed, drank and refilled.

"I put down my sword for a week, and tried my hand at the bow. To this day, I'm still a shit archer."

Tyrion chuckled. "I think I speak for many when I say I'm very glad you picked up that sword again."

"You didn't kill your first man" – Bronn used the word 'man' with far more conviction than Tyrion had – "until you were a lot older than most would think. I'd make me guess at…sixteen, seventeen?"

"Sixteen," she agreed, "He was the first to die by my blade, but not the first to grace it with his blood."

She drank.

Tyrion was staring at her with unguarded surprise.

"What?"

"That wouldn't have been my guess," he admitted.

"What would you have said?" she asked, curious.

"Likely the same as I said about Bronn."

"Killing a man's not as easy for some as it is with others. I just have a gift for making it appear easy."

Bronn swirled the dark liquid in his cup as he devised a new statement for her. Glancing at Shae, a new thought occurred to him.

"You've been with a woman before."

Tyrion's eyes grew large at the thought, like an idle highborn lady hearing a juicy bit of gossip. He stared intently at her, waiting for her answer, or perhaps hoping for one in particular. Freya held Bronn's gaze, giving nothing away. Then she and Shae exchanged a look that made Tyrion's cock stir.

Smiling to herself, she drank.

"Once," she explained, "when I was younger. But I found I didn't like it."

"Why on earth not?" Tyrion heard himself ask before he could stop himself.

"If I wanted to grab a pair of tits, I've got a perfectly good pair of my own."

"I'll drink to that," Bronn said, emptying his cup. But Tyrion still seemed at a loss.

"Why the look?" Freya asked him, and he shrugged.

"I've never heard you talk much about your, ah, more personal life."

"I believe that's why they call it 'personal'. Just because you like to tell everyone where your cock's been, doesn't mean I like to do the same. Well, you know what I mean."

"Are you ashamed of sex?" Shae asked, her husky voice nearly as sensual as the act itself.

"Me?" Freya chuckled, "God's no. I spent three years in a brothel. Not as an actual whore, mind you, but I've seen and heard enough of it and, well, you won't find me acting the blushing maiden any time soon."

"Now there's a story," Tyrion said, but both women ignored the comment, too engaged in their own conversation to take notice.

"Perhaps you just haven't been with any interesting men," Shae smiled, "Who was the last man you slept with?"

Freya sighed. She'd really stepped in it now, and judging by the looks on the others' faces, she wasn't going to be able to talk her way around a real answer.

"One of the Stark's men, during our stay in Winterfell."

"Jory Cassel," Tyrion said carefully, recalling the news from the previous day, hoping the mere mention of the man didn't cause his friend any pain. "I recall seeing him leave your chambers looking rather pleased with himself. But that was well over a month ago. Surely you've been with someone since then."

She shrugged. "I guess it didn't really occur to me, what with all the life-threatening situations we always seem to find ourselves in."

"And what better way to celebrate the saving of one's own life, then by performing the act that starts it all," Tyrion grinned.

"Weren't we playing a game?" Freya asked.

Shae seemed to have gotten other ideas, though, creeping over to Tyrion, her smile speaking volumes of her intentions.

"What are you doing?" Tyrion asked her, knowing very well. She pushed him down and straddled him.

"The act that begins it all, my lion."

Giggles were soon replaced with kisses, and then a few new sounds. Taking that as a very clear cue to leave, Freya and Bronn got to their feet.

"Well, best be hittin' the old dirt road," he said casually.

"There'll likely be more battles to fight in the morning," Freya agreed, clearing her throat.

The air outside had a slight chill to it, and Freya quickly found herself missing the warmth of the fires back inside. Winter is coming, the breeze seemed to whisper as it blew past her, and she couldn't help but think back to Jon Snow, up on the Wall. It seemed a cruel place for such a gentle boy, but it was a fate he had chosen for himself. In the end, we all choose our own fates, even if we don't know it.

As she heard Bronn mutter something about finding a whore for himself, she was struck with a sudden impulsive idea.

"Bronn?"

The sellsword turned, his expression unassuming.

"Let me save you the coin."

He stared at her for a moment, as though he thought it might only be a joke. But he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about it. Sensing his hesitation, she offered him a warm smile and he soon found himself walking back towards her tent. Though the wind continued to howl around them, she never seemed to feel the cold when Bronn was by her side.

A/N: 100 followers! Thank-you so much to everyone who has followed and favorited so far. It really means so much knowing that people really are enjoying this story. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you had fun reading it. Thank-you also for reviewing. Your feedback helps motivate me, and I'm glad we have so many fellow Bronn fans out there. I'm honestly surprised there aren't more stories for him on here. Look forward to hearing from you.

-J