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[brienne_the_blue]

Date and Time: May 19, afternoonish
Location: Wandering around the complex somewhere
Characters: Brienne and anybody, really.
Summary: Brienne has just gotten here, and has been through the debriefing. Now she's wandering around more or less aimlessly, looking for someone who'd be good enough to stitch up the grotesque and recently inflicted wound on her face..
Warnings: Gratuitous references to alcohol because they amuse me. Others to follow if applicable.



So Brienne has been debriefed. One moment she was about to be hanged, and the next moment she's here. In this Hold. She has a pouch of coins of a substantial weight, and she has Oathkeeper. It's the sword, Valyrian steel and the most important thing in her life, that makes her feel as if she hasn't gone entirely insane. If she has Oathkeeper, she reasons, she can't be dead or dreaming. It's faulty logic, but it's working for her, and anyway, she doesn't want to think about the last few hours.

As if in response to this thought, she is aware of the various aches and pains of her body. Her cheek has been bleeding from the wound Biter inflicted. She's torn off a strip of cloth and is more or less using it to staunch the bleeding as much as she can, but she knows it needs tending, and she's going to have to find someone who can stitch her up. Asking for this bit of help when she knows no one does not make her particularly happy, which is putting it mildly. Nor does she even know where to start. She probably should have asked her guide about maesters, but in the end she had decided against it, since she didn't know whether she could trust anyone here. Still doesn't, but her face will not stitch itself.

She's filthy. Long days of traveling, plus recent fighting do not make for a pretty picture. Not that she was any great prize to begin with, but it's worse now.

Ahead, she spies a bottle of a kind she has never seen before. It was just laying there, on the ground, and she picks it up. Nowhere in the vows she has sworn has there been any mention of littering, but she figures even the refuse could tell her something, if only she knew what to look for.

She opens the bottle and sniffs it. It smells of alcohol, but there is also the underlying odor of… sweet tea. She supposes it could be used to disinfect her face, but there only appear to be a few swallows, and she decides to keep it, just in case it's her only option.

She sets her jaw and marches grimly on, looking for all the world like someone who has been set a task they do not relish but who is doing it anyway. It never occurs to her to use the strange machine she was given. Had she done so, she might not be in this predicament, but one look at all the buttons and strange images and she decides she simply can't process any more right now. So she'll have her first encounter with the people in person here, thank you very much.

Comments

[hernes_son]

Robin was in search of a drink. He rarely indulged in the luxury of a good bender, but the restless memories that plagued him circled his dreams like a wolf at the kill. He'd trained until his arms ached and his store of arrows had melted away. He knew no one well enough to inflict his company on them in this mood. Sleep was the last thing he needed. His course was clear: ale, followed by more ale, until his mind went quiet and his face met the floor.

But all Robin's intentions, good or ill, fled at the sight of the tall woman with the bloody face. He strode to her side. "My lady - you are wounded! Do you need help?"

[brienne_the_blue]

Her first impulse was to say this stranger nay. She did need help, but she didn't want to admit to weakness. The Seven knew she had enough to remonstrate herself over as it was.

"I do need stitching," she replied. "I should have asked the woman who met me if there were maesters in this place, but..." She gave a shrug, then examined her companion closer. She didn't think he was of the same kind of person as her escort had been, but how was she to know the difference? He was probably still not to be trusted.

[hernes_son]

Robin saw her hesitation, and guessed the source, from her reference to the woman who had greeted her. His own experience had been upsetting, and little enough information was to be had in these first days, that he well knew. "I am Robin of Loxley, my lady; a visitor, like yourself."

"Come," Robin said briefly. The mage Anders was a healer. He would know what to do. "I will take you to someone who will help. Is there aught amiss apart from your cheek?"

[brienne_the_blue]

This Robin of Loxley was a comely man, she couldn't help noticing. Not that she was particularly inclined to do anything about it, but she did have eyes, after all. But she detected only sincerity in his expression, and, though it would be all sorts of foolishness, she was inclined to put her trust in him. Though only so far.

"No," she said. "Naught else is amiss." The other things that had been done to her were not things she was inclined to share with this stranger, nor with his maester friend. She hesitated a moment, then, because he had offered his name, she saw no harm in supplying her own. "I am Brienne of Tarth," she said as she let him lead her along.

[hernes_son]

"Well met, my lady Brienne. You are well enough to walk?" Robin would have offered his arm, but she carried a sword and was dressed as a warrior, and she was taller than he by several inches, so he rather suspected such an offer would make them both look ridiculous - unless of course she needed the help.

It was fortunate that Anders' apartments lay in such close proximity to his own. Robin was able to lead Brienne there with no delay.

He was about to indicate his own rooms in passing when he saw, much to his consternation, that his rooms... were no longer his own.

[brienne_the_blue]

"I can walk," Brienne hastened to assure him. And she could. She wasn't really enjoying the experience, and when she came to a stop, she was grateful. She caught the look of consternation on her companion's face, though, and cast him a curious sidelong glance. "Is there aught amiss, Ser Robin?" she inquired.

[hernes_son]

Robin shook his head. "Nothing of import. Let's get that wound seen to."

The strange metal box would have the answer. It generally did. And if not, Robin had all he needed with him - and he'd slept rough in worse places than the training hall.

Stopping in front of Anders' door, he raised a fist and pounded, calling for the healer.

[birdhousesoul]

((oh man I hope you guys don't mind if I write in present tense — past tense is like pulling teeth these days for me))

Ordinarily, Anders is not the sanest person in any given room. Lately, he's been the sanest person in his own flat, and this has been a surprisingly unwelcome change of pace. Martin Septim's utterly disappeared. Nathaniel Howe has been scarce and, when he's at home, even more terse than usual. Anders has started to compare notes with Watson over the network but he hasn't got a whole lot to go on. He's stayed home today with the two cats, giving the sickly grey kitten frequent feedings, and generally fretting.

The pounding on the door alarms him, and he opens it unsure what to expect. A second coming of the Masked isn't likely, as he's being hailed by name, and though the voice isn't familiar, when Anders opens the door he recognizes the face of the man who called.

That's right. He was at the mage meeting. Robin of ... Robin of someplace, yes? Lockslee? (He hasn't seen it spelled out.) The woman with him is wholly unknown to Anders. She's also bleeding from a great gouge in her face.

"Come in. What happened to your face, serah?" The question is direct and businesslike.

[brienne_the_blue]

Brienne gives the man who opens the door a curious look. He wears no Maester's chain, though she supposes that he really wouldn't, since she isn't from around here, but still... she expected one, and its lack does not comfort her.

Still, she replies in as businesslike a tone as she can. "I was attacked. Apparently the one who attacked me was called Biter for a good reason. I am told you can stitch me up?"

[hernes_son]

Robin hovered by the door, keeping half an eye on Brienne while he opened his metal box. He didn't know Anders well, but what he knew of the man he liked, and Robin felt reasonably sure the healer would do all he could for Brienne.

Why he felt so protective of this woman who so clearly could look after herself, Robin was hard pressed to say. But there was naught more he could do at the moment, and it would be as well to know where he was to sleep tonight. It took a few moments, but after a while Robin had his answer.

And was aghast.

Live with a woman not his lawful wife?

Robin could practically hear the derisive snort Will Scathlock would give him, and admitted to himself: yes, fine, he could. Had. But that had been Marian's choice - and they had handfasted, though that bond carried no weight outside of Sherwood.

This was entirely different.

[birdhousesoul]

"What I do isn't exactly stitching," Anders demurs, "and 'Biter' looks to have taken a chunk out of your cheek that can't readily be stitched over." The woman's in armor, and looks like a fighter, so he's not sugarcoating the problem the way he might for a timid Darktown girl. "Unless you're allergic to healing magic, or you've got some kind of religious objection, I'll try some of that first. We haven't got a table set up here — we probably should — but you can come sit in the kitchen where the light's better, yes?"

He glances over at Robin, who appears to be checking his netbook for something, and pitches his voice a little louder: "We're going into the kitchen, serah Robin. Join us when you're done?"

Anders doesn't lead Brienne by the hand. She's a warrior. She's actually got a couple of inches on him, and what looks like a good couple stone of muscle; he's no weakling, especially for a mage, but this woman could probably knock him on his arse without half trying. Rather, he turns and simply expects her to follow, and he holds the kitchen door for her, and pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. Maker forbid he ask her to sit on the table.

Fire magic's certainly useful to cleanse a healer's hands before he begins. The flames flicker along Anders' fingers and spread across his palms.

"Biter. A dog? A wolf? What sort of stuff would've been in this creature's mouth before it went after you?"

[brienne_the_blue]

Brienne follows along, because she's come this far. She might as well keep going. She's not familiar with the kind of magic he practices, and she watches the way he manipulates the flames. She's actually more than a little terrified, but she compresses her lips and is determined to get through this ordeal. At least once it's over she won't look like she was so recently ravaged by a wild beast.

"Biter was a man," she states simply.

[hernes_son]

A bit preoccupied, Robin followed them into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. His attention was caught by the flames in Anders' hands, the easy manipulation of the element a strong reminder of Herne and all that he was.

And then he heard Brienne's terse explanation and found himself horrified. He frowned blackly. No one should suffer such harm. "He may have walked upon two legs, but whoever did that was an animal by any standard."

Robin was surprised to find that this settled his disquiet over his unorthodox living situation. From now on, the lady Brienne would have Robin's support and protection, whether she needed it or not.

[birdhousesoul]

"A man," repeats Anders. That changes things a fair bit. For one thing, Robin does not need to be around to hear the questions that need asking next. Summarily he shoos the man right back out again. "Robin. Now that I think of it, I ... haven't seen the cat in a while. Would you mind looking around for him? Outside? We'll come out and find you when we're done."

[[To avoid spoilers for book 4 of A Song of Ice and Fire, and to avoid making anyone sick with graphic tales of Westerosi violence, I'm going to put the next bit in a separate tag commenting to myself here. The posting order of Robin-Anders-Brienne should resume thereafter.]]

[[spoilers and possible squick]]

[birdhousesoul]

Anders spent a good seven years running a free clinic for refugees in the worst possible neighborhood of a sizable city-state. He knows what needs to be asked, and how to go about it, and how to be as nonthreatening as possible, everything dry and practical. With the temporal dislocation induced by the Initiative's transport machines, it's hard to assess when she was attacked; from the state of the facial wound, Anders hazards a guess that puts it at least a good few hours ago in subjective time, not immediate but less than a whole day.

He doesn't ask her to submit to an examination. He asks her instead to describe everything she feels, everything she's noticed. He describes things she ought to look for in the coming days: signs of infection; signs that something's torn and not healing properly. He writes an abbreviated list on the flyleaf he tears from a cookbook.

From the kitchen cabinet he retrieves a canister of sea salt and some dried rosemary, and instructs Brienne to dump some of each in a shallow bath three or four times a day. ("To sit in," he feels the need to clarify.)

She's wary, and terse, but at least she's not kicking him or screaming, or mumbling religious verses, all of which he's seen in his Kirkwall practice. On the whole, Anders thinks, Brienne is actually a very good patient. Too good, perhaps, for what she's been through. But she's a warrior. Doubtless she's seen worse; doubtless she's glad to have her guts still in her belly, and to have the use of her limbs. Anders doesn't bother trying to secure promises from her, just tells her what she really ought to do if any of the signs he's listed manifest themselves, and leaves the rest to her discretion.

The cheek wound, he tells her flat out, he can't close up. It's shallow, happily, but it's also wide and there's a swathe of skin actually missing. "We'll need to take you to the clinic. I can show you the way, if you'd like, or else give Robin a map."

Re: [[spoilers and possible squick]]

[brienne_the_blue]

Brienne is grateful to Anders for his matter-of-factness. He doesn't press her, lets her be as terse as she likes, and doesn't seem to relish what she's telling him as some of the men she's known very well might. She doesn't enjoy the experience, though, and she's grateful when he hands her the herbs. A bath sounds like it would be wonderful, and she'll follow his instructions, because they make sense to her.

When he comments that he can't heal her, but others can, she shrugs. "It makes no matter who does it," she says. "I will need directions, but there is no need to put yourself out more than you already have." She just hopes that the Mother will be merciful and she won't have to go over all this again a second time. She's not sure she can. Or rather, she knows that she will, but she'll probably fall apart doing it, and that, she doesn't want at all.