Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Brienne

"I'm looking for a thirteen-year-old virgin," she said to a gray-haired matron at the village well, "a very beautiful aristocratic virgin with blue eyes and auburn hair. Riding with a knight of many years, and possibly a clown. Have you ever seen her?" "I may not have seen them, sir," said the matron, tapping her forehead with her knuckles, "but I'll keep an eye out, and I will." The blacksmith has never seen it, the monks in the country church, the swineherd who raises pigs, and the girl who pulls onions in the vegetable garden all say that they have never seen it. Rosby village is full of huts made of wooden sticks and mud. The daughter of Tarth is here Not a single clue was found.Yet she persisted and refused to give up.It was the shortest way to Duskendale, Brienne told herself. If Sansa was going there to seek refuge or take a boat, she would pass here.At the gate of the castle, she asked the two spearmen. Their coat of arms was three red stripes with the word "man" on ermine, and they belonged to the Rosby family. "If she walks on the road these days, she won't be a virgin." said the older one, and the younger wondered if the girl's hair between her legs was also auburn.

I can't get help here.As Brienne mounted her horse, she caught a glimpse of a thin boy on a piebald horse at the far end of the village.I haven't asked him a word yet, she thought, but before she could go, the boy disappeared behind the sept.She didn't bother to chase, and he probably didn't know any more than the others.The village of Rosby was almost an open space on the road, and there was no reason for Sansa to stop there, so Brienne was on the road again, heading northeast through apple orchards and barley fields, soon leaving the village and castle behind.We won't find out until Duskendale City, she told herself, assuming the other party is indeed going in this direction.

"I will find the girl and keep her safe," Brienne had promised Ser Jaime in King's Landing, "for her lord mother. And for you." Noble words, but easier said than done.She stayed in the city for too long, but she heard very little news.I should have set off a long time ago...but the sky is so vast, where can I find it?Sansa Stark disappeared without a trace on the night King Joffrey died, and if anyone saw her afterward, or knew something of her whereabouts, they did not say it.At least not with me. Brienne believed the girl had left the capital.Had she remained in King's Landing, no doubt she would have been picked out by the Gold Cloaks.She must escape...but it was hard to say where.What if I were a virgin with menarche, alone and frightened, and in dire danger?she asked herself.where would i goFor her, the answer was simple - go back to Tarth and find her father.However, Sansa witnessed her biological father being beheaded, her mother was also murdered in Twin River City, and Winterfell, the base of the Stark family, had been looted and burned, and the residents were slaughtered.She has no home, no father, no mother, no siblings.She might be in the next town, she might be on the boat to Asshai, anything was possible.

Taking a step back, even if Sansa Stark wanted to go home, how would she go?The kingsroad was not safe, as children knew: the ironmen occupied Moat Cailin across the Neck, and the Twins were home to the Freys who had murdered Sansa's brother and mother.If she had money, she could have gone by sea, but the port of King's Landing was still in ruins, the Blackwater River cluttered with broken wooden embankments and burned sunken warships.Brienne asked along the docks. No one remembered a ship leaving the night King Joffrey died.A few merchant ships were anchored in the bay, unloading their cargo in skiffs, and someone told her that more were continuing along the coast to Duskendale, where the port had never been so busy.

Contrary to what Jaime said, Brienne's mare was actually not a bad looking horse, and she did keep a pretty good pace.There were more travelers than she expected.The gang of beggars walked slowly, bowls hanging from ropes around their necks.A young monk galloped by, his mount rivaling that of a noble lord.Later, she encounters a group of Silent Sisters, and Brienne asks, but they all shake their heads.A train of ox carts rumbled south, laden with grain and sacks of wool, and then she passed a swineherd driving pigs, and an old woman in a cart, guarded by a team of mounted guards.She also asked them if she had seen a thirteen-year-old noble maiden with blue eyes and auburn hair.No one saw it.She asked again about the road ahead. "It's safe to get to Duskendale from here," she was told, "but beyond Duskendale, the woods are full of bandits and cripples."

The soldier pines and sentinel trees in the outskirts are still green, while the broad-leaved trees have put on brown and golden cloaks, or even took off their robes, and their bare brown branches reach out to the sky like claws.Whenever the wind blows, countless circling dead leaves are stirred up on the rutted road.Dead leaves rustled under the hooves of the big mare Jaime Lannister had given her.Searching for a missing girl in Westeros is like searching for a fallen leaf in the autumn wind.She couldn't help but wonder if the task James had given her was a cruel joke.Maybe Sansa was quietly executed for her affair with King Joffrey's death, buried in some unmarked grave, and then the big stupid woman of Tarth was sent to find her, what better way to cover up the murder ?

No, James wouldn't do that.He is a sincere man.He gave me this sword and named it "Oathkeeper".Anyway, it's not the deciding factor.The point was that she had sworn to Lady Catelyn to bring back her daughters, and nothing is more solemn than a vow to the dead.According to James, the sister had died long ago, and the Arya the Lannisters had sent north to marry Roose Bolton's bastard son was a fake.That leaves only Sansa.Brienne had to find her. At dusk, she saw a bonfire burning beside a small stream.Two men sat by a fire grilling salmon, their armor and weapons piled under a tree.One of them was old, the other was not so old, but not young either.The younger one stood up to greet her.He wore a speckled deerskin jacket with lacing tight over his paunch, and a shaggy, unkempt beard the color of old gold that covered his cheeks and chin. "We have enough salmon for three, ser," he yelled.

This isn't the first time Brienne has been mistaken for a man.She took off her full helmet, letting her hair fall.Her hair was yellow, like dirty straw, and equally brittle and dry.Long, thin strands of hair flowed down her shoulders. "Thank you, sir." The hedge knight narrowed his eyes and looked at her carefully, and Brienne realized that he must be nearsighted. "A lady, isn't she? A lady in full armor? Gods have mercy, Ely, look at her size." "I thought she was a knight too," said the older knight, turning the salmon over. If Brienne was a man, she was big; as a woman, she was a giant. "Freak" was the word she heard the most in her life.She has broad shoulders, wider hips, long legs and thick arms, more developed pectoral muscles than breasts, and ridiculously large palms and feet.Besides that, she was ugly, with a freckled horse face and teeth that were too big in her mouth.These, she does not need others to remind. "Gentlemen," she said, "did you see a thirteen-year-old virgin on the road? She had blue eyes and auburn hair, and she was probably with a stout, red-faced man of forty."

The short-sighted hedge knight scratched his head. "I don't recall a virgin like that. Besides, what color counts as claret?" "Red brown," the old man said, "No, we didn't see her." "We didn't see her, miss," confirmed the younger one. "Come on, dismount, the fish is almost ready. Are you hungry?" She was indeed hungry, but she dared not let her guard down.Hedge knights have a bad reputation.It's often said, "The hedge knight and the robber knight are two sides of the same sword." These two men don't look too dangerous. "Excuse me, what should I call it, sirs?"

"I am Ser Clayton Lambert, whom the singers have had the honor to sing about," said Big Belly. "Perhaps you know my deeds on the Blackwater. My companion is Ser Illiver the Poor." Brienne hadn't heard the Clayton Lambert song, if there had been one.Their names were as foreign to her as their arms.Ser Clayton's green shield had a brown banner at the top, deeply gashed by the battle-axe; Ser Illiver's had gold and ermine painted on it, but he looked like he'd never owned a real one. gold or ermine.He was at least sixty years old, with a thin, narrow face, a hooded head, and a patched coarse cloak, and mail mail spotted with rust like freckles.Brienne was a head taller than either of them, and better mounted and equipped.If I want to be afraid of such a person, unless the long sword is replaced by a sewing needle.

"Thank you very much, my lord," she said, "and I would gladly share the salmon." Brienne slumped off her horse.She unmounted the saddle from the mare's back, fed her water, and tied the rope to let her graze.She piled her weapons, shields, and saddlebags under an elm tree.At this point, the salmon is crispy and crispy.Ser Clayton handed her a fish, and she sat cross-legged on the ground and ate it. "We're going to Duskendale, miss," said Lambert, tearing open his own salmon with his fingers. "You'd better come with us. It's dangerous." Brienne could tell him more details about how dangerous the road was, and he wouldn't like it. "Thank you for your kindness, sir, but I don't need your protection." "I stand by my opinion. A true knight protects a weak girl." She touched the sword belt. "This will protect me, ser." "A sword is only as good as whoever wields it." "My sword skills are pretty good." "Say what you want—it's rude to argue with a lady. We'll get you safely to Duskendale, safer in three than alone." There were three of us when we set off from Riverrun, but Jaime lost a hand and Cleos Frey lost his life. "Your mounts can't keep up with me." Ser Clayton's brown gelding was old and weak, with bleary-eyed eyes; Ser Illiver's was scrawny and underfed. "At the Blackwater, my steed did well," insisted Ser Clayton, "and I killed a dozen men there, and ransomed a dozen men. Do you know Sir Herbert Poling, Miss? You'll never see him again, for I shot him down the spot. Remember, Ser Clayton Lambert never takes a back seat when swords meet." His companion giggled dryly. "Clay, forget it. She doesn't need our company." "My kind?" Brienne wasn't quite sure what he meant. Ser Illiver pointed a bony finger at her shield.Although the paint on the shield was chipped and peeled, the pattern was clear: a large black bat on a gold and silver diagonal. "You're holding the liar's shield, it doesn't belong to you. My grandfather's grandfather helped kill the last of the Rothsteins, and no one has dared to show that bat since, because their family did nothing like that Black as a bat." The shield was dug up by Ser Jaime from the armory at Harrenhal.Brienne found it with the mare in the stable, plus a lot of equipment; saddle, bridle, mail, full helmet with visor, two bags of gold and silver, and a piece of parchment that was more precious than gold and silver. "I lost my shield," she explained. "A true knight is a lady's shield," said Ser Clayton stubbornly. Ser Illiver paid no attention. "The barefoot man seeks boots, the cold man seeks a cloak, but who would willingly disgrace himself? Earl Lucas 'Pimp' bears this bat, and his son 'Blackcap' Manfry .I have to ask myself, why are you wearing it? Unless your crimes are uglier... if only recent.” He drew his dagger, an unsightly piece of cheap iron. "A tall and strong strange woman who concealed her true identity. Look, Clay, this is the 'Daughter of Tarth' who slit Lord Renly's throat." "That's a lie!" Renly Baratheon was more than a king to her.She fell in love with the laid-back duke when he first came to Tarth for his rite of passage.Her father gave a welcome party and ordered her to attend, or she would hide in the house like a wounded animal.She was about Sansa's age then, and was more afraid of snickers than swords.They will know about the rose, she told Lord Selwyn, and they will laugh at me.But the Evening Star wouldn't budge. Renly Baratheon was so polite to her that he even danced with her when she was a normal fair maiden, and she felt graceful and regal in his arms, her feet moving smoothly.Because of the duke's example, others came to invite her.From that day on, all she wanted was to be with Lord Renly, to serve him, to keep him safe.But in the end, she still failed him.Renly died in my arms, but I did not kill him, she thought, and these hedge knights will never understand. "I would give my life for King Renly, and die gladly," she said. "I did him no harm. I swear by my sword." "It is knights who swear by swords," said Ser Clayton. "In the name of the Seven," Ser Illiver the Poor urged. "Well, I swear by the Seven Gods that I did no harm to King Renly. In the name of the Mother, if I speak lies, I will never be able to obtain her mercy; in the name of the Father, I ask him to give me justice Judge; in the name of virgins and crones, in the name of blacksmiths and warriors, and in the name of the Stranger—if my words are true, I may be carried away by him at once." "For a girl, she's pretty well swearing," Ser Clayton admitted. "Yes." Ser Illifer the Poor shrugged. "Well, if she lies, the gods will take care of it." He retracted the dagger. "The first whistle belongs to you." While the hedge knights slept, Brienne circled restlessly around the small camp, listening to the crackle of the fire.I should hurry on my way.She was not familiar with these two people, but she couldn't leave them alone when they were defenseless.For there were men on horseback on the road in the dark of night, and there was movement in the woods, perhaps owls, perhaps wandering foxes, or neither.So Brienne paced back and forth, keeping the sword ready at all times. On the whole, the vigil was easy enough, and the hardest was when Ser Illifer woke up to replace her.Brienne spread the blankets on the floor, curled up, and closed her eyes.Tired to the bone, she told herself, I couldn't sleep.Where there are men, she can never sleep peacefully.Even in Lord Renly's camp, there was always the danger of being raped.It was a lesson she had learned below Highgarden, and she had learned it again when she and Jaime fell into the hands of the Brave Company. The chill of the mud seeped through the blanket and into Brienne's bones.Before long, every muscle, from the jaw down to the toes, was tense.She wondered where Sansa Stark was, if she felt the cold too.Mrs. Caitlin said that Sansa was a little lady, polite at all times, and loved lemon cakes, silk dresses, and songs praising chivalry. However, this girl saw her father's head cut off and was forced to marry the murderer. one.If the legend is half true, the dwarf is the cruelest of the Lannisters.If she really poisoned King Joffrey, she must be coerced by the imp.After all, she was alone in the palace with no one to rely on.In King's Landing, she tracked down a woman named Berena, one of Sansa's handmaidens.The woman told her that there was no affection between Sansa and the dwarf.Perhaps she ran away both because of Joffrey's murder and to escape him. Dawn wakes Brienne. She has had a dream, but she doesn't remember the dream.Her legs were stiff as wood from the icy ground, but no one was disturbed, nor was the object touched.The hedge knights were up, Ser Illifer was butchering a squirrel for breakfast, and Ser Clayton took a long piss into the tree.Hedge knights, she thought, good men though one was old and vain and the other fat and nearsighted.She was relieved to find that there were still good people in the world. They breakfasted on roast squirrel and acorn pancakes and pickles, while Ser Clayton babbled on and on about his heroics at the Blackwater, where he killed a dozen Brienne never heard of. The terrible knight who lived. "Oh, it was a rare battle, my lady," he said, "a rare and bloody fight." He acknowledged that Ser Illiver had fought valiantly in this battle as well.Elifer himself said nothing. As she continued on the road, two knights walked on either side of her, like guards protecting a lady... except that this lady is taller than the two guards, and her weapons and armor are better than theirs. "Did anyone pass by during your vigil?" Brienne asked. "A virgin of thirteen, with auburn hair, for instance?" said Illifer the Poor. "No, miss. Not at all." "I had some at my vigil," put in Clayton, "a farm boy passed by on a piebald horse, and an hour later there were half a dozen men on foot, with clubs and scythes. They saw our fire , stopped to stare at our horses for a long time, and I lighted the bright iron guys a little, and told them to go on. A bunch of wild men, outlaws, but not wild enough to underestimate me, Sir Clayton Lambert .” Yeah, Brienne thought, not that far.She tilted her head to hide a smile.It was a good thing Sir Clayton was too engrossed in describing his epic battle with the Red Rooster Knight to notice her smile.It's nice to have someone on the road with you, even if it's two guys. At noon, Brienne heard chants floating through the bare brown bushes. "What noise?" asked Sir Clayton. "Man, someone is praying aloud." Brienne was familiar with the hymns.They prayed to the warriors for protection, and to the crones to light their way. Ser Illifer the Poor drew his scarred sword, reined in and waited. "They're getting closer." Pious chanting gradually filled the woods like thunder.Suddenly, the source of the sound appeared ahead of the road.At the head of the gang were a filthy band of beggar brothers with beards and coarse robes, some barefoot and some in sandals.Behind them walked about sixty ragged men, women, and children, a piebald sow, and some sheep.A few men carried axes, and many more had rough wooden clubs.Among them was a two-wheeled trailer of gray splintered wood piled high with skulls and here and there broken bones.Seeing the hedge knight, the Beggar Brothers stopped, and the chants died down. "My dear knights," said one of the beggars, "may Our Lady have mercy on you." "The Lady loves you too, brother," Ser Illiver said. "Who are you?" "We're the Poor People's Assembly," replied a burly man with an axe.Although the autumn woods were cold and bleak, he was shirtless, with a seven-pointed star engraved on his chest.When the Andal warriors crossed the Narrow Sea and conquered the Seven Kingdoms of the First Men, they had this seven-pointed star engraved on their chests. "We are bursting toward the capital," said a tall woman pulling a trailer, "to take these relics to the Great Sept of Baelor, and seek the king's aid and protection." "Join us, friends," urged a thin man in battered monk's robes and a crystal around his neck, "Westeros needs every warrior." "We are going to Duskendale," Ser Clayton announced, "but perhaps we can escort you safely to King's Landing first." "If you have money to pay," Ser Illiver added, looking not only poor but practical. "A sparrow needs no money," said the monk. Sir Clayton was puzzled. "sparrow?" "The sparrow is the most common and humble bird, but we are the most common and humble human beings." The monk had a lean and angular face, a short taupe beard, and thinning hair combed back , tied into a knot, a pair of black bare feet as hard and rough as tree roots. "These bones belonged to those saints who worshiped the gods, who were killed for their faith, but did not change their determination to serve the seven gods. Some died of starvation, and some were tortured to death. Churches were plundered, virgins and mothers were desecrated, The devil-worshiping fellow rapes, and even the Silent Sisters are harassed. The Mother of Heaven makes a mournful appeal, and it is time for all anointed knights to forsake the worldly lords and come to guard our holy Church. If you love Seven Gods, come with us to the capital." "I love the Seven very much," said Illifer, "but I must eat." "The children of the Holy Mother have to eat, and there are many people in the world who can't eat." "We're going to Duskendale," Ser Illiver said firmly. A beggar brother spat and a woman moaned. "You are hypocritical knights," said the burly man with the heptagram on his chest, and several others brandished clubs. The barefoot monk comforted everyone with words, "There is no need for a referee. The job of referee belongs to the Heavenly Father. Let them pass safely. They are also poor people, but they just lost their way in the world." Brienne pushed the horse forward slightly. "My sister is lost. She's thirteen, auburn-haired, and pretty." "Our Lady's children look pretty. May Our Lady protect this poor girl...and you too." The monk grabbed a sling from the front of the trailer, put it on his shoulders, and continued to tug.The brothers of the beggar gang also started to chant again.Brienne and the hedge knights sat on horseback and watched the procession pass slowly, making its way down the rutted road towards Rosby.Finally, the chanting gradually faded away. Sir Clayton raised one of his buttocks from the saddle and scratched it. "What kind of person would kill a holy monk?" Brienne knew what it was like.I remember that near Maiquan City, the warrior group tied a monk's ankle and hung him upside down on a tree branch, using it as a target for archery practice.She wondered if his bones were piled in that trailer with the others. "It must be an idiot who rapes the Silent Sisters," Ser Clayton said. "Even if it's just a hand . Ni. "Uh... excuse me." Brienne urged her horse to gallop off in the direction of Duskendale.After a while, Ser Illiver followed, and Ser Clayton stayed behind. Three hours later, they encountered another group struggling toward Duskendale: a merchant and his servants, accompanied by a hedge knight.The merchant rode a gray mare, and the servants took turns pulling the wagon.Four trailed in front, and two followed the wheels, but when they heard the sound of hooves, they immediately formed formation around the wagon, ash sticks in hand, and were ready for battle.The merchant draws a crossbow, the knight draws his sword. "Forgive me for being paranoid," the merchant shouted, "but the situation is unstable, and I have only the esteemed Sir Shadridge to protect me. Who are you?" "Ah," Ser Clayton said aggrievedly, "I am Ser Clayton Lamb who became famous at the Battle of the Blackwater not long ago, and this is my partner, Ser Illiver the Poor." "We mean no harm," Brienne said. The merchant eyed her suspiciously. "Miss, you should stay at home safely. Why are you dressed so strangely?" "I'm looking for my sister." She dared not mention Sansa's name because Sansa was accused of regicide. "She's a beautiful noble maiden with blue eyes and auburn hair. Maybe you'll see her with a fat knight in his forties, or with a drunken clown." "The road is full of drunken clowns and budding virgins. As for the fat knights, everyone is starving, and it is difficult for a decent man to fill his stomach... But it seems that your Sir Clayton is not starving. on." "That's because I'm big-boned," Sir Clayton emphasized. "How about we go together? Oh, I don't doubt Sir Shadridge's bravery, but he looks a little small, and three swords are better than one." Four, Brienne thought, without saying a word. The merchant looked at his guard. "What do you say, ser?" "Oh, I said don't be afraid of those three." Ser Shadridge, a thin man with a fox face, a pointed nose, and tangled orange hair, rode on a long-limped sorrel charge horse.Although he is only five feet two inches tall, he has a confident posture. "An old man, a fat man, and the big one is a woman. Let them come." "Okay." The merchant put down his crossbow. After continuing on the road, the knight hired by the merchant slowed down and rode up to her side, looking up and down as if she was a large piece of high-quality bacon. "I said, you are a strong and big girl." Ser Jaime's taunt had hurt her deeply, but the little man's words hadn't helped her at all, "Yes, I'm a giant compared to someone." The knight laughed, "That's a big job for me, girl." "The businessman calls you Shadrich." "Ser Shadridge of Shadowdale, nicknamed 'The Mad Rat.'" He turned his shield to show her a large white mouse with fierce red eyes on a brown and blue slash. "Brown is the land I wander, blue is the river I cross, and that mouse is me." "Are you crazy?" "Oh, pretty crazy. Ordinary rats stay away from bloodshed and fights, but Mad Rats go after them." "He rarely seemed to find real bloodshed and fighting." "I've found enough. I'm no tourney knight, I'm sure. I reserve my valor for the battle, woman." A "woman" is better than a "niu'er," she thought. "You have much in common with the venerable Sir Clayton." Sir Shadridge laughed again. "Oh, really? I doubt it. But then again, you and I—we may have a mutual purpose. A little lost sister, don't we? Blue eyes, bay red Hair?" He laughed again. "You are not the only hunter in the woods. I am looking for Sansa Stark, too." Brienne kept her face to hide her uneasiness. "Who is Sansa Stark, and why are you looking for her?" "For love, why else?" She frowned, "Love?" "Yes, the love of gold. Unlike your venerable Sir Clayton, I did fight on the Blackwater, only on the side of the loser. I went bankrupt to pay the ransom. You know wa Reece, right? The eunuch offered a big bag of gold for this 'girl you've never heard of'. I'm not greedy. If some big girl helps me find that naughty kid, I'll share the octospider bounty with her .” "I thought you were employed by the merchant." "Only to Duskendale. Hibald is not only stingy, but cowardly. He's terribly cowardly. What do you say, girl?" "I don't know Sansa Stark," she insisted. "I'm looking for my sister, a noble girl..." "...blue eyes, auburn hair, look, what a coincidence. Excuse me, who is that knight traveling with your sister? You say he is a clown?" Fortunately, Sir Shadridge did not wait for her to answer, because she couldn't answer at all. . "On the night King Joffrey died, a clown did disappear from King's Landing. He was a squat fellow with a nose full of tiny veins. It was Dontos, the red knight, who used to belong to Duskendale. May your sister Don't be mistaken for the Stark girl and Ser Dontos with her drunk jester." He kicked his steed and galloped on. Even Jaime Lannister rarely made Brienne feel so stupid.You are not the only hunter in the woods.The woman Berena had told her how Joffrey had humiliated Ser Dontos, and how Lady Sansa had begged Joffrey to spare his life.He was the one who helped her escape, then, Brienne concluded after hearing the story, and finding Ser Dontos would lead to Sansa.She should have known, and others would have thought of that too.Some people may not be as good as Sir Shadridge.She only wished Ser Dontos would keep Sansa well hidden.If so, how can I find her? She shrugged, frowned, and urged the horse forward. By the time the group arrived at an inn, the night had already darkened.The inn was a tall wooden building that stood at the confluence of the river, across an old stone bridge.Sir Clayton told them that the name of the inn was "Old Stonebridge" and that the innkeeper was his friend. "The cook here is good, and there are no more lice in the room than most inns," he assured. "Who sleeps in the warm bed tonight?" "We can't, unless your friend pays for it," said Ser Illifer the Poor. "We have no money for an inn." "I can pay for the three of us." Brienne was not short of money, which James took care of.In her saddlebag was a bulging purse full of silver stags and brass stars, and a smaller purse full of gold dragons, and a parchment that commanded the king's subjects to aid its bearers, Brienne of House Tarth, she is serving His Grace.It was signed in Tommen's tender hand: Tommen Baratheon I, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Hibard was also going to stop, and he ordered his men to leave the cart by the stable.Warm yellow lights shone through the diamond panes of the inn, and Brienne heard a stallion neighing as she smelled her dismounted mare.As the saddle was being unsaddled, a boy came out through the stable door and said, "Let me do it, sir." "I'm no sir," she told him, "but you can take this horse. Make sure it's fed and drunk." The boy blushed, "Excuse me, miss, I thought..." "Never mind. It's a common mistake people make." Brienne handed him the reins and followed the others into the inn, saddlebag over her shoulder and bedroll under her arm. The hall's plank floor was covered with sawdust, and the air smelled of beer, smoke, and barbecue.The barbecue in the stove is sizzling and crackling, and it is temporarily left unattended.Six locals sat at a table chatting, but when strangers came in, they immediately fell silent.Brienne could feel their gaze.Despite the mail, cloak, and tunic, she still felt naked.A man said, "Look here." She knew it wasn't Sir Shadridge. The shopkeeper appeared with three tall wine glasses in each hand, splashing some ale with every step he took. "Is there a room, sir?" the merchant asked him. "Maybe there is," said the shopkeeper, "if you have money, you will have it." Sir Clayton Lamb looked resentful. "Nagle, you're saying hello to an old friend like this? It's me, Lamb." "It is indeed you. You owe me seven silver stags. Bring the silver, and I'll give you a bed." The owner put down the glasses one by one, and spilled some wine on the table during the process. "I will pay for a room for myself and another for my two companions." Brienne pointed to Ser Clayton and Ser Illiver. "I'll take a room too," said the merchant, "for myself and the venerable Ser Shadridge. My servants sleep in your stable, if you please." The innkeeper looked in their direction. "I don't like it, but maybe I'll allow it. Supper? Good goat on the stove." "I judge for myself whether it is good or not," declared Hibard, "and my men will be content with bread and gravy." So they began to eat.Brienne went upstairs with the shopkeeper first, slipped a few coins into his hand so that she could put her belongings in the best vacant room, and then she came down to taste the goat.She also ordered goat for Ser Clayton and Ser Illiver, for they had given her salmon.Hedge knights and merchants ate meat with ale, and Brienne drank a glass of goat's milk.She listened carefully to the conversation at the dinner table, hoping that she might hear a clue that might help her find Sansa. "You come from King's Landing," a native said to Hibard, "is the Kingslayer really crippled?" "Yes," said Hibard, "he has lost his right hand with the sword." "Yes," said Sir Clayton, "I've heard it was bitten off by a direwolf—a monster of the north. There's never anything good in the north, and even the Yankee gods are queer." "It wasn't the wolves," Brienne heard herself say. "Ser Jaime's hand was chopped off by a sellsword from Qorhor." "It's not easy to hit with your left hand," Madrat commented. "Ha ha," said Ser Lamb Clayton, "I happen to be as good with both hands as I am with a sword." “噢，我一点也不怀疑。”夏德里奇爵士举杯致意。 布蕾妮记得自己跟詹姆·兰尼斯特在树林里的战斗。她竭尽全力，才堪堪阻挡他的攻击。况且当时他因为长期囚禁而变得虚弱，手腕上还有锁链。假如没有锁链的牵制，他的力量又不曾被削弱，那么七大王国之内，没有一个骑士能与他匹敌。詹姆有过许多恶行，但他是个绝顶高手！把他弄成残废实在是异常残酷的行为。杀死狮子是一回事，砍掉他的爪子，折磨其心智，又是另一回事。 突然间，大厅里的嘈杂变得难以忍受，她含含糊糊地道过晚安，上楼睡觉去了。房间的天花板很低，布蕾妮手持细烛走进去时，不得不弯腰，否则会撞到脑袋。屋内唯一的摆设是一张足够睡六人的大床，还有窗台上的一段牛油蜡烛头。她用细蜡烛把它点燃，闩上门，又将剑带挂到床柱子上。她的木剑鞘朴素简易，包裹在开裂的棕色皮革之中，而她的剑更加平凡。这是她在君临买的，以代替被勇士团夺走的那把。那是蓝礼的配剑。想到自己把它弄丢了，她仍然感觉很难过。 但她的铺盖卷里还藏着另一把长剑。她坐到床上，将它取出来。烛焰之下，镀金闪耀着黄光，红宝石仿佛闷烧的火。布蕾妮将守誓剑拔出华丽的剑鞘，不由得屏住呼吸。血红与漆黑的波纹深深地嵌入了钢铁之中。这是瓦雷利亚钢剑，由魔法形塑而成。这是一把英雄的配剑。小时候，奶妈向她灌输了许多英雄故事，让她知道“晨光”加勒敦爵士、傻子佛罗理安、龙骑士伊蒙王子以及其他勇士们的伟大事迹。他们每人都有一把名剑，守誓剑也该如此，但她自己并非英雄。“你将用奈德·史塔克自己的剑来保护他的女儿。”詹姆曾经允诺。 她跪在床和墙壁之间，举剑向老妪默默祈祷，祈求老妪的金灯能指引她一条明路。指引我，她祷告，照亮我前方的道路，指引我寻找珊莎。她已经辜负了蓝礼，辜负了凯特琳夫人。她不能再辜负詹姆。他把自己的剑托付给我，也把自己的荣誉托付给了我。 然后，她在床上尽量伸展开身子。床很宽，但不够长，布蕾妮只能侧过来睡。她可以听到下面杯盏交碰的声音，话语声沿着楼梯飘上来。朗勃提到的虱子现身了。抓挠有助于她保持清醒。 她听见亥巴德走上楼梯，稍后，骑士们也上来了。“……我一直不知道他的名字，”克雷顿爵士经过时在说，“但他盾牌上有一只血红的鸡，而他的剑上滴着血……”他的话音渐渐消失，楼上的一扇门打开又阖上。 蜡烛已尽，黑暗笼罩着老石桥，周围变得如此宁谧，她甚至可以听见河流低沉的汩汩声。布蕾妮这才起来收拾东西。她轻轻推开门，听了听动静，然后光脚走下楼梯。她在外面套上靴子，快步来到马厩里，给她的母马系上鞍配。她一边跨上马背，一边默默地向克雷顿爵士和伊利佛爵士致歉。骑马经过亥巴德的一个仆人时，他醒了过来，但没有阻止她。母马的铁蹄在古老的石桥上发出清脆的响声，接着，树林将她包围，黑如沥青，充满了鬼魂和记忆。我来了，珊莎小姐，她一边想一边飞驰入黑暗之中。勿需害怕。不把你找到，我决不罢休。