Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

Se sȳndor morgho - Part 4 Tyrion x Bronn x Reader

Again, all speech in italics is supposed to be High Valyrian.

Both men couldn't help but stare. The woman before them looked strong, with well-defined muscles. The scars not only on her back, but also littering her arms, chest and neck. Many of the marks appearing old, but others looking as though they had been made very recently. And despite the fact that her hair was cut short, it seeming as though it had been removed with a sharp blade only day before, she really was the most exquisite sight that either Tyrion or Bronn had seen. Morgho eyeing the duo, as they watched her. The warrior finding herself inquisitive about the little man that was dressed in fine clothes. About the taller, weathered looking man that stood close behind him.

"That's a woman!" Bronn suddenly exclaimed, as he finally managed to remove his eyes from the woman's rounded breasts. The sellswords breaking the awestruck silence, as the warrior wiped a wet cloth across their skin. The woman not seeming to care that she was almost naked in front of the two complete strangers.

"They are takin the piss. They think that they can fob ya off with this........this whore.................." The sellsword continued. His eyes growing wide as he found himself pushed up against the wall behind him. His feet dangling in the air, as the woman pinned him there. Her hand wrapped firmly around his throat.

"Let him go, Morgho." Gashqi shouted, hitting the fighter on the back with the handle of his whip. Morgho grunting heavily, as she released the stunned sellsword, allowing him to fall into a heap on the floor before she turned and glowered at the slaver. The smaller, lean man backing away slightly, as the warrior stepped forward.

"Excuse me, my lady. May I say that it is an honour to meet the warrior that I just watched in the pit. I must say that I have never seen your like before. And doubt I ever will again." Tyrion interjected. Giving the pit fighter a small smile before he turned his attention to the man with the whip.

"If my property is harmed before I take it away from here. You may find that your ten thousand gold dragons become a lot less. So much less, that it will in fact be nothing. I do not pay for damaged goods." The little lord told the man, before pulling off his cloak and offering it the warrior so that she could wrap it around herself.

"Now, get out. When I am done here, I will call you." Tyrion growled. Fighting back the smile as the slaver scurried off.

"Forgive me." The youngest Lannister said, as he turned his attention back to the woman. Offering her his hand and leading her over to the small wooden bench. Smiling as she took a seat. It more than obvious that she was confused by his actions.

"You will have to forgive my man, my lady. For some reason he seems to think that only men can fight like you do. But I am not so foolish. Though I had not expected that the shadow of death would be quite so beautiful..............."

"Your man will learn that women are better at many. More things than he may believe. We are not all born to be whores, here just so that he can get his cock wet. And beauty means nothing here, master. All that matters is what you can do with a weapon. All that matters is how you kill, and how you die. And I am no lady. Ladies are soft and delicate. They dress in fine clothes like yours, and stink of perfume and sweet smelling unguents. I am and do none of those things. I was taught to be tough and strong. To fight, kill and enjoy it. The only clothes I have known, other than my armour, are rough and coarse. And the only thing I have ever smelt of is blood, dirt and death. And if that is what you wish me to continue to do, I will do it." Morgho interrupted. Smiling to herself, as she watched the man that she had just pinned up against the wall, struggle to get up from the floor.

Tyrion couldn't help but become more and more intrigued by the woman in front of him. She spoke well for one that had been raised in such awful surroundings. And seemed to have more than just a passing intelligence. The little lord finding it hard to believe that something like that. Someone like that, could flourish in the dark, stinking pits.

"That bitch should be thankful that you've just bought her. Otherwise I'd........" Bronn huffed hoarsely, as he glared at her. Rubbing at the reddened flesh on his neck. The sellsword jumping backwards and reaching for his sword, as the warrior got to her feet and made her way over to him.

"And you, should be thankful that you are my master's man. For if you weren't, I would break you in two, here and now you pig." Morgho replied in common tongue. Bronn looking over in confusion at the little man behind the fighter.

"You.......you speak common tongue?" Tyrion asked, as he pushed his way between Bronn and Morgho. The young lion not only wanting to diffuse the situation that was growing between the pair, but also interceding because he wanted to know what else his new purchase could do.

"Yes, master. I speak common tongue. I also speak Dothraki and Low Valyrian. I learned from the other slaves when they would come through. I would learn from the women and men that the slavers use to cook for the fighters and clean away the dead from the pits. From the ones that they use as whores. I promise to protect them while they are here, in return for their wisdom. For their news of the world beyond the pits. Not another of the slaves, or trainers will harm anyone that they knew was under my protection." Morgho explained, her eyes never leaving the foolish man before her.

"Morgho." Tyrion said quietly, as he reached to take her hand. Her eyes moving to look at the little man.

"Bronn. Why don't you leave us for a few moments? I believe that I am safe enough here." Tyrion continued. Ignoring the sellswords huff, as he reluctantly left the room.

"What is your real name?" The lion enquired, as he led Morgho back to the bench. Dusting it off and patting the seat.

"My name is Morgho, master. That is what the slavers have called me since my first kill. I am sure that I had another name before the pits, if there was a before.......but........not one that I can remember. Though there was an old woman once that used to like to call me (Y/n). She would say that the name Morgho was too harsh for one that protected so many. That the name (Y/n) suited me better. Yet........."

"Then I hope that when it is just you and I, that you will allow me to call you that, for I agree with the old woman. Someone like you should not just be considered a fighter. Because I think that there is so much more to you than what I saw in the pit." Tyrion interjected, as he gave the warriors hand a gentle squeeze.

"If that is what you wish, master................"

"And there will be no need for you to call me, master. In fact, once I have paid the slavers for you, you will no longer be a slave. You will be free, and as long as you agree to protect and watch over me, I will make sure that you will have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, and gold in your purse." Tyrion explained, as the fighter stared at him in disbelief. Not sure that she had heard what she had heard. That she would no longer be a slave. That she would be free.

"Yes..........If that is what you want, mas............"

"Tyrion, (Y/n). You can call me Tyrion." The little man explained. The lord sure that his heart was beating a little quicker, as (Y/n)'s gaze turned softer, and a gentle smile spread across her lips.

"Yes.........Tyrion."