Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

Se sȳndor morgho - Part 6 - Tyrion x Bronn x Reader

I know that the end of this chapter may sound like the end of the imagine. But there is more to come. So, I hope you will enjoy this latest instalment.

"What's wrong with you?" Bronn enquired, as he and Tyrion followed behind the slaver. The look of anger and pain on the little man's face confusing the sellsword. Bronn not sure what could have transpired between the lion and this Morgho to make Tyrion appear in such a way. But Bronn found himself sort of hoping that whatever it was, it would mean that Tyrion was no longer interested in buying the pit fighter.

Not that he minded the fighter, really. Nor the thought of the competition. He was still confident enough in his own abilities to believe that he would be able to beat the trained killer if they were ever to come up against one another. Though given what he had seen her do in the pits, he had to admit that that confidence had wavered for a moment..........alright, for more than a moment. But now a little of him was savouring the opportunity. The opportunity to prove that he was stronger, quicker and just plain better than the fighter that Tyrion was about to pay ten thousand gold dragons for. And then another little part of him couldn't help but think about the sight that he and Tyrion had been greeted with as they had entered Morgho's cell. Her naked form more than taking his breath away, as his eyes had taken in every well-defined, perfectly toned part of her body. A body that had still managed to retain its feminine curves despite the punishment and training that it had had to endure. Bronn finding himself imagining what it would be like to lose himself deep between her strong thighs. To bury his head between her breasts. The sellsword sure that she could crush a man to death. But that it would be a death that he would happily meet. The sellsword sure that he had never had a more confusing and contrary day in his life.

"Nothing. I just want this over with." Tyrion growled in reply. His mind filled with what (Y/n) had told him. How the slavers, the trainers had taken everything, everyone that she had ever cared about from her. How they had sent her little mouse into the pit to fight a killer, and how she had been made to watch. How the slavers had turned an innocent child, into the shadow of death.

"Aye. I must admit that I wouldn't mind gettin outta here meself." Bronn agreed. The odour of death seeming to get stronger as they made their way through the dark, dank subterranean labyrinth of corridors and cells. Not that it was the stench of the dying that concerned him. The smell one that he had sensed many times on the battlefield. It was more the looks of desperation on the faces of those that looked out from behind the doors of their confines that made him feel uncomfortable. Their eyes sallow and dark, as if already dead and peering at him from their graves.

Tyrion threw the large purse of gold in front of a man sat behind a table, as he and Bronn were shown into a large room. The slaver reaching for it and pouring the contents of the leather pouch over the tabletop. The glint of the gold catching in the man's eyes, as he watched it tumble forth.

"You are pleased with your purchase then? I am sure that Morgho will give you many years of good service. She is the best that has ever been trained here. I believe that she is the best that will ever be trained here. She was born to kill. Death as natural to her as breathing is to us. You have got yourself quite a bargain, little man." The large Ghiscari chuckled, as slowly began to place the gold back into the purse.

"I am sure though that it is not just her fighting skills that have caught your eye. Am I not right? Morgho is quite the most beautiful of women, do you not think? As exquisite as she is deadly. I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of her company myself. No man in his right mind would dare try. Though over the years there have been those that were foolish enough to think that they could force their attentions on her. Of course, it did not end well for them. But I believe that in your case, she may make and exception. We had a mouse here that she was fond of. They spent many a long hour together in her cell. So, you may just be her type." The man chuckled, saying something in High Valarian to the man that had shown them the way. His words too low for Tyrion to catch. But whatever it had been, Tyrion was sure that it was a joke at his expense. The presumed slur washing over the little man, like water from the feathers of a duck. The youngest Lannister sure that he had heard every insult there was to hear about his diminutive stature, before.

"I will be taking her now." Tyrion informed the slaver. The lord turning and making his way back to the door.

"Of course, of course. Morgho is your property and problem now. Though may I suggest that if you wish to keep her in line, you remove that tongue of hers. It is far too sharp and much more persuasive than it should be. I am sure that under the right circumstances that she could talk men into doing anything she wanted. That she could make worlds fall with a simple promise of love." The Ghiscari replied. Too busy playing with the gold at his fingertips to notice the anger on Tyrion's face. To see that the little man had reached for the dagger in his belt. The only thing stopping Tyrion from pushing the blade into the large man's heart, being the idea of (Y/n). Well, her, and the fact that if he did kill the slaver, he and Bronn would never make it out alive. Despite what the sellsword may think of his abilities.

"Thank you for the advice. I shall take it into consideration." Tyrion replied churlishly, before gesturing for the man to show he and Bronn back to (Y/n)'s cell.

                                                         >>---------------------------------<<

Morgho strapped the last piece of armour to her body. The metal and leather as well known to her as her own flesh. Yet she hoped that this time would be the last time that she would have to wear it. That even though Tyrion had offered her, her freedom and a better life in exchange for watching over him. Her short trip out of the fight pits would be the last time that she felt the need to don it. The last time that she would have to hide behind the persona of Se sȳndor morgho.

"Are you ready?" A voice came. Morgho turning to see a softly smiling Tyrion.

"I.....I am........master." The warrior replied, eyeing the slaver behind the little man. A smile coming to her lips as Tyrion reached out and took the small bag from her hand.

"Then we should leave." Tyrion continued. His brows furrowing slightly as (Y/n) placed her helmet over her head and pulled down the visor.

"There is no need to wear your helmet, (Y/n). You are free............" Tyrion began quietly, as he, Bronn and (Y/n) made their way out into the sunlight.

"There is every need, Tyrion. Se sȳndor morgho must leave this hell with her head held high. My legend and reputation cannot die. So, until we are far away from the pits, I will remain as the shadow. That, and I might just frighten the life out of a few rich people as I pass them by in the streets." (Y/n) chuckled, as the darkness suddenly turned into light. The three shielding their eyes from the bright warm sun, as (Y/n) left the only home that she had ever known.