The night wind was biting cold.
The wind violently whipped against Margaery's face, stinging her skin, but she absolutely didn't dare stop.
She pressed herself flat against the horse's neck, only daring to cast terrified glances back through the corner of her eye.
The massive silhouette of Highgarden shrank into the darkness until it was completely, permanently swallowed by the night.
She had escaped.
But she didn't feel a single ounce of joy.
Ahead lay completely unknown, lethal dangers; behind her lay the absolute certainty of her family's heavily armed pursuit.
She had absolutely no idea how far she could actually run.
She only knew one absolute truth: she had to get to King's Landing.
To find the single, solitary man capable of saving her.
---
Two days and two nights.
Margaery felt like her physical body was literally about to shatter into pieces.
Her highly ornate silk dress had long been violently shredded by stray branches, completely caked in heavy mud and grass.
She hadn't eaten a single bite in two days; the sheer starvation was making her vision aggressively spin.
Her horse was entirely spent, heavily panting as its pace inevitably slowed to a crawl.
"Faster. Please, just a little faster."
Margaery desperately patted the horse's neck.
Right at that exact second.
The violent, aggressive thunder of approaching hooves exploded from behind her!
Margaery's heart violently slammed into her throat!
She aggressively snapped her head back.
Seven heavily armored riders mounted on massive warhorses were in a dead sprint directly toward her!
They were wearing the ironclad armor of House Tyrell's elite guard!
The pursuit!
They had actually caught up!
Every single drop of blood violently drained from Margaery's face.
She aggressively dug her heels into the horse's flanks, frantically urging the exhausted beast forward.
But the horse was already completely beyond its absolute physical limit.
It let out a desperate, heavy whinny, its speed dropping even further.
The thundering hooves behind her grew apocalyptically loud, closing the distance second by second!
"Lady Margaery! Stop immediately!"
"Lord Mace has issued absolute orders to bring you back!"
The guard's roar violently echoed through the trees.
Go back?
Go back to be violently forced into a marriage with that apocalyptic lunatic, Stannis?
Absolutely fucking not!
A lethal, ironclad resolve flashed in Margaery's eyes.
She spotted a heavily dense patch of forest just ahead.
Gritting her teeth, she aggressively yanked the reins, violently forcing the horse straight into the thick treeline!
The terrain inside the woods was incredibly treacherous.
Razor-sharp branches violently whipped against her arms and face like literal lashes, but she was completely numb to the pain; her absolute only thought was escape!
Suddenly!
The horse's front hoof violently caught on a massive, raised tree root!
"SKREEE!"
The horse let out a bloodcurdling shriek, its massive body completely losing balance before violently slamming into the dirt!
Margaery was aggressively launched from the saddle by the immense momentum, violently rolling across the forest floor several times before finally skidding to a halt.
She felt like every single bone in her body had been brutally shattered.
She desperately thrashed, attempting to scrape herself off the ground, but a blinding, apocalyptic spike of agony violently tore through her ankle.
Severely sprained.
Thud! Thud! Thud! The seven Tyrell guards violently dismounted, aggressively closing a tight, ironclad circle around her.
The Guard Captain slowly approached on foot, his face a completely unreadable, unsympathetic mask.
"Lady Margaery, please stop making this actively difficult for us."
"Come back with us."
Margaery slumped heavily against a massive oak, staring at them with absolute, suffocating despair.
She was completely finished.
Just as she was actively preparing to completely surrender to the void.
A massive, imposing silhouette slowly emerged from the heavy shadows of the tree line.
The figure was clad in heavily scuffed, muted gray armor, leading a warhorse by the reins.
Her physical frame was unfathomably large, easily towering a full head above every single armored man present.
Her face... was undeniably harsh and un-beautiful.
But her eyes were like two piercing blue sapphires, radiating an ironclad, undeniable resolve.
It was Brienne of Tarth.
She had originally been actively traveling to Highgarden to violently interrogate House Tyrell about forging an alliance to avenge Renly.
She absolutely hadn't expected to violently stumble into a scene like this on the road.
The guards instantly locked onto the massive woman who had just suddenly materialized.
The Guard Captain frowned heavily, aggressively sizing Brienne up.
"Piss off! This has absolutely nothing to do with you!"
Brienne completely ignored him.
Her piercing gaze dropped directly onto the terrified, devastated girl slumped on the ground.
Margaery Tyrell.
She absolutely recognized that face.
Back when Loras was still around, this girl had constantly trailed after him, exactly like a highly preening, arrogant peacock.
Loras and herself... they had essentially been romantic rivals.
Rivals of different genders, both entirely devoted to Renly.
Margaery instantly recognized Brienne as well.
She violently scrambled and crawled straight toward Brienne's massive legs.
"Save me!"
"Please! I am begging you, save me!"
Brienne stared down at her, her eyes swirling with an incredibly complex mix of emotions.
"Why exactly are they hunting you?"
"My father! He is violently forcing me to marry Stannis Baratheon!"
Margaery's voice was violently cracking with panicked sobs.
"I absolutely refuse to marry him! He is an apocalyptic demon! He is the exact bastard who murdered Renly!"
Stannis!
That exact, venomous name again!
"Where is your brother? Where is Loras?"
Brienne aggressively questioned.
"He was violently captured by Stannis! My father is only actively handing me over to save his life!"
"Please! For Loras's sake, you have to save me!"
"If you just escort me to King's Landing! To find Lord Lynn! He absolutely possesses the power to save us!"
Loras.
Brienne's brain violently flashed back to the man who had actively, secretly freed her from the freezing dungeons.
She owed him an absolute, massive debt.
A literal life debt.
The Guard Captain watched the two women casually converse entirely ignoring his presence, his heavy impatience rapidly mutating into violent rage.
"I said, back the fuck off!"
He aggressively ripped his heavy longsword from its scabbard, pointing the razor-sharp tip directly at Brienne.
"Take another step, and we will violently butcher you where you stand!"
Brienne slowly, deliberately turned around.
She locked her freezing, dead gaze onto the seven bloodthirsty, heavily armed guards.
She smoothly dropped her horse's reins, flawlessly stepping forward to physically shield Margaery behind her massive frame.
Then, in an incredibly lethally calm tone, she ground out her words syllable by agonizing syllable.
"I owe your brother an absolute favor."
She directed that sentence entirely to Margaery.
The absolute second she finished speaking, she slowly, methodically drew her own heavy longsword.
The lethal steel blade violently caught the fragmented sunlight bleeding through the trees, radiating an absolute, bone-chilling intent.
"Right now, Margaery is under my absolute protection."
"Every single one of you can officially fuck off."
The Guard Captain let out a harsh laugh, exactly as if he had just heard the most pathetic, brain-dead joke in the world.
"Just you? A single fucking woman?"
He aggressively waved a heavy hand at the grunts behind him.
"Take her down!"
"I absolutely do not give a fuck if she's breathing!"
The seven guards violently, simultaneously raised their steel, aggressively closing the ironclad circle around Brienne from every possible angle.
Margaery shrank behind Brienne's massive back, squeezing her eyes shut in sheer, absolute terror.
Brienne stood completely, flawlessly still.
She simply tightened her death grip on her sword, her piercing blue eyes violently igniting with an apocalyptic, unquenchable thirst for battle.
---