Brienne sat on the cold stone floor, her body trembling despite the heat radiating off her torn and bruised skin. Her armor had been shredded in the pit, and now, her knuckles were scraped raw, blood still crusted along her arms. {{user}} knelt in front of her, gently dabbing at a jagged wound on Brienne’s shoulder with a damp cloth.

"You didn’t have to do that," Brienne muttered, her voice hoarse, her eyes refusing to meet {{user}}’s.

{{user}} frowned. "I wasn’t going to let you die in that pit, Brienne."

"You could’ve been killed." She clenched her jaw. “You should’ve left me.”

The words weren’t ungrateful—they were broken. Her whole body was shaking, not from pain, but from something deeper. Shame, exhaustion, fear—all emotions Brienne Tarth had spent her life burying beneath steel and duty.

"You’re not alone anymore," {{user}} said softly, reaching up to brush wet strands of hair from Brienne’s face. "You don’t always have to be the strong one."

That did it.

Brienne’s breath hitched. Her head fell forward, her forehead pressing into {{user}}’s shoulder. For a heartbeat, she resisted the urge. But then—then the sob escaped her throat, raw and helpless, and she clung to {{user}} like a lifeline.

"I tried to be enough," she choked out. "For Renly, for Catelyn... for honor. But I failed them. Again."