who: @garrick-cargyll when and where: semi-flashback, set the night the six killed the peake, brianna comes across lord garrick cargyll upon her return to the red keep that very same night - without her necklace, which was left with the body in the sewers.
the air inside the red keep was colder than it had any right to be, biting even through the heavy cloak brianna bracken had draped over herself. the night had been… a blur, a blur she didn’t care to untangle just now. her conversation with devani toland continued to twirl through her mind, that she would end up telling her brother; she had no intention of keeping this to herself for long. they would leave the land of the dragons, and when they were safely at home, brianna bracken would give the greatest, most mighty confession of her existence. she pushed open the grand doors to the inner set of apartments where most of the former greens had been housed, the faint creak echoing in the stillness.
all she wanted was take the journey up the winding staircase to reach her rooms, strip away the remnants of this cursed night, and let the weight of it sink somewhere beyond her reach.
her steps faltered when she saw a figure ahead. for a moment, her chest tightened, but as the torchlight danced over his features, she exhaled sharply. “oh, it’s you,” she muttered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. garrick cargyll turned to face her, his brow lifting slightly in surprise. she noted, absently, how he always seemed so composed, even when caught unawares - of course he did. and then, she found herself realising the high commander of new valyria was the last person she wished to be running into this night. “don’t mind me commander,” she continued, her tone light, as light and taunting as it always was as she walked directly by him, fixing the clasp of her cloak.
“just tryin’ t’get to me rooms. been a long night, as ye can imagine. got a dirty headache comin' on for da morning.”
her feet carried her forward, though she didn’t dare meet his gaze directly. there was something too sharp in those eyes of his, something that saw too much. she busied herself with fussing at her cloak, the action giving her hands something to do besides trembling. “you can tell yer king that he had a lovely party." her steps faltered again as she felt the cold air against her side and realised, belatedly, that her gown had torn beneath her boot, leaving her skin bare beneath the fold of her cloak. panic surged, the dark hiding the heat rushing to her face. “right, well—goodnight, garrick,” she blurted, practically darting past him.