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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

Brienne stands in her bedchamber, in full armour. Still new, the burnished planes of metal gleam at the slightest movement, as the delicate morning light filters through the thick glass window.

She has spent her life in these rooms. But no longer. This is the day she leaves.

She wants to go – needs to even – but it is hard all the same.

Brienne moves slowly around her childhood chambers, committing to memory so many things that she has taken for granted while living here.

The fading colours of the threads in the old tapestry made by her mother. The luxurious feeling of the dark grey seal furs on her bed. The riotous sound of the seabirds nesting in the cliffs and the faint but ever-present scent of salt that comes from the sea below.

As she turns to leave, her blue eyes fix on the carved wooden chest in the dark corner of the room.

Brienne hasn’t let herself look inside that chest for a long time. It is half buried now under books and blankets, and thoughts of its contents always locked away in the far corners of her mind.

Pulse quickening, Brienne walks slowly over and reaches down, pulling away the dusty belongings which she has used to hide it from view.

Brienne kneels, pausing to breathe slowly in and out, and flicks the iron catches, raising the heavy lid to look inside.

-----------------------

A scream followed by peals of laughter rang out across the garden to where Selwyn Tarth sat, drawing his attention away from the scroll in his hands. Selwyn smiled to himself and got up to follow the noise to its source.

Through the rose arches he saw Brienne running with Galladon in close pursuit. “Papa save me!” Brienne shouted – “Galladon’s a dragon, he’s going to eat me!” and she leapt into his arms.

“Well we can’t have that can we” chuckled Selwyn, and raised his daughter onto his shoulders as she squirmed away from Galladon’s reach.

“Run Papa!” Shouted Brienne from her perch and giggled madly as her father threw her over his shoulder and set off at a pace towards the Hall.

In these joyful moments Selwyn couldn’t help but feel a note of pain, forever grieving for what his family had lost.

Not one but two tiny daughters had died in infancy, and his beloved wife Elyse had followed not long after when Brienne had been little more than a babe herself. Selwyn’s dreams of a large and boisterous family had died along with them.

Now Selwyn’s remaining children were the most precious thing in his life.

At three years old, Brienne was barely conscious of the tragic losses that had punctuated her short life, her mother and sisters lost so early in her life that she had no memory of them. Brienne was a happy child, mischievous, and full of energy.

Her brother Galladon was seven and tall for his age, with the straw-coloured curls and vibrant blue eyes that all the family shared. He was old enough to remember all that they had lost, and the weight of this made him serious from time to time – but with Brienne he was always smiling and laughing, carefree like a child should be.

When grief for his wife and daughters had at first consumed his life, Selwyn had become preoccupied and forgetful, neglecting many of his wider responsibilities as Evenstar and Lord Tarth.

The past two years had been a time of great change in Westeros, with the sack of King’s Landing and the instalment of the Baratheon king – Tarth’s own liege lord – on the iron throne. But although Tarth had sworn fealty to Robert as was expected of them, the island’s relative lack of strategic importance and its isolation from the mainland allowed Selwyn to let much of this pass him by as he mourned.

For domestic matters, Selwyn had been fortunate to have others in the household he could rely on to keep Evenfall Hall running smoothly, and maids to help with the children. Maester Lesset served as tutor to Galladon as well as managing the Halls affairs as best he could.

One task that had been overlooked, though, was to arrange a Septa for Brienne – as was the expected custom for young girls of noble birth.

Even when he had returned to his Lordly business, Selwyn had never rectified this. The children were so close and he couldn’t bear the thought that his separating them would cause them sadness. If he was honest, Selwyn also had to admit that seeing his children play together was salve for his battered heart.

As a result Brienne was allowed the sort of freedom noble girls rarely had, roaming with Galladon and his friends, exploring the sandy bays and mountain caves of Tarth whenever the conditions and their lessons allowed.

Often Selwyn would watch Galladon race from the Hall with Brienne toddling after him in her dress and bare feet, shouting ‘Gallaaaa!’ at him loudly when she fell behind. More likely than not Galladon would return with a grin, even as the other boys ran ahead to climb or swim in the sea.

‘Come on Bri’ he’d say, taking her hand. ‘Let’s search for crabs in the pools’ and they’d clamber over the rocks below the Hall together until the tide came in, blonde brows furrowed in concentration.

Other days Brienne might go with Galladon out to sea in his little red dingy, and sailing into the bay he would tell her they were heading for Essos or unknown lands beyond. Brienne would come back filled with tales of merfolk or secret treasures that Selwyn loved to hear.

When rain or squalling winds from the sea prevented them from playing outdoors, Brienne would pester Galladon to read aloud their beloved tales of heroes, dragons, fair maidens and beasts.

They would visit their father in his solar and play out her favourite scenes with wooden swords, dressed up in costumes like mummers, playing at being knights or kings and queens.

Even when separated by the need for Galladon’s lessons with the maester, Brienne would tag along and sing as he practiced his letters, sometimes trying to distract him by dancing and making silly faces as she sung until they both collapsed in fits of giggles.

Selwyn couldn’t find it in himself to discourage this behaviour even when Maester Lesset threatened that Galladon was failing to apply himself as an heir should.

Brienne’s most beloved tale of all was that of Ser Galladon of Morne, hero of old Tarth, and namesake of her brother. His story told of an enchanted and invincible sword, the Just Maid, gifted to him by the Maiden herself as a token of love, and the honour that bound him not to use this powerful weapon unless in desperate need.

He had countless books and songs written about his life and deeds.

Selwyn would tell Brienne how they had named her brother after Ser Galladon because he would one day be the Evenstar and a great Lord of Tarth.

In Brienne’s mind, her brother and Galladon of Morne were one and the same, the boy she loved so fiercely who would grow into the great and worthy knight, protecting the innocent and fighting for honour.

Selwyn prayed to the Gods every day to protect his little family and keep them happy and healthy. Despite everything they had endured, the three of them had a contented life together, and he cherished it.

But the Gods in their cruelty decided they had not taken enough from Selwyn Tarth. And one day, everything changed.

Chapter Text

She had been too slow to follow him out of Evenfall Hall that morning, much to her annoyance. So Brienne was waiting, as she often did, for Galladon to return from swimming with his friends in the sea.

She sat cross-legged on the cushioned bench that looked out of the large window in her bedchamber, where she had a view of the steep path that ran down the cliff to the beach. Over her maid’s chatter Brienne kept her eyes trained on the path, willing her brother to return to her so they could play.

Come on Galla I’m bored thought Brienne, jiggling her knees with a frustrated nervous energy. But he didn’t appear.

Instead a different figure came quickly up the path and ran towards the Hall. Brienne, confused by this and impatient with waiting, jumped down from the window seat and pelted towards the door, before the maid could stop her.

She ran down the tall staircases and long corridors to reach her father’s solar, thinking Galladon might be inside. Instead, as Brienne approached she’d heard voices coming from out in the courtyard, her father’s among them, and she headed towards the sound.

As Brienne reached the main entrance she saw her father framed by the larged arched door and silhouetted in the sunlight - he was holding by the arms a friend of Galladon’s, in his swimming clothes, and talking to him urgently.

He turned away from the boy and broke into a run.

Brienne didn’t know what to make of this – her father looked scared, and she wanted to go to him. But her legs were too small to carry her at the speed her tall, strong father could run, so she just wandered out into the middle of the courtyard after him and waited.

After a few moments Brienne’s maid was by her side, reaching down to take her hand, and other people from the household began gathering with them, whispering to each other and looking towards the gates.

Somebody had fetched Maester Lesset, who stood looking serious and wringing his hands.

After what felt like an endless time, Brienne saw her father returning with a strange look on his face, and holding something in his arms. Brienne tried to move towards him but before she could get close she was taken up into the maid’s arms and rushed away inside.

Later, when Brienne was finally taken back to her father and left in his solar, she was tired, hungry and agitated.

She didn’t understand why she’d been left to the care of the maids all day, and why everybody’s faces looked so empty and cheerless.

Selwyn was sat motionless at his desk, staring out of the window that took up most of one wall at the sapphire sea below.

‘Papa I want to play, where’s Galla? She stood behind him in the middle of the wood-panelled room and he turned and looked at her for a long time, his blue eyes meeting hers.

Brienne could see they were tinged with red. Then Selwyn closed his eyes in agony.

‘Your brother is gone, Brienne. He went into the sea to swim, but there was a mishap and in their wisdom the Gods took him’. Brienne said nothing and stood completely still.

Selwyn rose from his seat, crouched down beside her and took her little face in his large hands. ‘He died, my sweetling. Like your mother and sisters before him. Let us pray to the Seven they are together and at peace’.

Selwyn reached out his arms to her, and she sunk into his protective embrace.

---

When Galladon drowned, Brienne was only four, but his death had a profound effect upon her.

Galladon wasn’t only her brother: he was her hero, her playmate and her protector. She didn’t understand how or why he was gone, and she certainly didn’t have the words to explain how she felt about it.

So Brienne became silent and watchful, observing the activity of the castle as it passed around her, the once lively household now transformed into noiseless silhouettes.

Selwyn was cruelly plunged into grief once again, its grip horribly familiar, and for a while life for them both simply stopped.

They went through the necessary motions of each day – eating little, sleeping fitfully – and looking at each other in bewilderment as each tried to fathom how to exist in this strange new world with only the two of them in it.

A heavy fog brought by the sea had settled over Evenfall Hall, and it threatened to never recede. Many days passed much like the one before, until it was hard to say for sure how many days and nights had passed.

But one morning when Selwyn awoke, he knew what he would do: he would teach Brienne to read. He leapt out of bed and ran down to Brienne’s chambers, gathering papers and a quill from the solar as he went.

“Brienne I have a task for us!” he announced as he strode into her bedchamber, surprising her into wakefulness with his booming voice and the crash of the door as it flew back against the wall.

“Papa?” Brienne murmured as she squinted at him and rubbed her eyes. His hair was wild and his breathing was quickened from his exertion, arms full of papers as he looked at her expectantly.

What’s wrong with Papa? thought Brienne, who had grown used to seeing her father red eyed and quiet in the sennights since Galladon had gone.

“What can I do Papa?” Brienne said as she pulled back her heavy covers, skin prickling as the cold air met her bare legs. “I’m going to teach you to read, Brienne, show you your letters. We will start now and continue every morning’.

Selwyn sat bedside her on the still-warm bed and wrapped his sizeable arm around her small frame.

Brienne looked up into his determined face, and saw he was full of purpose, in a way he hadn’t been since before Galladon had died. “I would like that Papa. Very much.”

Sharing the same stubbornness, the pair set themselves to this task with dedication.

To begin with there were basic lessons, with Selwyn pointing at a letter written on the page and Brienne scrunching up her nose to remember the sounds she had learned for each shape.

Next, they visited the dome-ceilinged octagonal library so that Selwyn could show Brienne the large collection of books he had collected over the years. “Choose a book from here Brienne and we will read it together” her father said.

Brienne looked with wonder around the wood-panelled walls, and at the shelves stacked with dusty leather bound books, some with coloured covers or intricate patterns in the binding.

The shelves were so tall, and seemed to Brienne to go on forever. Brienne looked at the books on the lower shelves, over by the desk that Galladon had used to sit at sometimes when writing out scrolls with the maester.

Her eye was caught by a bound volume with red raised lettering that she recognised from when her brother would read to her – Ser Galladon the Perfect Knight.

“Th..that one please Papa” said Brienne in a small voice. Selwyn reached for the book, looking at it with glassy eyes for a moment before he turned to the door behind them. “Come Brienne, we will continue our lesson”.

This became a daily ritual for Selwyn and Brienne - choose a book from the library and retire to the solar together, where Selwyn would sit in the large armchair by the fire, its grand blue brocade faded from years of use.

Brienne would crawl into his lap and they would slowly read together through the letters and lines. Brienne was a good learner and would spend hours practising writing her letters so she could make him proud the next day. Brienne wanted to show her father that their undertaking was worth all his efforts.

As time passed in this way, Selwyn’s attention became slowly and inevitably turned back into politics and the running of Evenfall Hall by those who had looked after business in his absence for as long as they could. There was only so much that could be done without their Lord’s participation.

During the days when Selwyn was otherwise engaged, Brienne would mostly sit alone in the library, working slowly through every book she could reach. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t read all the words yet. In the folklore and legends she could lose herself, and for a while the fantasy of the other lives contained within the fragile bound volumes would become her reality.

The sun and the gently moving trees outside created coloured shadows through the stained glass, which would dance around her as the day drew on as if characters brought to life from the pages as she read.

Brienne treasured Ser Galladon the Perfect Knight, and she would read it to herself every day, tracing her fingers over the fine illustrations and imagining she could see and touch her brother again. She wondered where he was now, and if he would still become Ser Galladon wherever he had gone.

Every evening Brienne would sup with her father in the upper hall, Selwyn preferring its smaller size now as it drew less notice to how few of them there were to dine. There the two of them would sit, at a table that still felt too large, the array of dishes laid out between them another reminder of the family that existed no longer.

Little Brienne often didn’t really know what to say to Selwyn during these moments. She had loved the closeness she had felt with him during their reading lessons. But now she could see he was distracted, and often looked so serious. So, they would speak sparingly, lapsing into silence while their own thoughts consumed them.

After supper Brienne would go back to her chambers to be bathed and readied for bed by the maid, and would then sit alone in the dark.

Galladon she would plead silently - I wish you were here with me, pulling his wooden sword out from beneath her pillow and holding it until she fell asleep.

Although Selwyn was himself struggling, still full of his own grief, he was also growing ever more worried about Brienne. He knew he could have been spending more time with her, but he also knew for his own sake he needed to be occupied with his routine daily activities to keep his mind from descending into darkness.

Trying to find ways to please his daughter and bring her back to herself, Selwyn arranged for a travelling singer, Maryn the Merry, to come and stay with them at Evenfall for a time to play and sing the songs she had loved. Selwyn had heard tales of the singer’s successful residence at Storm’s End and has written to the bard to invite him to Tarth.

When Maryn had arrived at the Hall, fresh from the port, Selwyn had a maid fetch Brienne from the library. When she was brought to the long hall, a thin young man, shorter than her father, and with his spiky hair coloured blue, stood expectantly next to Selwyn.

“Brienne, this is Maryn, a singer who has come from to us from Storm’s End. He’s going to stay for a while. What do you think to that?” Brienne looked at her father and shrugged. “Yes m’lady, I can play the lute or harp, and sing for you, whenever you wish” said Maryn enthusiastically, smiling at her.

“May I be excused, papa?” asked Brienne in a quiet voice, as she lowered her gaze to the floor. “Of course, child” Selwyn replied, casting a disappointed look at her as she went. “All will be well milord, I will put a smile on the little miss’s face” promised Maryn earnestly.

So although they were both still often solitary during the day, now in the evenings after supper Selwyn and Brienne would sit together next to the roaring fire in the upper hall’s velvet curtained antechamber and listen to Maryn the Merry sing.

Each evening Brienne would sit quietly, politely, and watch intently as the young man played, but Selwyn could see was holding back.

Maryn had a striking voice and sang the old favourites well, songs they had heard before many times, as well as some new compositions of his own. But after a few days when Maryn launched into Galladon the Brave, Selwyn felt his breath catch; he glanced at Brienne and could see she had gone stiff, her fingers white where they gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

Selwyn thought she might cry or run from the room. But instead, little Brienne stood up and began to sing along. Selwyn was overcome, and watched with tears in his eyes as she swayed and twirled in the firelight, nodding his thanks to Maryn with his chin trembling.

Buoyed by his success with the singer, and wanting to regain the closeness they had shared during their earlier reading lessons, Selwyn wracked his brain for more activities they could do together that would occupy Brienne, who he decided was still spending too much time alone.

This question lurked at the back of his mind constantly. She was his only child now, and so precious he could hardly think of it without a lump rising in his throat.

Walking the length of the beach below the Hall, lost in his thoughts, Selwyn found himself in front of Galladon’s dinghy. It had been lying ignored and unloved, pulled up against some rocks, the peeling red paint and sand covered sail a bleak reminder of the time that continued to pass in its owner’s absence.

Selwyn felt the idea forming. “We will sail this boat” he announced firmly to no-one in particular, the guillemots and kittiwakes in the cliffs above crying their agreement. Selwyn marked the sand with his heels as he turned back towards the Hall in haste.

As they broke their fast a day or two later, Selwyn seemed to Brienne to be in a strange mood again, grinning at her as he buttered his bread hastily. “Eat up little one, we have a busy day ahead!!” he announced mysteriously as he strode from the room.

Brienne, intrigued, bolted down her orange slices and followed in his wake. She could see him already far ahead and moving towards the cliff path, and she hurried to catch up to his faster pace.

“My Brienne, today we are going on a big adventure” her father said dramatically when she reached his side. “Look there”. Peering down over the scrubby gorse to the sand below, Brienne spied the boat – Galladon’s dinghy, back on the water aside the small jetty that hovered over the shallows.

The red paintwork was fresh and bright, the sail brand new and so white she could hardly look at it. “Oh papa” she breathed. As they got closer, Brienne saw the lettering picked out in white on the dinghy’s side. Honour. Brienne stopped and stared at her father, her eyes wide.

Brienne watched her father as he climbed into the small craft, crushing his long legs against the mast as he crouched into its tiny bench seat and held his arms out to her where she stood on the jetty. Her huge father looked so small beneath Brienne, so exposed. It made her heart clench.

“I’d love that Papa” said Brienne, and took his hand.

Chapter Text

“Today you are five Brienne” stated Selwyn in a weighty tone. “That is a noteworthy age”. Brienne blinked her blonde eyelashes at him across the table.

“It deserves a special gift to match. I wish for us to pay a visit together after we break our fast”. Brienne nodded as she chewed, used as she was now to her father’s often mysterious proclamations.

Brienne and Selwyn had worked hard to build their new life from the remnants of the old; for while they had both been broken by Galladon’s death for a time, they were equally determined not to be buried by it.

They were each now the centre of the other’s world.

Selwyn found purpose in being the defender of Brienne’s happiness, and her joy brought gladness to his own heart. Brienne herself experienced a softer side of her father that others rarely saw; and she was intensely protective of it.

Brienne still thought about Galladon every day, as they both did. But over time the knife of pain she felt when she thought of him was becoming duller.

Although she didn’t know it yet, for her nameday, Selwyn had bought Brienne a small horse of her own - a beautiful caramel gelding with a dark brown mane and tail.

He knew she would love the horse as she did all creatures, as well as enabling them to ride together as she grew older.

With his usual flare for drama, Selwyn had hidden the horse out of Brienne’s view as long as he could, smiling to himself every time he thought of the look on her face when he finally revealed it her.

After they had eaten and he could resist no longer, Selwyn took Brienne to the stables as part of their morning walk.

Brienne thought they were just visiting Ben the groom for treats to feed her favourites, as they did most days.

Instead as they approached she could see Ben was stood outside, with his hands folded behind his back formally.

“Your trusty steed awaits my lady” said Ben, and bowed low as they passed by, turning his head to grin at Selwyn. “What does he mean papa?” asked Brienne, confused.

“Here, he means this!” said Selwyn, unable to contain himself further and gesturing grandly towards the furthest stall in the stable where the door was open.

Brienne approached and saw the little horse, tied to a post and with a ribbon in his tail, his mane shining in the morning sun that beamed through the tiny wooden window.

“Oh!” breathed Brienne, entering the stall and looking up at the beautiful animal. The horse moved his head towards Brienne and snuffled her blonde hair with his soft muzzle.

She turned her face up towards him and breathed out through her nose, as Ben had taught her.

“Happy name day my Brienne” said Selwyn thickly. “firm friends already”.

Brienne loved the horse instantly, as Selwyn had known she would, and named him Carrot after his favourite treat.

There Brienne would stand, on a stool in the stables, grooming Carrot’s coat and whispering to him as she brushed with one arm around his neck. She loved the warmth of his breath on her neck, and the way the familiar smell of him would fill her nostrils.

As soon as he judged her tall enough, Selwyn engaged one of the more experienced horsemen at the Hall to teach Brienne to ride.

Brienne’s love of horses made her a natural rider, and almost immediately Selwyn and Brienne took to riding together every day across the meadows around the Hall.

As she became more confident the pair would ride to soaring cliffs or spectacular waterfalls, camping out overnight in the wild together before returning home smelling of earth and horses.

-

Selwyn knew of course that young Brienne would eventually need proper instruction if she was to become a lady in highborn society. His advisors had been telling him this for some years.

Instead he and the maester had done their best between them to give her lessons, reluctant as he was to let go of the life they had.

But as Brienne grew, Maester Lesset eventually reported to Selwyn that the time had come.

“She is developing fast my Lord, and asking questions of me I cannot answer. She needs training in skills I do not have. I…a Septa is needed, my lord. Forgive me.”

“No maester, you have done what I asked of you, and I thank you for it”. It was time, Selwyn knew that.

He could no longer selfishly allow for them to hide together in their isolated life as if nothing would ever have to change.

A raven was dispatched to Old Town, and a Septa was arranged to attend Evenfall Hall within a moon’s turn.

Selwyn gave a half smile as he showed the scroll to Brienne in the solar once he had received the confirmation from the Citadel.

‘This means there will be someone else here to attend to your learning. And a Septa will speak to you of things that I and the maester cannot.” Brienne was wide eyed in her chair.

“I have something for you, child” Selwyn said, pulling out a small drawer in his desk and retrieving something wrapped in brown paper.

“These are very precious. They belonged to your mother. She would want you to have them now as you begin your journey into womanhood”.

Selwyn handed the parcel to Brienne, who took it from him carefully.

Peeling back the paper, Brienne revealed a tiny songbook, the cover white kid leather but yellowed with age, and a green sewing box with an intricate beaded pattern carefully sewn into its silk lid.

Brienne felt the delicate fabric and the beads beneath her fingers, and raised the lid with a creak to reveal the needles, thimbles and coloured threads. Opening the book Brienne felt the pages naturally opening to her mother’s favourite songs, copied into its pages in a painstakingly neat hand.

A woman to live here and teach me to be a lady like my mother! ‘Thank you papa’ she said as she hugged him ‘I promise I will do my best’.

For the next moon Brienne daydreamed about her new companion and everything they would do together.

She loved Selwyn dearly and Maester Lesset was like family. But she was a curious child and they were often unable to give her the answers she wanted.

She could sing with Maryn - the singer had extended his stay with them due to her enthusiastic pleading on his behalf. But her father wouldn’t join in with them, and the Maester was stiff as a board if she tried to make him dance.

With the book of songs clasped in her hands, Brienne imagined her new Septa, all delicate manners and gentle grace. The Septa will teach me to sing and dance properly, and she will enjoy it with me! She will answer questions, and share her knowledge with me. She will teach me to use my mother’s needles!

Septa Roelle’s ship arrived to Tarth on a blustery day, and Selwyn took Brienne down to the harbour to watch it pull into port.

They stood in the salty air, almost blown flat by the strong gusts coming from the sea, and watched the bustle as men, goods and animals poured out of the ship onto the docks.

Then a woman appeared on deck. At first glimpse Brienne was taken aback.

She’d imagined someone bursting with energy, someone to be her companion and friend. But this woman was wrinkled and scowling beneath her dark robes.

She sighted them and started to walk towards them down the gangplank. Brienne’s small hand started shaking inside Selwyn’s large one. ‘Do not worry little one’ he told her quietly ‘all will be well’.

The woman stopped in front of them and curtseyed “My Lord” she said, dipping her head. “I am Septa Roelle, at your service”.

“Welcome to Tarth Septa. I am Lord Selwyn Tarth, and this is Brienne.” Selwyn gestured beside him and looked down with encouraging eyes.

“Lady Brienne” said the Septa in greeting, and looked at her new charge, narrowing her eyes slightly at the sight.

Brienne looked up at the Septa, speechless, and intimidated by the serious expression and hard grey eyes she found on the woman’s lined face.

She had never seen anyone like this before.

“Come Septa Roelle” said Selwyn, “let us show you to your new home” and they set off up the hilly road towards Evenfall, the Septa travelling in a horsecart with her luggage as Selwyn and Brienne rode alongside.

When they arrived back to the Hall, Selwyn sent for a maid show the Septa to her new chambers. Before she left them, Septa Roelle addressed her new charge, in a stern voice.

“Lady Brienne. We will start in the library the hour after dawn. I expect you to be on time, this day and every day.” She gave a brief curtsey and was gone.

Brienne looked at up at her father. “Once we get to know her and she us, things will settle Brienne. You will see”.

Brienne couldn’t help but be restless during the night. The Septa wasn’t as she had imagined, but she was hopeful about the day to come despite her nerves.

All the things she had daydreamed about were so close now, almost within her grasp.

After she hurriedly broke her fast early the next morning, at the allotted time, Brienne presented herself to the library as instructed.

Septa Roelle was already there at the desk where Galladon used to sit, and stood as she entered.

“Good morning lady Brienne. Come and sit down”. Brienne seated herself opposite the Septa, thinking through all of the things she wanted to ask and wondering where to start.

“You will address me when I speak, Lady Brienne”. She looked expectantly at Brienne, whose eyes flashed with panic at having got something wrong so quickly. “Yes, Septa”.

“The start of your tuition has been left far too late, in my opinion, but we are where we are. My duty is to shape you into a godly and marriageable lady.” She paused again. “Yes Septa”.

“If you listen, and follow my instructions, we will get along fine. Is that all understood?”. “Yes Septa” said Brienne dutifully.

Once she began her lessons with Septa Roelle, Brienne started to question her world for the first time.

She was so innocent still, sheltered from the mainland and other noble families as she was.

So little Brienne had naturally assumed the rest of the realm experienced life the same way she did. She had always had freedom and a wide range of interests.

But now she had Septa Roelle, everything was different. Young as she was, Brienne began to understand that the things that were important to her were very different from what others expected.

She’d enthusiastically ask the Septa to teach her about history, the stars, or the cities of Essos.

But Septa Roelle had her own ideas of what they would be studying during their lessons, and would give Brienne sermons with a sour expression about what was expected of ladies, and what was not.

“A young lady needs to be taught to run a household, and to behave with grace and gentleness. Ladies dance, and sew, and pray, and smile shyly. They do not fill their heads with useless knowledge that will only serve to embarrass their Lord husbands.”

“I want to do those things too, Septa” said Brienne brightly. “Why can’t I do it all?”

Brienne did not care about how others may do things – she wanted to pursue all the things she loved, and the idea of giving up certain things at someone else’s say-so seemed absurd.

But this did not go over well with Septa Roelle.

Brienne also found it hard to escape the Septa, who hovered now like a disapproving shadow and would give her another lecture whenever she tried to leave the Hall.

But one day when Selwyn witnessed this quite by chance, he spoke to the Septa sternly. “Septa Roelle, Brienne is yet a child, and you will kindly allow her to behave as one if she wishes”.

The Septa, visibly biting her tongue, managed only to say ‘yes Lord Selwyn” and nod her head curtly. They had already spoken about how, in her view, he should be more disciplined with his daughter.

“Is all well Brienne?” Selwyn looked at her questioningly. Brienne was deeply grateful to her father for this intervention, but could not bring herself to tell him that she was still unsure about the Septa.

She couldn’t forget the look on his face when she had held her mother’s possessions for the first time, and she had promised him she would try her best.

Father was so proud. And I don’t want him to worry. “Of course father” she replied, turning away from his gaze.

Now that Brienne was still able to swim, sail, and ride with her father, she resolved to do what the Septa asked as much as possible, hoping that over time Septa Roelle would be pleased with her progress and soften a little.

Brienne and the Septa certainly didn’t disagree about singing and dancing, which Brienne still loved as she had when she was small.

So she threw herself into these activities with renewed vigour, relieved to find enjoyment in something and not be scolded for it.

Septa Roelle, pleased to have Brienne’s enthusiasm for these ladylike endeavours, taught her some traditional songs from her mother’s book, and prayers to sing in the Sept.

Along with the songs came the steps to the formal dances that ladies would be expected to know, especially at court.

One day, pressed into service as a practice dance partner, Selwyn was relieved to see Brienne seemed to be all right under the Septa’s tutelage.

Whenever he had asked her how things were, Brienne had always reassured him that she was fine. But now, gliding down the long hall with him to the Septa’s directions, Brienne did seem happy.

Each evening Maryn the Merry would sing Brienne new songs that perhaps the Septa would approve of less. These were the exciting tales she loved to hear, those of daring deeds, maidens saved, and noble knights.

She often made Maryn sing Galladon the Brave, still her favourite legend, and never tired of hearing about the man so honourable the Maiden herself was in love with him.

One evening Maryn performed a song she had not heard before - The Kingslayer and the Dragon.

From the first moment Brienne was enthralled by the hero slaying the fearsome mythical beast, and ran to her chambers to fetch Galladon’s sword so she could play out the story as Maryn sang.

“Again please Maryn!” Brienne begged, thrusting her sword at Selwyn. “Please milady, you misunderstand my song. The dragon was a king, not a beast”.

Brienne scoffed. “How can that be? A hero would not kill a king” she said assuredly. That’s not how legends work. “Yes miss, this man did. And himself a man of the white cloak too. A real one, not from a story”.

Brienne looked at her father with questioning eyes. “Is this true Papa?” Selwyn had not seen the harm in Brienne enjoying the song as a tale of knightly glory, despite knowing himself its true origins.

But he couldn’t lie to his daughter. “It is Brienne. Real life is often more complicated than a song. And not all knights are heroes.”

Brienne shook her head. “NO!” she shouted, her eyes shining. “Ser Galladon is real, and a hero, and a true knight. I don’t want to hear this song again”. With tears in her eyes she ran from the room.

“I am sorry Maryn” said Selwyn apologetically “she still grieves for her brother. We all do”.

-

The next day, for the first time she could remember, Brienne’s father had important visitors.

Ser Cortnay Penrose, castellan of Storm’s End, and his retinue were touring the stormlords and shoring up support for the young Renly Baratheon – only a child himself - who had been named Lord Paramount of the Stormlands by his brother King Robert.

From the moment he arrived Brienne was utterly fascinated with Ser Cortnay.

He was the first real knight she had ever seen, and he was an imposing vision, with his bald head and red beard, towering above her on his enormous black palfrey.

At supper, Brienne was seated next to her father and listened intently as Ser Cortnay regailed Selwyn with tales from Storms End and the other castles and holdfasts he had visited before Tarth on his journey.

When Brienne returned to her chambers, she extracted her brother’s wooden sword from its hiding place behind the bed.

I can be Ser Cortnay too! Swinging the sword, her heart leaping, Brienne imagined herself as a knight on a tall fierce horse. I can be Ser Galladon.

Chapter Text

Brienne knocked on the solar door as loudly as her little fist would allow, her heart thumping. She had been summoned by her father, this time without Septa Roelle.

Often they were there together to settle some issue the increasingly disgruntled Septa had with her charge. Brienne was afraid that this time she had done something serious to displease him; she gripped and ungripped her hands nervously.

But when she walked through the door at his low greeting, their twinned blue eyes met and he smiled warmly. “Come Brienne, let us take a walk together” he declared, already striding across the room and past her out of the door.

Tension easing, Brienne followed her father from the room. They walked together from the Hall, across the courtyard, and started down the dirt road to the little port of Edgton below.

The sun was high, and the strong sea breeze was blowing the grass in all directions across the hillside. When they had gone only a short distance, Selwyn stopped to take in the view back to Evenfall Hall.

“Do you know Brienne that, as my only child, you are my heir. That means you will be the Evenstar after I am gone. All of this will be yours to rule.” he said, gesturing with his arms towards both the hall and the town.

Brienne looked at him seriously with her eyes wide. “Of course, father” she replied, although if she was honest she hadn’t spent much time considering this. She had only ever pictured Galladon in the role of Evenstar, even after his death.

Selwyn continued “You are seven now Brienne. Do you know that it is up to me to find you a suitable marriage match for suchtime as you are a woman flowered?” Brienne nodded. “Do you wish to wed Brienne?”

She considered this for a moment, imagining herself as the storybook maiden falling in love with the gallant knight. “Oh yes father”, Brienne nodded earnestly.

Selwyn’s face fought to look pleased through a veil of melancholy as he thought of how grown up his little girl had become.

“I have arranged you a betrothal with a boy from House Caron. He is ten. You will wed him as soon as your first flowering is upon you”. He paused to take in her reaction. “How does that make you feel Brienne?” he asked, his brow creased.

She had been memorising noble houses with the Septa, and had learned that House Caron had a reputation for producing warriors and singers. This sounded to Brienne’s young heart like a perfect blend of excitement and romance.

“Oh I am so happy father!” laughed Brienne, dancing with delight. Selwyn let go off the breath he had been holding and laughed along with her, relieved.

Selwyn had known that Brienne would need a betrothal eventually, and his advisors had been berating him more and more on this matter as Brienne grew. His talks with Lord Bryen Caron, Lord of the Marches, had resulted in a promise of her hand for his second son, Bryant.

Although Tarth was not one of the great houses, with need of a strong strategic or political marriage pact, there were still important aspects to consider.

The Carons were one of the noblest houses in the Stormlands, dating back to the Age of Heroes, and after the Dance of the Dragons, Lord Royce Caron had been chosen as one of the regents to King Aegon III.

The betrothal was a way for Selwyn to strengthen Tarth’s ties with a mainland house with strong history, whilst ensuring the continuation of his own house.

Although he knew he should take another wife in order to have more children – indeed, he had been firmly told as much by his advisors - Selwyn couldn’t bring himself to set aside his love for the woman he had lost, and a large part of him was afraid to open himself to the pain of potential loss once more.

So, as his only living heir, Brienne would one day be the Evenstar - and as Bryant wasn’t the heir to Nightsong, the betrothal included the agreement that there would be heirs for Tarth from any children Brienne would bear.

Also important to Selwyn (though not shared with anyone else) was the fact that Nightsong was relatively close to Tarth – across the sea but still in the Stormlands.

While he knew it was inevitable that Brienne would wed and then leave the island, there was a small part of him that didn’t want to ever let her go.

With this arrangement the betrothal would last some time, assuming that Brienne’s first flowering wouldn’t be for many years hence, and then she would - if the God’s allowed - remain within visiting distance.

Brienne herself, oblivious to these political and emotional manoeuvrings, stopped dancing so she could hug Selwyn tightly. “Thank you father.”

They walked back to the Hall together, with Brienne chattering and Selwyn smiling at her.

Once he had told Brienne of the betrothal, Selwyn sent a raven to Nightsong to arrange for the Carons to visit Tarth.

Septa Roelle was very pleased with the news and, when the date of the visit was fixed for a fortnight’s time, instructed the seamstresses to set to work on a new gown for Brienne to wear for at the feast that was to be held on the Carons arrival.

Although Brienne had had dresses made for her many times before, this time was different.

Brienne stood to be measured with the Septa looking on, bared flesh chilly in the morning air, goosebumps raising as she felt the seamstresses’ fingers criss-cross her body in their work.

Ablaze with nervous energy, Brienne couldn’t help but daydream about her betrothed as she stood there. I am to be married! She still couldn’t believe it. What will he be like?

Picturing the handsome knights from her history books and herself a bride made her blush deeply, the colour pinpricking its way down her cheeks and neck, settling around her collarbone.

The seamstresses worked tirelessly and a few days later, the dress was ready.

The skirt was azure blue velvet, with a loose bodice of silk in the same colour and buttons at the back. The neckline was high, and soft sleeves fell to her waistline. The collar was studded with small sparkling jewels.

It was the most beautiful item of clothing she had ever seen, and Brienne was thrilled it was hers. “Oh thank you all!” she smiled happily.

“Try it on Lady Brienne” said the Septa, and Brienne didn’t need much encouragement. She quickly shed her layers and the seamstresses buttoned her into the dress.

Turning herself about in front of the long mirror, Brienne could hardly take herself in. With this gown I could be the heroine in a legend or a song.

On the day of the Carons arrival, Brienne was helped into the gown and her long blonde curls were styled by the maid with a rose pink ribbon.

Brienne and Septa Roelle waited in the courtyard to greet the visitors, who were being brought from the port on horseback where they had been received by her father.

The Septa ran through one last time the things that she had taught Brienne to say and do on their arrival. “Remember Lady Brienne – you must curtsey, address them with their proper titles…”

Brienne was only half listening. She was biting her lip nervously, impatient to meet her betrothed.

Then at last her father came through the gates, ushering the visitors in. They dismounted and walked towards the main door where Brienne and the Septa were standing.

“Lord and Lady Caron, this is my daughter Brienne, and her Septa Roelle.” “Pleased to meet you my lord, my lady” smiled Brienne as she curtsied to them, eager to please.

Next to them stood a shy looking boy, with straight dark hair falling to atop his ears, and a small mole on his upper lip. “This is Bryant, our youngest son.” said Lord Caron.

Bryant stepped forward to Brienne and handed her a small decorative cushion, the main panels yellow and embroidered with elegant black nightingales, the sigil of the Caron house.

“Pleased to meet you my lady” He said as he bowed. They smiled at each other uncertainly, unsure what to say next.

“Well then, looks like all is going well with the betrothed!” bellowed Lord Caron and laughed uproariously, slapping Selwyn on the shoulder. He was a stout man, and stood a head shorter than Selwyn.

His lady wife smiled thinly.

“Come, let us proceed to the long hall, where we have a feast laid out in your honour” said Selwyn. Brienne smiled at Bryant and motioned for him to follow her.

It was a small affair - there were other guests already in the hall, members of the household and one or two of the more important townsfolk Selwyn had invited.

They sat in their allocated seats, Brienne next to her father, and Bryant at the other end of the table by his mother, each shyly chancing a glimpse at the other when they could.

After they had eaten their fill, their party moved into the upper hall where Maryn the Merry was preparing to perform for their entertainment.

“Brienne, show Bryant some of the dances you have learned” said the Septa, pushing her forward. “Of course, Septa” Brienne said, catching his eye and smiling.

He looked unsure but when the music started she took his hand and moved them into the center of the hall. Their parents looked on approvingly as Brienne and Bryant danced together slowly.

As Brienne looked into his face, she imagined they were grown and this was their wedding feast.

Bryant seemed shy, and kind. As they danced, Brienne daydreamed of the day they would wed: both older, smiling shyly, standing in the Sept with their wrists bound by ribbon.

A day or two later, when the Carons headed back to the mainland, Brienne felt her tentative grasp on this new future slipping away with them, her happiness now a fledging bird in their hands.

-

Seizing the opportunity, Septa Roelle informed Lord Selwyn in no uncertain terms that, as a girl now betrothed, Brienne needed to focus on learning the duties of a highborn lady wife. This had to take priority if he wanted Brienne to be a proper lady and not a laughing stock.

As always, Selwyn wanted what was best for Brienne, so he allowed the Septa more control over her daily routine. The Septa told Maryn the Merry was told he was no longer required at the Hall, and after so many years of service he left Evenfall Hall.

Now in her element, Septa Roelle became even stricter with Brienne. As a wife, Brienne would be expected to manage the household, and look after her husband and children, and this was to be the main concern of their lessons until Brienne was flowered.

When Brienne settled in for her lessons after the Carons visit, Septa Roelle said “Lady Brienne, we will start with needlework today. It is highborn tradition for a young lady to sew and embroider to make ready for her married life. You will prepare needlework and sewing and fill a chest that will go with you when you wed”.

Brienne was unimpressed with this idea. As much as she loved to take out her mother’s sewing box, Brienne had found that needlework was far from the fun task she had imagined herself doing.

Brienne found it hard work to concentrate on what she was doing, her mind wandering, and then making mistakes which the Septa would scold her for.

But what would Bryant and his family think if I go to Nightsong without a chest of my own? Wanting to do the right thing, Brienne steeled herself. “Of course Septa Roelle”.

A wooden chest with a carved lid was commissioned from the carpenter. It was slow progress, but as she completed each piece and stashed it away, she could feel her hope for the future settling and growing like a seedling planted inside her heart.

Brienne had placed the beautiful yellow and black cushion Bryant had given her inside the chest, so each time she lifted the lid she was reminded of the way she’d felt as they danced together.

The work of the needlework chest took many moons.

As she worked, the Septa would tell Brienne of other things a wife must know – how best to manage your household servants; how to plan food supplies for winter; and the importance of providing many children to be your husband’s heirs.

In particular, the Septa would mention the things that a husband would have of a wife after the ceremony, in order to make an heir.

They wouldn’t discuss it openly, but every now and again in the course of their lessons the Septa would say something about a husband’s expectations in the marriage bed.

If Brienne questioned her directly, Septa Roelle would draw herself up and hold her breath, before announcing that “a woman should expect to endure rather than enjoy marital relations” or “a husband should never be denied his rights”.

These statements mystified and frightened Brienne, who couldn’t imagine what this horrible act must entail.

Brienne’s fairly sheltered existence had not very adequately prepared her for such things, although of course she’d seen the frenzied coupling animals would make before they had young.

I must be strong as my mother was, to make a child Brienne told herself. All she could do was to hope that life with Bryant would not be like that. She couldn’t imagine shy Bryant behaving as the Septa described.

When these conversations became too much, or if Septa Roelle was on the warpath, Brienne would seek solitude by rowing her dingy to a small stony cave, hidden round the cliffs from the beach under Evenfall.

Brienne had stumbled across it while sailing, and thought it the perfect place to hide when life became overwhelming. Here, able to be alone with her thoughts, Brienne would sit for hours, knowing she couldn’t be found.

Sometimes she would sing to herself, envying the characters in the songs their strange, wonderful, complicated lives in faraway lands. But most often she would bring a book to read, propping herself against the damp rock wall.

Brienne’s appetite for reading was still voracious, and had now extended to the history of Westeros, and other scholarly texts on top of her favourite legends and tales.

But of all that she had read, the history of her own house, and the kings and knights of Tarth past, were especially fascinating to Brienne.

She could see the strong noble bloodline stretching down the years that even included Targaryens, and would read about the many daughters had by her ancestors who had played their part in Tarth’s legacy by marrying into other noble houses.

Brienne could see herself following this path with Bryant, the boy who would become a knight, giving him children and grandchildren, and it all recorded until the end of days in the histories of Houses Tarth and Caron.

Brienne wanted to fill the pages of her own book more than anything. Not only had it been her younger self’s dream to marry a knight, but there was now also a growing awareness about being Selwyn’s only heir that filled her with a sense of duty.

She knew from the history books that it was important to protect each House’s legacy, and that this was now solely down to her.

This felt like a lot of responsibility, especially coupled with the Septa’s proclamations about marital relations, but Brienne was determined she would see it through. For father and for Tarth.

Over the past year, Selwyn had started a new association of his own, in the form of a beautiful Essosi merchant who had come to Evenfall on the way to Westeros and never left.

Brienne wondered now if perhaps she wouldn’t be the only heir for long. Perhaps her father would marry and have a son, and her obligations would become less complicated.

If Galladon were here, she realised, this duty would be his and not mine.

Whilst Brienne was still happy to be betrothed, she would have liked to have been able to see Bryant again, and to see how he was faring as he grew.

She was changing as she aged and he must be too, but as more time passed since she had seen him, Brienne’s image of Bryant became less certain in her mind.

She longed for her first flowering to come to her so they could marry; so she could leave childish things behind and truly begin her life.

-

“Excuse me my Lord” said Maester Lesset, bowing his head as he entered Selwyn’s solar late one evening. “We have received an urgent raven from Nightsong”.

Chapter Text

Selwyn paused at the doorway to the library, resting his head on the doorframe as he looked across at Brienne.

She was seated at the desk, reciting poetry from a book as Septa Roelle looked on approvingly. Selwyn felt a rush of affection at the sight of his dear daughter.

In truth Selwyn and Brienne had been spending much less time together, and he missed her.

Brienne had her lessons, which the Septa made plain were so important for her development into a lady wife. She wasn’t free for riding or sailing together whenever the mood took him.

So he had sought to fill the hole in his life with some other comfort.

The situation was so very difficult for Selwyn; he had never before taken a lover, but he still had no intention of taking another wife despite the political advantages he was assured this would bring.

He knew he could never love another. But this woman had offered herself with no obligations, and he was so starved of affection.

And now there seemed to be an awkwardness, some hesitation come between him and Brienne that had never been there before.

Selwyn felt weak, and anxious that Brienne was unhappy with him. He was afraid she would tell him how she felt, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the knowledge that he had caused her pain.

Now though, he must talk to his daughter urgently, although he dreaded this conversation even more so.

He cleared his throat and both Brienne and the Septa looked up at him. “I need to speak to Brienne, Septa Roelle. Now. Brienne, come with me please”.

The Septa huffed, exasperated at having her lesson time interrupted. What can father have to tell me that is so important? Brienne wondered.

Recently he had been sending a servant to fetch her rather than coming himself; now he had more interesting things to occupy him rather than spending time with her.

Brienne still loved Selwyn intensely, and she wanted him to have warmth and joy in his life again. But she was deeply hurt by the way he had seemingly abandoned her to the whims of Septa Roelle in the process.

Brienne stood and followed her father from the room. They walked in silence down the corridor, Brienne trailing sullenly behind.

When she entered the solar, Selwyn was already stood at the window, holding an opened parchment in his hands.

Through the window behind her father, Brienne watched a ship far out in the bay, struggling to make headway into the strong prevailing wind.

“Come, Brienne, sit down”, her father said. She walked to the armchair slowly, keeping her eyes on him to see if his face would give away anything of what he was about to say.

“I’ve had a scroll from Nightsong. There has been a sickness there, that has taken many lives in the household. Lord and Lady Caron…..their children…….all that remains of their family is Bryce, the oldest son. I’m sorry child”.

Brienne’s deep blue eyes filled with emotion. “Father, is there anything we can do for Bryce? He has lost his whole family”.

“I will send our condolences child. He has other relatives who will take him in” Selwyn sat back in his chair and looked at Brienne. “Is that all you have to say?”

Brienne’s heart clenched. Bryant. She could almost feel his name receding into the history books. The history they had been going to write together.

But Brienne suddenly felt shy of her father, alone in each other’s company for the first time in what felt like so long. How can I explain to him that I have looked forward to leaving?

She felt a sharp stab of guilt, so Brienne simply nodded her head, and excused herself.

Selwyn sat for a moment, mulling over her reaction. The boy Bryce was her first thought. Mayhaps she is relieved? She is young still, it may be she is not ready yet for betrothal. I will wait a while before I look for another.

Instead of heading back to the library, Brienne turned toward her rooms.

Alone in her chambers, Brienne carefully opened her chest and withdrew the yellow cushion from underneath the ever larger mound of needlework she had been collecting.

Placing it on her bed, she tried to recall Bryant’s face from years ago, and found his image in her mind was muddled. She thought of Galladon, his face even more lost to her than Bryant’s was.

She reached behind the bed for the wooden sword, and laid it next to the cushion. Why does everyone around me die? she thought wretchedly. What will happen to me now?

-

After the news of Bryant’s death had filtered through the household, Brienne battled with the Septa about how she should be spending her time.

“Why can’t we return to our other lessons? I don’t need to learn to be a wife or lady of the house if I am not even betrothed!” Brienne shouted, slamming her hands on the desk. The sound echoed around the library walls.

Septa Roelle’s lips were a thin white line, and she folded her hands together primly. “Lady Brienne, the future of every highborn girl is to become a wife and mother” she said in a clipped voice. “This betrothal is at end, but you will still need to learn these skills if you want your father to find you another match”.

Brienne would normally have tempered her anger at this, thinking of her father and reminding herself what her marriage would represent for him.

But in truth, despite his initial good intentions to observe Brienne and arrange another betrothal when she was ready, Selwyn had in fact become even more distracted. Far too much so to think of Brienne’s marriage prospects or preserving the bloodline of Tarth.

His Essosi lover had moved away suddenly, after Selwyn had made it clear he was never going to be interested in marriage. But now he craved the gentle company of another after so many years alone.

So he had switched his affections to someone new: a lowborn woman from the town, much to the exasperation of his advisors who felt this behaviour was not befitting the Lord Evenstar.

He had also become consumed by political drama, as the Greyjoy rebellion threatened to split the realm and scrolls flew on dark wings between noble Lords across the kingdom hoping to build alliances.

So Brienne often just defied the Septa now, knowing her father wouldn’t notice or care.

At the Septa’s words Brienne rolled her eyes dramatically, and left the room without another word.

Why would anyone want to learn how to darn socks? she thought to herself fiercely as she slipped from the Hall to visit Carrot, fed up of stuck fingers and scolding.

Her first instinct now was always stubbornness. But the real struggle was that at heart, Brienne still wanted to show her father she was trying, as she’d promised him years ago.

Brienne stroked Carrot’s nose and he made a satisfied little snort, nuzzling her neck.

It’s so unfair. Brienne knew that as a woman certain things were expected of her by society; these things would only become more evident as she grew older, and she knew that refusing to play her part would only embarrass her father.

So even though she hated the Septa, Brienne resolved to set herself back to her learning as best she could, in a way that felt like her own.

Brienne used her hard-won needlework skills to fashion Selwyn a sheath for a dagger out of supple tan leather, which she decorated with tiny embroidered suns and crescent moons, to give to him on his name-day.

She allowed the Septa to school her in The Seven Pointed Star, carefully writing out and then the reciting different passages as she was given.

But she continued to explore the library’s many books herself, and she still sailed and rode whenever she could even if this was largely alone instead of with her father.

-

As the moons passed and she continued to grow, Brienne began to notice that the way people behaved around her changed.

The looks from the town girls as she came out of the sea to dry herself; the muffled laughter from the boys who followed behind her as she walked back to the Hall.

Brienne didn’t really understand what had happened – I’m the same person I’ve always been, why has the way they treat me changed? Or am I imagining it?

It had never really occurred to her to think about her appearance in great detail - with no mother or sisters to compare herself to, and whose graceful habits and gestures she could imitate and learn from.

She knew she was getting taller, and that her long blonde hair was more fuzz than curl most days. But her height made it easier to ride, and she tended to wear her hair scraped hastily into a tie or plait as she found this quick and practical.

I wish I had someone I could ask. Someone I trusted. But the only women at the Hall apart from maids were the Septa, who Brienne would never confide in about anything, or the women Selywn kept.

But they could hardly be called ladies, and to be truthful Brienne had never felt much desire to engage with them at all, certainly not to ask anything from them.

One day when she was ten, she was caught by Septa Roelle examining herself in the looking glass in her bedchamber.

Brienne had been wrinkling her nose into the glass, pursing her lips, and raising her eyebrows, studying the way her face moved. She moved backwards a little so she could see her lithe body reflected back at her.

Septa Roelle was stood in the doorway. ‘no amount of looking will make the image more pleasing’ said the Septa.

Brienne was taken aback. ‘what do you mean by that?’

Septa Roelle paused for a moment, before coming over to stand behind her. Holding Brienne by the chin, the Septa turned her face from side to side as she spoke.

‘Your teeth are big and crooked, your nose and forehead are wide, and your lips are too large. Your body is the size and shape of a youth, not a maiden.

“If any man says otherwise, it is Tarth he wants, not you. You are very unfortunate child. You will be lucky to make a match at all now”.

This was all said in a matter of fact way, not with the sole intent of cruelty.

But Brienne’s heart shattered, as if it were the looking glass and Septa Roelle had taken it up and dashed it against the wall.

She looked at her reflection again and it was as if seeing herself truly for the first time. I’m ugly.

As the Septa left the room again, Brienne sank onto the bed and wept.

-

It’s not as if Brienne had thought herself beautiful; more that she had never thought at all. It had never mattered before what she looked like.

But once Brienne’s eyes had been opened to her own shortcomings of appearance, she started to study everyone around her in detail, and noticed so many differences clear as day.

To begin with her height was plainly ridiculous and her limbs too long. Her chest was still mainly flat, while many of the other girls her age were starting to blossom into womanly shapes. Her skin was pale and freckly, not smooth and creamy like spun silk.

And on her face, as pointed out to her by the Septa, her features had become large and ungainly, and didn’t seem to go together. All the other girls she saw had such delicate and pretty faces, even the peasant girls.

Brienne newfound self-awareness was agonising, and she would spend hours poring over each detail of her life from this new perspective.

It was so simple when I was a child, believing I would wed a handsome knight and go off to live in a faraway castle.

That is how things were for noble girls, and maidens in the songs, and there was never cause to question it.

It had never occurred to her to think about her appearance when she was betrothed to Bryant either.

I wanted to marry Bryant. If he had lived that would have meant a whole new life.

The knowledge of her unattractiveness became a huge weight, like a boulder that she had to carry before her wherever she went.

Brienne became so conscious of her face and body, and obsessed with thinking about what others must be thinking of her.

The idea of being the centre of attention became terrifying, and Brienne would choose instead to stand silently and awkwardly on the edges of rooms hoping not to be noticed.

How did I ever dance or laugh in a room filled with people? Now every time she spoke to another person it caused her to blush deeply, hiding her mouth behind her hands as she spoke or smiled so they couldn’t see her teeth.

Singing had been one of Brienne’s greatest pleasures; but now Brienne was so glad that Maryn the Merry had left them before she had become so uncomfortable and clumsy.

Even when only singing with the Septa Brienne covered her face, and it became a chore to endure until she could pull herself away.

Lessons continued as usual, but now Brienne quietly accepted whatever Septa Roelle chose to do each day, always wanting it to be over quickly so she could be by herself again.

The Septa was pleased to have this newly compliant charge, and saw it as a personal victory.

She stepped up her assault of Brienne’s fragile self-worth whenever she could, having seen the effect of this and become convinced it was the key to discipline.

“Lords do not want a wife with opinions, all they desire is sweet face to look upon” one day and “Any husband of yours will certainly want to keep the lights out when you are abed together” the next.

Once alone in her chambers, Brienne would play with Galladon’s wooden sword as she let her thoughts consume her, absentmindedly passing it from hand to hand, imagining herself in a legend, charged with some solemn duty that would raise her above these shallow thoughts.

No matter how busy he was elsewhere, Selwyn couldn’t help but notice the changes in Brienne’s behaviour whenever they dined together, which were some of the few precious moments alone together they had now.

She had become withdrawn, and wouldn’t meet his eye. How much of this is down to me?

He knew they had become more distant from each other, and that his habit of different lady friends was likely as confusing for Brienne as it had been for many of his household.

He did see of course that she had become tall and awkward, but to him these new characteristics were mere side-notes to the daughter that he loved so dearly.

Knowing that as a child she had wanted so much to be wed, Selwyn thought that now might be the right time for another betrothal – it might be the thing to bring Brienne out of her state of gloom.

That evening, Selwyn brought up the subject with Brienne at supper.

Setting down his cup, Selwyn said “It is more than time for me to arrange another betrothal for you Brienne. What would you say to that?”

Brienne’s eyes widened and she thought carefully about her reaction.

Given what she now knew about her appearance, the idea of being introduced to another young man as his intended seemed absurd.

But as no other heirs had materialised from her father’s liaisons, she knew it was her duty to marry and to ensure the future of the Tarth line no matter how grim a prospect that might now be.

She wanted to do right by her father. Brienne gave Selwyn what she hoped was a happy smile. “Yes father, I think that would be a good idea”.

Selwyn looked at her closely for a moment, not fooled by her weak attempt to look pleased. “You don’t sound sure, child. Is there a reason why?”

“I…I’m just nervous father.” Brienne stuttered. “What if my intended does not want me?”

Misunderstanding her, Selwyn rushed to ease her fears. “Oh Brienne, that will not be the case. You are from a noble house, one which suitors will be eager to match with.”

Brienne closed her eyes, and let her father’s reassurances wash over her. Mayhaps it will be alright.

Opening her eyes, Brienne saw Selwyn’s look of concern, and took his hand. “It’s alright father. I agree. I want you to find me another betrothal”.

Chapter Text

Selwyn took a deep breath, and considered his options.

He had received some spontaneous offers for Brienne’s hand since Bryant Caron, which he had dismissed, but he had not actively sought another betrothal until he knew Brienne would welcome one.

Now Selwyn held in his hands an offer to wed Brienne from the current Knight of Griffin’s Roost, Ser Ronnet Connington.

Griffin’s Roost was a House with a turbulent recent history, its previous Lord Jon Connington having been stripped of his land and exiled by King Aerys during Robert’s rebellion.

Not even the Lordship existed any longer, his replacement having been demoted from Lord to merely a knight after Robert took the throne.

It is less auspicious than she deserves. But Selwyn had wasted time and now by noble standards Brienne was fairly old for betrothals already.

His recent attempts at making deals with other finer prospects had failed. How long would we have to wait for another serious offer? And he would still rather be able to keep her in the Stormlands if he could.

Selwyn exhaled slowly, and took out a fresh scroll to write his reply.

-

For the second time in her young life, Brienne was measured for a gown to meet her intended. But this time she was not a giddy little girl, dreaming of her prince. This time everything had changed.

As she stood to be measured by the seamstress, looking down at her body self-consciously, Brienne felt sick to think she would have to greet this man and watch him appraise her.

She tried to imagine her betrothed. He was six years older than her two and ten, and he would be here in a sennight as arranged by Selwyn.

Her father had promised Brienne that a rose from her suitor would seal their betrothal, trying to make her feel like she could still be part of the old stories.

But this is not like Bryant, he is a man grown and not a child. He is a knight. Brienne thought of the many stories of knights wedding fair maidens that she had loved, had dreamed of herself in.

In none of these tales did the maid look like her. Now Brienne felt like she was caught inside her own living nightmare.

Septa Roelle had instructed that this dress was to be made of entirely of silk, quartered in the colours of House Tarth – azure and rose - and embroidered with its golden suns and silver crescent moons.

Brienne should have felt honoured to wear the colours and sigil of her House, but instead she was afraid of how she would look in the gown, imagining her tall shapeless frame only emphasised by the trailing silk and form fitting bodice.

But despite all of her misgivings, there was still a small part of Brienne that hoped and prayed all would be well. A stubborn ember inside her heart that refused to be quelled.

She wanted to marry for the benefit of Tarth and her father, yes, but for herself as well, and for that new life she had dreamt of so long ago with Bryant.

Knights are just and fair, and care for honour above all. It is still possible that this man will want to marry me. Then this will all be over and everything will be as it should.

-

On the day of Ronnet Connington’s arrival, Brienne rose before dawn, full of nervous energy. After breaking her fast she was bathed, helped into her gown and her unruly hair brushed and arranged by her maid as neatly as possible.

The Septa had schooled Brienne for days on what to say to Ser Ronnet in greeting “Welcome to Evenfall Hall, Ser Ronnet, I am Lady Brienne”. The simple sentence raced and echoed in her mind. I have to remember.

Brienne and the Septa went straight to the upper hall to await the guest who Selwyn would be arriving with shortly.

“Do not fidget Lady Brienne. Hands still. And make sure you curtsey properly as I have taught you” said the Septa sharply, her words jarring on Brienne’s already frayed nerves.

Brienne’s father entered the hall with a thin youth, long red hair tied at the base of his neck and a triangle of red beard on his chin.

He was carrying a single red rose, with rich petals the colour of blood and the stem and leaves a deep and vibrant green.

“You had better hope he has ambitions enough on the Lordship to overlook your face” hissed Septa Roelle into Brienne’s ear.

Brienne felt herself begin to tremble as they come closer, her heart thumped, and a blush prickled up her neck onto her cheeks. I am taller than he.

“Ser Ronnet Connington, please allow me to introduce my daughter and heir, Brienne” said Selwyn.

Brienne gave a tight lipped smile, conscious not to show her teeth. Ser Ronnet looked at her with narrowed eyes, and then slowly bowed.

Brienne, unnerved, felt the Septa’s elbow and dropped to curtsey, her left foot tripping over her right as she did so. “I……I…..am…p..p..pleased to meet you Ser’ she stuttered, forgetting her words and not knowing what to do with her hands.

Ser Ronnet stepped closer and looked up into her face. He held the rose out towards her and for that brief moment, time stood still. Could it be?

But then he dropped the rose at her feet and snarled “this is all you will have of me, my lady”, giving a harsh laugh and shaking his head as he turned to walk from the hall.

Stunned, Selwyn looked to Brienne in panic, and then trailed Connington out of the door.

“Come now Ser, let us discuss the matter further…” Brienne could hear their faint conversation as they left, and she heard the word ‘freak’ echo back to her across the hall.

Brienne bent down to pick up the rose, and touched the soft dark petals. I was a fool to think it would end any differently.

--

After what had happened with Connington, the way many people treated Brienne changed.

She had grown used to muttering and giggling behind her back as she passed. But now people openly stared and whispered things to each other in her presence; on the occasion she saw boys or young men she blushed all over, and they might blow her kisses or laugh to each other.

It was becoming harder for Selwyn to deny that she was different. He had been utterly taken aback by Connington’s behaviour, and his unpleasant words for Brienne.

Of course Selwyn had immediately banished the young man from the island. But the story spread across Tarth and beyond.

People could be very cruel, and Selwyn heard things said about his daughter that made his heart ache. He thought that as time passed things would improve, but if anything they seemed to worsen.

But what can I do? I can’t protect her. I can only tell her that it doesn’t matter and hope that she will hear me.

Selwyn decided to talk with Brienne, and found himself outside her door, knocking before he could change his mind.

Brienne’s face appeared as she opened the door a crack. “Father?” It was unusual now for him to come to her chambers.

“May I come in?” Selwyn’s face was all concern, and Brienne could not refuse him. So he came inside and they sat on the bed together.

“Brienne. My sweet child.” She frowned. “I truly believed he would make a good betrothal for you. I can only apologise for the part I played in that …. cruel show.” Selwyn reached for Brienne’s hand.

“Father, the fault was with him, not with you.” Brienne said in a small voice.

“I hear the things that people say Brienne. But you know, words are like wind. They feel powerful, like they might destroy us, but then they pass. You must not take these words to heart”.

Brienne saw the wisdom in her father’s words. But can it really be possible to let taunts and insults pass by like they are nothing? To me it isn’t nothing. It hurts.

Brienne felt a deep shame that she was letting her father down.

She knew it would be near to impossible to find a good marriage match for someone who looked as she did, and that she was not a daughter that a Lord could be proud of.

So, smiling weakly, she sought to reassure Selwyn. “You are right, of course. I will try. Thank you father”.

-

Following their exchange, whenever Brienne left her chambers now she armoured herself with a blank but serious expression that she hoped made her look defiant and proud.

But this did not prevent the pain from penetrating deep into her heart. Words were not wind. They wounded her, and left their scars.

Septa Roelle continued to speak Brienne’s worst fears, telling her she was big, brutish, and ugly. That no-one would want her.

As well as her ungainly features, Brienne was still growing taller. She now struggled at the needlework the Septa would have her do, as her hands felt clumsy and mannish and she was embarrassed to put them on display.

Brienne desperately hoped that her father would settle down and have another child with one of his women, so that she wouldn’t have to be betrothed again.

She dreamt sometimes of Connington dropping the rose at her feet, her anguished cries echoing in her chambers as she relived the moment of her rejection again and again.

Then one night the dream was different.

Brienne is stood in the upper hall wearing her silk gown, and Connington holds the rose out to her. Brienne draws a magnificent sword from the scabbard that has somehow found its way to her waist, a fearsome carved golden hilt with a rippling blade of red ribbons. She slices clean through Connington’s wrist, and watches as the fingers release the rose, flower and hand falling slowly to the floor into a puddle of his blood.

When Brienne awoke from this dream, in the frigid darkness of middle night, she was covered in sweat and her heart was racing.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, breathing long and slow, gradually feeling calmer.

What is that feeling? Brienne put her hand between her legs and felt wetness. When she drew her hand from under the covers, Brienne smelled the unmistakeable tang of copper. Blood.

Brienne was now a woman flowered.

She was not prepared for this, she had no rags, and the maid wouldn’t be here for hours yet.

Despairing in the darkness, Brienne reached around under the bed for something, anything she could use to clean herself up.

Her fingers found a screwed up ball of soft silk. The betrothal dress. Kicked in a heap here where she had discarded it after her humiliation moons ago.

Brienne picked the dress up and tore the silk into strips, the delicate fabric ripping easily in her hands. Then she used the strips to rub the blood from her thighs and clean herself as best she could.

She wadded some more of the silk strips inside her smallclothes and threw the rest of the dress across the room, settling back down to sleep fitfully.

When she woke again, fingers of dawn light were illuminating the evidence of what had happened during the night.

Brienne looked at the remnants of dried blood on her hands, and the torn and bloody mess of her dress on the floor. I am going to have to burn it.

She slipped out of bed and quickly dressed in an old shirt and breeches of her father’s that she tended to wear for practicality when she rode.

Then Brienne padded to the door, gathering the remains of the dress into her arms on the way.

She slipped out of Evenfall’s back door, and set off towards the armoury and training yard. There will be something I can use here, she thought as she rifled through the packs in the armoury.

She found some kind of oil she guessed was for polishing swords, grabbed a flint, and headed out into the yard, where Brienne knows she is hidden from the sight of Evenfall by the armoury building.

Making a little pile of the gown’s bloodied remains, she poured on some oil and struck a rock against the flint to make a spark.

The dress caught easily, and she watched the dance of the flames as they licked prettily at the precious silk, quickly turning it to blackened dust.

Brienne kicked sand over the ashes, and couldn’t help but smile inwardly. She really hated that dress.

Heading back through the armoury towards the Hall, Brienne paused at the large wall of tourney swords and other weapons on display.

Without thinking, Brienne reached up and chose a sword, the dust rising to make her cough as she took it down from the wall. She turned the sword over in her hands, and closed her eyes.

It was longer and heavier than Galladon’s wooden sword, but somehow she felt the same sense of connection to him as she held it.

She knew she must get back to the Hall and explain what has happened to the maids and the Septa.

But for one more moment she could stand here, feeling calm, and powerful.

-

She went to the training shed often then, so early in the morning that darkness was still clinging on in the face of daybreak, and practiced with a sword in secret.

Of course Brienne didn’t know what she was doing, other than the play acting she had done with her brother when she was small. But it intrigued her.

She had begun to observe the boys and young men from the hall as they trained, and when she was alone she tried to imitate what she saw them do, moving her feet in the same way and thrusting and swinging the sword in time.

She studied the moves they made as they struck the training dummies, the sound of so many impacts creating a rhythmic drumming, and recreated this herself as best she could.

Moving with a sword and wearing her father’s clothes, Brienne was smooth and natural.

She knew the Septa would scold her dreadfully and tell her father if she found out what Brienne was doing, but that made her love it even more.

She was in control, and had something that was hers alone, something precious.

Unbeknownst to Brienne, she was observed on more than one occasion by Evenfall’s Master at Arms, Ser Goodwin.

One morning, after witnessing a particularly promising display, Ser Goodwin paid a visit to Selwyn. He wondered if the Lord would want his daughter stopped from using the swords, or if he would be angry Goodwin had not come to him before.

“Come in” called the strong voice from inside the door. Ser Goodwin braced himself and entered. “Lord Tarth, I need to tell you that your Lady daughter has been visiting the yard and …playing with swords from the shed. What would you have me do?”

Selwyn sighed deeply, rising from the armchair by the fire and walking to the window, eyes fixed on the sea below. “Is she in your way Goodwin? Has she hurt anyone?”

“No my Lord. Quite the opposite. In truth, as unusual as it may be, Brienne has a natural ability with a sword that is rare to see.” He watched Selwyn digest this news about his only daughter.

“I…I could help her to train my Lord, if you were willing. And if she was”.

Selwyn didn’t have to think on this long before he had his answer. “Please Ser Goodwin, assist Brienne in any way she wishes”.

Ser Goodwin returned to the training shed, and found Brienne still punishing a dummy.

She looked up, alarmed, when he approached, unable to hide what she was doing. “I have seen you coming to the yard many mornings, Lady Brienne. Tell me, why do you want to use a sword?”

“I…feel I am above everything when I am here. It makes me feel in control. And….like the sword is a perfect fit in my hand”.

Brienne looked at the ground. “Does my father know?” she said softly, feeling her world about to come crashing about her ears.

Ser Goodwin looked at her seriously. “Your father has given me permission to train you my lady, if you are of a mind to learn properly”.

Brienne’s eyes widened with surprise.

“We would do a thorough job my lady, it would be hard work and lots of practice. Some of the lessons would be tough, but I believe you to be capable”.

Brienne’s heart leapt into her mouth. “I would be so grateful, Ser Goodwin. When do we start?”

Chapter Text

Brienne could barely contain her desperation to begin her real sword training.

There was only so much she had been able to pick up from watching others, and only so much practicing she could do while keeping her passion hidden.

Although she had loved having a secret to herself, Brienne had also been constantly afraid she would be discovered and stopped from her visits to the training shed.

And now suddenly things had changed for the better; she had a willing teacher, and even her own training clothes, having made a visit to the seamstresses and asked them to make her loose shirts and breeches of her own.

Now she stood in her chamber in her new attire, scarcely daring to believe the turn things had taken. The nervous fluttering in her stomach reminded Brienne of the excitement she felt before she met Bryant; of a new path about to begin.

Septa Roelle walked into the room, and stopped abruptly when she saw what Brienne was wearing. “What is this Lady Brienne? Whose clothes are these?”

Brienne felt a momentary fear, but drew herself up defiantly. “They are mine Septa Roelle. I am to be training in the yard with Ser Goodwin and I needed something practical to wear”.

The Septa was almost speechless with rage. “You will be doing no such thing. That is out of the question”. Seething, the Septa stormed from the room and made her way to Selwyn’s solar, determined to stamp out this insolence.

Selwyn could see from her expression that the Septa wanted to talk to him about Brienne; a peculiar reddening of the nostrils and the clenched jaw that betrayed her lost temper. “What is it Septa Roelle?” he asked wearily.

“Lord Selwyn, your daughter has gone too far this time. She intends to wear a man’s clothing and play at swords in front of all of Evenfall Hall. I thought you would want to know my Lord”. The Septa bowed her head humbly, awaiting his thanks for bringing the matter to his attention.

“Septa Roelle, Brienne has my blessing in this matter and she is not to be obstructed”.

“My Lord? You are content for her to dishonour you in this manner? It is not…normal my Lord.”

“It may not be usual, but this is Brienne’s wish. I would be grateful if you could reduce lessons during the day so the training can be accommodated. That is not a request, Septa”.

Septa Roelle looked pained for a moment, but duty was the eventual victor. “I am your servant, Lord Selwyn, of course”. She curtseyed briskly and left the room.

Selwyn closed his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose, rubbing to ease his tension. He knew this confrontation would be the first of many once word of Brienne’s new pastime had spread throughout the Hall.

Since Brienne had flowered he had already been receiving daily pressure from his advisers about arranging another match for her as soon as possible. It is not usual to wait so long to wed. She is the only heir. She will be viewed unfavourably by other houses. She is not pretty.

Selwyn already knew all these things. But he would not force his daughter out into the world when she was not ready. To learn to use a sword is the one thing she wants, something only I can give her.

Selwyn recalled Brienne’s face when she flew into his arms after Ser Goodwin had told her of his support for their training, joy and disbelief in equal measure. He ached to have been able to make Brienne happy like this, like he did when she was small. It happened so rarely now.

Let her play out this dream, while she still can. The real world will come for her soon enough.

Brienne couldn’t have been more grateful to her father for his support, and was thrilled to see the Septa cowed by Selwyn into releasing some time each day for her training.

It felt like a victory, even though in reality nothing had yet changed.

-

An eternity was passed in waiting, but finally the day came – Brienne’s first session with Ser Goodwin. Already awake, Brienne dressed in breeches and shirt and reported to the training shed in the cold light of dawn, earlier than they had agreed.

“You are certainly keen, Lady Brienne, and that is a good thing” chuckled Goodwin when he saw her. “Yes Ser Goodwin I am”.

“The test will be to see if you come back tomorrow. And each day after that. The skill of fighting with a sword is not something you will learn easily. It requires dedication, and practice. There is monotony and pain. But you do have a raw talent, and you are a determined young lady. That is a good place to start.”

Brienne raised her chin proudly. “I can work hard. I will prove it to you Ser Goodwin”.

“I believe you will my Lady. Now to furnish you with a sword!”

Brienne headed for the far wall, where she had been choosing her weapon for her own practice.

“We can’t have you causing an injury Lady Brienne!” said Goodwin cheerfully. “You need to forget what you have been trying to do with a tourney sword. That is too heavy for you to start with. We will start at the beginning with wood, and work our way up.”

Ser Goodwin rummaged in a crate and found Brienne a wooden training sword, used by children when they started learning to fight. It was full sized; bigger than Galladon’s toy sword, but much lighter than the blunted steel tourney swords.

“Now, show me how you would hold the sword my lady”. Brienne takes the hilt into her right hand; be normal, not too tight.

“You have a naturally good grip” commented Ser Goodwin. Brienne blushed faintly at the praise.

“But the real key to good swordplay is to understand your reach. You have long arms, so your reach with a sword will be impressive, especially when you add some footwork.

“So we will start there, and with some strength exercises for your arms, because when your sword arm is extended a steel sword will weigh you down”.

For the rest of her first training session Brienne was surprised to find herself doing press-ups, lifting weights and carrying heavy items up and down the yard.

This is how they continued their early sessions, Brienne training her strength while Goodwin showed her sword and footwork demonstrations.

Brienne memorised the names and descriptions of the different moves, which they would soon begin to drill. Half cut, full cut, cross cut, parry, thrust. Pass, advance, retreat. Running through her head, each move shaped itself into a shadowy form.

A fortnight later and Brienne was finally attempting cuts herself. “That’s it!” called Ser Goodwin in encouragement “Use the sword’s long edge. Now step forward as if you are passing your opponent. No, half that distance. That’s right”.

He was quietly impressed with Brienne, who had taken on every challenge he set her without complaint.

These steps became a drill, and the drill was repeated every single day, on one side and then the other. Some days nothing but this. Brienne was often still cutting and stepping as she drifted off to sleep, her hands and feet twitching.

Her hands were blistered and raw, and her arms and back ached from so much physical exertion. But each day Brienne rose, practiced her footwork before breaking her fast, completed her lessons and then headed out to the yard eagerly.

Next Ser Goodwin taught Brienne to parry, by thinking about the cuts she had drilled as defence instead of attack.

They soon progressed to partner exercises, Brienne moving toward him and Goodwin keeping still so she could work out when her sword reached him, or when she got too close. Then they would reverse so Brienne could parry his controlled attacks.

One afternoon Brienne arrived to training looking glum – she had as usual been on the receiving end of the Septa’s sharp tongue, and was filled with self-doubt. Her usual enthusiasm was replaced with a silent stare.

Ser Goodwin looked at her with concern. “Are you quite well today lady Brienne?” “Yes Ser.” Brienne paused. “Do you think me…foolish?” “Foolish my lady?” “Septa Roelle tells me I am making a fool of myself with the training. That it is not right for a highborn girl. That people will laugh at me.”

Ser Goodwin looked at Brienne seriously. “My Lady. Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, has just won a tourney in King’s Landing. Do you know how old he is?” Brienne shook her head.

“He is seven and fifty. Some people say he is too old to be a knight, that he is past his prime, an old man that makes the Kingsguard into a laughing stock. But he fought people younger than himself, and he won. He has defied people’s expectations of him. And so will you.”

Brienne had taken much strength from this tale. This man is old, but a true knight and a warrior still. I am a woman, but I can be a knight and a warrior in my heart.

-

Unbeknownst to Brienne, Selwyn received a regular update from Ser Goodwin on her progress, checking she was safe and happy. He was relieved when Goodwin told him Brienne was a dedicated pupil, hardworking and determined.

This differed so much from the reports he received from Septa Roelle, and he was proud to have given his daughter the opportunity to do something she clearly loved.

Septa Roelle became more and more vindictive as she felt her power receding.

But Brienne was able to remain numb to much of the Septa’s cruelty now she had her training. It filled her with new purpose, and Ser Goodwin’s praise worked wonders to rebuild confidence that Septa Roelle had stripped away.

Once Brienne had mastered the basics to his satisfaction, Ser Goodwin promoted her to training in the yard with the boys, who were learning to become soldiers and knights of Tarth.

The boys were raw recruits taken from the town, or the sons of those who lived and worked at Evenfall Hall. “You are as good as they, or even better.” said Goodwin when he saw Brienne’s doubtful expression. “I will see you there tomorrow. No arguments”.

Brienne was thrilled to have reached this milestone, of course, but was also overcome with nerves. She knew the boys would have things to say about the ugly girl in their midst. Their judgement will be harsher than even the Septa’s, and their words will be hard to hear.

But she had a weapon now and was armoured with boiled leather instead of just pride. I will prove I deserve to be among them.

The next day Brienne presented herself to the yard nervously; inside were the boys who would be her training companions. The age range of the group varied, but Brienne could see she was certainly among the tallest if not the oldest. There were skinny boys holding wooden swords and muscled youths with steel.

“Brienne! Today you progress to this! Congratulations my lady” Goodwin called across from the shed, and walked towards her holding a steel practice sword.

None of the assembled gaggle of boys had a nobleman’s training in courtesy. So they stared. The youngest boys looked at her wide eyed, the older with a combination of mirth and dismissal. None of them could believe what they saw. A snigger emerged from the back of the group.

Ser Goodwin addressed the crowd sternly. “You all know Lady Brienne. She is here to train. She will be treated no differently from any other recruit or there will be consequences.”

The boys broke into complaints, but Goodwin shut them down. “Anyone who doesn’t like it can report to me for extra shed duties”.

The complaints turned to sullen muttering.

“Now Brienne, this is your new sword. You’ve earned it” Ser Goodwin handed her the steel and smiled encouragingly. “You can do it” he whispered so only she can hear.

-

In the yard, to begin with the training was the same as she has been doing one on one, but the surroundings were very different. There were so many distractions; the sound of footfall and meeting swords; the grunting and laughter as many boys practiced the same drills simultaneously.

The group were also being trained in military discipline, which Brienne found tough. Ser Goodwin was very different with the whole group than he has been with just her, and her privileged life in the Hall had not prepared her for being shouted at like a soldier.

Progress was varied in the group, but Brienne always felt self-conscious – I am different, they will be watching . This gave her added impetus to try be the best so they could not criticise.

She did extra practice and strength training in her chamber each night before she fell asleep.

Eventually, the group was graduated to partner drills to build on what they had learned individually. Brienne was paired up with a large youth named Chet who argued when Goodwin announced the partners. Having been ignored, he came towards her glowering. “It’s you and me now My Lady” he announced menacingly.

The pairs were set to drilling; one person performing footwork and the other keeping distance, and then swapping. In another drill, they took turns to attack, while the person retreating did the exact same cuts as parries.

When Chet attacked it took all of Brienne’s strength to parry his blows, arms trembling. And the first time her nose was broken Brienne almost gave up.

Chet had hit her in the face, the opportunity afforded by a momentary slip of concentration which caused Brienne to hesitate while he thundered towards her. It was an unnecessarily dirty move for which he was soundly punished by Ser Goodwin.

After she had been to Maester Lesset and treated for the bleeding, Brienne returned to the yard to tell Ser Goodwin she was done. Her nose was crusted with dried blood and her eyes were beginning to bruise.

“They will never take me seriously. I am just a jape, a moving dummy to be struck at will”.

“As a woman, all men will underestimate you” said Ser Goodwin. “This is your disadvantage, and your unique strength. Let them wear themselves out thinking they will beat you easily; wait, watch, and observe how to defeat them”.

The group progressed to almost pure sparring, their drills given a sense of freedom by Ser Goodwin who pushed them to think tactically and choose their footwork and cuts themselves.

Heeding Goodwin’s advice, Brienne became a watchful fighter, observing the body language of her partner and waiting patiently for her opportunities.

One day, irritated by her long plait flying into her eyeline constantly, Brienne grabbed it, reached behind her head with the sword and roughly hacked the plait away with a frustrated cry.

The boys in the yard stopped underestimating Brienne. She was in her element, and easily the best fighter in the group. She was in fact the most talented fighter Ser Goodwin has seen for many years.

To Brienne, swordplay felt like performing one half of a dance; the meeting of bodies in structured movements; knowing the steps and being able to match your partner.

Gone was the fear about her too-large hands or too-tall body; here those things made her a success, not a failure. Sometimes she even felt graceful, dancing as she would be too afraid to do in the hall, her sword singing instead of her voice.

But just as Brienne felt she was mastering it, Ser Goodwin sat her down and looked grave. “Lady Brienne, I saved this lesson until last because I wasn’t sure how long you would continue with your training. Your body is becoming strong but your heart still belongs to a maid. If you want to fight I’m afraid you must also learn to kill.”

Brienne was perplexed. As much as she hated Chet she couldn’t see herself killing him. “What do you mean Ser Goodwin?”

Ser Goodwin led Brienne to the slaughterhouse. After they were done and she was covered in blood, Brienne returned to her bedchamber and wept.

Chapter Text

Selwyn walked unaccompanied along the cliff path, his view the rolling blue water and sweeping outline of Shipbreaker’s Bay.

This was his favourite walk on Tarth, giving the Lord Evenstar space to think away from the buzzing of advisors in his ear or members of the household needing his attention. The sea breeze always cleared the confusion of voices from his head and the methodical beat of his boots on the ground lulled him into calm.

Brienne had recently turned six and ten, and Selwyn was so proud of her. But he was also conflicted. He was painfully aware that swordfighting was exceptionally unusual behaviour for a noble lady, and that the expectations of others in Westeros would be very different to what she was allowed here.

Of course he knew that as his only heir there would come a time when he would need to arrange another match for Brienne. But Selwyn hoped he could put this off for as long as possible, to protect Brienne as long as he could.

That was his plan. But as they so often did, events overtook Selwyn in an unforeseen manner.

As the path rose sharply, Selwyn set his shoulders for the familiar steep climb over the rocky hill. But suddenly Selwyn was overcome. He couldn’t catch his breath, and his heart felt like it was dancing in his chest.

Selwyn sat down clumsily among the tufts of clover growing in the dirt track, trying to breathe. He stayed motionless for long moments, until he felt his breath and heart return to normal.

Retracing his steps gingerly to the Hall, Selwyn called on Maester Lesset, and explained what had happened to him up on the clifftop. The Maester looked troubled, asking a barrage of questions before starting to gather ingredients from his drawers.

“This is a common condition of age my Lord, even more so when a man is tall like yourself.” Am I old? thought Selwyn. “You should take this mixture morning and night with water, and come back to me of course if it happens to you again” continued the Maester.

Leaving the Maester’s rooms, Selwyn’s thoughts went immediately to Brienne. What happens to her if I die? She has no-one. He was struck numb by the horror of leaving her alone in the world.

And so with deep reluctance, Selwyn came to realise that the time for betrothal had come upon them.

-

Selwyn spent many months of careful thought approaching his chosen lords and knights, all without Brienne’s knowledge.

He had never told his daughter of his turn on the clifftop, or the potion the Master had given him. Selwyn didn’t want Brienne to worry, or to feel pressured into accepting a marriage.

As his only heir Brienne would be the Evenstar, and he could see the sole responsibility of the Tarth line rested heavy on her shoulders. Selwyn dearly wanted more than just duty for his daughter.

But soon Selwyn realised that his options, and Brienne’s, were severely limited. News had spread not only of the incident with Ronnet Connington and Brienne’ unusual looks, but of her masculine clothes and sword training.

Selwyn had only one offer on the table which he had already rejected several times. This was from Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, the castellan of Grandview for House Grandison. Ser Humfrey was a proud man, and an old one. At five and sixty, he was older even than Selwyn himself.

He had made an offer for Brienne’s hand while on a visit to Tarth some years ago. Selwyn had never seriously considered it. But now, things were changed.

Most young noblewomen were already given their husbands children at Brienne’s age, and as she got older she would only become a less attractive prospect.

Unmarried ladies were rare, and the subject of much cruelty and derision. Selwyn couldn’t bear to think he would leave Brienne to this sort of fate. What if this is the last offer of marriage she receives and she spends the rest of her life alone?

Selwyn left the unanswered questions in his solar and took a walk in the grounds. He found Brienne in the training shed, cleaning the practice swords, and sat on the low bench alongside her.

“Brienne, I am aware that you are not…fond anymore of the idea of betrothal. But I believe the time has come that we cannot delay any longer. I have an offer, it is from a knight of Grandview. He is …. Older than you. By some way.”

“What age is he father?” “Five and sixty”. Brienne pressed her lips into a thin line. He wants me to produce an heir.

“Brienne, I will not force you. It is your decision. But you should know I was unable to negotiate a betrothal with anyone else. I did try.” I have no choice, Brienne thought. For father, and for Tarth.

“I will not wear a dress to meet him” she said.

-

Selwyn invited Ser Humfrey to visit Tarth.

In the lead up to his arrival Brienne and Septa Roelle clashed fiercely about Brienne’s refusal to wear a gown. She was not even willing to visit the seamstress to discuss it.

“Lady Brienne, a lady must wear a dress to meet her betrothed. To not do so is unheard of. Your father will never allow it”

“No Septa, this is my choice to make, not yours”. Brienne steeled herself against Septa Roelle assertively since she knew that her father had already agreed to her terms.

“You will embarrass yourself and all of us with your actions. No man will agree to wed an aberration of a woman who clothes herself as a man.”

“Then I will not wed him. I will not pretend at being something I am not”. Brienne took a deep breath before she spoke her next sentence firmly. “I do not want you to attend the betrothal meeting with me Septa. I am old enough to present myself.”

Septa Roelle turned red and stormed from the room, seeking Lord Selwyn to make her complaints. But Brienne knew she had her father’s support, and they would fall on deaf ears.

Brienne was proud of herself for standing up to the Septa as she had. This was all she had now in place of confidence; a tough exterior that belied the girl who still lived inside.

Brienne arranged with Selwyn that she would meet Ser Humfrey informally in the solar; it would just be the three of them in attendance. Selwyn allowed Brienne to set the course, knowing how much grief the meeting with Ronnet Connington had caused her.

When the day arrived, Brienne dressed herself in soft calfskin breeches and her best sapphire blue doublet. She clipped back her shoulder length blonde tresses from her eyes, and went to join her father and Ser Humfrey.

When she entered the solar, she was taken aback by her father’s companion. He was short and round, with a big bloodshot nose and a little tufty white hair left on top of his bald head.

“Brienne, come in. This is Ser Humfrey who has come to visit us from Grandview.”

“Ser Humfrey” Brienne said perfuntorily, as she performed a swift, shallow bow.

“My lady” Ser Humfrey said, giving her a patronising smile “I am afraid I will have to insist that you behave as a real lady once we are wed. No breeches, no bowing, and no swords.”

Brienne stood her ground and looked down at the aged man in front of her. She had truly intended to give this betrothal a chance, her grim sense of duty outweighing her own misgivings.

But she realised now that was going to be impossible.

“Ser Humfrey, I would be honoured to spar with you. I have no intention of marrying, or obeying, a man who cannot best me in the yard” Brienne spoke in a measured tone.

Ser Humfrey raised his eyebrows at this, and Selwyn looked nervously at his daughter, shuffling his feet.

Brienne saw the smug look of assumption cross Ser Humfrey’s face. He thinks he can beat me, she thought. Now I have him.

“I will teach you a lesson now you can think about when we are wed” Ser Humfrey said haughtily.

The party made their way to the training shed, and they reconvened in the yard after both Brienne and Ser Humfrey had dressed in boiled leather and gloves and furnished with blunted swords.

Selwyn and Ser Goodwin looked on, nervously.

The opponents faced off at a good distance, and, hand on hilt, Brienne began circling. Ser Humfrey, who clearly hadn’t expected a real fight from Brienne, was forced onto the back foot immediately.

Brienne watched the man’s chest heave as he reached for his sword, trying to get the measure of him. He is out of breath already. His sword doesn’t look like it’s ever been used. He is favouring his right leg.

Wanting to establish the upper hand Ser Humfrey lunged sloppily for Brienne several times, a weak attack that Brienne easily brushed off after her hours spent with Chet as her aggressor.

It did not take long for things to take a turn for the worse. Brienne was much stronger than her opponent, taller, and more skilful with a blade.

With Ser Humfrey out of balance, Brienne stepped into his body and delivered a light warning blow to his sword arm. The man’s eyes filled with fear as he realised he was out of his depth.

Twirling beautifully, Brienne pulled back and struck Ser Humfrey a full hard blow in the chest – the blunted sword could cause no real harm to flesh, but Brienne’s strength was no match for the old man’s creaking bones. A loud crack issued into the air, and Ser Humfrey cried out in pain.

Brienne could see this fight was over. She tried to disarm him, but Ser Humfrey wouldn’t let go of his sword. Instead he twisted, fell to the floor harshly, and cried out again as his arm struck the dusty floor awkwardly.

That is the end of that Brienne thought as she walked briskly from the yard.

She had broken his wrist and two of his ribs.

-

After the fight with Ser Humfrey, Selwyn didn’t try to find Brienne a betrothal again.

They did not discuss it between them; rather it was an unspoken agreement based on Selwyn taking Brienne at her word about her conditions for marriage. He might be willing to accept Brienne’s choices, but he couldn’t see many suitors willing to face off against their prospective bride in the yard.

Brienne put everything she had into her training, one day at a time, trying to block out thoughts and fears of what challenges would come into her life next. She had been deeply hurt by her father's apparent willingness to see her married at all costs, and yearned for the days they had been close when she was small. I wish I could be a real daughter to him, one he could be proud to look upon, and not a disappointment.

Then Selwyn received a scroll from Storms End. The young Lord Renly had come of age, and would be touring the Stormlands to mark the occasion. He would be arriving to Tarth in a moon hence.

We will hold a ball thought Selwyn. A grand ball the likes of which Tarth has not seen for age.

He thought fondly and with slight melancholy of the young Brienne who would have loved to have had such an event to attend. Mayhaps the ball will bring her back to herself. Remind her of the lighter side of life that she used to adore.

So, arrangements for the ball were put in place. Selwyn found himself busied with tasks that made him ache for his long dead wife, remembering painfully how she had glowed with joy when planning dances or feasts.

Selwyn felt no joy himself, although there was some satisfaction in feeling he was doing it for Brienne, even though he knew that wasn’t really the case.

Selwyn had secretly started hoping that with Renly’s party would come a knight or a warded Lordling with whom Brienne might be able to form a connection. If she could talk to some young men at the Ball without it feeling like a formal betrothal meeting, he thought she might relent on her previous declarations.

Brienne herself was uneasy about the ball; she had never known this many strangers to visit Tarth, and she was afraid. If she thought back over her few experiences of meeting outsiders, they had for the most part gone very badly. Now there will be more of them together in one place than I have seen in my life. How can this end but in humiliation?

But Brienne could see her father busying himself with the arrangements; the ball meant a lot to him, and to Tarth. It was an isolated outcrop of the realm that was not often remembered, and Renly Baratheon was the king’s brother, and their Liege Lord. Brienne knew she needed to try her best to be a Lady. The last thing she wanted was to bring shame upon her father.

So she tried to channel the strength she felt when she was fighting into her preparations. She knew the island’s heir arriving at a ball in her fighting garb was out of the question. So tight lipped and with clenched fists, she allowed Septa Roelle to instruct the seamstresses on the most appropriate gown for the Lord’s daughter.

This dress was plain, for which Brienne was grateful. The Septa had clearly given up wasting good silk to drape across her charge’s unshapely form. The stiff cotton in a midnight blue gave Brienne’s frame structure, and highlighted her delicate pale skin.

On the night of the ball Brienne stood in her chambers in the gown, feeling like a bird trussed up for the dinner table. A soft knock at the door and her father was there, carrying something tiny inside a square of fabric.

Selwyn stopped inside the door. “You look wonderful Brienne. It is good to see you in a dress again” Brienne faintly smiled and shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. He wishes I was a proper lady.

“I have brought you a gift for the ball. This belonged to your mother, and she wore it to every dance we attended together. I want you to wear it tonight”.

Brienne eyes widened as she saw the large sapphire set into gold, which hung on the chain her father held out to her. She had no time to respond before Selwyn had moved around her to clasp it to her neck.

“Father” breathed Brienne, not knowing what to say. “It is so beautiful. I…it’s…thank you”. In truth Brienne felt her plainness was only more pronounced next to a thing of such great beauty. But she longed to experience the feeling of something so precious against her skin. The sapphire can be my sword where I have none tonight. It can be my strength.

Selwyn and Brienne walked to the Great Hall together, drawn by the hubbub of activity from within. A feast had been laid out at one end, with tables and chairs for groups of people to sit and eat and a dais for the guests of honour.

At the other end a group of musicians were already performing, spreading a jolly song throughout the hall. People had already started dancing on the large floor that had been set down for the purpose. Candles ranged around the walls gave the hall a delicate warm light.

As Tarth had a small population, the evening’s guests would mainly be from Renly’s large contingent who had all arrived to Tarth earlier in the day. Many of this group already lined the dancefloor.

Brienne willed herself to shrink behind her father as they looked across at her, and tried imperceptibly to shake her head at Selwyn as he led her towards the group. “May I introduce my daughter, Lady Brienne” said Selwyn formally, gesturing at her encouragingly before walking away.

One or two of the ladies looked at the floor; and a boy stifled a giggle as he bowed comically. “Lady Brienne.” Brienne could see another cluster of young men further across the dancefloor beginning to show interest in her awkwardness.

“Who is that?” she heard them mutter in astonishment, as they came to join the group. “The Lord’s daughter. Is he expecting us to dance with her?” More sputtered laughter.

Brienne felt numbly resigned to this fate. It was what she expected. It was what she deserved.

But then came a voice from behind her, sincere and self-assured. “Lady Brienne, may I have this dance?”. As she turned, Brienne saw young Lord Renly with his hand extended towards her, looking every bit a prince from a legend.

Brienne looked into Renly’s warm brown eyes, and didn’t see a hint of malice there. Only kindness. She fingered the sapphire at her throat, gulping nervously as she struggled for words. “Yes my Lord,” she managed to croak out. Brienne reached tentatively to take Renly’s hand, bracing herself for a punchline or another barrage of laughter.

Instead Brienne was led onto the floor while the assembled group watched in stunned silence. Renly passed one arm around her waist and laid his other hand on her shoulder; then the music overtook her.

Chapter Text

Brienne fingered the handkerchief in her pocket, as she did now a hundred times a day.

At the ball, she had wept with relief after Renly had gone out of his way to dance with her. When the tears had threatened to fall on the dancefloor, Renly had gently led Brienne away to an alcove and given her his handkerchief to dry her eyes. Then he had been called away to talk politics with some of her father’s advisors.

But even this brief intervention by their young Lord meant the other men were too afraid to approach Brienne again. So for once, she had been able to be present somewhere with some small confidence that she would not be a target; a respite from the burdens of her reality.

They had not spoken more than a few words, but Brienne was adamant she knew Renly through his actions. He is different from any other man; he is special. He saw me, despite my imperfections. Brienne held onto this knowledge tightly but silently, as if it would escape like a bird from a cage if given voice.

Dancing with Renly had been a transformative experience, and Brienne’s heart was filled with the burning intensity of true love, such that maidens felt when they were rescued by the hero in a legend.

Everything at the ball had happened so fast, so like a daily prayer, Brienne recalled each detail of her encounter and turned it over in her mind so she wouldn’t forget.

The warm tone in Renly’s voice as he asked for her hand; the particular deep brown of his eyes, crinkling at the corners as he smiled. The light pressure of his fingers on her waist, and the familiar music drowned out by the pounding in her ears as their feet moved them in unison around the floor.

“Lady Brienne, I asked you a question” came Septa Roelle’s hard voice, snapping Brienne out of her daydream. She sighed deeply. Brienne was beginning to think she would be sat here with the Septa until she grew old and withered away into nothing.

Several times now, Brienne had asked her father to write to the Citadel and say that Septa Roelle was no longer required on Tarth; that his daughter had completed her necessary education. But sennights passed and she heard nothing from him on the matter.

Her experience with Renly had made Brienne long for something else, something more than being here day after day; although she knew not what. Brienne just knew that she was restless in a way she had never been before. She felt without direction, like a ship stripped of its sails.

-

Selwyn sat in his solar, reviewing the scrolls that had arrived from across Westeros. The sheer number of ravens to Tarth had rapidly increased in the wake of King Robert’s sudden death, as the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms strove to understand what would happen next and position themselves accordingly.

Over the past sennight or two, Selwyn had received word that Robert’s eldest son Joffrey was taking the throne. But then dark rumours had reached him from the Robert’s brother Lord Stannis about the legitimacy of the King’s children. Stannis held himself up as rightful heir, although this was challenged by others in the realm, including his younger brother Renly who now called his bannermen to war.

Selwyn’s latest missive was another from Lord Stannis, calling himself King and demanding fealty. His hand, Ser Davos, would be arriving to Tarth shortly to entreat with Selwyn.

A knock on the solar door brought Brienne into the room, coming again to see if her father had received word from the Citadel. “That is a lot of scrolls father” she exclaimed absently, seating herself in front of him at the desk. “Forgive me” she continued hastily as he met her eye, “it is no business of mine”.

“Actually, Brienne, I would welcome another opinion. My advisors want me to make Tarth’s place in this matter clear, but we disagree on the position I should take”.

Selwyn passed Brienne the scrolls to read herself. As she took in the words they contained, Brienne felt a wave of indignation and anger.

She couldn’t believe that this dishonourable man, this Kingslayer, was now an adulterer and a...a…she didn’t even know the word. He had fathered children with his own sister. And yet, he was a knight of the seven kingdoms, and a Kingsguard.

And no matter how hard she worked in the yard or how many good deeds she may do, as a woman Brienne could never be knighted. This struck Brienne as worse than unfair; it just wasn’t right.

A knight used to be, and should always be, a bastion of morality and righteous purpose. It should be a brave heart and good deeds that made a knight. Being man or woman paled in comparison to this.

Especially if being a man from a great house seemed to automatically qualify this Lannister as a knight when he clearly had no moral compass or sense of knightly duty at all.

Brienne’s thoughts went to Renly. He was kind to me, and gentle. He is brave, and handsome, and just. Renly is worthy of being a knight. And a king.

“Father. I think we should tell Ser Davos that we will support Lord Renly’s claim to the throne” Selwyn raised his eyebrows a little. “You do?”

“He is our liege lord father”. Brienne looked at her boots, reddening as she felt her father’s gaze.

“Well you are right about that. I have received word that many families in the Stormlands have already declared for Lord Renly and are sending him troops. And I agree, Renly does seem to be the most favourable option of those we have.”

“Will we send soldiers, father?”

“You know we have few enough men here for our own purposes Brienne, let alone sending them off across Westeros to fight for men who would be kings. I will write to Lord Renly. He has seen that Tarth is a small island, and he will accept our fealty without soldiers. I will tell Ser Davos of our decision when we meet”.

Brienne felt the kernel of an idea come into her mind, and a rush of passion flooded her veins. “I will go father. I will stand for Tarth”.

“Brienne…” said Selwyn in a warning voice. He stood and walked towards the door as if to dismiss her. Brienne pulled herself to her full height so she was looking her father in the eye, and willed her hands to be still.

“No father. I am as good a swordsman as any we have. I am strong and I can stand my ground. I can be an asset to Lord Renly, and to Tarth.”

Selwyn said nothing. He looked at his brave, strong, exceptional daughter, who had never done anything as he had expected, and yet he found he loved her all the more for it.

“What will I be if I stay here father?” said Brienne in a small and almost painful voice, mistaking his silence for refusal.

Selwyn took her face in his hands, his blue eyes searching her face. She could see his eyes shining.

“You are my only living child Brienne, and my heir. I cannot say I would be happy to let you go. But if this is your request, I will consider it. I only ask that you allow me to think on it for a time before we come to a final decision”.

“Thank you. Thank you Papa” whispered Brienne, turning away so he couldn’t see the tremble that had come into her lips suddenly.

-

Selwyn made Brienne wait a sennight.

He sought out Ser Goodwin, on the surface to reassure himself of Brienne’s prowess as a fighter, but secretly hoping this would give him some reason to refuse her. But her mentor had nothing but praise for Brienne’s skills and temperament in the yard.

Selwyn felt deeply afraid for his daughter, if she left Tarth and went to war. But he could not hold back the passing of time any more than he could hold back the tide on Tarth’s rocky shore.

He had tried so hard to protect her for as long as he could. But that was not his role anymore, no more than it would have been if she had married and moved away.

As much as he tried to hope otherwise, if Selwyn was honest with himself he didn’t know what would become of Brienne if she stayed. What will her future look like?

His only child and heir, tied to this island with him until his death, then cursed to become the lonely Evenstar in his place. It sounds like a legend from one of Brienne’s childhood storybooks, and not the one she would have wanted to live.

Brienne herself was filled with resolve. Neither one thing nor another, and mocked for trying to be either, Brienne was tired of walking a tightrope woven from the expectations of others. She could never be the graceful and marriageable lady her father needed as an heir. So it felt right to leave Tarth behind and dedicate herself to knightly purpose.

It might be a more solitary path than she had wanted for herself as a girl; but she was also extremely fortunate to have avoided an unhappy match. If loneliness was the price for this freedom, then she was prepared to pay it.

Once she made it to the mainland, Brienne hoped she might find respect and acceptance for her actions rather than being judged solely on her gender or the way she looked. Mayhaps it won’t matter who I am if I am honourable and do good.

Unbeknownst to Brienne, Selwyn reluctantly made his decision. With sorrow in his heart he planned a big gesture like he had so often when she was small; one final surprise, to show Brienne he accepted her choice but still needed to try and keep her safe.

-

When Selwyn asked Brienne to walk with him to the armoury, she only briefly thought it odd, so used had she been to indulging her father’s little notions throughout her life. So they set off together across the courtyard, the warm, still air filled with birdsong and the buzzing of insects.

“Are you well father?” “I am, Brienne. How goes your training?” Their conversation was a little stilted; Selwyn sought only to distract his daughter for the short walk to their destination. But Brienne was growing impatient with her father.

She had not yet had a blessing from him, and she was growing concerned that he would still refuse her. Her heart burned more each day with righteous passion for Renly’s cause, and Brienne could not abide the thought that she would not be allowed to attend him. I will ask him once our walk is over. He cannot keep me waiting for an answer.

When they entered the armoury, Ser Goodwin was already there, tidying the benches. Next to him on a stand was a brand new suit of armour. The dark plates were tinted a deep blue, and the rounded edges of the pauldrons glinted in the sunlight coming in behind them through the open door.

Brienne’s eyes widened in surprise as she turned to look at her father. In that moment Selwyn’s face, filled with expectation, pulled Brienne right back to her childhood. “A soldier needs a suit of armour before they leave for war” he said tentatively, waiting for her approval.

“Oh father” she breathed. “This is mine? You will send me to Renly?” “I will Brienne. I have already written the scroll.” Selwyn smiled at her a little sadly.

Ser Goodwin grinned at her from behind the armour. “And that is not all! You are to choose your own sword to take with you, fit for a warrior. A real one this time!”

Brienne felt a lump come into her throat. I am really going to leave. She could scarcely believe it, and suddenly became afraid, her heart skittering.

“I…thank you. Thank you both.” She said thickly, cutting herself off before her voice broke.

-

PRESENT

Brienne sits on the floor of her bedchamber, awkward in her armour, long arms rummaging in the wooden chest that she has flung open in the corner of the room.

The first of her discoveries, curled carefully into a small round tin, is the long blonde plait that looks like it did the day she cut it. Brienne opens the dented tin and touches the soft twists of hair, recalling the elation she had felt at cutting it that day in the yard.

Brienne is taken aback to see the large pile of linens and embroidery that the tin had been sitting on; she’d forgotten she had kept it all. A part of her must have hoped it would be needed again, despite the brutal realities of her failed betrothals.

She doesn’t need to dig far past this to find the yellow cushion embroidered with the nightingales of the Caron sigil. It feels so much smaller and lighter in her hand than it had done on the day it was given to her. She can remember the day, but not Bryant’s face, which has been lost to her by the passing of years.

Underneath the cushion, wrapped carefully in paper, is a child’s garment – an azure dress, and a delicate hair ribbon. Although the colour has begun to fade a little and some of the fabric has been nibbled by moths, Brienne can still scarcely believe that such a beautiful thing had ever been worn by her.

She stands up and holds the bodice against her breastplate, the full skirt reaching barely to her knees. Her heart clenches to think of the girl who wore this gown, back when she still believed she might be a storybook maiden. She has tried so hard to accept that road is closed to her, as much as the desire still lives deep inside.

Brienne pulls a faded green box from inside the chest, the design on the case worn, parts of the pattern missing where beads had come away long ago. She lays out its precious contents on the bed; her mother’s needles and thimble are still there, and Brienne recalls clumsily pricking her fingers as she attempted to learn to sew.

Reaching for the cracked and yellowed song book, Brienne flicks through to find her mother’s favourites which she had adopted as her own. She thinks of the excitement she had felt to begin her studies and to have a new companion in the Septa.

Brienne takes a deep breath and gently takes a dusty old book and a wooden sword from the chest. Ser Galladon the Perfect Knight, the leather book cover reads in raised red lettering. She brushes her thumbs over each delicate page, the browned and dry paper crackling at her touch.

Then she takes the wooden sword into her hand, automatically feeling for its weight and testing the balance. The pale wood is becoming discoloured now, and the handle is worn smooth from years of use.

Brienne remembers playing with this sword herself as a girl. She tries to picture Galladon and the games they might have played together, but her father has told her so many stories over the years, and now these tales are blended into her own few memories so she cannot distinguish between them.

It feels to Brienne now like her time with her brother had been merely a dream of someone else’s life, the ache of missing him long ago diluted into a general emptiness, a sense of something lost.

Brienne flinches as she sees what has been shoved to the bottom of the chest, only visible now the other contents have been disturbed. Wrapped in a square of cotton is a rose stem, browned and dried by the passing of the years. Nothing remains of the petals it had held – now there are only sharp thorns, hardened by age.

Brienne had kept it not as treasured memory, but to punish herself. A harsh reminder of what she is, and of so many things she can never have.

Spread around her now, Brienne looks once more over these keepsakes that write her own chapter of history. For better or for worse, she has grown into who she is through these experiences. For the most part she has not made choices, but they have been made for her – by others, or by the Gods themselves.

Who knows what other lives may have awaited her if the paths of her life had run differently? If her family had lived. If she had married Bryant. If the Septa had been a different person. If the Gods had graced her with beauty.

But what can she do other than live the life she has now? There is nothing to do but move forward, simply because it is impossible to change what has gone before.

Brienne stands slowly, brushing dust from her armour. The sun has risen high now, and there is a strong wind which will be ideal to sail by.

She crosses the room to where her practice sword rests in its stand. Wielding this sword she has battled fiercely to slay her demons, with a sister blade wrought from pain.

Brienne takes the sword into her hand and walks purposefully back to the chest. She packs each item carefully back inside, and gently lays on top the sword, clicking the lid shut and turning the creaking lock.

She blinks into the sun and squares her shoulders, clearing her head.

She is ready.