A Maiden on a Quest

The wooden boards beneath the monstrous, cloven hooves of her new form cracked and clattered as she scrambled nervously. The tavern had erupted in a flurry of action as if the room had spontaneously caught flame and everyone was trying to find a way to escape. Two men leaped up and caught the thick, burly fur of her neck. They smelled of beer and sweat from the field, likely farmers—strong from field work and wise with horses. But she was not a horse. And though she felt them tug hard against her neck, she didn’t stumble. In fact she barely felt them at all, and when her ears pinned flat back on her head and she turned to look at them, the men fell away.

All around her people were shouting. Their arms were waving. A trio of serving women had dove beneath a nearby table, and as Beck backed away, her hip crashed into its corner and caused them to screech in panic. The witch jumped a bit, startled, and swore to herself.

And then, cutting through the chaos like a blade, Brienne came into view. She felt a spark of relief and fondness, and then a foreign, braying sound involuntarily leaped from her throat. It drowned out whatever her friend had attempted to say to her the first time, but the second time was quite clear.

With an extreme amount of effort, the witch managed to turn her massive bulk around the way she’d came. Though it came at the expense of another table, which cracked beneath her hoof as easily as a roasted wishbone, and the door, which got caught on the massive horn protruding from her forehead and split. She took a step back, dislodging herself from the door, and maneuvered herself out the door. Her ears tilted backward, trained on Brienne, and when she heard her cross the threshold to the tavern, she shook her head, and the door snapped shut. 

It would buy them a few moments of privacy.

“Brienne!” She exclaimed a second time. The braying noise threatened to resurface as her happiness bubbled up once more, but she squashed it as best she could. It came out as a high pitched squeak of joy. Beck tilted her head, then looked down at her broad chest and thick, furry legs.

“I’m not—really sure.” She replied. And it was true. She hadn’t spoken the language of the place she had been, and the people hadn’t exactly upheld the laws of hospitality for her anyway. “IIII—think some sort of goat.” 

A very very big goat. Bigger in fact, than the three horses tied to the post not thirty feet away, watching them with their tense ears and whale eyes. She was at least a hand taller than them.

“Oh! I can get us away!” The witch hopped like an excitable kid, her hooves crunching against the flagstones of the tavern. “I’m fast! I’m really, really fast! And with my magic, I’m even faster! Like a dolphin, but on land! Here.”

Beck knelt so that both her front legs were curled beneath her just as the wood of the tavern door began to splinter. “Get on my back! I can carry you!”

“You have an apple on your head.” Brienne sounded slightly dazed, as if just awakening from a dream. She was used to Beck’s disruptive presence, or as accustomed to that as she could be. There was magic that clung to her friend that she had never known existed. She’d rather disliked and distrusted magic before, but now that she’d befriended a witch… if she was honest, Brienne still found most of the magic too unpredictable to be enchanting, but in spite of that she liked Beck. 

She did wish that her friend had waited to meet her outside, however. 

Brienne shook her head and pulled the dagger from her belt. “Here. Hold still.” She reached up, standing on the tips of her toes, and steadied Beck’s horn with one hand and using the other to cut away the apple. For a moment, she instinctively considered trying to feed Beck the two halves of the apple, but that felt odd considering that she was really a person. She let it fall gently to the ground instead. Beck could pick it up if she liked. There were more pressing concerns. 

She took stock of the situation, quickly. Beck had shouted her name in the tavern, and now more than ever people would be after her. First she was blamed for Renly’s murder, now this… she didn’t want to think what could happen to Beck if she was captured. She wasn’t going to let that happen. 

She’d left her saddlebags with her horse in the stable, intending to carry them up to her room after dinner. Fortunately, she had her gold, her bedroll, and both of her swords, but the rest… Jaime had given her that horse, a fine mare, and she was loath to leave her behind, not to mention the silver and copper coins that were still in the saddlebags. She closed her eyes briefly and let out an unhappy sigh. Perhaps if she left horse and coin at the inn, they would accept that as some small payment for the damage they’d done. She had to continue her quest, but could return later, perhaps, and apologize, as well as give the innkeeper some of her gold. She hated fleeing like a criminal, but once again it was necessary. 

The truth was Robb himself remembered very little of what happened after his mother had slapped Edwyn Frey. Just a pain in his side, right under the shoulder, and then another in his leg that made the floor come up to hit him in the head and make everything go black. Gods, he didn’t even know how he got the third wound in his chest. No, he didn’t remeber anything, no. But he had been told. Told of how Roose Bolton had taken part in it, of how they killed his men until the hall’s door sprung open and a small group of men, helped by Grey Wind, fought everyone in their way to help their king.

He had been told of how his mother sacrificed herself for his own safety. ❛Nothing will happen to you. Nothing. If anything befell you Robb, I would go mad. You are everything I have left…❜, those words at the time had just been a proof of her love and had warmed his heart, but now, due to the recent events, they had gained a new meaning and only brought guilt. ❛I am not dead yet, mother❜ he remembered saying, ❛ but oh you should ❜ replied a voice in his mind too loud for his liking. Yet rightly so. It had been him who broke the vow to the lord of the Twins and it should have been him who paid the price, not her.

He had been told of how the woman that had arrived with her from Renly’s camp had tried to do everything to avoid it. Fighting fiercely and even having to be dragged away by the others who saved him because she just wouldn’t accept leaving her. Though her loyalty seemed to not stop there. The first day the pain had lessen, he had gone to check on the other wounded helped by some servants, and Brienne ( if he remembered correctly that was her name ) had said ❛my lady❜ while looking at him and Robb could swear he noticed some relief in her voice when she thought his mother was well. Perhaps it was everything else surronding the situation, but he was touched by that.

And, after a few seconds of silence, he ordered for her to be treated as properly as if she were him. He owed her making sure she lived at the very least. After a few days, the Stark returned, being caught by surprise once more since he was speaking with the servant who cleaned his men’s wound and made sure they didn’t get infected when she adressed him. He was giving her his back but he quickly turned around and walked to her. Luckily reaching a chair next to her bed before the pain on his leg had made him fall.  ❝  I’m afraid I am not her  ❞  he answered. She would realize sooner or later, so why pretend?  ❝  though I’m as glad as I know she would be to see you are feeling better.  ❞

When Brienne blinked, the figure nearby resolved itself into Robb Stark. He had his mother’s auburn hair and blue eyes, but now that she was awake she could see that he was not her lady. “No,” she murmured in a hoarse voice, “I remember now, she...” It came back to her in pieces, the heavy, oppressive atmosphere before the feast had become a nightmare. She’d felt uneasy, but tried to dismiss it as her own discomfort in a crowd... she had whispered some misgivings to Lady Catelyn, who agreed that Walder Frey would not have forgiven so easily, but she’d never thought to expect something so brutal. 

Brienne had been unarmed, as had all the Stark men, and clad in a gown that Lady Catelyn had ordered sewn for her besides. The instant the fighting broke out she had sprung to her feet, narrowly avoiding being hit by a crossbow bolt. She’d grabbed Catelyn’s arm and pulled her under the table, hunched protectively over her. That had bought them a brief respite, until two men had flung the table away and tried to pull them apart. Brienne had kicked and clawed, but they were armed and armored and she was neither. One dragged her to her feet and pressed a knife to her throat. His breath was hot in her ear. Don’t be stupid. You’re better alive. But she had no intention of being taken hostage, nor of letting herself be separated from Lady Catelyn. 

She had grabbed the man’s arm hard and twisted away, and his knife had cut the side of her neck, but just shallowly- she’d dug her fingers into his hand, forcing him to drop the dagger... they’d grappled for it, but she seized it and plunged it into his side once, twice, three times until she was gasping for air and he was dying. She’d kicked free, not giving herself time to think about the first man she’d killed, and lunged after the man who had seized Lady Catelyn. Her fingers were slick with blood and the first knife blow was clumsy, grazing his ribs before she tightened her grip and stuck the blade into his back. He roared in pain and whirled around, seizing her by the hair. Before she could strike again, he smashed the side of her head into the wall. 

It could not have been but a moment that she lost awareness, but when the room came back into focus her dagger was gone and so was Lady Catelyn. She lurched upright, her head spinning, blood running down one temple, and staggered towards Catelyn. What was she doing in the open? Brienne did not understand what she was seeing until Catelyn fell to the ground. A wordless howl of anguish ripped itself out of her throat, cutting off into a strangled cry of pain as an unseen weapon bit into her thigh and she fell to her knees. 

As for what happened next, Brienne remembered little of that. All she knew was that the next blow had not come, and that someone had pulled her, struggling and protesting weakly, out of that hell. 

and more parental figures for similar reasons

“I can tell you must be,” the warmth in her voice did not go unnoticed. Renly Baratheon was easy to like; handsome and courtly, and delightful company. And now king, with a bride from wealthiest family in Westeros.  Kat had her own thoughts as for how strong his claim was, but knew better than to voice them. Lord Rowan father had sworn his loyalty to him, and thusly was hers. 

“What a story it is, however, your life. I’ve hardly ever heard of a woman being trained in arms, and with her skill bringing her to be sworn to a king no less, beyond what a stories a wet-nurse have told, or an occasional name in a history book.”  Had Kat been more for gossip, she had no doubt that lady Brienne would have ben more familiar to her than she was. But gossip left a foul taste in her mouth these days, and were an unpleasant noise in her ears. She avoided it as much she could.

“I’m finding myself…quite in awe if I’m to be honest.”

“I hope that I can serve him well.” There was to be a melee, she’d heard. Brienne intended to prove herself then. Nothing would make her happier than to serve on his Kingsguard. It wasn’t as though she’d ever entertained notions of marrying him herself... he was far too handsome for her, and of a higher status besides. That hadn’t stopped her from loving him, though. Serving him, being close to him... she would content herself with that. 

“In awe of me?” Brienne echoed, mystified. She felt the color rising in her face. It was very rare that anyone paid her a compliment, much less one she could trust, but Kat seemed sincere. Brienne looked down at herself, feeling especially self-conscious. 

Attacking someone that was unarmed and unexpected was not what Jaime considered honourable. But on the other hand, he had pushed a child out of a window, he had paid a whore to trick his brother, and he was the son of a man who drowned people in their sleep when he flooded their castle. Perhaps fighting fair and being honourable was just not in his blood as much as he wished for it to be. How he wanted it to be. Had it really been necessary for him to lose his fighting hand to start seeing the cracks in his own image? For how long could he ignore them going forward and cover them up before the image completely shattered? That was a question he’d spend the night pondering on, most likely. 

“He’s still a maester,” he insisted. “The Citadel just didn’t like a man with his own ideas,” perhaps he should be suspicious about him not being allowed to wear his chain anymore, but thus far, he had made sure that Jaime was alive, that his arm was no longer rotting and he hadn’t needed to remove it so… he trusted him. For now. What other choices did they have? 

”I am,” he nodded but his face turned hard and his eyes narrowed slightly. Heard him? What had she heard? “I don’t need dreamwine,” he said sharply. Then, with a short frustrated sigh, he spoke softer. “It makes my head foggy, like the fever again,” he didn’t like it, he could deal with his own demons without it. At least he had been able to sleep somewhat better since the pain stopped. The other one he would deal with himself. “Maybe you should ask for some,” he pointed out. there had been a few moments where he had exhausted himself when he’d thought he’d heard something behind him. It had not been the mummers, that’s for sure.

“What? I…” his brain stopped working for a moment it seemed and looked between Brienne and the open tent. After a moment or two, he walked inside, stooping a little to walk through the opening without hitting his head. When she knelt he looked confused before his eyes widened and he took a step back. “Brienne!” he gasped in surprise. But it didn’t take ery long for his mind to catch on and he started to laugh, his hand covering his mouth to not alert the men outside. How silly of him to believe for just a moment that Brienne would get on her knees for him for any other reason than her not being able to stand in there. He also tried very hard to ignore the twitch of his cock that he’d felt. 

“Fine. If it’ll put your mind at ease,” he said and instead of standing he sat down as well, but cross-legged in front of her and gestured for her to do the same before he started to unwrap his arm. “There, you see?” he said and held it up. Instead of jarred, red and literally rotting and stinking, his arm was smooth and clean, the stitches still healing

Why was Jaime defending Qyburn so vehemently? Brienne didn’t know, but for the fact that he was the closest thing they had to a real maester. Jaime was getting a little stronger, though... and as long as his hand was no longer festering, she had little strength to continue pressing the matter. Perhaps the fact that Jaime felt like arguing was a good sign. He had been so frustratingly contrary before. She let out a long breath through her nose and elected not to discuss it further. 

“As you say.” Despite how he acted sometimes, Jaime was a man grown and could make his own decisions. Brienne couldn’t blame him for wanting a clear head. Still, though, she worried. Men returned from every battle maimed, and she’d heard stories of them feeling hands or feet or entire limbs that were no longer there. The stump of his missing hand must still pain him terribly. The way he had screamed when the arakh cut through his wrist had been horrifying. Had Lady Catelyn screamed like that, Brienne wondered, when she’d seen the slaughter all around her? She barely realized that Jaime had kept talking. It took her a moment to respond. “Why would I need dreamwine? My wounds will heal quickly.” Jaime had pricked her leg in the fight, and the bear had clawed her arm, but neither injury was that serious. He’d sent that Qyburn to tend to her leg before he’d left. And then he’d come back to save her, not long after he’d been trying to kill her. It was strange, but things were different between them now. 

“What?” Brienne paused in the middle of pushing her things aside and looked up at Jaime in honest confusion. It was good to hear him laugh, probably, but she had no idea what was funny. She folded her cloak and set it aside, bemused. Whenever she hadn’t understood a joke as a child, it was usually because she was the subject of it. 

“Is that any way to speak to your wife?” Brienne asked, but she was smiling. Being called wench had long ago ceased to bother her, though there were other names Jaime had for her that she preferred. With that look on his face, Brienne thought, he could call her almost anything he liked. She let herself be pulled back, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “You cannot keep me trapped in bed all day,” she said, only half believing it, as she sat beside him. 

“It is my solemn duty to care for all my people’s needs.” She brought his hand to her lips. “But it can wait a short while.” Her father was the Evenstar, after all, not her, and he was both overjoyed that she had wed and insistent that she rest as much as possible. She hated to think how he would fuss over her if she was ever with child... except for the part of her that loved it. 

I want to stay with this blog and I will, it’s just I’ve been so busy with school

Olenna was pleased that the girl didn’t try to deny what was so plainly obvious to anyone who paid attention. Not that anyone could blame the girl and she was sure there was some event in their life that caused this level of loyalty and devotion. Though some would pry to find that reason Olenna decided to let this part of it lay with the girl, if she wished to tell why she was this way Olenna would listen. “No one ever goes to war looking for love, though the gods know plenty of men find it in the arms of camp followers or in the brothels of cities they stay in.” She snorted as she spoke, shaking her head.

There were neither of those here yet, so the men weren’t as distracted as they will eventually get.

“Do not close your eyes completely though. This war will bring you close to many people and you may be surprised at who you meet.” Olenna shrugged slightly but she hummed in answer to Brienne’s statement of a good king. There truly hadn’t been a good king for longer than the histories would care to admit, but it was rare for any man to resist what the power of being a king could do. She didn’t know if Renly would be able to resist the power either, but if he fell to it he would just be another name on the list. Time would be the only thing that would tell them what would happen to him.

“Oh she called me dull, slow and stupid.” Olenna chuckled deeply, a hint of repressed anger in the noise. Her granddaughter’s septa had been watched carefully to insure that the same couldn’t happen to her. “I refused to sit and take my lessons without a thousand questions and comments. But none were commented in favor of the sept. I find the whole thing another mess to be watched carefully. Too much power and too little oversight.” The current High Septon was a fool, but it would just take one person with the ideas to use the faith as a weapon against the people.

“Keep that faith child. Maybe you’ll be the influence to keep Renly on the straightest path.”

“But many wars have been fought for love, my lady,” Brienne replied. Why should a common soldier not go to war for the same reason? It was different with the men who were forced to leave their wives and children, but Brienne was lucky. The man she loved was with her, though she knew he did not return her feelings. That was fine. She could bear it, if just for the chance to be near him. “They should keep their minds on preparing for battle.” That was another distraction she need not concern herself with. 

Brienne shook her head. “Oh no, I- that will not happen.” None of the men were interested in her as more than a conquest; a way to win a few gold dragons and be able to brag that they had bedded Brienne the Beauty. It turned her stomach to picture them laughing together about what a fool she must be, to fall into bed with the first man who said a few sweet words to her. Brienne may have been a great ugly freak of a woman- everyone said so- but she was not stupid enough to believe them when they played their game. Even before that, it was not as though she’d made friends at Renly’s camp. At best, a few of the men tolerated her. Renly himself was the only exception. He was always favoring her with a sweet, easy smile. “I do not need to wed to be happy. I am content with my life as it is.”

One corner of her mouth pulled down in a lopsided frown. “That septa was wrong, my lady. I have found you to be none of those things.” It didn’t seem to bother Olenna much, but Brienne wondered if she’d be remembering Septa Roelle’s lessons when she was an old woman. If she ever lived that long... it was a strange thought. Brienne did not wish to die, but neither was she afraid of it. She had pledged her life to King Renly, and she was ready to give it in his service if need be. 

“Young women and young men are always falling for each other, child.” Olenna tutted, but waved a hand idly. “You’re allowed to follow your heart if you wish but use your head every so often as well. Don’t settle for some flash in the pan romance when you should be aiming for men who you bring to their knees.” Granted earlier the girl had done that to Loras, so maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. “Or one who makes you feel like you’re my height.” She doubted very many men would be capable of making the girl feel small, but it was a good measuring stick.

She listened to Brienne’s reasons for Renly being a better king and nodded slightly. The reasons were sound, something that anyone could say, not just a lady of one of his houses. And it sounded like something that Brienne was thinking of for herself instead of parroting what she had been told to say by her father or Renly himself. At the girl’s question she raised an eyebrow, surprised by the boldness of questioning her for her reasons. Olenna let herself be silent for a long while, watching the girl and taking sips of her tea every so often.

“I personally think that this whole mess is a farce.” Olenna finally, setting her cup down. “And a mess. Instead of keeping things in a private affair the lions decided to publicly kill a powerful lord with many friends. Then everything started cracking even further until we have this wonderful mess we all find ourselves in.” She sighed deeply and then gave the girl a stern look. “Don’t quote septas girl. They claim any girl child who doesn’t devote themselves to their faith as slow. Even I was called slow when I was your age because I refused to play dumb. And you are not a fool, you are a knight that any king would be lucky to have. I just don’t want you wasting talent following the wrong man.”

Brienne started to say, “I don’t-” but stopped herself. Olenna Tyrell wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going to pretend to believe that Brienne didn’t have feelings for Renly. Her face burned, her brow furrowed. “I would never- it would be inappropriate, even if there was any chance- I know there’s not- and he’s married to your granddaughter.” Lady Olenna must think her indiscrete as well as foolish. “I’m here to fight, not to find love. My father tried to make a match for me before... you will have heard the stories.” Her skin prickled with that familiar shame. “Besides, the men here are... unchivalrous.” 

She held her teacup in both hands now, listening. Lady Olenna was willing to hear her out, at the least. Perhaps her reputation was exaggerated. She was unwavering, but not unreasonable. Though she was still anxious, she made herself meet Olenna’s gaze. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she added, but calmly. She did not think it discourteous to speak in defense of her king. 

“You may well be right. I’m sure you’ve seen more than enough wars in your lifetime, my lady.” Beside her, Brienne was aware of her own youth and lack of experience. “But some good may yet come of it, if a good man can sit the Iron Throne.” She’s heard it said before that a crown warped a man’s mind and twisted his heart to love only power, but Renly would not be like that. 

“You are honest yes, but to me or to yourself?” Olenna sighed deeply as she looked into her cup. “Don’t mistake my eyes as blind due to my age, I’ve seen the looks. I know a deep longing and I know a deep passion.” The girl didn’t seem like the type to moon over a man without a good reason for it, though she knew little of Brienne honestly and could be completely wrong with her. Right or wrong the girl was aiming an arrow that she may never have a chance to use, but Renly was fickle as she stated before and his affections for his current partner may wane in the face of an equal loyalty and love from a new face.

Olenna let silence hand for a moment as she considered the girl carefully, not wanting to offend someone who already proved a skilled hand, though she doubted the girl had a temper to match it. Tarth was such a small and out of the way house, rarely brought into affairs such as what happened here and Olenna knew that the girl was there for Renly and no other reason. Otherwise, her father wouldn’t have allowed her to charge off after losing so many of his other children. “Explain to me how Renly is the best king? I am not asking out of rudeness or insult, I’m truly curious at why you believe so?”

“Let me also ask, if this was only between Stannis, who is a proven warrior and leader willing to die for his people, or Renly would you still say Renly has the better claim?” Olenna believed the words about the royal children. Family lines and coloring ran so deep into some families that no one could truly argue the children were suspicious. Now if they were truly the Queen’s brother’s children Olenna doubted. The boisterous man never seemed to show an interest in any women truly and she thought he moved more towards her youngest grandsons view of the world than any other.

“I am unsure what you mean, my lady,” Brienne said, though in that moment she was less than perfectly honest. Olenna Tyrell was shrewd and perceptive, and Renly was so handsome that many must’ve lost their hearts to him. She was not the first, nor would she be the last. It was different with her, though. For another young maiden, being taken with the king would be only natural, even for those below his station. For an ugly woman, though, the idea of finding love- of daring to feel it, even- was laughable. “I admire King Renly, as all his men do. That is why I follow him.” 

Brienne took another long drink of tea, then set her cup down and picked at a loose thread on her trousers, waiting for Olenna to continue. “You haven’t given insult,” she murmured. It took more than a pertinent question to offend her, though she knew that Olenna could do so if she wished. She was keeping her sharp tongue at bay, like a blade in its scabbard. Brienne took a breath and let it out slowly, resolved to speak with more restraint. “He is a good man. A kind man, and honorable, with a king’s courtesy. He cares for his men and inspires their loyalty.” Renly had his enemies, of course, but he was beloved by thousands. 

@coerulus

She wasn’t really sure where it all went so horribly wrong. 

It was some point after the conversation with the king of the rabbits, past the tumultuous sea crossing clinging to the neck of a large seal, but before she’d been chased out of Last Hearth by a group of twenty men on horseback. The couple of months prior were a moonstruck blur where she’d only been half lucid at her best moments, being dragged gleefully along by the siren’s call of nature that had drawn her away from her friends and into the untamed wilds. She knew only a few things for certain: 

One: She was still a witch (if not a bit—clumsily skilled in her current condition) Two: She humans found her current form both horrifying and novel (which meant, as with anything else on four legs fitting that criteria, she was best suited for slaying and stuffing) And Three: A horn was, in equal parts, hazardous as it was useful, but shoving the tip into an apple kept her from jabbing into trees and getting stuck.

It took her three days to get a locator spell to work reliably enough, and several more to traverse the land and catch up to her ever-moving target. But her what her new form lacked in convenience and hygiene, it made up for in strength, and a near-limitless energy. Even by the time she reached the tavern outside the small farming village, she was still wide-eyed and bushy tailed… literally.

Thank god it was farmers. She thought to herself, inching out of the shadow of the trees to draw closer after the sun had gone down. Horses threw up their heads and spooked at their hitches, the leather groaning and the wood threatening to snap. A small dog began barking so loud and incessantly it wheezed for breaths between yaps. The single drunkard laying in a puddle of what she hoped was water looked up at her with bleary eyes, burped questionably, and then started to laugh.

Beck pushed against the door with her magic, but it was too clumsy. It faltered, and the wood splintered and cracked, singed with black marks. So, laboriously, she tilted her head, and lipped at the handle of the door. It took some finessing, but eventually the handle lodged into her mouth in just the right way, and she was able to pull the door ajar. With her bulk, she shoved the rest of the way in.

“Brienne!” She had to squeeze herself through the tavern door, and her eyes were still adjusting. She couldn’t make anyone out just yet, but the humans inside turned to get a single look at her and stopped in a stunned silence. Two men bolted out of the way, swearing, as she pressed her large furry body deeper into the inn. Her horn jabbed a lantern, but the apple on it thankfully kept it from getting caught on her. More swearing, people were shouting now, waving their arms about. Beck bumped a table and it scooted so violently that the wood against stone honked like a goose. 

“Fuck. Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me. My apologies madam.” Her magic was too out of control in this form to send to just one person, but her apologies apparently only heightened the confusion in the bar. Pinning her ears back she swore to herself and called again, “Brienne! Brienne I am back!”

At this point, Brienne was almost ready to give up hope of ever finding Lady Sansa. It had never been an easy thing, and she hadn’t expected to find Sansa Stark right away, but she had hoped to find something. She couldn’t abandon her quest, though. She had made a solemn vow. So instead she pressed on, the days melting into each other with each dead end. 

Sometimes she wished for company on the road, though not from any of the people she encountered. Rather she thought of Jaime, or Beck. Jaime had his own duties, though, and Beck... who knew where she was? Unlike with Sansa, Brienne was not much concerned with Beck’s safety. She had magic to defend herself, and it was in her nature to disappear sometimes. Brienne did miss her, though. She was an odd companion, but a friendly one, and amusing. It always cheered her, to have Beck around. 

There was one time she thought Beck may be returning, when she had stopped to camp under a tree. She did not like sleeping out in the open, but she was exhausted and far from the nearest inn. It seemed that no sooner had she closed her eyes than she startled awake, scanning the forest for friend or foe. It was more likely to be the latter, but the possibility of Beck returning then did cross her mind. In the end it was nothing, just some wild animal prowling the woods. Unable to relax enough to get back to sleep, she’d ended up continuing on. 

The day had been uneventful, and Brienne had to keep herself from dozing off during the long stretch before the next town. The sun was shining, but there was little warmth in the air. She must find Sansa before winter set in, or it would be all the more difficult. 

Finally, as the sun was going down, she found a tavern where she could spend the night. The common room was only half-full and Brienne took a table in the corner, stifling a yawn as she supped on boiled beef and potatoes. She did not expect a feather bed, but she was looking forward to spending the night in a proper room. As she chewed, resting her face on her hand, a man approached her. He opened his mouth to make some rude remark, but before he got the words out they were both distracted by a commotion coming from the doorway. 

Brienne was on her feet at once, her hand gripping her sword in its scabbard. At first she thought some wild animal had burst into the room- and she soon realized that she had been partially right. With a cry of alarm, Brienne pushed through the crowd and approached Beck with her hands held up defensively, as though trying to calm a spooked horse. Gods be good, what had Beck gotten herself into now? 

“Lady Brienne,” Kat repeats, a fond smile curling her lips. “My name is Katya Rowan”  After letting her knees bend in a quick curtsy, she makes a motion towards the path. “Shall we then?”

Pebbles crunched underfoot and the evening air was nipping lightly at Kat’s skin, the coming of autumn making itself known in the chill. It was invigorating however, and though she knew little of her newfound companion, she felt soothed by her presence.  “You mentioned you came to fight for King Renly,” the choice of words had intrigued her, and found herself unable to vocie her curiosity. “You are…a warrior then?”

“Well met, my lady.” She responded with a small bow and a shy, tentative smile of her own. 

Highgarden was aptly named, Brienne thought as they walked. It was a fertile land, and beautiful. It was not too dissimilar to the gardens at Evenfall Hall, though the gardens here were larger and grander. Tarth made up for it with the mountains and forests she’d roamed as a child.  

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Brienne.” Niamh’s voice was soft. “I know I can’t convince you to see yourself the way I see you, but…I think you’re beautiful.” She let her hand rest on Brienne’s arm for a moment longer before pulling it away.

She gave the knight a warm smile, hoping to put her at ease. “Does this mean that you don’t want any more kisses?” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

“That is an... unusual opinion.” Where was Niamh from that she would consider someone like Brienne beautiful? She ran one thumb over the base of the other, staring down at her hands. “My septa taught me to beware of the boys who complimented me. That they were all lying in hopes of winning my father’s favor.” And she had been right. 

He’d never particularly liked Lady Stark and he knew she hadn’t thought very highly of him either, but he had respected her, in some ways. However, what he had heard the men tell was not what he believed she, or anyone, deserved. It was brutal and even though he had been through and seen his fair share of torture and death, this would be edged in his memory forever. Like he had been there himself even though he hadn’t. That was pretty damn sure.

“Yes - I heard them. And if anyone were walking down the road we travelled on, they would know too.” He rolled his eyes at that. The men hadn’t been subtle or precisely quiet. He turned his head to look in the direction of the fire, the look on his face wasn’t a favourable one, even mixed with the exhaustion that still ran wild in his body, but it melted away, somewhat, when he turned back to her with a deep sigh. “I don’t think anyone deserves that,” was what he found himself to say instead.

“Nothing.” he slowly shook his head. For the first time, he realized that he actually missed his locks. Not because they made him look more like Cersei, or that it was something he was known for, the golden locks of Jaime Lannister, but to be able to hide behind them every now and then. And the warmth, most definitely the warmth. At her question, he looked down at his arm and scoffed lightly before he lifted it slightly so it was more visible to her. “Still gone.” He said dryly, but his eyes showed a sense of dark humour in them. 

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” the agony had stopped, the burning had stopped, but it was still sore and tender while it healed. Properly, for the first time since it was cut off. “Sometimes it itches,” he offered. “Sometimes it hurts,” he shrugged. That was the worst, not only could he sometimes smell it, but he could also feel it and there was nothing to do about it because there was nothing there. He’d woken up screaming a few times. “Of course, he is a maester,” He defended. The part about him having been expelled for his ‘original thinking’ he kept left out of the conversation. “He was very sure about what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. It’s been fine since he came along. Do you want to see?” It wasn’t actually an invitation but to try and keep her away from it. He sighed again and gestured for her tent instead. “Shall I walk you in?”

“They’re monsters.” Her voice was rough and fragile all at once, the words forcing themselves out of her throat like ground glass. She didn’t mean the men gathered around the fire, however. Many such men were of the same nature, callous and crude. They were not so vile as the perpetrators of the Red Wedding. No one could be. Men died in battle, knights and soldiers and smallfolk, but this ambush... no one had gone there expecting to die. Unarmed, unsuspecting... Brienne wondered if her lady might even have found some small joy in the celebration. 

She shook her head emphatically. “No,” she said. “They do not.” Especially not her. Lady Catelyn Stark had known more grief than the gods should ever visit upon one person. Brienne imagined how happy she must’ve been, with her husband and children around her. Even the frozen North would’ve seemed warm. But then... she had not truly known Catelyn Stark but in the depths of mourning- both of them grieving their lost loved ones- but she’d been an honest woman, caring and brave and good. 

From the look on her face it was plain that Brienne did not enjoy his little jape. Her eyes were full of guilt. With me guarding him, it is a miracle that a hand was all he lost. Jaime had apologized for saying something similar to her in the bathhouse, but he had been right. “He doesn’t wear a chain,” she mumbled, but as long as Jaime was stronger and no longer in danger of dying she would have to accept that he was now in Qyburn’s care. “If you are certain... I’ve heard you sometimes,” Brienne ventured, “at night. You should ask him for dreamwine.” She’d been unable to sleep herself, though not from her injuries. It reminded her of the nights they’d spent on the forest floor, awake with pain or fear, united in their misery. They were supposed to be out of danger now, but when she lay awake at night Brienne did not feel safe. Just alone. 

I know the way in, she might’ve said. Her tent was right there. But she did want to check on Jaime’s hand, and he had offered to walk her in... 

               Did the beastly woman really think Cersei cares who Brienne know? or how well they may or may not have recovered form an injury? If so she was sorely mistaken. Seven hells, why did people enjoy the sounds of their own voices so much?                              “I don’t think i understand why you’re telling me this? sure If i had my right hand tied behind my back and was given sword training with my left, in two moons i would be better with it, than i ever were with my Right.” Seeing as she didn’t know swordsmanship either way. “But I don’t need Jaime to be acceptable, okay or even decent, he is lord commander of my son’s kingsguard. - and Less than two weeks ago, Tommen’s older brother was murdered. he doesn’t need mediocre guards, he needs the very best.”

               Among which, Jaime could no longer count himself. her frustration with the straw haired cow was ever growing.  “can’t you understand that, it is not a matter of bragging rights? I don’t give three shits what people think about him, this is  about survival.  Jaime used to be the very last line of defense, me and my children had. and now he  - don’t you understand Tommen wields a blade better than he does? “ there was once more tears prickling in the corners of her eyes, but she is to caught up her own emotions,  of fear and fury and heartbreak, to realize it just yet. “Can’t you get that past that thick skull of yours?” 

            She pauses then, needing to breath, as the words had spilled out faster than intended. a moment of weakness. had resulted in her confessing more to this woman than she should have. Admitting to her how terrified she was, how the world seemed to close in on her, and there was nothing she could do to halt it. - and she cursed herself for admitting to it. 

Privately Brienne thought that, if Cersei had not wished to speak with her, she should not have come into her room. She couldn’t say that, however. There was no point in continuing to try to convince Cersei; the woman believed only what she wanted. She might have pointed out that there were six other members of the Kingsguard, that Jaime still had eyes to watch for danger and men to command, that he was bound to serve for life, with or without a hand. She did not. Cersei was right on one count- she had just lost her son. It was no wonder she didn’t feel like arguing. Brienne didn’t either. 

By all accounts, Joffrey had been a cruel boy, and Cersei did not make herself an easy woman to pity, but she had been his mother, and it was plain that she was grieving one child while fearing for the remaining two. In a strange way, she almost reminded Brienne of Lady Catelyn. 

Brienne averted her eyes when she saw Cersei again on the verge of tears. “I am sorry about your son, Your Grace. I am sure that they are still well protected.” There were other knights besides Jaime. Ser Loras, for one. He was in King’s Landing now, too, and he was a highly skilled fighter. Jaime, though... it was true that he would not be easily replaced. “I am sorry about Jaime as well. I pray that you are spared further tragedy.”