Brienne stood beneath the high windows of her father's hall, hands folded awkwardly before her, wishing she might sink through the stone floor and vanish beneath Evenfall's foundations.
She hated these moments in her life, when the castle was filled with nobles and her lord father forced her to greet them. The King was coming to Evenfall, Lord Selwyn said, you must appear before him, child. Brienne's father loved her well, but not enough to save her from humiliation. Yet what could he do, it was he who was cursed with her, the ugly giant as a daughter.
The lords had arrived past noon, nobles from across Westeros, young and old. The yard below had filled with banners snapping in the sea wind—silver moons, crowned stags, black bats, golden roses. Brienne had watched them from the window tower as their riders clattered through the gates in bright armor and bright laughter.
Now they crowded her father's hall.
They acted polite in front of her and her father, while sniggering behind their backs. Brienne knew why, she had worn a silken dress as befits the daughter of a noble lord. The silk was blue, the color of Tarth's waters, embroidered with pale moons. Septa Roelle had laced it so tight Brienne feared the seams might split if she drew a full breath.
Yet the only dress that had ever suited her ugly frame was the mail and plate her father had made for her a year past. In armor she knew how to stand, how to move, how to breathe. Silk left her feeling like a mummer in borrowed clothes. Else she looked like the monsters from the children's tale, the men knew that too.
A knot of young knights stood near the hearth. One of them, a slender youth with auburn curls, glanced her way and whispered something. The others chuckled and pretended not to look towards her.
Brienne kept her eyes on the floor, anger bubbling beneath her skin. She did not care for it, no matter how it hurt, she did not want their admiration. She did not want any man's admiration who could not best her in combat. She only wanted to be near him.
She wondered if lord Renly would be here too, he was never far away from the king. The silk scratched at her neck. Brienne had the uneasy sense that one careless motion might tear the sleeves. Armor never betrayed her so.
"My lord, My lady," then came a sudden deep voice. The hall had been full of murmurs, but the voice carried through them easily.
Brienne turned and saw a tall man, taller than her father and even taller than her, standing paces in front of the high table. He looked nothing short of giant, wide across the shoulders, the sort that filled a doorway simply by standing in it. His face was hard and weathered, marked by old scars and a nose that had been broken more than once. She saw the dark brown curls of hair and the sad hazel eyes beneath that seemed to soften the imposing man, if only a little.
The man wore a plate of a faint blue hue, the metal polished but plainly made for war yet she could tell it was made with good steel. In his armor upon the breastplate there was the seven-pointed star of the Faith carved in white. A large shield hung across his back by a leather strap.
Behind him came a priest.
The man was from the east, that much was plain even to Brienne's unlearned eye. He was tall and fat besides, his robes deep red and heavy despite the warmth of the hall. His head was shaved smooth, though a small beard clung stubbornly to his chin. The priest's dark eyes moved slowly over the room, taking in the banners, the knights, the lord upon the dais.
A red priest, Brienne realized. She had heard tales of such men, servants of the eastern god of flame.
The pair advanced and bowed to her lord father and to Brienne who sat beside him, stiff in her silks, her hands folded in her lap lest anyone see how ill at ease she was.
Lord Selwyn regarded them with mild curiosity. "Rise, ser, and state your name."
The big knight straightened.
"My thanks, my lord. I am Darius, a Galladon of the order of Saint Davos of White Harbor," Darius spoke softly for a man his size, his voice low and even. "My lord Arthur has bid me to bring you this chest."
He stepped forward and held out the small chest he carried in his arms. It was no bigger than a strongbox a steward might use for coin but it was bound in iron bands and sealed with pale wax. Brienne saw the impression of a merman upon the seal, the sigil of House Manderly. She wondered what might be in there.
She had heard of the order before. Holy knights sworn to the Seven and named for Galladon of Morne, the perfect knight of Tarth's old tales. The Manderlys had sought her father's leave before founding it, saying the name's honor belonged rightly to Tarth, whose lords claimed descent from the hero.
Her father had agreed readily enough. Brienne had never known why. Perhaps he had been pleased to see the old stories honored. Or perhaps it had seemed a small thing to grant.
Lord Selwyn smiled when he saw the chest. "Ah, yes, I was waiting for its arrival," he said warmly. "Thank you, good ser. I hope the carts are here too."
Darius inclined his head. "They have been handed over to your steward."
"Splendid!" said Lord Selwyn. "Now enjoy the food and rest your weary bones, ser."
Her father laughed merrily as he spoke, his voice echoing in the rafters. "Evenfall Hall has never sent hungry men away from its hearth."
Darius bowed again, deeper this time. "House Tarth is as noble as they are gracious, my lord."
The red priest beside him dipped his head as well, though the gesture seemed more measured. His dark eyes lingered on the dais a moment longer before he turned. Together the two men stepped back from the high table.
Brienne felt the priest's eyes brush over her only for a heartbeat. He must have been shocked like the others were, she thought. Most men are like this when they see her for the first time. The quick widening of the eyes, the glance exchanged with companions, the effort to hide a smirk. Even those who meant no harm could not help it.
Yet the great knight showed none of that. His eyes did not wander. If he felt any surprise, he hid it well. Several knights parted to let them pass. A few studied Darius openly, while others whispered about the red priest.
A strange pair, she thought and wondered, why a holy knight of the Seven walked beside a red priest.
The Faith did not look kindly upon the eastern god, or so the septons said. Yet the two men had seemed comfortable enough in one another's company. Perhaps the road made strange brothers of men.
The hall had grown louder since their departure. Wine cups knocked against the tables, and somewhere near the hearth a lute had begun to strum a merry tune. Servants moved between the benches with platters of roasted capon and bowls of buttered turnips.
Brienne felt every laugh like a stone in her boot. Soon they would start dancing. She could picture it too clearly: the young knights swaggering across the floor, asking the pretty ladies to dance. Some might ask her as well, out of courtesy, or mockery, or drunken boldness. Each one was worse than the other, she would not bear it.
Brienne leaned closer to her father and spoke in a low voice. "Father, I wish to leave."
Lord Selwyn turned to her at once. Concern creased the corners of his eyes. "Brienne, are you not feeling well my child?" His voice held no suspicion, only worry. That made it worse for her.
Brienne wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to say that every glance in the hall felt like a blade drawn across her skin. That the silk clung to her like a noose in her neck. That she would rather face a dozen armored knights in the yard than endure another hour of polite smiles.
But she had said such things before and nothing had changed. Her lord father, as rich as he was, could not change how they looked at her. He could not make her any less of a monster.
So instead she said, "Yes father, I am not, forgive me but I need to rest for the night."
Lord Selwyn studied her face. For a moment she feared he might see through the lie. Her father knew her well. At last he sighed softly. He leaned closer so the others at the high table would not hear. "Go, if you must, but when the king arrives you will be here."
His hand rested briefly upon her arm. "I pray you recover my child."
Brienne nodded. "I will, father."
She rose from the bench before she could lose her courage. The movement drew a few glances from the nearby tables. A knight she did not know paused mid-sentence to watch her stand. His companion followed his gaze, then murmured something that made the first man grin.
Brienne kept her eyes forward. The silk skirt dragged awkwardly around her legs as she crossed the hall. She nearly stepped on the hem once and had to catch herself against the back of a bench.
The lute played louder now. A pair of young squires had begun clearing space in the center of the floor. Too soon, she thought. Seven save me. Fortunately for Brienne, she reached the great doors before the music truly began.
The guards pulled them open and the cool evening air rushed in from the sea. It smelled of salt and wet stone, clean and sharp after the warmth of the crowded hall. Brienne breathed it deeply. Behind her the laughter faded as the doors closed again. This was better than nothing.
She walked slowly across the yard, past the torchlit walls and the stableboys leading horses toward their stalls. Above, the towers of Evenfall stood pale against the darkening sky. She knew there would be no excuses before the king. Her father had made that plain enough.
As she walked the torchlit corridors toward her chamber, Brienne could feel the eyes upon her back even here. Servants hurried past with platters and pitchers, squires ran messages between the towers, and guards leaned on their spears beside the doors. Some looked away quickly when she passed.
Others did not trouble to hide their curiosity. Near the archway that opened onto the yard a knot of young men stood speaking together, their cups in hand. Brienne tried to pass without looking at them.
One nudged the other. "Will you take a look at that monster?"
The other replied, "Gods, bless the poor bastard who marries her."
The others laughed. The sound scraped along her nerves like a dull blade. Brienne walked on, her knuckles whitening in rage where her hands curled against her skirts.
Another voice rose behind her. "If I ever had a daughter as ugly as her, I'd sooner make her a silent sister so the world did not see her face."
More laughter followed. She did not turn around. Brienne kept walking, her stride long and stiff, but the tears came all the same. They slid hot down her cheeks before she could stop them.
They don't know me, she thought fiercely. They know nothing of me.
Her mind fled to a different memory. Music beneath green banners. Torches shining as he danced with her. Not out of mockery, nor from drunken sport. Merely because he saw her. He had smiled at her as though she were no different from any other lady in the hall.
Brienne did not need anyone else since then. As he was more than enough, the handsomest of them all.
Her chamber door closed behind her with a heavy thud. Moonlight spilled faintly through the narrow window. Brienne stood still for a moment, breathing hard. Then she tore at the laces of the dress. The silk fought her clumsy fingers, but at last the knot gave way. She dragged the gown over her head and flung it across the room. It struck the wall and slid to the floor in a soft heap.
"Bloody thing," she muttered.
She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand. From the chest beside her bed she drew the leather armor she kept there. The worn cuirass that still fit perfectly. Brienne felt steadier once the armor settled across her shoulders.
Without another thought she left the tower. The night air greeted her again in the yard. She crossed the grounds quickly and found the narrow path that wound down the cliffs below the castle. Ser Goodwin had shown her this place long ago.
The path twisted through scrub and stone until the cliffs opened to a stretch of pale sand where the Narrow Sea met the shore. The beach lay empty. Moonlight shimmered on the dark water, and far out in the bay the waves rolled and broke against the rocks that had given Shipbreaker Bay its name.
Brienne walked out onto the sand. The wind tugged at her hair and the salt stung her eyes. She did not mind either. This is where she had learned her first lessons. Ser Goodwin had set the practice dummies along the sand himself, driving the wooden posts deep so the sea winds would not topple them. Now the dummies stood silent while that old man was gone, and his place had become a place for her memories.
Brienne drew her sword. The steel whispered free of its sheath. She began slowly at first, cutting left, then right, the blade humming through the cool night air. The leather creaked softly as she moved. Soon the strikes grew harder. Sand sprayed beneath her boots as she lunged forward and drove the blade into the stuffed torso of the nearest dummy. She wrenched it free and turned to the next.
She struck again. And again. The dummy rocked on its post beneath the blows. Her arms burned. Her breath grew ragged. Still she did not stop. Brienne fought for how long she could not say. The moon had climbed higher by the time her strength began to fail her. At last the anger left her body the way the tide leaves the shore, slowly and all at once.
Her sword lowered. She stood breathing hard, sweat cooling on her skin beneath the leather. Finally she sat down upon the sand, exhausted, and drank wine from the skin she had brought with her. The sour red tasted sharp on her tongue.
The waves rolled in and out beyond her boots. Brienne watched the night sky filled with stars. The septa used to say to her that when our loved ones died, the gods made them into stars. The thought had comforted her once, when she was small and lonely in the great halls of Evenfall.
Sometimes she imagined her mother among them, watching from the heavens with gentle eyes. Sometimes she thought her older brother might be there as well, and the stillborn sisters she had never known.
Whenever she felt lonely and sad, she would come here and look up at the sky. Especially since her father had started taking other women to his bed. Brienne did not begrudge him that. A lord must have heirs. But the castle felt stranger still when the women came and went.
Tonight she wanted to speak to the stars again. She tilted her head back and searched the sky, but the words would not come. What could she tell them that they did not already know? That the men in the hall laughed at her? That she had run from their laughter like a frightened child?
Her fingers tightened around the wineskin and then Brienne rose to her feet. She wiped the sand from her greaves and sheathed her sword. There was nothing for her to say tonight.
The climb back toward the castle left her breathing hard. Brienne had nearly reached the narrow stretch of ground beneath the outer wall when she saw the pair of strangers again. The two men stood near the mountain's edge outside the castle. The giant knight pointed out across the bay, and the priest laughed in a low rumble.
Curious though she was, Brienne had no wish to linger near two men alone in the night, even if it was right outside her own home. The castle gates were not far ahead. She meant to pass them without a word.
But before she could be on her way, the knight shouted, "You there, stop at once!"
"Who are you, you are not supposed to be here." Darius spoke as he started walking toward her, his boots grinding softly on the gravel. "Explain yourself!"
Brienne halted and turned towards the pair. The priest followed a step behind, his red robes stirring in the wind. He looked her up and down and laughed. "By the looks of you, you should've picked another profession, thief."
Brienne felt the anger rise swift and hot. "I am not a thief and this is my home, I can go anywhere I wish."
Her voice carried sharp across the stone. The red priest laughed again, louder this time, as if the whole thing amused him greatly.
Darius, however, stopped where he stood. Up close the knight looked even larger than she had thought in the hall. The broken nose gave his face a rough cast, but there was no mockery in his expression, only regret.
"Forgive me my lady," he said softly, dipping his head. "We did not know, forgive our rudeness."
His voice made Brienne think he meant what he said. But she had been fooled before. She studied him a moment longer before answering. "What are you doing here, ser?"
Darius smiled. It softened the hard lines of his face somewhat.
"I merely wished to see more of the homeland of the hero whose name I bore proudly," he said. "They said Galladon of Morne slew the dragon right here on Evenfall."
He gestured toward the cliffs and the stretch of land beyond.
Brienne followed the motion of his hand. The stories came back to her easily enough. Every child of Tarth knew them. Her older brother had been named Galladon. The aching memory stirred faintly in her chest, though she had been very small when he died.
He was the one who bore the hero's name, she thought. It belonged to him, not to these men of North
"The dragon was Urrax," Brienne replied more sharply than she intended. "Or so the songs claim."
Darius's smile widened slightly. "Then the tales are true?"
Brienne shrugged, not saying anything further.
The red priest studied her for a moment, the torchlight catching the smooth curve of his shaved head.
"Forgive us, my lady," the red priest spoke softly. "We shall leave you alone."
Darius nodded and bowed his head. "Aye, we will. Goodnight my lady." He bent to take up the large shield he had set upon the ground beside the cliff path.
Brienne had not noticed the knight's shield before. Before she could stop herself she shouted, "Wait!"
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