Brienne stepped closer, boots crunching lightly on the gravel. Darius paused, turning slightly as she approached. Up close the shield was stranger still. The surface was etched with delicate lines and sigils that seemed almost alive in the dim light. They curved and crossed like vines of silver fire. The seven-pointed star at the heart of it gleamed softly, as if a lantern burned somewhere beneath the steel.
Brienne felt a prickle run along her arms. "What manner of sorcery is this?"
Then the red priest burst out laughing, "See, Darius, even your own people see for what it is."
Darius ignored the priest's jape. "Forgive my friend my lady, Thoros of Myr is known for his tales."
He held the shield up reverently, both hands steady upon its rim. "This is no illusion, no falsehood my lady, tis devotion. The Seven above have blessed this shield with their light, as they do in other arms of my brothers, so, we may protect their flock."
She had grown up with the Faith as deeply as one could, Septa Roelle had made certain of that. She knew the prayers and the teachings well enough. Yet Brienne had never seen the Seven answer so plainly.
"How… why… did they give you such blessings?" Brienne asked incredulously.
"I cannot say my lady," Darius replied with a small smile. "The Seven works in mysterious ways. But what I can say is that they did not give this blessing easily."
Would the Seven bless my shield too? Perhaps when she finally became a knight like him. The thought soured almost as soon as it formed. Women can't be knights.
"Why were you named Galladon?" Brienne asked, her mind running fast with thoughts. She had always noticed that her father had too many dealings with the Mermen. Ships came and went between Tarth and White Harbor more often than the storms came. Whenever she asked, her father would answer that these were matters of trade.
But if it were only trade, then why had her father let the Manderly's steal her ancestors name, her brother's name. His memory lingered like a faint shadow in her mind, she could not remember how he looked, yet somehow still felt his absence in her life.
The knight stared at her kindly, though it was plain he did not quite know what answer she sought. Before he could speak, she spoke again, softer now. "I had a brother with that name, why would my father let his name be used by strangers from the north so freely."
The wind stirred between them. For a moment the only sound was the distant crash of waves against the rocks below. Darius regarded her quietly. There was no offense in his face, only a sort of patient understanding. At last he smiled. "We know of him, my lady. All who belong in our order do."
Brienne blinked.
Darius continued, his voice gentle. "Each Galladon who dons their blue cloak stands vigil for your brother at the Sept of Snows, by decree of our order and of House Manderly."
Brienne felt the sting of tears before she could stop them.
"I do not know why your father allowed us this privilege," Darius went on, "but I do know he had not stolen this name. We are merely honouring your ancestor, my lady and a hero of our faith."
She had not expected this. The septons who came at Evenfall had preached often enough that the Manderlys were wayward in their faith. They obeyed the Seven, aye, but not always the High Septon's commands. They spoke darkly of the Hospitallers of White Harbor whose priests answered more to their lord than to the Starry Sept. That they were borne of greed not the gods. Enemies of the Faith, some called them. Heretics.
Brienne always believed what the septons preached but now she could not be so certain.
"Standing vigil… what does it mean?" Thoros asked suddenly, "I had heard this from your people before."
Brienne wiped quickly at her cheek, embarrassed by the tears.
Darius shifted his shield slightly upon his arm. "It is a prayer, priest. When a brother of our order finally passes all the trails of a Galladon, he spends a night within the Sept of Snows," he said, "Standing upright before the Warrior's altar, with naked feet and an empty belly, wearing only a simple white garb."
Thoros gave a small grunt of amusement. "It seems even the Seven must be cold up there."
"Aye, the sept gets quite cold in the night," the knight laughed and continued. "But that is part of our faith."
Darius then looked at Brienne and said, "Your brother's name is in our prayers through each vigil, candles are lit for him whenever a Galladon visits a sept." He gave a soft smile, "My lady, we remember."
Brienne swallowed back her tears and said, "Forgive me, ser, I did not know."
"There's nothing to forgive," Darius smiled, "Few beyond our order knows, mayhaps the fault lies with us."
She looked away toward the dark waters of Shipbreaker Bay. The wind tugged strands of her hair across her face.
"In my faith," the red priest said lazily, "the dead are remembered with fire."
Brienne glanced at him. "And does that bring them peace?"
The priest smiled faintly. "The dead's peace is for the living to imagine, for they do not care."
Darius cleared his throat softly and gave a look to the priest.
Thoros smiled gently and said, "Though your way sounds much kinder, one has to admit. There is a certain honour in remembering."
Brienne looked sharply at him. For one bitter instant she expected to find mockery in his face. Men often smiled before they mocked, when they meant to wound. But there was none.
Thoros was smiling, aye, but not for what she thought. His eyes were bright with something that looked almost like amusement at the thought itself, as if he truly believed it possible. As if the dead do care.
Darius smiled as well. Brienne did not know what to make of either man. Before she could find an answer, the giant knight bowed. "Forgive us once more, my lady. We have kept you from your rest."
"You have," Brienne said, though there was little anger left in her voice.
Thoros gave a small bow of his own. "Sleep well, Lady Brienne the Maiden of Tarth."
The two men turned and walked back toward the castle. Brienne watched them go until the darkness swallowed them. Then she was alone with the sea, the stars, and her tears.
Brienne got barely a wink of sleep that night and woke the next morning dreading the king. With the king came more pageantry, which meant more lords, more ladies, more eyes upon her. More smiles that were not smiles and laughter that would cease whenever she drew near.
A servant came before she had finished dressing. "My lady, Lord Selwyn bids you come to the solar at once."
Brienne frowned. That sounded grave. She followed her through the corridors quickly. Her father's solar was a small room overlooking the sea, its walls lined with books and maps. Lord Selwyn looked up from behind his desk when she entered. There was no smile upon his face. That troubled her more than anything.
"Come, child, sit."
Brienne obeyed. "What is it, father?"
Lord Selwyn folded his hands upon the desk. "The bastard of Estermont sent word at dawn," he said grimly, "The pirates of stepstones have banded together beneath a king named Salladhor Saan. They make their way towards Tarth in numbers."
Brienne was more excited than she ought to have. All her life she had always waited for a chance to prove herself, perhaps this would be it. Mayhaps this will lead to what she has always dreamt of.
She asked her father, "What do we do?"
"The lords have already left the castle," Lord Selwyn spoke, "The bastard of Driftmark is sailing down the shipbreakers bay towards the south of the isle. The king's fleet has already been sent a messenger in the Manderly fleet's fastest ship informing them to make their way southwards to Morne."
"So we can protect both the east and western coast of the isles?" Brienne deduced.
"Perhaps, if they reach in time," Lord Selwyn said, "But that depends on the gods good graces."
Her father grew angry and said, "We can't allow our lands to be ravaged by reavers. Manderly's bloody war would start from our doorsteps, that was always certain."
"Is that why he sent the chest?" Brienne asked, "Are we now hired swords for other lord's wars?"
Her father frowned, "You think your father only cares for coins?" Before she could apologize, Selwyn spoke again, "The chest is for the future of our house, and I had begun gathering men to protect our lands and my people, something you should be more concerned with."
"You knew this might happen," Brienne said. Her father had gathered Tarth's swords at Evenfall a moon past. When she had asked if her father would go to the crusade, he had only laughed.
His anger had faded, though the worry remained upon his face. "Arthur's fleet did not start to gather in the Stepstones without reason."
"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Brienne asked and looked down at her hands. "I am concerned with our future too, father. Let me come with you to battle. I can help you, I shall be your sword shield," she pleaded to her father. "An heir ought to fight."
Her father replied, "But they ought to be ready first."
Brienne frowned. "Do you mean to keep me caged here forever father? Why don't you see that I am ready!"
"Because you are my only child." Lord Selwyn replied sadly, "My beloved daughter."
Lord Selwyn leaned back and rubbed his brow. "When these pirates come, they will not care that you are some noble lady. They do not care that you have trained as a warrior or even fight like one. Not even the men in our lands will see a leader. Men at war will see what they see when they look at any other woman. Only they will be even hungrier, even more desperate, and all those who shall have the misfortune of meeting them will be as doomed as they are."
Brienne felt the old hurt stir in her. "I am no helpless thing, father." she said angrily.
"That may be so." Lord Selwyn looked at her with those cold blue eyes and replied, "But a woman has no place in war, Brienne."
Brienne lowered her eyes in defeat. She knew what he would say next. Before she could stand up to leave the chambers. Her father continued speaking, "However, I shall permit you leave to play a soldier in this war should you find any willing to take you into their service. Live in your own accord, seek whatever it is that you are looking for. But I will not allow you to lead our men, that task will be entrusted to cousin Martyn."
Brienne could hardly believe what she had heard. She stared at her father and said, swallowing the lump in her throat, "Yo….you will let me go?"
"I have just said so." Her father answered, "Do not make me regret doing so."
A smile threatened to come to her face, but she held it back because her father was still frowning.
Her father studied her and said, "You agree too quickly, it is unseemly for a lady to show any desire upon her face."
Brienne laughed and said, "Because I have waited all my life for you to say yes."
That brought the faintest smile to Selwyn's face. "Once you bear a child, you will know why I had spent half my life finding reasons to say no."
Brienne lowered her eyes, tears threatened to form in them. Her father loved her even though she had only ever caused her grief. If only she were born a man, he would not have been in such dread.
Her father sighed. "Go to the yard. Tell Martyn that I have given you leave."
"Why?" Brienne frowned.
He smiled and said, "I will not have you march on to war without proper armor. Tell him to give you the heirs armor and make the armorer fit it to your proportions."
Brienne was shocked to hear that. Her father had made an armor long ago, for his firstborn son. A steel plate of deep blue cobalt, a work of fine beauty. Martyn had long coveted it, for he considered himself the heir to Tarth. A distant cousin of their dynasty, Martyn Tarth openly sought the seat of Evenfall.
Brienne hated him with a passion for the man was vile and disgusting.
Her father laughed and said, "Seven save fathers from the daughters who wish to be knights."
Brienne's smile faded. She looked at him. "I only wish to serve you, father."
Selwyn's expression softened. "I know."
For a moment neither spoke. Then he said, "Go."
Brienne bowed her head and left the solar. The door closed behind her. She stood in the passage for a moment, scarcely knowing what to do with herself. She had expected another refusal, perhaps an argument, perhaps tears. Instead, her father had given her leave to march with the men.
Brienne wore her leather and the chainmail over it. She took her belongings in a small bag and went down to the castle courtyard. She stood beneath the gatehouse while men gathered in small knots around Marwyn. The sun was warm upon the stones. The wind coming from the sea carried the smell of salt and horse dung. Soon enough the moment she was dreading arrived. Martyn had spotted her and beckoned her over.
"My lady!" Martyn Tarth said as he gave a mocking bow, "Or must I call you a soldier now?"
Brienne grew angry but held back, "I came to collect my armor."
"My armor." Martyn opposed gritting his teeth, "It is called the heirs' armor, you ugly cow, look around and see who leads Tarth's blades." He pointed towards the men-at-arms who sniggered at her. "Who is the heir, you tell me?"
Brienne replied angrily, "I am Brienne of Tarth, the sole heir of Selwyn Tarth, you would do well to remember that cousin, lest you wish to see your head atop a pike."
Martyn laughed, "Save your threats, Brienne. You know all these can be easily solved, agree to be my bride and I shall be a generous lord to you. If you bear me a few strong boys, I may even learn to love your ugly face."
The men around him laughed.
Brienne stood still, her heart beat faster in anger. Martyn stepped closer, the man was nearly twice her age. He had a trimmed beard and wore a knight's plate. Her father had granted Martyn fertile lands it seems. Perhaps that was why he thought himself entitled to her as well.
He leaned close to her and whispered, "A man would have no fate worse than taking you to wife. In a way, I would be doing you a kindness, Brienne."
Before anymore words could be spoken her mailed fist caught Martyn square in the nose. The crack was loud enough to make the nearest horse rear. He stumbled backward, both hands flying to his face. Blood ran between his fingers darkening his face.
Brienne stood where she was, breathing hard. No one laughed any longer.
Martyn looked at her through watering eyes. "You bloody bitch."
Brienne took one step toward him as Martyn flinched in fear, she said angrily, "I will not be your wife, nor anyone else's here. I am my father's heir and I shall marry only him who can beat me in single combat. So tell me, cousin, do you wish to challenge me?"
Martyn's eyes were as red as the rest of his face. His hand went to the sword at his hip. For one brief moment Brienne thought he might truly draw it. "You will pay for this one day. Your father will not be here to protect you forever."
Brienne looked at the sword upon Martyn's hip."As I said, if you mean to threaten me, then draw it."
The men around them watched in silence. Brienne could feel their eyes upon her, waiting to see what would happen next. Martyn stood up and glared at her. His fingers tightened around the hilt.
Brienne's own hand rested upon hers. She would not be the one to draw first. If he meant to challenge her, let him. Let all of them see. Martyn's gaze flickered toward the men. Perhaps he knew what a fight between them would look like. Perhaps he knew that if he lost, every man in the courtyard would remember it.
In the end he only turned to his men and said, "Move out and give the bitch what she wants."
Brienne watched them gather their horses and shields. Some would not meet her eyes. Others looked at her with something she could not name. It might have been fear but she doubted it.
Martyn mounted his horse last. Blood still stained his beard. He looked down at her. "This is not finished."
Brienne watched the column begin to move out of the gates. The steward who had been serving Martyn rushed to her with her armor and a pouch.
He bowed and said, "Your armor has been fitted and your lord father has given something of his own for you. Forgive me my lady, I hadn't known Ser Martyn would do such a thing even after your father's commands."
Brienne replied, "It's not your fault, he would always seek to cause problems for us. If only he were not our kin, I would have bashed his ugly skull with my morningstar long ago."
The steward laughed nervously, "Nevertheless, my lady. It would be unwise of you to join that company. Ser Martyn may cause more… issues."
Brienne understood what he meant. Outside the castle, in the midst of a battle, many things could happen to her. A horse might fall. A sword might slip. A man might mistake an accident for something else.
Or there might be no accident at all. She looked toward the gate. Martyn was already riding with the others. Brienne did not trust him. She could not travel with a company that was entirely hostile to her, especially with a commander who had spoken of her death and the lands that would come with it.
But how could she be part of this war without fighting beneath Tarth's banner? She looked back toward the castle. For a moment she thought of returning to her father. Then the answer came as her eyes spotted the odd pair again in their familiar red and blue manner.