Prologue
When Brienne of Tarth rode into town, it was all anyone could talk about. Tall as any man, taller even, and just as wide. Sturdy. Boorish, was how the men described her, and manish coming from the women. Could swing a sword like a knight but scowled like a whore shorted on payment, and very irritable. She hardly said two words to anyone whenever she rode through a town, seldom bothering to counter any of the jabs or insults at her 'waning femininity'.
Brienne was a long way from the island of Tarth. Brienne was a long way from anything she was used to. Brienne was in Kingslanding. The fanfare for her arrival was not spent on her, so much as it was spent on her injured refugee, though they rode into the city as equals. Brienne, the savior of The Kingslayer. She was paid handsomely, of course, Jaime Lannister saw to that, though money was never much of a concern for Brienne. She was as stoic as ever.
A litany of handmaidens were at her disposal as she was housed, for the time being, in the Red Keep, though Brienne wasn't keen on letting anyone care for her. It was custom to let others do the work around you, especially in the High Court, but that simply wasn't Brienne's way. She was brusque upon first meeting with her hand maidens, and thereafter, they were brusque with her. Her first day was spent lonely as she sent them all away. And the second day as well. The third day, only one handmaiden hadn't yet made herself scarce.
Penta was not polite, nor was she discreet each time she entered to cater to some aspect that Brienne did not want catering to. She was a rather young woman, not as old, weathered and beat-down as many of the women employed to the Red Keep were, but nor as chatty, witty or catty as some of the younger staff. She was quiet, for the most part, though Brienne loathed her appearances, as the blonde could feel the handmaiden's gaze simmering on the back of her head.
But despite the chilly treatment from the lady she was to wait on, Penta did not loathe Brienne back. In fact, she was quite curious about the tall, brawny woman, though she knew pestering the solemn woman about herself was not the wisest decision. And besides. It wasn't Penta's way. She was an observer, and she knew in Brienne's own time, she would acknowledge her. And so she did.
"Could you go about your business without staring, it's rude." It was maybe a week into having first met Brienne when she finally directly addressed Penta, turning in her chair at the window-facing desk in her quarters, glaring at the younger woman. Penta didn't seem the least bit startled by this, she seemed to almost have been expecting it, and met Brienne's steely gaze without flinching.
"Forgive me, M'lady," she said after a long pause, and not sounding the least bit remorseful. "I've never seen a Lady quite like you before." Brienne made a noise of disgust deep in her throat at that, turning back to what she was writing.
"There are plenty of things you've never seen before," she countered, attempting to shame the 'help' back into her place, though Penta wasn't easily shamed.
"You're right M'Lady," she continued, pouring the pitcher of water she held into the basin by the mirror above the armoire. "I live here, and I don't get to leave. I would have seen much more by now, had I had the chance to."
"That's no excuse to stare at me." Penta could feel the indignancy rolling off of Brienne in waves.
"People stare at Ser Jaime even though they've seen a pretty face a hundred thousand times before. Why shouldn't they stare at something more unique. Something worth staring at?"
"Will you please shut up? I've never met a servant who talked to her superiors quite like you before." The larger woman turned around once more, fed up with the lack of respect she continually experienced due to her gender and her looks. But again, Penta was still unabashedly staring at her, feeling no shame; her continued line of questioning wasn't a lack of respect, simply a pushing of boundaries.
"Didn't choose to be born a servant, M'Lady," she said, finally breaking Brienne's gaze, turning to leave. "Just like you didn't choose to be born a Lady." She left with a flutter of long skirts, and this time it was Brienne's turn to stare at the back of Penta's head as she left. Scowling, as was her usual manner, Brienne turned back to her desk, but now had lost all concentration. 'Stupid girl,' she thought to herself, though had to catch herself; here she was, sounding just like the men who had tried to stifle her in her adolescence.
Brienne knew she would be having a fair bit of trouble with this stubborn handmaiden.