The first thing she sees is her brother. He is as tall as her, and he wields a sword that looks nothing like the ones she's seen before. "Just Maid," he explains when she points at it, unable to speak. "The sword of Galladon of Morne. Isn't it fitting that I wield it?"
Yes, it is, but selfishly she wishes to wield it too. She doesn't ask, though, not even to touch it, for her voice is stuck in her throat. Darkness comes soon after, and, when she comes to her senses again, she can only hear voices.
"Galladon took care of me when I lost my hand," the male voice says. She remembers being called by her brother's name, and she does recall tending after a maimed man, but the details behind those two things are lost to her. "It is only fair I do the same…"
The voice is drowned out, and she doesn't see or hear anything until Evenfall Hall comes to view. She is on a horse, a silver mare that resembles the one her father's second-to-last mistress brought from Essos, claiming to have gotten it from the Dothraki. Beside her, a man with golden hair and fair skin smiles. He wears the azure and pink of her House, even though he doesn't look like a Tarth at all. Wordlessly, he grabs her free hand and kisses its knuckles, looking at her as if she was something precious. Before she can dwell on what his gesture and posture mean, though, her vision fades out.
"Lord Commander," another male voice calls, "were you aware that Ser Galladon is… a woman?"
Everything comes back in a crushing wave. She gasps and opens her eyes to the real world.
Absurdly, Ser Jaime apologizes. "Had I been more decisive about your care, this wouldn't have happened," he says.
"You're no healer, Ser," she replies. "Someone would have to check on me more thoroughly sooner or later."
"I should have found someone who'd be discreet about it," he insists. "This old hag of a maester talked loud enough for all your friends to hear, and gods know if anyone else was near enough to listen too." He sighs. "Renly called for his goodsister Selyse to watch over you. He fears for your reputation if I'm the only one looking after you."
She inhales as deeply as her injuries let her, recalling her early conversation with him—those about the risk of her being known as his whore. It seems that her fears are about to come true. "Perhaps you should not come at all," she suggests softly. "Tell the other men you were just as clueless about my real identity."
He looks at her with an unexpected intensity. "I won't stain your honor with false claims," he says, almost passionately.
She begins to shake her head in rebuttal, but the movement makes her dizzy. "My honor is already stained. I'm a woman playing at knight who disguised herself as her dead brother and spent her time among men."
His jaw clenches. "You were never playing at anything," he all but hisses. "You are among the best in the stormlands, and you've contributed plenty to the war effort. You should not be judged for things you had to do in order to survive this place."
She gives him a weak, sad smile. "Not everyone shares your mindset, Ser. To most of those men, I'm a woman who doesn't know her place."
"They may not share my opinions," he replies, "but I'm still their commander, and they will respect you. I'll make sure of it. Focus on your healing, my lady. I'll deal with the fallout." He stands up. "May I know your name? I'd rather hear it from you than someone else."
It is only now that she realizes he hasn't called her by any name, hers or Gal's. "Brienne," she answers. He grins, as if in approval, and leaves the room.
Over the following week, she stays in the recovery chambers with Lady Selyse and her daughter Shireen as mostly permanent companions. The former is polite but distant, carrying a rather judgemental look, while the latter excitedly asks her about her life and her service in the war. It is the sweet girl who informs her what happened after her fall.
The dragon that attacked the shore was, as she guessed that night, hit by Ser Jaime's scorpion. The tower they were in was destroyed by half when it fell, and Daenerys Targaryen's broken body was found in the morning. Dragon and dragon rider were burned, as were Aegon and his dragon, since the Baratheons wanted to show respect to House Targaryen's traditions. "An effort to show we are better than them," Lady Selyse commented when Shireen finished her story.
She stands up for the first time on her fifth day. There is a mirror in the corner, so she grabs it. There is a bandage over her right cheek, and the throbbing pain she feels indicates her injury is bound to look ugly. She takes it off to see it; the maester is coming soon to change it anyway.
The sight makes her nauseous. Her cheek is completely disfigured, red and swollen, with exposed flesh on certain points. It could be worse, of course; at least she no longer bleeds, and there are no signs of infection, as the maester has pointed out every day so far. Still, she wonders how nobody has run away from it yet—not the maester, not Lady Selyse, not Lady Shireen, not Ser Jaime, who always makes sure to change her bandages when he visits.
She is visited once by Renly, once by the Seaworth brothers, and twice by Ser Jaime—despite her protests, he refuses to ignore her while she recovers. Her traitorous heart jumps every time he enters the room and remains beating frantically for his entire stay. It doesn't help that his gaze is soft and his touch is tender. Lady Selyse eyes him strangely every time, but she never says a word, and Lady Shireen is seemingly instructed to keep her mouth shut as well.
Finally, the maester allows her to go back to the field. "I advise you to not go to direct combat, though," he advises. "I know you are strong, and I know the Lord Commander is not going to send you back home, but your wounds may reopen if you join the infantry."
She nods and thanks him for the counsel. At least he didn't outright tell her to go back to Tarth—although this might be Ser Jaime's doing, come to think of it.
At first, things seem… normal. Men look at her strangely, but she isn't entirely sure if it's because now they know she's a woman, or if it's due to her half-scarred, half-bandaged cheek. Still, her closest companions treat her as if little has changed—they just address her as 'Lady Brienne' instead of 'Ser Galladon' now.
Loras Tyrell seems rather intrigued by her. "Renly said you were among the best with a sword," he says. "When you're fully healed, I'd like to spar with you sometime. I'm one of the best in the Reach, or so they say, and I want someone challenging to duel with. We always have room to improve, right?"
Over the following weeks, nothing much happens in Storm's End. Like the Vale, the place seems to be mostly avoided now that the enemies know they have effective weapons at their disposal. Ser Jaime, who keeps joining them for meals, says Viserys is unlikely to join the war anytime soon, given he is the last Targaryen and his faction's only hope. "We're spreading the armies to the North and to Dorne," he says once. "We can't rule out the possibility Viserys will go to one of these places under the assumption they are weaker than the stormlands and the Vale."
There are reports of minor attacks across the coast, but all too far away to be an immediate concern. Soon the soldiers fall into a relaxed instance and establish a calmer routine, with less practice hours and more leisure ones. Brienne doesn't really approve, but keeps her opinions to herself. Nobody will listen to a woman anyway.
And then the unexpected happens: men begin to court her.
It's subtle at first. A 'my lady' then and there, a small smile, a short conversation about the weather. She wouldn't even have paid attention to these gestures if she wasn't so used to the opposite. But she does notice, and she mentally lists the names and faces of those who treat her differently.
The first, and most noticeable, is Hyle Hunt, who is part of her friendly group. He brings up their times together practicing with the scorpions and how well-matched they were. He asks her what she likes about her island, and once gives her a book about the history of the Kingsguard. Ser Jaime eyes him wearily, but Hyle makes a point to be friendly towards him as well.
If it weren't for Septa Roelle's countless lessons about men and mirrors, she'd probably think they are serious, but alas, she can come up with several reasons they'd do it other than genuinely wanting her, so she ignores them as best as she can.
When Randyll Tarly comes with reports of suspicious activity in the riverlands, Ser Jaime is quick to call banners. "We'll leave half of our men here, it's more than enough to defend Storm's End," he says. "We forgot to take the riverlands into account when we divided the armies. Of course they're going there."
When he announces he will march, Brienne decides to go as well. He tries to dissuade her on the account of her injuries, but she is firm. "I've been sparring with Ser Loras with no trouble," she says, "and… I know I'm being treated well because of you, Ser. I fear how things will turn if you're no longer around."
His face softens instantly, and he nods. He doesn't kiss her knuckles or expresses any wish to see her again, unlike her wannabe suitors—it's for the best; her heart doesn't need any more excuses to fall even more in love with him.
As they march, the courting intensifies. Flowers pop up in her hands throughout the day, there is always a man reading her horse when she goes to retrieve it, the attempts at conversation grow longer and more frequent. She doesn't know how to turn them down though, as none of them have actually said they are interested.
Out of her companions, only the Seaworth brothers and Hyle Hunt march along. She pulls up her tent near Ser Jaime's, as he insisted she should still use his private privy whenever she needs. She also feels absurdly safer when near him, which is probably due to her feelings for him rather than any realistic expectation.
One night, she approaches his tents, but stops right before entering when she hears another voice inside it. "Ser Jaime, I know you are strongly in favor of keeping Lady Brienne around, despite my recommendations against, but—"
"If you are there to deliver another speech about women's rightful place," she hears Ser Jaime snarls, "you can just turn around and leave, Lord Randyll."
"This isn't it, Ser," Tarly insists. "I know when my advice isn't wanted. However, my son Dickon came to me a couple hours ago with worrisome news. He was drinking with some men… Men who have publicly courted the lady, as you must be aware by now." There is a pause, during which Ser Jaime must have nodded. "He heard these same men brag about a bet on the lady's maidenhead." She inhales sharply. "And the wager is getting higher each day, and the men are growing more desperate to win."
It takes a while for Ser Jaime to reply. "And this… bet of theirs," he says, slowly, half-choking. "Is it just on her maidenhead, or her hand in marriage as well?"
She hears Lord Randyll sigh. "You know how men are, Ser. No, there are no marriage talks." Another pause. "She may be the best soldier in the entire stormlands, Ser Jaime, but she is in real danger here. For all we know, she's being raped as we speak—"
"I'm not," she says loudly, entering the tent before she can think better of it. "I—I'm sorry, Ser Jaime, Lord Randyll, but I overheard you talking about me and—"
"It's alright, Lady Brienne," Ser Jaime cuts her off gently. "For once I'm glad to have been overheard. It spares me the burden of delivering the news." His face falls. "If this is indeed true, and I'm inclined to believe it is… My lady, you cannot stay here any longer."
She fights back tears. Is this how it ends? Her deeds ignored and thrown away, her being forced to go back home due to threats of rape? "I understand," she says, doing her best to keep her voice steady.
Ser Jaime turns to Tarly. "My lord, if you'd excuse us for a moment." The man nods and leaves the tent. The Kingslayer motions to grab her hand. "I really am sorry, Lady Brienne," he says quietly, his eyes looking as sad as his voice sounds. "I'll deal with these men accordingly—I don't want any of them in my ranks—but I fear others may come to you regardless." A hand squeeze. "And I'd never forgive myself and you got hurt again."
"I know," she whispers. "I… Thank you, Ser Jaime. For everything. I'll never forget your kindness and your belief in me."
"I'd say, once more, that you should not forgive me for being decent," he says, chuckling without mirth, "but it seems that you were right all along. My standards for being decent are higher than average, as disappointing as it is."
She nods. "Please send my thanks to Lord Randyll and his son," she adds. "Were it not for them, I might have been raped eventually, indeed."
He grimaces—clearly the Tarly duo is not one he's fond of—but nods anyway. "I'll ask one of Ser Davos' sons to accompany you to Tarth. I trust them to not harm you, unless you do not."
"I do," she confirms.
"Good. You leave tomorrow after breakfast. I'll be there to bid you goodbye."
However, as he is forcefully called to deal with a report from the Vale, he is not there when she and Allard leave on a boat to her birth home. There is only shame and grief in her heart when the coast grows smaller, as well as the uncertainty of what awaits her.