Author's Note: Thank you all so much for being such attentive and devoted readers! It cheers me to see all of the notifications generated with each chapter. You're all truly heartwarming!
catzrko0l continues to be a fantastic beta. They are instrumental in getting these chapters to read so well! Thank you!
Chapter 66
Brienne III
Brienne's breath came out in harsh gasps as she swung her sword to meet Lady Dacey's. They held there for a moment, putting their full strength behind their wooden swords. Brienne was stronger and she shoved Dacey off and danced in to give her a jab in the ribs. Dacey inelegantly smacked the sword away and Brienne felt it slip through her fingers. She stepped back to give herself space and reaffirm her grip; Dacey rushed forward, swinging the sword towards her exposed neck. Brienne swung her shoulder out and turned her other shoulder directly into Dacey's chest. The rush of Dacey's breath leaving her lungs at the fierce blow tickled Bienne's neck; she staggered. Brienne brought the wooden sword up and jabbed her just under the breastplate.
"Ooof! Yield," Dacey shouted and she hunched over for breath.
"It was a good fight," Brienne said between wheezing gasps. She held herself up, but now that the fight was over she could feel the ache beginning in her shoulders from the tension and all of the small bruises she received began to make themselves known. She felt the sweat trickle down the inside of her arms and she could only imagine her hair was plastered to her head.
Dacey grinned up at her. "I never thought I would meet a woman who could break a sword over my back. Well, other than my mother that is. Always a pleasure, Brienne."
She felt a real smile pulling at her lips. "Same to you, Dacey. 'Til next time."
"You mean tomorrow?" Dacey replied. She barked a laugh and placed the wooden sword back in the stand. Brienne followed her.
"Very admirable, my lady."
Brienne turned to face a man taller than even her. He was wearing a leather jerkin of plain coloring with no identifying sigil. His hair was as dark as the night, his beard was trimmed to a fine point, and he had a large hooked nose that could've been used as a fishing lure. His eyes appeared black in the light and he had a small, approving smile.
"Hello," she replied awkwardly and looked around the area, but no one was paying them much attention. "And you are?"
"Ah, forgive me! I am Ser Osmund Kettleblack, a knight of the Crownlands. I daresay you have more strength than half of the knights in the realm."
"Thank you," Brienne said. She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head in confusion.
He chuckled at her confusion and made a sweeping gesture. "Might we take a walk through the gardens?" He held out his arm to her.
Brienne had to keep herself from backing up and her shoulders tensed once more. This had to be a prelude to an elaborate ruse. Most men couldn't get through the first sentence without their face cracking. He seemed sincere enough, but she asked, "For what purpose?"
"Straight to the point. I wish more women were like that. A proposition, my lady."
"What kind of proposition?"
"I think that will need some explanation and I can only imagine you'd prefer it be in an area where eavesdroppers can't hide."
Has he even seen the gardens? Brienne wondered. There were hedges aplenty for someone to sneak around, but a quick glance showed men peeking at her from their groups and one soul was attempting to edge in close. She glared at him and he scampered off.
"Very well," she replied and took his arm, though she was as stiff as a board as he guided her to the gardens. He was bigger than her. If he had ill intent, she'd have one hell of a fight on her hands.
He didn't bother keeping up the pretense of small talk, for which she was grateful. Her mind was reeling from the possibilities, all of them ending with her as the punchline. There was no Renly to save her now, doubly so since the Night's Watch had finally taken him away a couple of days ago.
Lord Jaime wouldn't save her either. The only time he was ever seen nowadays was at court and he only held it every three days, always looking worse for wear yet still beautiful. He had lost weight and his skin was paler than its usual sun-kissed gold. Though he remained shrewd and his tongue was excessively sharp, he looked tired. She hoped his seizures weren't giving him any trouble, but she had never been sent for again.
She once caught him outside of court early in the morning before the sun was in the sky. Brienne woke up hot and restless and so decided to strap on her armor and head for the training grounds, only to stop short at seeing a man going through his paces. Despite the dark his sword gleamed like it was catching the light of the moon, though it had long since fallen from the sky. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it was him. They had trained together enough that she could recognize his lithe form and the grace with which he moved.
Brienne couldn't tear her eyes away. They always trained with blunted or wooden swords on the grounds, but he had decided to bring out the Lannister family sword Brightroar. How she longed to hold it in her hands and inspect it; a true Valyrian Steel weapon.
Just as she was considering revealing herself, his attention was drawn to a noise in another direction and he then melted away into the shadows towards the Tower of the Hand. At the abrupt departure, she had sighed, a noise that was both wistful and frustrated. She missed their duels. He was unequivocally the greatest swordsman she had ever faced. He challenged her in a way that no one else—not even Lady Dacey—did.
Whatever was weighing on Lord Jaime, she prayed to the Seven that it would pass and he would return to the training grounds to smirk and mock and teach her.
She flitted her eyes over to Ser Osmund and tried to get a read on him. He didn't look back at her but kept his head up and a pleasant smile on his face. They passed a lord who blatantly gaped at them and he only nodded in acknowledgment. There was nothing sly about his expression that she could see. But though he seemed genuine, she couldn't shake the uneasiness that gripped her and put it down to her distrust of nearly all men, especially those who had pretended otherwise around her.
Once they made it out into the middle of the garden, she pulled her hand away. "I can walk myself," she said. "What kind of proposition did you mean?"
"Why the kind of proposition that every lady dreams of."
Brienne raised her eyebrows and kept her mouth firm. "I ask, ser, that you be explicit."
"I wish to ask for your hand in marriage." He gently grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on it.
She stared and knew that there must be suspicion in her eyes. Her belly was doing flips and she wanted more than anything for it to settle. "You will have to ask my father first," she heard herself say, though it sounded far away to her own ears.
"I already have, my lady," he replied and pulled out a folded up piece of parchment. He handed it to her.
She stared at it and felt her mouth go dry when she recognized the penmanship of her father.
My Lord of Kettleblack,
I am pleased to hear that my daughter, Lady Brienne of Tarth, has made such an impression on you and your son, Ser Osmund. It is encouraging to see like-minded men recognize the value in her as well as her skills.
I grant you my blessing for you to offer my daughter your son's hand in marriage. However, I must insist that she has the final say on the match. I do not wish to see her marry a stranger and live in misery. Her agreement comes at a challenge: best her in a duel and she will marry you. Her last suitor failed. She is not easily swayed.
Treat her well and you will have my everlasting gratitude.
Lord Selwyn of House Tarth, We break the sea*
Brienne felt numb as the letter fell away from her, still gripped loosely in her fingers. Her blood felt sluggish in her veins and it took great effort to meet his eyes again. She was her father's only heir so she knew she would have to marry at some point, but her heart ached. Ser Osmund appeared genuine in his admiration, but could she hope that he would still allow her to train with a sword like her father?
He took the letter from her and said, "Does that satisfy you?"
She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but words came out unbidden. "Where is my letter?"
"Hmm?" He cocked his head at her in confusion.
"My father would never have sent a reply to you without first telling me that he was going to do this. How did I not receive a letter?"
"I know not of any letter from your father to you. Perhaps it got lost? It's all too easy for a raven to lose it over the sea."
"But why should your letter reach you and mine not reach me?"
He furrowed his brow in irritation and she thought there was strain in his voice. "My lady, I am not at fault for a failure in delivery. I'm a knight, not a courier. But now you know your father gave his blessing for a match."
"Yes, he did."
"Are you amenable?"
Brienne's eyes roved from his face, to the garden, and settled for a moment on a couple pairs of eyes. Lady Arya and Lady Lucille were crouching ineffectually behind a hedge. Their eyes went wide and they ducked further when she caught them. She moved back to meet Ser Osmund's eyes.
"You read the letter. My last attempted suitor lost my hand in a duel. I would be remiss if I didn't challenge you to the same," she said.
"Hah! It is a deal then. Tomorrow morning in the training yard." He leaned forward and whispered, "I look forward to having you spread on your back."
Her stomach lurched and she swallowed the bile building in her throat. She offered him a weak smile and watched as he strode away. He sauntered with a jaunty smile on his face like the duel was a mere formality.
Perhaps it is, Brienne thought. If she wanted to continue her line and lead Tarth to its best possible future, she would need to make a match and her options were limited. Should she ignore the pit in her stomach that left her repulsed? Apart from his final comment, he had treated her courteously and as an equal, worthy of consideration and admiration. Not once did she see him flinch as though he couldn't stand the sight of her face and his pleasure had seemed genuine.
The hedge rustled and she turned to see both Lady Lucille and Lady Arya scamper off. They were headed towards the Tower of the Hand. The girls didn't strike her as gossipers, but she had a feeling nonetheless that the news of her impending betrothal and duel would travel around like wildfire.
With a troubled sigh, she turned and made her way back to her room and called for a bath.
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
"Lady Brienne! I appreciate you accepting my invitation on such short notice. I know Lady Dacey wouldn't accept my invitation otherwise, were not another woman fighter present," Lady Margaery said with an amused smirk.
Brienne saw Dacey grimace, which she tried to cover by taking a sip of her tea.
"Thank you for having me, Lady Margaery," Brienne replied with an awkward half-bow and fumbled to sit correctly. She was still in trousers, though they were a freshly washed pair of an earthen color. Her doublet was a split of the blue and vibrant pink of her house. If Lady Margaery took offense at the lack of proper dress, it was not readily apparent and she directed her servants to make Brienne tea.
Dread had filled her when she had received the invitation delivered by a servant. Although she typically shunned decorum, even she could not turn down the company of a future lady paramount and not mire herself in scandal. While she had seen Lady Margaery many times on the training grounds, usually cheering her own husband Robb Stark and even had a brief conversation with her, it was clear that they lacked compatible interests and were never able to find comfortable ground to stand on.
She would admit to being relieved that Margaery had never ill-treated her. She was never among those that spoke behind their hands in her presence, gave her dirty looks, or treated her like she was a pebble in their shoes. If it was an act, it was an impressive one. Despite what she said about Dacey, Brienne wasn't fool enough to believe the marriage proposal earlier in the day wasn't the real reason for Lady Margaery's interest.
She began to have doubts when the only thing Lady Margaery asked her about was whether her tea suited her. Otherwise, Lady Margaery's attention was fully on Lady Dacey as they spoke of matters in the North. There was mention of the major threats which were Ironborn and wildling raids. While the summer was still ongoing in the South with the flowers blooming and the crops growing, winter hardly seemed to leave the North. The growing season had not been particularly good the last few months and the people of Bear Island had been forced to rely primarily on the ocean for their food with a minimal harvest. Since Lady Margaery would soon be Lady of the North, she hoped that food would soon be routed north to help the houses prepare for a long winter.
"You will have to consult my mother, Lady Maege, about that, my lady, but I believe a trade would be most welcome. I know it doesn't get quite as cold in the Reach, but we make a tidy living sewing winter clothing and building canoes. Perhaps we can make an arrangement," Dacey said, having settled into the conversation and she at least offered a pleasant look to Lady Margaery.
"That would be wonderful, Lady Dacey. I'll have to see about speaking with your mother, Lady Maege."
Dacey grunted and said, "It's time I left. I'll be sure to mention this conversation. Until next time, my lady."
"Of course," Lady Margaery replied, offering her a wide smile.
Brienne hurriedly deposited her tea and got up to leave with Dacey, but Margaery's voice stopped her: "Lady Brienne, I was wondering if you might stay. I believe we have much to talk about."
Brienne winced internally and then turned back to smile at Lady Margaery.
"Was your tea satisfactory?"
"Yes, my lady. Perfectly satisfactory."
"Would you like a song to accompany our selection of cheeses?"
"I—uh, that won't be necessary, my la—"
"Butters! Would you mind playing The Bear and the Maiden Fair? It's simply far too quiet."
The fool who had been lazing nearby leaped to his feet and launched into a particularly robust version of the song. Brienne flinched at his volume and drew her mouth into a dissatisfied line.
Lady Margaery took no heed of her discomfort and seemed to study her. After a moment, she said just loud enough to be heard, "I hear Ser Osmund has offered his hand in marriage to you. It sounds like congratulations are in order."
"It's not finalized yet," Lady Brienne replied with an exasperated sigh. "Just as my last suitor, he must duel me and win. If he can't do that, then there is no betrothal."
Margaery chuckled. "If only every woman had that option. Don't get me wrong; I am very pleased with Robb Stark, but to have that freedom—that is the stuff of dreams."
Brienne had nothing to say and remained quiet.
"Aren't you forgetting someone though?"
"Hmm?" Brienne narrowed her eyes. "Who?"
"Why, Lord Jaime. He's had his eyes on you for quite some time."
Brienne felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and she had to turn away at the shrewd look on Lady Margaery's face.
"I don't know what you mean. He and I just spar."
"You clearly do or you wouldn't be blushing." Margaery's expression was very pointed.
"If Lord Jaime were truly interested in marrying me then he would have asked by now," Brienne shot back. "He's clearly not. I'm too—" She clamped her lips shut tight.
"Too what?" Lady Margaery asked innocently.
"I'm not good enough for him."
"It's true." Brienne was almost taken aback by the answer. She had expected Lady Margaery of all people to have tact and she bowed her head in humiliation. But then she continued, "You are hardly the ideal match for him and yet...he remains unmarried. He was released from the Kingsguard nearly a year ago. Everyone has heard by now that Lord Tywin Lannister arranged for Lord Jaime to walk in on his marriage upon his arrival at Casterly Rock, but, instead, Lord Jaime quite publicly canceled it and humiliated Lady Alysanne Bolton formerly Lefford. Why do you think that is, Lady Brienne?"
Brienne opened her mouth but found the words weren't there. While she rather deliberately avoided gossip, that bit of news had not escaped her. She had put it down to hyperbole. The Leffords were a vassal house of the Westerlands, so it was not unheard of for a lord paramount to bestow favor upon a lesser house from time to time. "He must've thought he could find a better match?"
"With whom? Apart from myself and Lady Sansa—who is quite young for Lord Jaime even by usual standards—there are no ladies of age from a lord paramount's family left. He determinedly negotiated my match with Robb. Never once did he even consider me." Although Margaery maintained a pleasant smile, her gaze was unmatched in intensity and it seemed to see right through Brienne.
Lady Margaery then leaned even further forward and Brienne had to lean in as well to pick up her words over the singing of the fool. "The new Lady Bolton said she read a decree by King Aemon that he, and only he, could determine Lord Jaime's marriage. While there has been much speculation about why Lord Jaime is allied with the grandson of the very king he slew, there is no denying that Lord Jaime has thus far remained a steadfast ally. His father complains but he doesn't. It can only mean that Lord Jaime demanded of the king that he be able to choose his bride, without his father's approval."
Brienne stared. She drew in a shuddering breath and looked to the table for answers but found none. "How do you know this?"
"You hear a lot at tea," Lady Margaery replied with a sly smile. "I can safely say that those are the facts. It's clear as day to anyone who can see that he has his eye on you. He wants to marry you."
Brienne felt her mouth go dry and she gave a small shake of her head. "That can't be."
"It is. I've been on the training grounds. Every lady there is beside themselves with envy over you. He never glances in their direction and he scowls at all else but you. Did not Lord Gerion summon you to tend to Lord Jaime when he was abed with illness? There has never been any other woman in his quarters, before or since."
"Then why hasn't he proposed?" Brienne replied through gritted teeth as she shifted restlessly in her seat. She was about ready to leap up and walk away.
"Lady Brienne, surely you must see the precariousness of a match between you and Lord Jaime. He's the heir to Casterly Rock and the Westerlands, the wealthiest region in the Seven Kingdoms. You are—and I don't mean to be insulting—the daughter of a minor lord of a tiny island. You offer very little that a lord paramount would be interested in. Further, you're a vassal of the Stormlands not the Westerlands. There is only one man who would approve of such a match..."
"King Aemon," Brienne breathed, feeling a numbness stealing over her.
Lady Margaery smiled and nodded. "If I'm not mistaken, Lord Jaime's price for his loyalty is to marry the woman of his choosing."
"But then why hasn't he?"
She frowned. "That I can't be sure of."
"I need certainty," Brienne replied in desperation. "I am my father's sole heir. I've already been betrothed three times. It is paramount that I marry and produce an heir so that Tarth may survive."
Lady Margaery's smile became weak and there was an unease in her eyes. "Are you familiar with Ser Osmund?"
Brienne shook her head.
"I have heard about him. He is—how shall I say?—not best known for being knightly. He claims he was knighted by a Ser Robert Stone. That man was a bastard and is long dead. He was not well known. Is Ser Osmund verifiably a knight? No one can say. Ser Osmund also fought for a mercenary company called the Gallant Men, which doesn't sound too gallant."
Brienne swallowed and the pit in her stomach that she had been carrying around since meeting him threatened further distress with the bile rising in her throat. Could she marry someone who seemed of such ill repute? He appeared gallant enough during their meeting, but her instincts had been ringing all afternoon. Did it matter? She had to do what was best for Tarth, not just for her.
It was as she was thinking this through that she grew suspicious and she asked, "Why are you doing this? What do you gain from helping me?"
"Love, Lady Brienne. You're familiar with my brother, Ser Loras, yes?"
Brienne nodded. She didn't quite trust herself to speak. It was Ser Loras that Lord Renly had adored and it led to his downfall.
"My brother is in love with someone, but it is a forbidden love. He is not allowed to act on it. I have seen the way it hurts him. He stalks our apartments like a caged animal. He's thinner, disheveled. He cannot love the one he wants, but you can. It is fortunate enough that you have found the one you love and he returns that love. You have the opportunity to marry him, but you need to be brave enough to take it."
Lady Margaery was sincere, of that Brienne was certain. There was a pain in her eyes. Perhaps it was an act as everything else had been, but if it was, she was quite convincing.
"That still doesn't answer what you get out of it."
"Perhaps I shall get a friend then? You are to be lady paramount as well as Sansa and I. Lord Jaime is a steadfast ally of the king's as is Robb. It may be that we will see each other more than we realize, since we'll be running in the same circles."
Brienne cast her eyes down once more and unknowingly chewed her bottom lip as she thought.
"I see you have a lot on your mind. Best of luck tomorrow, Lady Brienne. I hope you make the best choice for your sake. Now, I promised one of my cousins I would sew with her and she has been waiting ever so patiently."
Brienne nodded and stood, shuffling out from under the pavilion, barely able to see where she was going. Was what Lady Margaery said true? It had the ring of truth. Lady Margaery had at least been right about Jaime seemingly smiling only for her and that she alone had stood by his side while he was seizing. Was it enough? Or were Lady Margaery and Lord Jaime both playing her for a fool? She had much to think about.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
