Author's Notes: Welcome to another chapter! I hope you are all doing well, staying safe and healthy. Thank you to those who support this work with your reviews, your views, your alerts, and faves. I greatly appreciate it.
As always, I'd like to thank Catzrko0l for being an amazing beta. You're the best!
Chapter 69
Brienne IV
Brienne was down at the grounds waiting at the edge of the training ring, suited out in her armor, her helmet held loosely in her arm at her side. At first, she received merely curious looks from everyone; nobles and peasants alike went about their day, but soon a crowd started amassing like flies drawn to honey.
She was waiting for Ser Osmund Kettleblack to arrive.
After her tea with Lady Margaery, she had gone back to pace her room. Normally, she would still be in the training yard getting a few last hits in, determined not to give her skills the chance to diminish. She decided it would be a better use of her time to rest her muscles and think.
Ser Osmund Kettleblack had received her father's blessing and had offered her a hand in marriage. They were to duel over it the next morning. She had originally been tying herself into knots over whether she should win or lose until Lady Margaery had summoned her. With the new information floating in her head, her conundrum became even knottier. Lord Jaime Lannister loved her. Supposedly. He hadn't spoken this aloud to anyone, but Lady Margaery was convinced of it.
Or she could be trying to humiliate me, Brienne thought, the ever-present dark thoughts and learned cynicism bubbled up under her confusion. But to what purpose? Lady Margaery herself had quite plainly stated that Brienne was hardly a threat to her position as Lady Stark or anyone else except the other ladies who hoped to catch Lord Jaime's eye. She had even gone out of her way to give Brienne information about Ser Osmund's reputation, presuming it was true. But then why would Lady Margaery lie? She considered going to someone else to see if the same words about Ser Osmund fell from their lips, but who? The only friends she had made since she had arrived on the mainland were Lady Maege and Lady Dacey. She imagined that anyone she went to would simply jeer at her and tease her about Ser Osmund.
Regardless of the truth about either of the two men, her heart ached at the thought of Lord Jaime. Whatever he felt, Brienne remembered the way her heart soared when he strode across the ground ready to kiss swords. She even missed that arrogant smirk he always wore. The claw marks adorning his face had faded into pale pink skin that stood out against his bronze coloring, but she thought the marks made him appear even more intimidating and it sparked an odd heat in her belly. There was always a mirthful light dancing in his eyes as though he were truly happy to see her.
He is happy to see you, she tried to convince herself. He had yet to make an overt move, either by having a walk in the gardens or speaking to her at length, besides the conversation they had shared in his quarters. She barely even saw him now that his duties as Hand consumed him with the king gone. Could she wait for him?
Her duties to her father and her island beckoned from the back of her mind. The thought of never marrying and bearing an heir made her wilt as she imagined the disappointment on her father's face. Yet Ser Osmund Kettleblack had caused unease to stir in her chest. She still shuddered at the sentence he whispered to her on their parting: I look forward to having you spread on your back.
She clenched her jaw, feeling the anger stir her blood. After thinking further on the comment, it sickened her. Now that she knew he had a dubious reputation at best, it was clear to her that he didn't value her any more than he valued any other woman. Could she even trust a word he said? She doubted it and thanked the Seven that Lady Margaery had at least been willing to give her information to make an informed decision.
Brienne would not allow Ser Osmund Kettleblack to win. Lord Jaime Lannister undoubtedly held her heart, but as much as she hoped she held his, she couldn't be sure. She would sooner let Tarth wither away without an Evenstar than deliberately give it to someone who only saw her as a walking cunt. If he didn't recognize her value then he would surely not recognize the value in Tarth.
I've fought one duel for my hand and won. I can do it again, she commanded herself, tipping her head higher in confidence. But she knew it wouldn't be easy. Ser Humphrey Wagstaff had been old, his fighting form gone to seed when he had become her third and final betrothal. The buried memory of him rose to the forefront of her mind and she trembled with rage as she recalled him demanding that she be a proper lady with dresses and all once they were married. She hadn't accepted such ridiculous demands from him and she wouldn't accept it now.
Ser Osmund appeared with an eager smile. "Well met, my Lady. You look most formidable."
She didn't smile and gave him a curt nod.
He cocked his head and his smile turned mocking. "Tongue-tied, my lady? Or are you that eager to be my wife?"
"Let's get on with it," she growled and pulled her helm over her head.
"A lady who makes her point. The other ladies in the Keep could stand to learn from you," Ser Osmund remarked. Under normal circumstances, Brienne would preen at being favorably compared against the daintier ladies, but coming from him it only increased her disgust. It was clear that he wouldn't respect any lady, no matter how well-bred and she wouldn't wish such disdain on her worst enemy.
She brought up the blunted wooden sword in front of her.
"Practice swords?" Ser Osmund's expression became a sneer. "I stopped using those by the time I turned ten."
"So be it," Brienne replied. She tossed the wooden sword out of the ring. The crowd that had formed bent like trees in a high breeze to evade the sword as it landed among them before they reformed around it. In the next instant, she pulled out her sword and listened to the sweet song of the steel leaving its sheath and dropped into a fighting stance.
Ser Osmund drew his own sword out slowly and she recognized a feral intensity to his gaze. Lord Jaime had similarly vicious eyes when he was at his most formidable. Ser Osmund charged at her. Instead of meeting his sword she jumped out of the way. She swung to clip his heels but was surprised by his ability to turn on a dime and bat her sword away. She noticed him dig his foot into the loose soil and kick up a spray of dirt but her height meant it barely reached her; she huffed to keep the dust from her nose and kept her eyes on him. He kept swinging and Brienne was forced to meet each blow and she felt a thrill of fear as she nearly crumpled under them. In a last bid to stay in the fight as he attempted to crush her, she kicked out her leg and connected with his knee.
As his knee gave out, she gathered herself and leashed her fear. Although she hadn't trained with Lord Jaime in a few weeks, his lessons rose to her mind as she reevaluated the fight. Jaime didn't win because he was the strongest, he won because he was the smartest. He knew how to change his style to meet his opponent. He became quick and light on his feet and instead wore down his opponent until he could either injure them or force their sword from their hand. For an opponent like Ser Osmund, she would have to adapt like Jaime and outlast him. Those brutal hits he had dealt her were powerful but draining. If he continued his frantic pace, he would wear down enough for her to engage him.
"Impressive," he mocked, "but not impressive enough." He teased her sword with his and she flinched a few times, which made him grin, but it wasn't enough to open herself up to an attack.
Brienne was grateful for the gloves as her palms sweated. The hilt would've slipped through her fingers otherwise. Easy, easy, she told herself. Be confident. You can win. She released a breath and relaxed, feeling her senses heighten as she followed Ser Osmund. He feinted, but she saw and drove his sword away from her.
He attempted another flurry of moves, slashing at the top, attempting to push past her defenses at the bottom, but she was able to follow. His moves were now more reserved, lighter, as he probed for a weak spot. Brienne gave no quarter and continued to move in tandem with him, mindful of the edge of the circle they were dancing in.
Ser Osmund's expression grew angry as she continued to be passive. "For a woman who prides herself on being a warrior, you're gutless. Fight me like a man, bitch!"
She smirked underneath her helmet. Jaime had elicited many of the same reactions from other opponents who challenged him. He always dropped them to their knees, begging for relief by the time he was finished with them. Kettleblack's words only cemented the fact that she would sooner drown herself in the sea than marry him.
He became erratic, relying entirely on the element of surprise and speed in an attempt to catch her off guard, but it made his movements sloppy and flagrant. There was a flurry of attacks, but she easily fended them off and continued to keep her guard up as she allowed him to be on the offense. He growled and made sudden long lunges, but she blocked them. He was tiring.
"I've had enough of this! You're mine," he snarled and swept up to her quickly and hammered her sword. Her muscles trembled with the effort to keep him off her and she felt sweat soaking her face as he nearly loosened the hilt from her hand with one of his heavy blows, but she kept falling back and side-stepping to not fall beneath him.
When he relented, he was blowing like a horse that had just sprinted a mile. It's now or never, she commanded herself. This time she engaged. There was some pleasure as she rained her blows down on him, forcing him back. His face changed from enraged to fearful in a matter of moments. He fell to one knee. Brienne brought the flat of her blade down onto his arm. He howled as the sword fell from his fingers. She kicked him over and crouched on his chest, her blade at his throat.
"Say it," she growled.
"I yield! I yield," he cried out as he stared up at her in fear and dismay.
With that, Brienne allowed his head to fall with a clunk as she climbed off of him and sheathed her sword. She started walking away only to halt as she finally looked at the crowd. Lord Jaime was standing on the far side with his squire, Pod, by his side. She would normally call the expression on his face inscrutable, but she had come to understand that he became like that when he was under stress. Even as he looked at her, she thought she saw a slight quirk of his lips at the edge. With a boldness that came from victory, she began walking over to him.
Halfway there, she saw his eyes widen in fear. His mouth opened and he immediately reached for his sword. In the next instant, she grabbed her own sword and swung blindly behind her.
"Look out!" Lord Jaime shouted.
Brienne screamed as her sword was pushed out of the way and Ser Osmund's blade connected, ripping her gauntlet and her skin open in the process. There was a clatter as her sword fell to the ground and she hugged her arm to herself. She stared in horror as Ser Osmund brought his blade back for a killing blow. Just as it started on its way down, he gasped and then howled, the blade narrowly missing her face. Lord Jaime had stuck Brightroar up into his armpit and blood spilled down the blade. The Lord Hand brought the blade down and allowed Ser Osmund to crumple. The dishonorable cad was trying to clutch at the wound, to put pressure on it, but she wasn't sure it was enough to stem the blood pouring from it and save his life.
She turned to Lord Jaime in shock. "Th-thank you."
He rounded on her and she stepped back at the fury. His eyes burned like fire and his jaw was clenched. "Haven't I taught you anything?! Never turn your back on a foe unless he's dead!" Lord Jaime reamed her.
Despite being taller than him, she hunched under his gaze and trembled as her face flushed with humiliation.
"Brienne, Brienne," Ladies Maege and Dacey both walked over, staring at Lord Jaime in appall.
"Take her to the Maester," he snapped. Then he sheathed his sword and turned to head straight to the Tower of the Hand. His squire seemed torn as he stared at them and back at Lord Jaime, but then he chased after his Lord and fell into step just behind him.
"Are you alright?" Lady Maege asked.
"I think I will be," Brienne said, seeing the blood well up beneath her fingers in dismay. "Marriage avoided." She gave the ladies a weak smile.
"Come. Let's get you treated," Lady Maege said.
