It was one of those rare days in Tarth in which the weather was mild. Cold, but sunny and calm, without a single trace of clouds in the sky, and just a slight breeze blowing. Probably that situation would change in the turn of a few hours, but by the time of day Brienne was in the training yards, the warm rays of the sun were caressing her pale skin pleasantly.
She'd turned sixteen just a couple of moon turns ago and she was already taller than the majority of the castle staff, including her father's soldiers and guards. In addition, she fought as well as any of them, if not better than quite a few. She'd been training with the sword, the bow and the morningstar for years, and if her father had allowed her to take part in tourneys, she was certain that she would have given a hard time to many of the competitors and defeated a bunch of them. But unfortunately, the extent of Selwyn's tolerance didn't reach that far, sentencing that tourneys were too dangerous and she was still very young anyway. Brienne disagreed, but didn't dare challenge his orders, understanding that he was just scared of any harm befalling her. She'd become the Evenstar's only child and heir after her brother and twin sisters had died along with their mother. All that chain of tragedies in a short span of time had left Selwyn utterly devastated, adrift in the current of his inconsolable grief. He'd neglected his only remaining child, too consumed by his pain, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring for her; she knew. He just didn't have much energy left to deal with mundane things, so he sought evasion through drinking and whoring. During those years, Ser Goodwin, Evenfall's master-at-arms, had proven himself an invaluable friend for Brienne, always looking after her and not treating her much differently from how a father figure would. He was her only source of true comfort in a home that had lost almost all warmth and joy. She had a septa like all the young daughters of noblemen, though Septa Roelle was not a sweet, understanding or empathic person but, even if the woman's harshness hurt Brienne on a daily basis, she had to admit to herself that, in the long term, the hard lessons were necessary. Brienne had learned very early in her life that she'd never be beautiful, or even passably pretty, and although that certainty had brought her to tears many a night in the solitude of her bedroom, she understood that admitting her truth was necessary to teach her to accept the reality of her circumstances and not to expect for what wasn't destined to be hers, like a man's love or people's acceptance.
But, admittedly, Brienne never resorted to her septa when she needed a reassuring hand and affectionate words, and Ser Goodwin's availability was quite limited. Not to mention that her father avoided her as much as he could, probably because she reminded him of his late wife, firstborn son and little twins. So the young girl had to manage mostly alone with her issues.
Besides, she neither had friends her own age, because children were cruel and they mocked her, so she avoided them. Adults were generally respectful in her presence because of their deference to her father, but Brienne noticed the looks they shot at her and heard their low whispers when they believed she wasn't aware. But she couldn't help but watch and listen and what they said confirmed what she already knew: that she was too ugly to be truly lovable.
Only a small handful of members of the castle staff, apart from Ser Goodwin, especially a couple of middle-aged maidservants, seemed to look past her appearance and treated her with some closeness and affection, but no one could replace her mother and Brienne missed her fiercely. Many nights she cried herself to sleep trying to remember her sweet face, her melodic voice (Brienne had inherited that same trait, but she hadn't sung again in many years), her scent, her laughter and her warm hands. Each passing day, it was more and more difficult to retain the exact details; the hues of her hair and eyes, her features, the timbre of her voice, the shape of her body and the softness of her skin. Each passing week and moon turn, a bit more of Alanys Tarth was lost to oblivion.
And with each lost memory, Brienne's loneliness engulfed her step by step.
She focused with a burning passion on her trainings, because with weapons in her hands, she felt free and alive and forgot momentarily about her troubles and struggles. Only then she was completely herself, with the hiss of a sword which moved fluently as if by its own volition, or of an arrow piercing the air straight to the bullseye... Nothing was more liberating to her.
The morning of the day in which the guests from Casterly Rock were due to arrive, Brienne was in the yards, as usual at that hour. She was sparring with one of her father's guards, under Ser Goodwin's watchful eye.
A couple of weeks ago, a raven had arrived with a message from Ser Jaime Lannister and his brother, Lord Tyrion, requesting permission to visit the island and spend some time there. Selwyn, of course, had known previously about the young Lannisters' journey. News spread fast accross the kingdoms and the lions hadn't been precisely discreet or secretive, traveling with a big carriage and an escort of soldiers with the Lannister colors and sigil on their armor and banners. Selwyn had also heard that Ser Jaime was informally searching for his future wife among the available women from the Great Houses. In that case, Selwyn wondered why the wandering Lannisters had decided to take a detour to Tarth, when there were no eligible women for Ser Jaime there.
Her father had told her all that one rare evening in which he'd chosen to have dinner with her instead of eating alone in his chambers as usual, and Brienne had absorbed the information with interest. It wasn't often that Evenfall took in guests of such high station. As soon as the raven had brought the message, the castle seemed to wake up from its lethargy and launched into a frenzy of activity, getting everything ready for the arrival of the distinguished guests. Even Brienne felt moderately excited by the prospect of having visitors. She didn't get her hopes high, though the fact that the youngest Lannister was a dwarf made her feel more at ease with the newcomers' stay. Society in all certainty viewed him as a freak, as it viewed her, and, despite being Tywin's son (her father had commented sometime that Aerys's Hand of the King was the most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms, even more than the king himself), he must have suffered people's ridicule all his life. Brienne could relate and empathize.
Stubborn and resigned to her own ugliness, that morning Brienne had refused to wear a dress, as her septa had suggested. Dresses made her feel ridiculous and extremely self-conscious and uncomfortable, so she held her ground. She'd donned her breeches and tunic and gone to the yards as always, to spend the morning training, and with a bit of luck the guests wouldn't pay her much attention, at least for as long as she remained out of their way. They surely would be tired after the boat ride and would wish to take some rest, forsaking a tour around the castle for the time being at least, or so she hoped. The more she stayed clear of their path, the better for everyone, in spite of her slight curiosity. Her father hadn't insisted anyway that she should be by his side to welcome the newcomers, knowing how socially awkward she was, so he'd left her to her own devices. There would be plenty of time to meet the Lannisters, if they intended to stay for a while.
She was in the middle of her sparring session, totally engrossed in measuring her motions and studying her oponent's, when an unfamiliar voice startled her from her concentration.
"So you must be Lady Brienne," the stranger said, and she caught a trace of mirth in his tone.
She turned around, on the defensive and slightly annoyed by what she thought was a display of mockery, and then was struck by the sight of the handsomest man she'd ever seen. He looked barely older than her, and his golden blond hair shone like polished jewels in the sun. Shockingly green eyes, sparkling with mischief, lit up his manly face, his jaw was square and his nose straight like an arrow. High cheekbones seemed to highlight a permanent smug expression, and his white teeth were showing behind perfect lips stretched in a smile. He certainly was tall, as his height looked the same as hers, and she was the tallest woman in Tarth. For once, she didn't have to look down, and she felt secretly grateful for that. Her father was the only person who forced her to look up to see his face when they were both standing.
And to worsen things, the stranger had the Warrior's build. Brienne almost groaned at the injustice of it all.
The gods must be seeking to torment her with such a vision just for their own entertainment, she thought, and her irritation shot up after realizing that she was practically gawking, with her jaw dropped all the way to the ground. Great, he must be thinking I'm a sort of a giant fish, she chastised herself.
But then, in an effort to shake herself from her dazed state, she tried to remember her manners. "Eh... Yes. But call me just Brienne, please. I'm no lady." She bowed clumsily, and cringed internally. She'd given up on the curtsey at a very young age, unable to perform it. The man chuckled, apparently finding her response very funny, and he returned the gesture gracefully. Once again the laughter in his eyes distracted her. "Uhm... You must be Ser Jaime Lannister," she added, feeling like a complete idiot. Of course he's the bloody Jaime Lannister, who else would he be?
"Last time I checked, I was," he retorted without missing a beat.
Brienne blushed even more and wished for the earth to swallow her whole.