Chapter Text
****---***
Brienne inhales a little more deeply as the ocean breeze caresses her face like a lover's hand. The salt in the air causes her heart to lift and her eyes to close. She's home. It never ceases to amaze her how at peace she can feel standing on the sand with the waves lapping at her feet. Like she did so many times in her youth when her septa made her feel like she was the ugliest girl alive or when others mocked her for wanting to be a knight instead of a lady. After all the pain and struggle, it's a balm to her battered soul. She wishes she could dive under the water, swim away from all her doubts in the tempered seas. Away from her thoughts, away from her heartbreak. Let the water cleanse her mind. It would be the perfect ending to a stressful day of leading her small island and of watching her father slowly pass.
She never wanted to be a leader. She didn't have the stomach for politics or the patience for small disagreements. She loves her home land though, she loves the people, even the unkind ones, and with her father being so ill, she puts aside her own reservations and takes her rightful place.
Years spent away from this island leaves her feeling unbalanced when she takes her first steps toward being the Evenstar. Gods it's still hard to believe she could be looked at with that title. Lord Selwyn, her strong father, that's the leader Tarth needs always. She's a poor substitute. Brienne knows this every time a new problem arises and her first instinct is to grab her sword and run back to the North. She's a fighter. She always has been.
Fighting wights seems so easy compared to listening to two Lords quarrel over land rights. Give her a battle with swords any day. She can handle that with confidence. She knows how to sway and dance with a blade, with death inches from her grasp. Jaime once told her it was the song of steel in her blood that made her such a talented fighter. He wasn't wrong then and he isn't wrong now. Her hand grazes the hilt of Oathkeeper resting on her hip. It's an unconscious gesture. She does it when he enters her thoughts. Which is often. Too often.
Brienne lowers her head, kicking at the water. She needs to get back, others are waiting for her. Responsibilities are waiting for her. She takes one last look at the sun's rays making the blue sea shine before turning around and heading up toward Evenfall. Her steps slow when she catches a movement out of the corner of her eyes. It takes her but a moment to recognize the body traveling in her direction and she breathes out a sigh, heading to meet them half way.
“I'm sorry to disturb you, Ser,” Pod says once they are close enough.
“You didn't,” she smiles at her squire. “I was actually heading back up now.”
They walk along the beach together, comfortable in their silence. Since she returned to Tarth with him, Pod has been her constant companion. He has listened to her fears and held her in her moments of weakness. She can't thank him enough and knows she would be a wreck, an even bigger wreck, without him. Brienne often worries she's holding him back. Pod shouldn't be worrying about her. He should be off having adventures. He should be a knight by now. He has earned the title, through battle and loyalty. She makes a quiet promise to herself that she will see him get knighted. She will do for him what Jaime did for her.
“Have you decided what you are going to do about Lord Mydell's grievance,” he says as they climb the old cracked stone steps.
Brienne's mouth twists, “It's a silly claim, isn't it?” She sighs knowing she shouldn't say those things a loud, but also knowing that Pod would never break her trust. “I have not decided yet. I can see his point even if I think the whole thing wasteful.”
“His land was one that was heavily damaged during the raid,” Pod responds. “I think fear has made him act out in haste. He wants security.”
“Yes,” she nods. “As I said I get his reasons for demanding our assistance. And I will assist him in a way I see fit, but the...” Brienne's forehead wrinkles in frustration, “I don't have the mind for this.” She says the words into the wind, but knows Pod hears them. She's expressed her uncertainty enough times to him that he isn't even phased by them any longer.
“You are always so hard on yourself, ser,” He insists. “I think you are doing a fine job and your people seem to agree. When I walk through the country side I see only contentment.”
She smiles at him, “Thank you, Podrick.”
Brienne takes a deep breath, set her shoulders back once they enter the archway of her home. She sees Pod stand up a little straighter in response and she suddenly feels some of the weight lift from shoulders. It's so nice knowing no matter what he had her back and she could count on him to always be there.
***---***
Her afternoon passes slowly. Smaller lords come and go. Preparations for spring are starting. Ports are filling up with boats and goods and Brienne is bored with it all. Her hand itches with the need to swing her sword. Her legs feel restless after sitting so long and her eyes were blurring from all the papers that were shoved in her face. She raises from her chair in her father's solar and walks toward the large window that overlooks the courtyard.
Young men were practicing in the yard below and she longs to be out there with them. The new master at arms, Ser Carlon, a tall man with light brown hair and kind brown eyes, only a few years older than her, pauses a duo and corrects their posture as she watches. Brienne is pleased when she sees the way the boys immediately take to the instructions. Their swings become more smooth and their footing sure. One of the first tasks she had when she arrived was finding a competent instructor for the young men on her island. Her first thought had been to give the job to Pod. She trusted him and knew how he would teach since she was the one that taught him, but in the end she was talked out of it by the young man himself.
'Ser,' he stares at her with eyes shining brightly, 'That would be a huge honor but I'm not a knight and I still have much to learn myself.'
'We all have much to learn,' she replies but tipped her head in acceptance, 'however if you don't feel ready to do it, I understand.' She places a hand on his shoulder squeezing once. 'Still Pod you should know that you would be a great master at arms. Those that fought in the war against the dead learned much from you.'
His blush at that rivals some of her most intense ones. He hesitates only a second before he throws his arms around her. She awkwardly pats his back until he finally lets her go, grinning broadly at her. His reaction leaves Brienne feeling like she single handedly conquered the seven kingdoms.
She rests her head against the stone work mentally going through the stances with the kids. Left, swing, parry, retreat, advance, turn, bend, start again. Her eyes shift to the sword next to her. She could feel the weight in her palm even with it resting against the wall beside her. The Valyrian steel is like a extension of her arm. She feels incomplete without it on her. Brienne almost feels naked now with it only a few feet from her. She turns back toward the practice yards, sighing.
'After supper, she thinks. I'll go down there and work out this restlessness.
“My sweetling, you look any harder toward the grounds I might fear you jumping out that window to join them,” she turns from the glass and faces her father. It pains her to see him like this. His once large body weakened by illness. His handsome face sunken in and more wrinkled because of the trials he had to face alone while she went off to live her dream of being a knight. His sun kissed hair now more gray than honey blonde. His shoulders were hunched, his bones tired. Her stomach clenches. She should have stayed behind and married. Maybe then he wouldn't look so much older than his four and sixty. He leans heavily on a cane made from twisted dark wood that was sturdy enough to support his weight. The only parts of him that hadn't changed were his eyes and his smile. His eyes shone with love and twinkle with happiness as they look upon her and his smile is soft and wide. She always feels like a princess in his presence. Brienne feels like she's the one that captured the moon and had given him the sun to hang on their house sigil. “How was your day?”
She ignores his question and walks over to him, “You should be in bed.”
Her words are waved off with a flick of his wrist. “If I sit in that blasted bed one more moment, I'll end this misery myself.” She glares at him and he shrugs. “Where do you think you get your wanderlust from my child? It was your mother than tamed me.” His laugh rumbles from his chest a second before a coughing fit starts. His voice wheezes as he continues, “I knew you would follow me.” Selwyn's large hand cups her cheek. “You were always much more than this tiny island in the sea could contain.”
Brienne leans her face into his hand. She feels small for the first time in so long. Even at this stage in his sickness he still towers over her. His shadow envelopes hers on the floor in a way that gives her the notion of being completely protected.
“I'm home now.”
His expression turns sad. “Yes you are but you shouldn't be.”
“That's not,” she starts only to be interrupted by her father.
“Brienne,” he walks around her and sits on one of the large chairs that reside in the corner of the room, “I'm not foolish. I know you were happy where you were, until you weren't,” Selwyn gestures to the seat across from him. Brienne slowly lowers her body to the cushion and clasps her hands tightly together, uncomfortable with the knowing look in his eyes. “I know you, my sweetling, and I know you have been hurt. Your eyes have always given you away.”
She thinks about arguing. She thinks about denying the truth but could never really lie to him. Even when she was young and thought she was being so sneaky going to the armory under the light of the moon, he knew. It was later she realized it wasn't her luck or stealth skill that made it so easy for her to get to the tourney swords, but her father telling the master at arms to keep them in reach of her small hands. Brienne takes his hands in hers and smiles as bright as she can with her heart still broken.
“I am not unhappy, father,” she fights the tears, keeping her lashes low so he can't see the half truth. She wasn't unhappy, she just knows what bliss feels like when in the arms of a man she loves so much it borders on madness and now nothing will compare to that. “I am just worried about you and not making you proud of me. What if I am the worst Evenstar in generations? What if I fail our people? I am already falling short by not being married and not giving you heirs.”
The warmth in his eyes could melt the Night King were he still around. The sun wishes it could be as generous with it's rays as her father is with his love. “You, my sweetling, could never fail me. You are doing better than I did when I took over from your grand father.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead. Brienne's eyelids fall close. “Trust yourself, my precious daughter. Your heart will never lead you astray.”
She wants to wince at that. Her mind conjuring images of Jaime's body over hers, his hand sliding down her side as he moved within her. His green eyes holding her gaze hostage. His lips pulling her small moans from her. His words telling her she's so perfect and that he's wanted her for so long. She believed him then. Part of her still wishes she could believe him now. Her heart has already led her very astray.
“I am not so sure about that,” she answers.
Her father watches her and she turns away from the intensity.
“I guess,” he gently grabs her chin and forces her to look back at him, “I will have to be sure enough for the both of us.”
***---***
The moon is high in the sky when she finally frees herself enough to make it to the practice yard. She takes a tourney sword from the wall, twisting her wrist to test the weight and balance. It makes her smile. Brienne tilts her neck side to side, cracking it as she moves toward the dummy. The first swing of the metal whistles through the air, landing on the shoulder of the straw form.
It's liberating to dance with the steel in her hand. No one would ever accuse her of being graceful in her every day life, but with a blade, no could deny that her moves were smooth. Sweat rolls down her cheeks, settles in the small of her back, makes her clothes cling to her skin. She almost grins now. This is her element. This is where she's at her best. Time slips away from her until she stops and notices the moon is no longer where it was when she started. The pale globe is falling slowly to the west and she knows she will have to stop soon. The morning brings with it more responsibilities and she can't stay in this place forever.
“I had heard about that deadly lady knight in my travels, you are even more impressive in person than in the stories,” she jumps at the voice, spinning around toward the sound. Ser Carlon smiles sheepishly, “Sorry I didn't mean to frighten you.”
Her heart settles and tries to smile through her unease, she's positive her lips fall into a grimace instead. “I can only imagine the stories told about me and I am most assured they did not speak kindly about me.”
He pushes from his spot against the wall, “You would be surprised about how favorably they paint you.”
“I am sure they lie then,” her lips turn down even further, no longer a grimace but a frown, “Might even possibly say I am pretty as well.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “The stories never speak of your beauty,” she can't tell if she's relieved by that or saddened that even in tales she's ugly. “They only talk about how you are brave and strong and are taller than any man that dares to step up to challenge you.”
“Oh good,” she walks away from him and places the sword back in it's proper place. “I'm so glad they talk about how much of a freak I am.”
“I do not recall saying anything about you being a freak.” She chooses not to respond. Ser Carlon comes to her side and smiles at her. “I would love to spar with you some time.”
He enters her space, close but not touching. She backs away uncomfortable. “Maybe one day we will, Ser Carlon.” Her steps quicken and she calls over her shoulder, “Sleep well.”
“You as well, Ser Brienne,” he replies to her retreating form.
***---***
Before she knows it, Brienne has settled into a neat routine. Counsel meetings in the mornings, break for lunch with Podrick, visit with her father in his study, tour the island or the ports in the afternoons, train under the moon, sometimes by herself, sometimes with Pod. Ser Carlon watches her, his presence becomes just another fixture in her day.
It's after a few moon turns that she starts to realize she enjoys his company and starts seeking him out during the day. When she has a break, she'll make her way down to the practice field and watch as he teaches the young boys. Occasionally she'll join him in correcting a swing, other times she's just content to observe with Podrick at her side.
“Ser Carlon seems nice,” Pod comments while they sit in the waning sunlight one late afternoon.
“He is,” Brienne narrows her eyes, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “Why are you bringing up this observation?”
He shrugs, “No reason.”
“Hmm.” Her suspicious mind turns the words and his cool tone over and over. She forces herself to stop when the spinning thoughts get her no where. Suddenly she turns to her squire, “Pod?”
“Yes, ser.”
“You have been very loyal to me...”
“Yes ser,” his voice is soft and hesitant. “You are my knight.”
Brienne tries to form the words in her mind, but each time they sound wrong and she doesn't want him to not understand what she is about to say. “I,” she licks her lips, “I'm grateful that you are here, but I don't want you to feel like you have to be. Pod I would understand if you wish to leave and explore the world beyond this tiny rock in the sea.”
Pod looks shocked, then hurt and finally sad, “I wish to stay here, ser. I wish to learn from you. Unless, of course, you don't want me to...”
“I want you here,” she whispers to him. “I just did not want you to feel like you couldn't leave if you found yourself desiring to.”
“I will remember that.”
“See you do.”
***---***
The day a large ship she doesn't recognize arrives, Brienne is concerned. Usually the ports are bustling with smaller fishing boats and some traders from Bravos, but rarely - if ever - do ships this massive come to her island without notice. She makes her way down the docks to greet the men as they exit.
Her steps falter when she see a small body waddle down the gangplank. She glances up at the other men departing the vessel, fear at seeing him again causes her palms to sweat and her knees to feel weak. She doesn't believe for a moment Tyrion Lannister would come to her island on a whim without his older sibling in tow and that thought almost causes her to run. She doesn't believe anyone has seen her yet. She might still have a chance to return to the safety of Evenfall.
That hope dies as soon as Tyrion calls out, “Ser Brienne.”
She swallows and forces her feet to continue their forward motion toward the imp. So far Jaime has not appeared before her. She tells herself it's not disappointment she feels, but relief. “Lord Tyrion,” she greets. “This is a surprise. What brings you to Tarth?”
“I've heard so many wonderful things about your home,” he grins at her. She isn't sure if the smile is one of genuine happiness or of shrewd calculation. With Tyrion it is sometimes hard to tell. “I also missed my former squire. It was so nice spending all the time with him at Winterfell. I heard he resides here as well.”
“He does,” she acknowledges, taking one more look around her, though she hopes he doesn't notice. She can't say she's incredibly shocked that he does in fact notice her shifting eyes.
“Jaime isn't with me,” he says.
“Oh.” She's not disappointed, she tells herself. She has known for a while their goodbye in the walls of Winterfell was the end of their complicated story. “Well come,” her spine stiffens. “I'll show you around.”
“Thank you.”
Together they walk away from the docks. Tyrion talking animatedly, while she pushes back all the negative emotions that she was currently not allowing herself to experience.
***---***
Jaime sits in the small tavern in Storms End at the agreed upon time. His stomach is in knots waiting for his companion to show. The ale tastes like shit on his tongue, he drinks it any way. The bar wenches move from table to table trying to make a little extra by showing more cleavage or brushing the loud drunks in the right way. At first they tried that with him, but lost interest when he barely glanced in their direction. His eyes moving back to the door each time it opens.
Finally a small shadow makes his way toward him. He sits straighter in his seat. “Well?”
His brother climbs up on the chair next to him and waves to one of the ladies to bring him a drink. Jaime gets impatient but swallows down another gulp of ale to stop him from being too eager. His brother already has enough fodder to tease him with.
Once the dwarf has his drink in hand he faces Jaime and smiles, “I think you'll find you are in fact welcome in Ser Brienne's presence.”
Jaime releases the air from his lungs in a long breath, “Good.”
“Dear brother,” Tyrion says after a sip of wine, “Try not to fuck it up this time.”
“I'll try,” he says.
“Well I guess that's as good as I can expect from you.”
They clinked their glasses together.