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Brienne looked on at the beautiful garden before her. She watched as a young couple strolled through the garden. They looked content with each other, to say the least. They were young and their hearts were filled with love. The boy stopped and plucked out a red rose and placed it in the girl’s hair. The young girl blushed. Brienne imagines that placing a rose in one’s hair must be rather painful. The thorns must poke the skin, leaving a most uncomfortable feeling. Pain and love are one in the same, thought Brienne.
“Well… if it isn’t the Lady of Evenfall Hall,” a familiar voice said behind her. “Here again at Casterly Rock.”
She turned and did a slight bow. “Lord Tyrion,” she greeted. He smiled kindly at her. “I’m afraid you are mistaken.” She opted to look at the ground, rather than at Lord Tyrion’s face. “I was never at Casterly Rock.”
“Oh,” he coughed, walking to her side. She was a giant compared to him. Brienne always hated standing next to him. It always emphasized how tall she really is. She felt even more awkward. How, she wondered, could he look up at her so confidently as though nothing was wrong. She supposes all of it is in her head and there was nothing wrong with how they looked. Perhaps there was, and Tyrion is just smart enough not to care. “Then we’ll have to make your first visit a good one, won’t we?”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the garden. The young couple were now sitting by the fountain. The boy stroked the girl’s face. Her rose still lay in her hair. Tyrion looked on with her. “Have you seen him yet?” he asks, pretending to be causal, but Brienne knows it’s the only reason he visited her here today.
Brienne’s eyes remained on the couple. “No,” she answers simply.
Brienne frowns as she looks in the mirror. The dress she wore, though very beautiful, made her look like a beast in a gown. She has never liked these formal events. People are always kind to her, as they are taught to be, but she knows what they whisper behind her back. Kingslayer’s whore. Brienne the Beauty. She’s heard them all before.
There was a knock on her door and a young woman entered her chambers, holding a blue gown. “Pardon me, my lady,” she said. She held up the dress for Brienne to see. “A gift from Lord Lannister.”
“I’ve got a dress,” she said simply. The handmaiden looked at her dress. It was terribly ugly and ill-fitting on her. Brienne sighed, “It gets the job done. That’s all that matters. Please inform, Lord Tyrion that I— “
“Lord Tyrion did not send this,” the handmaiden said.
“Jaime,” she whispers. Of course Jaime sent it, Brienne thought. Why would Tyrion send me a dress?
“You two have a history, I take,” she said, placing the gown on the bed. Brienne turned away and blushed. “I’m sorry, my lady. I swear my tongue will be the death of me someday.” She tried to laugh it off, but Brienne remained silent.
The handmaiden made her way to Brienne and began untying the laces on her dress. Brienne stopped her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you get out of this dress, my lady,” she said. “Are… are you not wearing the other one? I’m sorry, I thought— “
“Yes, but…” Brienne looked in the mirror, observing the woman beside her. She was pretty and thin, and probably never had to worry about changing in front of other people. “You don’t need to help me. I’ve been dressing myself for a good forty years now. I think I know how to put on a dress.”
“Do you?” Again, she looked at the ugly dress. Hesitantly, Brienne let the maiden continue. “My name is Aleta, by the way.”
“What?”
“You have to call me something,” Aleta said. The dress was off and Brienne was left vulnerable. To Brienne’s surprise, the handmaiden—she means Aleta—paid no attention to her ugliness. She did not stare at her scars or wrinkles. Jaime must have warned her beforehand. To prepare her. Brienne doesn’t usually dress in front of a mirror. She already knows what she has, no use looking at it. “I’d much rather it be my name than maiden.”
“Brienne of Tarth,” she says awkwardly, her hands attempting to cover her body.
Aleta grabbed the blue dress and returned to Brienne’s side. “Tarth,” she says. “Lady of Evenfall Hall. The Evenstar. Correct?”
“Yes,” Brienne says as she steps into her gown.
“Your Lord husband,” she says, “he’s the Evenstar, correct?”
“I’m not married.” Brienne’s face turned red, embarrassed, but the handmaiden was not bothered.
“Is it beautiful up there, my lady?” she asks, already forgetting her last question.
Brienne looked in the mirror as Aleta tied up the back of her dress. She did not look attractive, but she did look better. Jaime had always loved her in blue. “Very beautiful,” Brienne answers. “Our waters are the bluest in all of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Must be lovely in the summertime,” said Aleta. “Watching your children swi— “
“I don’t have any children,” she says curtly. She already knew I wasn't married, why would she assume I had children, Brienne wondered.
“I’m sorry to assume, my lady,” Aleta says. “Do you want any?” Brienne turns to face Aleta, a look of surprise on her face. “I’m sorry, my lady… I am a talker, I must admit. I was merely making casual conversation. I want children. Two boys and two girls, but I don’t suppose you decide what you get. It’s up for the Gods to decide that.”
“I’m far too old to have children,” she says plainly.
“Have you gone through the change then?”
“What?” Her face turned a bright red. “N-no!”
“Then you can still have children,” Aleta says. “Don’t you need an heir?”
“My cousin, Lady Odilia, and her husband… Why am I even telling you this? You’re just my handmaiden!”
“Apologies, my lady.” She straightens Brienne’s dress and smiles into the mirror. “You look lovely,” she says, almost in a way that made Brienne believe her. “Lord Jaime will be very happy to see that you chose to wear his dress.”
Her face turns red at the thought. She hasn’t seen him since she left for Tarth. He will be angry at her, Brienne suspects. After all she has done.
“Ah, Lady Brienne, don’t you look… radiant tonight,” said a man… or a Lord, Brienne really had no idea who he was. He did his best to fake a smile, but she saw how disgusted he was internally. The only men who speak so kindly to her are those who want to get their hands on Evenfall Hall.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing. She left before he could utter another lie.
The event was nothing special. The food was decent and the entertainment was alright, but Brienne has always felt awkward at these things. She wasn’t made for such functions. She especially hated them when she was younger. No one ever wanted to dance with her—not that she could dance, for that matter. She can still see little Brienne hiding in the corner as everyone danced and had a joyous time. Brienne looked around her; there were no corners in this building for her to hide.
The man who so wanted to “woo” her was walking towards her, displaying one of the most sincerest fake smiles Brienne has ever seen on a man. She quickly turned her heel, planning to run from him, but instead jerked into someone else. “S-sorry,” Brienne quickly mumbled. Her eyes were focused on the ground and did not see who she had bumped into. She only saw a flash of silver and a hint of gold before running out, this time making sure she wasn’t about to run into anyone else.
The garden was more beautiful up close, especially at night. They had candles lit all around so the flowers illuminated in the starlight. Brienne breathed in. Oh, father is looking down at me in shame, she thought. Bumping into some High Lord or Lady and only saying sorry? How lady-like of her. He never told her he was ashamed of her when he was living, but she failed to do the one duty he asked her to do: get married and make heirs, continue the bloodline.
She never knew her mother, really. How could she be a good mother if her own mother wasn’t there to show her how? Brienne supposes her worries are all silly. Maybe she should go back in and talk with the man—no harm in listening to what he has to say. Maybe she would end up liking him. Maybe marrying him would make her house stronger—and they’ll have strong and able sons—and her father would finally be at peace with her. Was her father ever really at war with her in the first place? He never acted like it. Not in front of her, at least.
Once, long ago, marriage and babies made perfect sense to her. When she was with Jaime. Their sons will be warriors and their daughters will be knights, Jaime once said. He had sent a raven after she returned to Tarth, asking for her hand in marriage. Her father disapproved, so Brienne said no. He said he wasn’t angry at her, but he stopped writing her after that. They haven’t spoken since.
“Do you like roses, my lady?”
She turned to see a silver-headed man holding up a red rose. “Jaime.”
He handed the rose to Brienne. The thorns pricked her fingers, but she did not mind the pain. “Hello, Brienne,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. The kiss, though very short, gave her chills, reminding her of how they once were.
He looked sweetly at her dress. “I do love you in blue.” He smiled and Brienne looked back at the flowers, her face turning an embarrassing shade of red.
“Yes, thank you. It was most kind of you.”
There was an awkward pause. Brienne tried to focus on the plants in front of her, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her. She tried coughing, hoping it might fill in the silence. It did not. Jaime started rubbing her back, making sure she was alright. Brienne melted at his touch.
“Should we… talk about this,” he finally asked.
“About what?” She pretended not to know, but she did. And he knew that.
“I should have written,” he said. “I could blame it on this bloody hand”—he lifted up his golden hand—“but we both know it wasn’t that.” She wanted him to pull her in closer. She wanted to feel his warmth, smell his scent. “I tried to… many times,” Jaime added. He sounded ashamed. “I didn’t want to be friendly. I didn’t want to be your friend. I… couldn’t.”
“I understand, Jaime,” she said. Truly, Brienne did. She avoided talking to him for the same reasons. She was afraid that if she saw him, she would put duty aside and runaway with him, because that was what her heart wanted her to do. And now that they’re together again, standing side by side, she knew she was right to be fearful. If she had to do it all over again, Brienne must admit, she would ignore her father and marry Jaime.
It was too late now, she knew. She is old and terribly ugly. And he still looks like a God, a silver-headed, beautiful God. He probably has fallen in love with someone else. Surely, he was married by now, to a beautiful woman, who gave him beautiful golden children.
Jaime perked a smile at her and Brienne’s face flushed. “What?” she asked.
“Lord Ardal seemed to have taken an interest in you,” he said.
“Who?” Her mind then went to the man at the gala, who was being uncomfortably nice to her. “Oh… him,” she said, distaste in her words. Jaime laughed. “Wait—you were there?”
“Yes,” he answered, “you practically knocked me down trying to get away from him. Nearly took off my good hand.” He lifted up his only hand and waved it around, as if he were in pain.
“That was you,” she said, embarrassed. “Jaime, I— “
“I’m joking, Brienne,” he said, and Brienne fell silent. “You can still knock me to the dirt, though, I’m sure,” Jaime added, and she smiled.
It was then that he pulled her in closer. She could finally smell him and feel his warmth. Closing her eyes, she goes back to those cold winter nights where they shared their warmth beside the fire. He held her so tightly and so lovingly; “I’m never letting go,” he told her. It was the only time she really felt like a woman.
“How are you?” he asks.
Brienne can feel her heart racing. And Jaime seems so calm. “Good,” she says. Instead of looking at him, she decides to study the rose she held in her hand. A beautiful red rose with a stem that agitated her fingertips. “Fine,” she says.
Jaime only nods. He does not speak. He is probably waiting for Brienne to say something, but she did not know what to say. She could ask him how he was, and he would probably say he was fine, too. Then they would make awkward small talk until Jaime gets bored and leaves her. Brienne did not want him to leave, so she said nothing.
“I miss you,” he confesses after a long moment of silence. Brienne clutched the rose tighter. A thorn pricked her finger and a drop of blood spilled out, but she was too nervous to notice. All she could do is nod, because it all felt like a dream. The rose. The garden. Jaime. It was all just a beautiful dream. “I miss you terribly.”
Finally, she got the courage to look at him, really look at him. He was so beautiful. But he looked nervous, Brienne noticed. Scared, even. Scared of her or scared for her, she did not know. “I miss you, too.”
Jaime smiles, but it quickly fades when he discovers blood dripping from her hand. “Brienne,” he says, taking her hand.
She lets out a gentle “Oh!” as Jaime removes the flower from her hand. He sets the flower aside and takes Brienne’s hand again. “It’s fine,” she says, looking at her hand. “See, not even bleeding anymore.” While she was busy observing her wound, Jaime kept his eyes on her face. Her lips, particularly.
“Can I kiss you?” Jaime asks.
“Yes.” She surprises herself with how confident she sounded and hopes he doesn’t think her desperate, even though she really is. But by how forceful his lips press onto hers, she starts to think that he's just as desperate. He keeps it short, for there were other lovers about, but when their lips finally parted, Brienne knew she wanted more.
Jaime’s fingers tugged on the fabric on Brienne’s dress and laughed. “I must confess something… my lady,” he said. “Lady Aleta isn’t a handmaiden.” Aleta? Her eyes suddenly went wide, in both fear and embarrassment. Her face was as red as it could be. Gods, she was naked in front of that woman! “She’s a friend of Tyrion's. I sent the dress, that much is true, but he sent the girl.”
“What? Why?” She felt disgusted. She felt like a fool. She removed her grip from Jaime’s hand and took a step back.
“I told him I was going to propose to you again and he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself... again,” Jaime answered. Of course. Aleta had been incredibly nosy. Why didn’t Brienne see it? Aleta only wanted information from her. She is a fool, Brienne knows. A big ugly fool. “I didn’t know until I talked to Tyrion earlier tonight.”
She had been so upset about Aleta, Brienne almost didn’t catch the proposal part. “Marriage?” she said. “After all I did, and you still want to marry me?”
“Of course.” He almost looked hurt she asked such a question. His hand found her waist and he pulled her in close again. “I never stopped loving you, Brienne. I was a fool to let you choose duty over love.
“If you’ll have me, Lady Brienne,” he continued, “I think I will accompany you to Tarth.”
Her father is looking down on her in shame. He must be. ‘We’ve been over this, Brienne,’ she can hear him say. ‘A Kingslayer is no good in Tarth!’ But he is no Kingslayer. Not in Brienne’s eyes. And she is tired of her duties telling her who and who not to love. She loves Jaime. “I would like that very much,” she says.
Jaime only smiles and turns to the red roses in front of them and plucks one out. Gently, he places it in Brienne’s hair. The thorns poked at her skin, but she really did not mind. “Shall we take a stroll through the garden, my lady?” he asks, and Brienne nods.