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I was going back home after six months in the Dothraki Sea following a pride of lions as part of my work as a photographer for Westeros Geographic. The assignment –meant as some joke given my old family crest featured a prancing lion, had its ups and downs as this kind of expedition was always prone to –bad weather, language barriers, lack of resources, running away from wild animals, among other things. However, the concluding part was the worst, a tiresome and endless flight from Qarth to King’s Landing. Yet, it’d be worth it –every moment had been an unforgettable experience.
Having miscalculated my budget, I’d gotten a seat in Tourist, which meant it would be uncomfortable. I prayed to the gods my travel companion was at least tolerable.
The first thing I noted about the man was that he was big, though in good shape. Broad-shouldered, with muscled arms and thighs, he occupied every inch of his seat. As I had feared, there wasn’t enough space for a tall person’s legs –having secured an aisle seat, he had half of his on it. His straw-colored hair was in a long plait that rested over a shoulder and left exposed a myriad of freckles that dotted his thick neck; in fact, there were freckles in all his exposed pale skin –he had his shirt sleeves rolled up.
“Excuse me?” I said after storing my hand luggage in the upper compartment, “That’s my seat. May I?”
“Of course,” he replied with a sweet feminine voice, looking up.
I realized the error in my assumption. He was not a he but a she.
My work had taught me to appreciate the beauty in everything. She was not handsome by normal standards; calling her unique would be a mercy. With broad features, freckles also dotted her face –splotches stood out over her cheekbones–, her nose was at least twice broken, her lips lush, her teeth bucket; in short, a total mismatch. Yet, her eyes, gods be good, were like watching a summer sky.
She placed the in-flight safety card she’d been studying back into the front seat pocket, stood up, and moved to a side so I could take my place. She was taller than me by a couple of inches.
I got out of my silent appreciation when another passenger asked permission to pass. I sat, trying to keep my composure.
My companion centered her attention on a thick book the moment the seatbelt sign was off –I managed to see the title before she opened it by its half: Notorious Members of the Kingsguard, by Brynden Tully.
“A history geek,” I thought. “I may have an interesting flight, after all.”
However, I decided to take a much-needed nap before starting a conversation. I was too tired after almost a week of driving back to the city from the nature reserve. Besides, there was a lot of time ahead.
About an hour into the flight, turbulences started shaking the plane and woke me up. The seatbelt sign went on. We buckled up –her hands were trembling. She closed her eyes and held to the armrests for dear life; her body was ramrod straight. I had experienced worse ones –these were mild in comparison. However, I didn’t have to be an expert in behavior to see she was terrified.
“Don’t worry,” I tried to sound calm, talking over some passengers’ panicked cries. I saw a flight attendant holding the snacks trolley. “The flight attendants haven’t gone to buckle themselves up.” She kept her eyes closed; her knuckles were whitening. “It’s just a bump. It will be over soon.”
The moment I pronounced the last word, everything was over. The ordeal hadn’t lasted two minutes.
“See? We’re safe.” I reassure her.
She seemed to acknowledge it by taking a couple of deep breaths, opening her eyes, and turning toward me.
“Thank you,” she said, still a bit nervous, and added with a timid smile. “Turbulences are the only thing I can’t manage when I fly.”
“It’s improbable they knock down a plane.”
“I know. The bigger the plane, the less probable turbulence can affect it. Also, the pilots know how to deal with them; they slow the speed or change altitude. The thing is, my brain doesn’t get the memo.” At my perplexed expression, she added, blushing, “I researched everything about it after my first scare.”
I laughed. This curious woman was fascinating.
“So,” I cleared my throat after a moment of uncomfortable silence and nodded to her book, still lying on the tray, “You like history?”
“Oh, yes!” she said, looking from the book back to me. “It’s been my first love since I was little and read the story of Goldenhand the Just and the Blue Knight. I’m doing my master’s dissertation on the Dragon Queen’s travels before her attempt at a Re-Conquest. It is known she was in the Dothraki Sea and then in Slaver’s Bay, but I came looking for proof she was also in Qarth for a time.”
I was mesmerized by her eyes –they brightened; her fear forgotten.
“Did you?” I asked, breathless. “Find proofs, I mean.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact…” and she continued with such enthusiasm that time passed without us noticing it. It was not until a flight attendant asked us what we wanted for lunch –fish or chicken, that we saw how long we’d been talking.
After the lousy food, we took a nap. Later, we talked about my job, where I had been, and what I had seen. She paid as much attention to my words as I’d done to hers. The conversation was so pleasant I didn’t care for how unconformable the seat was.
Through the flight, I learned she was a stickler for the rules. Therefore, I had to wait until we landed for her to get out her phone so we could exchange contacts. It would be a pity to let such an incredible budding friendship go. Maybe it’d go further –I hoped.
We were heading toward the airport entrance when I saw a familiar golden mane. My cousin stood out, not only because he was taller than most of the passersby, but because he was wearing a tailored three-piece suit that, by the look of it, must’ve cost more than my ticket from Qarth –the bastard looked as if he was fresh out of a photo shoot. He was scanning the crowd with a feline quality as if he owned the place. I walked fast in his direction, and when he saw me, he grinned from ear to ear.
“Damn! You look like one of the lions I was photographing!” I told him after we hugged. “How did you know I was coming today?”
“Aunt Genna.”
“Should’ve expected that. By the way, why so elegant?”
“I sneaked out of the office… Wait,” his attention focused over my shoulder, “is that a woman?”
I turned to witness the change in my new friend’s expression from a sunny smile to a thunderous frown I hadn’t seen at any moment of our short acquaintance. Her eyes were storms I would love to photograph –though to express that wish wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Seven Hells! Will you ever think before opening your mouth? No wonder you’re still single,” I muttered, exasperated, then added when she was near, trying to smoother the fool’s unfortunate remark, “Brienne, this rude idiot is my cousin Jaime.”
I parked in front of the unassuming two-floor house with a white picket fence and toys scattered in the front yard. I started to cross the lawn when a girl came out of nowhere and latched onto my legs.
“Mom! Dad! Uncle Daven’s here!” the not-so-little Genna yelled at the top of her voice and then asked me, “Where were you? What did you bring me?”
“Hello!” I said, picking her up, and before I could answer her questions, her twin brother appeared at the door.
“Shhhhh!” staged whispered Duncan, though at a volume almost as loud while running toward us. “You’re gonna wake up Gery!”
I had to contain a laugh. The boy was his father’s spit image at his age, though with the astonishing blue of his mother’s eyes.
After that terrible first impression, Brienne said goodbye to me and left, ignoring Jaime’s attempt to apologize and his offer to give her a ride home, which would’ve let me dangling for his was a tiny sports car. Jaime followed her every movement, entranced, and when she was out of sight, he seemed to wake up from a spell. Before I could scold him for his awful behavior, he dragged me to the parking lot and, once in his car, proceeded to debrief me about her while driving me home way over the speed limit. This time, it was me who was holding on for dear life, a probable victim of a different kind of lion.
“Name your price,” Jaime asked me in exchange for her phone number.
Just for funsies, I asked him for a couple of special camera lenses. He was at my door the next morning at an ungodly early hour with a complete set of lenses of the best quality, even better than the ones I’d told him.
I was tempted to tease him a little more; nonetheless, I decided to put him out of his misery. It was the first time in my life I’d seen him so frantic because of a woman. The opposite was the norm; they fawned over him, and he hid away –once, he confessed to me he didn’t know if they liked him for himself or his money. Also, my time studying animal behavior so I could get the best shot told me there had been a spark. Brienne’s reaction had been too visceral for just a first encounter, and Jaime looked almost desperate to appease her, to get into her good graces. Even though I liked her a lot, who was I to go against mother nature?
A week later, Jaime convinced Brienne to go on a date.
A month after that, they went to Meereen so she could deepen her investigation of the Dragon Queen. Uncle Tywin let them use his private jet, and knowing the older man, he must’ve run a complete antecedents check on Brienne, including DNA tests.
Half a year later, I stood next to Jaime as he, happy tears in his eyes, watched Brienne walking the aisle of Evenfall’s Sept toward him by the arm of her overjoyed father, a timid smile brightening her face. The ruins of Evenfall Hall in Tarth, the bride's homeland, were the scenario of the small celebration; only family and the couple's close friends were invited. Uncle Tywin had planned a big affair: Sept of Baelor, High Septon, reception at the Red Keep, the whole shebang –Jaime made him dismiss the idea by threatening with eloping to Dorne.
A year after the wedding, Uncle Tywin’s disappointment was a thing of the past after the twins’ birth. It was a terrifying sight for our generation to see him smiling when he talked about the twins or was around them. It was a phenomenon that –to my knowledge, neither of us had witnessed before.
And now, seven years after I met Brienne on that long flight, I was about to enter hers and my cousin’s home to meet their third child, Gerion Daven Lannister-Tarth. Duncan Arthur had been named after Ser Duncan the Tall and Ser Arthur Dayne, Kingsguard knights his history geek parents were obsessed with.
You may think this is a bittersweet end to the story. But don’t fret. I met Desmera in a similar fashion to Brienne although this time nobody picked me up at the airport. We’ve been together these last two years.
