Work Text:
When Brienne looked out of the window of her chambers, she saw the dragon again. From a distance, it looked tiny, no bigger than an insect, but the light clouds on the blue tapestry of the horizon were scattered by the flapping of powerful wings, and from time to time a low, mournful roar came with the gusts of wind.
Although Tarth was part of the Stormlands, the ashes from the lands destroyed by endless wars did not reach here. And suddenly Brienne came across its gray petals, and they flew past, far beyond the Narrow Sea.
"There is no place for regret and sadness on Tarth."
That’s what her father used to say before he left this world. He bequeathed his daughter to honor the dead and remember them, but above all — to appreciate and protect the living. So the day after Selwyn Tarth's funeral, there was a celebration in honor of Lady Brienne, the new Evenstar. The old vows were fulfilled, and so Brienne once again swore on her sword that her island, her home, would never know loss and sorrow.
Three years had passed, and so it had come to be. Tarth had become a place of peace, quiet, and simple joys.
Standing on the balcony in her blue nightgown should have been cold, but Brienne was basking in the morning sun. Evenfall was still silent, for its inhabitants were still asleep, and the lady could not help but rejoice in the silence. So many screams, so many cries she had heard, enough for three lives. The lords were eager to beat their enemies, and the commoners, exhausted by wars and famine, sobbed and cursed the lords.
Sometimes it seemed that peace would never come again. Even after the encounter with the Others, the living learned nothing. They were still drawn to the Iron Throne. But not Brienne. She didn't care who sat on the Iron Throne. The people she once served were dead. But those she vowed to protect were safe. Sooner or later, the Seven Kingdoms would be reborn from fire and smoke, like a flower that had survived a long winter. Winter wasn’t going to end soon, but it was always warm here on Tarth.
Brienne shuddered at the sudden touch. Strong arms wrapped around her waist. There was a slight tremor through the light blue silk. But it wasn’t the cold that caused the shiver, nor the pain. After all these years, he still touched her as gently as if she were a fragile, timid dreamer, and not a warrior who had once held a knight captive.
Once upon a time, those fingers gripped the hilt of a sword that brought death to the enemies of a great kingdom. Once there were two palms…
"Why did you get up so early?" Jaime asked sleepily. "I hope you were not awakened by nightmares, my lady."
She took his crippled hand and touched it with her lips.
"No more nightmares, my lord," she said, looking up.
"Here we are, playing lord and lady again. How touching."
"Jaime, we are lord and lady," Brienne explained. "You're my husband."
"And you are the Lady of Tarth." Jaime's good hand still held Brienne's waist captive. "So I shall call you ‘my lady.’"
"Then why can’t I call you 'my lord'?" Brienne dragged her lord-husband back into the bedroom.
"I never saw myself as a lord, you know that, my dear wife." They sat on the bed together. Brienne kept holding his stump. "I am a knight foremost, and I always will be."
"I am a knight as well, must I remind you?" she smiled. "And I will carry this title with honor forever. After all, it’s you who gave it to me."
Jaime touched her lips lightly.
"I think Jaime Lannister is about to receive a much higher title," he said, and placed his left hand on his wife's stomach. "What does the maester say?"
"He says everything is going the best way." Brienne's fingers rested on Jaime's palm. "But I will miss sword training."
"Didn’t you hold the sword enough? Perhaps it’s time to have some rest, Brienne."
"Do you have enough rest?" Brienne laughed.
Jaime hugged his wife, his head resting on her shoulder, diving into her hair. Once, in a previous life, it had been short and boyish; now it ran down like a light wave, tickled her nose, and smelled of the sea.
"It is with you that I truly rest."
❦
Brienne gave birth to her daughter at sunset, when the sea was raging with the breath of fierce winds. Still, the roar of the waves crashing on the shore could not drown out the cries of the evening dawn. Brienne remembered Lady Catelyn's words — that women often died in childbirth, like knights in a bloody battle — and she prayed to all the gods for one thing: to come out of this battle victorious. And she did.
Jaime was the first to take their daughter in his arms, and Brienne could have sworn he hadn’t wept so much since he first arrived on Tarth. Then he handed the girl to her mother. When the maester asked what the lord and lady would name the child, they looked at each other and said in unison:
“Joanna.”
❦
Joanna inherited her father's flowing golden curls, and her character was more of a Lannister legacy.
But her eyes were as beautifully blue as the sea that roared outside the window; like the sky above the towers of Evenfall, like sapphires that had never been found on Tarth, only in the names of the waters around it. Brienne joked that Joanna’s eyes were even more beautiful than her mother’s, but Jaime denied it. He said there would never be sapphire eyes like hers. Brienne’s. The most precious in his life.
Joanna was in her fifth year, and she preferred playing with a wooden sword to the dolls Uncle Tyrion had given her. She often went out to the cliffs to play, cutting through the tall grass. Jaime and Brienne were always there, teaching her how to hold a weapon properly, while secretly hoping their daughter would never have to fight a war. Podrick visited Tarth once every full moon, and he loved little Joanna as much as she loved him.
Brienne often wrote letters to Sansa Stark. In addition to sharing memories of old times, she often asked her for advice on household matters — that is, the management of the castle. Sansa was younger than her, yet far more of a lady. Jaime laughed at that, but he was also proud that his lady-wife knew more than just military affairs. At other times, he would sit beside her and listen to the maester as well.
❦
When spring came, Brienne gave birth to a son, and Jaime’s happiness was boundless. The blond boy with the emerald eyes was named Galladon by his mother. Jaime spent most of his days with him, while Brienne and Joanna either read books together or practiced with wooden swords. When their children were studying with their teachers or the maester, Lord and Lady Tarth would retire to the sandy beach and watch the sunsets, away from the bustle of the castle.
“You cut your hair,” Jaime said when he met her on one of those evenings.
“I was tired of how long it was,” Brienne replied, sitting down on the spread-out rug. “And in battle, it usually gets in the way.”
“Are you ready for battles again, my sweet wife?” Jaime pulled her close, wrapping her in a red cloak.
“Don’t you miss fights, tournaments?”
“Tournaments are entertainment for lords, while for knights they’re merely a chance to show off. What would you have me show off?”
“Sometimes it seems to me that this fragile world will come to an end someday,” Brienne said, trembling not only in her body but in her voice. “That we’ll have to take up our swords again and go into battle. Before, I would not have hesitated to put on my armor, mount my horse, and ride to meet new battles and victories. But now I am not only the Lady of Tarth, but also a mother. And I’m afraid for our children, Jaime. I can’t help but be afraid.”
“Nothing will happen,” Jaime said gently, stroking Brienne’s cheek. “Don’t forget — they are the descendants of the Lion of Lannister and the Evenstar of Tarth, two knights who survived countless battles and even a great war with the Others. We’ll teach them how to defend themselves, you and I. And they will always be safe here, on Tarth. War will never come here. I swear to you.”
Jaime held her tight and kissed her.
“I also swear always to be your dutiful lord-husband and your protective knight.”
“Didn’t we take these vows before the Seven?” Brienne laughed, barely pulling away from her husband’s lips. Her cheeks were flushed, not from the chill of the evening.
“There are vows I’m willing to repeat forever.”
Their lips met again, under the whisper of the breeze.
❦
Oathkeeper and Widow’s Whale laid in peace within the armory for many years after that spring.