Chapter Text
Brienne entered the sept, taking in the scent of old, stale air and candle wax. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dimness in the dilapidated, seven-cornered building. The sept’s state showed her more than anything else how far north they had already traveled. Soon they’d be completely on the Old Gods’ terrain.
This thought didn’t make her feel as uncomfortable as she had imagined it would.
The Seven had always been a part of her life, small prayers a natural occurrence in the everyday routines. But her life had changed. Her grasp on the world had changed. She had changed. Maybe it was time to let go of them.
She remembered the first time her father had taken her with him into a sept. She had been awestruck by the many walls, high windows and huge drawings of the Seven. At first she had stood in the middle of the tall room, turning around and around to see all of the gods, mouth gaping open, until she had felt dizzy, her movement and the place’s splendor equally responsible for that sensation.
Then she had started to walk alongside the walls, one hand outreached to touch the stones, one hand pointed towards the center.
Her step was solemn and she had hummed silently to herself, shaping the words of the old song the septa had taught her in her head:
"The Father's face is stern and strong,
he sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and long,
and loves the little children.
The Mother gives the gift of life,
and watches over every wife.
Her gentle smile ends all strife,
and she loves her little children.
The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
he guards the little children.
The Crone is very wise and old,
and sees our fates as they unfold.
She lifts her lamp of shining gold
to lead the little children.
The Smith, he labors day and night,
to put the world of men to right.
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,
he builds for little children.
The Maiden dances through the sky,
she lives in every lover's sigh.
Her smiles teach the birds to fly,
and gives dreams to little children."
And then there had been the Stranger. The one without his own lines in the song. The one that had fascinated and scared her at the same time. The one that had held her family in such a tight grip.
She had shuddered but hadn’t been able to keep her gaze from him.
The last line of the song she hadn’t hummed. She had breathed in the words’ rhythm, her heart throbbing frantically.
"The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children.
Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children."
The sept Brienne was in now had only rugged charcoal paintings at the walls. It took her a moment to distinguish between the Crone and the Stranger. The irony of that didn’t get lost on her. She gave a half-smile and stepped closer towards the Maiden. The Maiden and the Warrior were the two opposites that defined her life, though she now realized that neither of them had ever fully embraced her. She turned around, facing the Mother and the Father. Justice and care. Brienne thought of her father whom she loved, who had granted her many freedoms, but who had also abandoned her to herself. Could she have been a proper maiden, a tamed lady if he had just shown more interest, more effort? If her mother, brother and sisters hadn’t died? If she had managed to make friends? If she had had the feeling that someone really cared about her, Brienne, not just about her name and heritage?
If, if, if. This was no time for self-pity. Clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders she went over to the next wall.
The Smith had always been a foreigner to her as much as the Mother. Brienne had forgotten most of the needlework she had learned as a girl, nowadays only using the most basic stitches to repair her clothes and equipment. This wasn’t due to lack of talent. Textile work simply had ceased to interest her as soon as she had accepted that she would never marry. All the other works associated with the Smith were men’s works which she had never been allowed to try. She would have liked to, back when Galladon had still been alive and she had been following him everywhere, doing what he did, admiring him endlessly.
First her brother had died, then her hopes had fallen. And now, many years later, Brienne admitted to herself that she had lost her innocence, too. The world was a dark place and she had gotten to know it.
She swallowed and turned to the Crone.
"Guide me, wise lady. Show me the path I must walk, and do not let me stumble in the dark places that lie ahead" she whispered hoarsely. Despite the scent of wax in the air there were no candles to light, so Brienne ended her prayer by lowering her eyes and taking a step back from the Crone’s wall.
Taking a deep breath she raised her head to the Maiden. She tried to find words. After a moment’s struggle she simply nodded at the drawing.
It was easier to address the Warrior. "Give me strength, give me courage. Let me not falter in the face of danger nor death."
Brienne stared at him for another moment, then turned abruptly to the Stranger, clenching her fists.
"Please… Show mercy on those in need. If you need to take someone", she hesitated, then straightened her back and raised her chin up to meet his gaze, "let it be me."