[asoiaf] Useful (Brienne)
Title: Useful
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters/Pairing: Brienne, OC
Length: 493 words
Notes: Done for lodessa for a gen ficlet exchange. Many thanks to redcandle17 for the beta job. Also posted here under flock.
She was watching them practice again.
She sat stiffly; knees and ankles pressed together, hands on her lap. Her eyes were intent on their every move, her expression one of severe concentration.
Ser Goodwin sighed, and called the end of the practice session. He should probably talk to Lord Selwyn about this. Any other maid, he would have assumed she was there to watch some handsome lad, but not Brienne. Ser Goodwin had lived at Evenfall Hall for the last fifteen years and he had known Brienne all her life.
She had never been a pretty child, but she had been only a child then, laughing when she ran, serious when she listened to tales. She had grown up, grown strong, grown uglier with each passing years, laughing less and less; awkward always, deprived of the gracefulness the Mother bestowed onto women.
Brienne wouldn’t be trying to catch the eye of any handsome lad. She had suffered enough from Ronnet Connington’s rose.
Well. He might as well ask her, he supposed. No harm in that.
She looked up at him, lips tight, hands clasped, ready to be rebuffed.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said, earnest enough he wanted to laugh.
“Why would you want that, m’lady? It’s not a proper pastime for a maid.”
She darkened. “Evidently, I’m not good at being a proper maid.”
“Don’t say that. One day, your Lord Father will find you a good husband and…”
“That will never happen,” she stated. “I’m not beautiful enough, so I want to be useful at something. I’m strong. I’m taller than most of the boys. I’m sure I could be good at fighting.”
Give her something to weary her, and she’ll lose interest, he thought.
He told her to strike at a tree with a wooden sword and left her, thinking to come back before sunset. Long enough for a young, noble girl to get tired of it.
Then he found two of the men-at-arms in a scrape, had to separate them, unravel the issue and see to their punishment. He only remembered her when Septa Roelle asked him if he hadn’t seen Lady Brienne.
It was dark by then, and raining. She was still hitting the trunk with the wooden sword; repetitive, measured strokes in which he could almost hear the pain in her arms. There was a gap in the wood, where she was battering.
“You can stop now,” he said gently, as if the softness of his tone could lend her the softness she lacked.
She looked back at him, trembling with fatigue.
“I’ll ask your Lord Father if I may teach you,” he said.
She smiled then. It was a rare smile, for Brienne. It wasn’t even a pretty smile, but it was warm.
He tried to warn her, “I am not doing you a favour.” It was far too late for that. The Gods hadn’t done her a favour in the first place.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters/Pairing: Brienne, OC
Length: 493 words
Notes: Done for lodessa for a gen ficlet exchange. Many thanks to redcandle17 for the beta job. Also posted here under flock.
She was watching them practice again.
She sat stiffly; knees and ankles pressed together, hands on her lap. Her eyes were intent on their every move, her expression one of severe concentration.
Ser Goodwin sighed, and called the end of the practice session. He should probably talk to Lord Selwyn about this. Any other maid, he would have assumed she was there to watch some handsome lad, but not Brienne. Ser Goodwin had lived at Evenfall Hall for the last fifteen years and he had known Brienne all her life.
She had never been a pretty child, but she had been only a child then, laughing when she ran, serious when she listened to tales. She had grown up, grown strong, grown uglier with each passing years, laughing less and less; awkward always, deprived of the gracefulness the Mother bestowed onto women.
Brienne wouldn’t be trying to catch the eye of any handsome lad. She had suffered enough from Ronnet Connington’s rose.
Well. He might as well ask her, he supposed. No harm in that.
She looked up at him, lips tight, hands clasped, ready to be rebuffed.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said, earnest enough he wanted to laugh.
“Why would you want that, m’lady? It’s not a proper pastime for a maid.”
She darkened. “Evidently, I’m not good at being a proper maid.”
“Don’t say that. One day, your Lord Father will find you a good husband and…”
“That will never happen,” she stated. “I’m not beautiful enough, so I want to be useful at something. I’m strong. I’m taller than most of the boys. I’m sure I could be good at fighting.”
Give her something to weary her, and she’ll lose interest, he thought.
He told her to strike at a tree with a wooden sword and left her, thinking to come back before sunset. Long enough for a young, noble girl to get tired of it.
Then he found two of the men-at-arms in a scrape, had to separate them, unravel the issue and see to their punishment. He only remembered her when Septa Roelle asked him if he hadn’t seen Lady Brienne.
It was dark by then, and raining. She was still hitting the trunk with the wooden sword; repetitive, measured strokes in which he could almost hear the pain in her arms. There was a gap in the wood, where she was battering.
“You can stop now,” he said gently, as if the softness of his tone could lend her the softness she lacked.
She looked back at him, trembling with fatigue.
“I’ll ask your Lord Father if I may teach you,” he said.
She smiled then. It was a rare smile, for Brienne. It wasn’t even a pretty smile, but it was warm.
He tried to warn her, “I am not doing you a favour.” It was far too late for that. The Gods hadn’t done her a favour in the first place.