Chapter Text
On the seventh, miserable day of his journey, the captain sent a cabin boy to wake Jaime with word their destination had been sighted, and that within a few hours they would be docking at Evenfall. He grumbled his understanding at the boy and told him to take the vomit-filled chamberpot with him as he left.
Jaime had never suffered from seasickness before, not on any of the many journeys he had taken from Lannisport, or from King’s Landing, to Dorne or even Pyke. But then for every one of those trips he had been healthy, and whole, and not the maimed lion he now was. Still, daily, the stump of his arm ached badly enough that he needed a drop or two of the milk of the poppy to get him through the night, and often a full carafe of Dornish Red to get him through the day.
Jaime leaned over his narrow cot and clumsily forced open the small porthole to let the room air a little. He was sure it stank to the high seven heavens in here, though he had long ago gone nose blind to it. He took a deep, steadying breath of the salty air, before filling his basin with water from the jug the cabin boy left behind. He stripped and washed as quickly as he was able, not wanting to focus much on the way his ribs could be counted now, or on the way his hip bones protruded sharply higher than the flat waste of his stomach. He dressed as quickly as he could, but pulled each item on slowly, awkwardly, so as not to knock his right arm against anything, for fear of the pain it would bring.
Eventually, he completed the basic task of getting dressed and inspected himself in the small looking-glass hanging on the back of the door. He could do nothing for the wine-dark bruises beneath his eyes, or the pallid grey of his skin, but his father had ordered his hair and beard trimmed before they set sail, and it still looked well enough a week later. And his red jerkin had been altered to fit this scrawny, ruined body, and as such he looked less starved and more lean.
The Lion of Lannister, he thought to himself, darkly amused, remembering the sad, emaciated beasts he and Cersei had found in the bowels of Casterly Rock. They were tame things, starved enough that they would have easily been able to slip through the bars if they’d had the spirit to try. Cersei slipped her hand through the bars to pinch the hide of the lion within reach, but it barely flinched, and she pouted at him in her disappointment. She dared Jaime to pull on its mane, wanting to hear it roar, but he had been frightened, and refused.
Now I am as tame as them.
He saved his hand for last. It was a heavy thing, wrought in iron and plated in gold filigree. It was well designed, and easy enough to attach to what was left of his arm— there were straps and a buckle— but underneath the bandage the wound was still healing, and the golden hand pressed against the worst of it in a deeply uncomfortable way. Qyburn promised that soon the pain would ease as he adjusted to the prosthetic, but had encouraged Jaime to go without the hand as often as possible, even without the bandage, to let the scars feel the fresh air. But his father told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was to be wearing it the moment he met Lord Selwyn. You must present the best possible face of House Lannister, he had said, looking with disgust at the absence at the end of his son’s right sleeve, as though this was something Jaime had done to himself on purpose. As though it were obvious where the blame for his maiming lay.
Eventually he emerged from his quarters, holding on to the balustrades as he ascended the stairs and reached the main deck. All about him the sailors were busy, moving quickly from aft to bow, some climbing the rigging, others doing something to the sails, Jaime was not quite sure what but it was clear enough they were readying the ship to port. He turned and climbed up further to the poop deck, so he would be out of the way of the sailors and could be afforded a better view of his destination.
He could not deny Tarth looked beautiful. It was bigger than he expected it to be, considering its size on the map of Westeros. The island was mountainous. Several of the higher peaks were tall enough that Jaime would not have been surprised to see snow caps on them, were it the depths of winter. The mountains stretched all the way to the water, in places, ending in looming sandstone cliffs.
There was a small settlement directly in front of the bow. There were, perhaps, two hundred brick houses in many varied colours, winding their way up what must be a fairly steep hill, leading towards a modest looking keep, built of shining white marble, sitting atop a cliff face on the northern end of the town. That must be Evenfall Hall.
At the precipice of the cliff stood a skinny tower, taller even than the main keep itself, built of the same marble as the keep. In the bright sunlight of the day, with the blue of the sky behind them, they almost blended into the light cloud cover.
“How long ’til we dock?” he asked the captain, who was standing at the helm, carefully directing the ship into the cove.
“Mayhaps twenty minutes, m’lord,” the man said gruffly, with the tone of one who’d prefer not to be asked questions at this particular point in time. Jaime nodded and left him to his business, choosing to stand portside as the ship was brought around.
They docked smoothly, and within moments the crew were jumping from the deck, securing the ship against their assigned mooring. Behind him, the captain ordered the anchor dropped, and the gangplank set out for them to disembark. Jaime was eager to set his feet on solid ground for the first time in a week, and perhaps find some relief from the rolling nausea that had beset him the entire voyage, so he did not wait for a runner to announce his arrival to the Hall, as his father had bid him do. The Lord of Tarth scarcely could have missed the grand vessel pulling into the cove with Lannister red sails and the golden lion crest emblazoned on each. Jaime was sure he had been, therefore, suitably notified of his arrival. And considering what he was here for, they would be unwise to leave him waiting.
The dock itself was solidly made, industrial, if not ornamental like the one in King’s Landing, and for a moment he let himself feel the stability beneath his feet. But as he took a step, his knees wobbled beneath him, and for a moment he feared he would fall. By instinct, he thrust his right arm out, to brace him, but then remembered too late the pain falling on his maimed arm would bring—
But a small, strong hand steadied his other elbow. It was the cabin boy from earlier. “All right, ser?” he asked, brown eyes wide with concern. He had served Jaime as something of a default squire or page boy throughout the journey, but Jaime was ashamed to realise he had not bothered to learn the boy’s name.
“Thank you, er...” He trailed off, hoping the boy would overlook the lapse on his part and continue steadying him.
“Peck, ser.”
“Peck.” Jaime repeated, and then, silently to himself, he repeated it again, so as not to forget. Peck.
“It happens, ser. Your knees get used to the rocking on board the ship, and then when you’re back on dry land they sometimes keep up the trick,” Peck explained, and then carefully, still staying close, he released Jaime’s elbow.
Still, Jaime felt a little dizzy, though that was more the fault of last night’s milk of the poppy than the dry land, but he did not feel he would fall.
“Can you see to my things, Peck, and then join me tonight up at the keep? I’m sure the captain can spare you.”
“As you like, ser!” Peck agreed, enthusiastically. It was probably the first time the boy would be allowed within a lord’s house, even if that house were as modest as Evenfall.
Jaime nodded, and carefully took a step or two. His knees seemed more stable now, stronger, and he set aside the fear he would fall into the water and made his way to the dock master’s residence. Hopefully someone would be there to greet him already, else he could wait there ‘til they arrived.
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There was no one waiting for him in the dock master’s residence but the dock master— an aged fellow, wrinkled and arthritic, but still sharp as a whip.
“They will have seen you arrive from up there, and I’m sure are on their way down now, ser, but you are welcome to wait in here until then,” he said, gesturing to the simply furnished waiting room. There was a worn wooden bench lining one side of the room that did not look remotely comfortable to sit on.
Jaime considered exploring the village beyond the docks. Surely there would be an inn where he could get some wine to drink while he waited, but then he remembered the smell of the cabin he had just left, the acrid burn of the wine and his supper coming back up, and decided that he should abstain until at least dinner, lest he become too much like his siblings.
“I shall,” he said to the dock master politely, taking a seat on the bench, hoping he would not have to wait too long.
If his father were here he would be incensed by the delay, especially considering the reason for his visit. The message containing the request had arrived by ship while Jaime had been… indisposed somewhere in the Riverlands, and so understandably his father had set it aside some months ago, citing more important matters of business than the failing fortunes of some minor Stormlands house.
But then Jaime had been mostly returned, to King’s Landing and as Tywin’s heir, when he was stripped of his white cloak. Robb Stark’s campaign against their house had been thwarted with one bloody wedding, and the Lannisters’ power consolidated with Joffrey’s marriage to Margaery Tyrell. The war of the five kings was now down to three. Two and a half, as Tyrion would say, given that the Greyjoy king had no army, and it was reported that Stannis had banished his forces north of the wall for some godsforsaken reason. With the money of Highgarden at their disposal, the Lannister army could handle Stannis, and they could afford to expand the royal navy to handle Greyjoy.
Which put Tywin in mind of that letter he’d received from Tarth, and so here was Jaime, sent to Tarth to decide whether or not they would accede to the request.
Jaime had the letter, packed safely amongst the rest of his belongings, and though he’d only read it once, he remembered the important sections well enough. I fear that without the crown’s assistance, I will not be able to feed my smallfolk through the coming winter, the letter said, in a refreshingly plain way that Jaime appreciated. He never had a head for the hollow courtesies, artifice and politics that the rest of his family thrived on.
He remembered his father’s words about the situation as well: “We need to control more of the ports around King’s Landing to better guard against any Greyjoy attack. Tarth has long been a minor port, but in many ways could be more advantageous than Storm’s End.”
At dinner the following night, Tyrion agreed, for the most part, with their father’s plan. He added his own two dragons as he poured Jaime another glass of wine. “Father knows that our power is weakest in the Stormlands. Most of the strongest stormlords died for Renly or Stannis, and the rest have no love for the crown. The southern stormlords have always had strong ties of marriage with Dorne and The Reach, and as the North and the Riverlands are in such disarray, he needs to consider installing a new Warden of the East. Who better than someone like Selwyn Tarth? He is relatively well liked, if not well-known, but they are from strong ancient Andal stock. And Varys tells me there is something odd with his only heir, though I confess I quite forget the details. If The Evenstar owes us money, he’d make a much more suitable figurehead than a Connington or, godsforbid, Littlefinger.”
Cersei had been the most laconic about the situation. “Lannisters always pay their debts, it doesn’t make us bankers.”
Jaime could not be sure exactly how much time had passed, but soon enough he heard the unmistakable sound of a horse arriving outside. But not a carriage. He looked to the door as it opened, in time to see one of the tallest men, not named Clegane, he’d ever laid eyes on.
There was no mistaking this man as a Clegane, however. He had a shock of straw-coloured hair, still messy from the likely quick ride down from the keep. He wore a finely-stitched tunic in a striking blue that was stretched tight across large muscled shoulders, tan breeches, and solid, well-worn boots.
“Alwyn?” The new arrival called out to the dock master, who’d gone to fetch a manifest or some such.
“You’re a woman?” Jaime said without thinking, gazing up at this… person.
She turned and seemed surprised to see him sitting there, inside the door. The surprise was tinged with some other feeling. Hurt, perhaps—embarrassment, definitely. Her cheeks flushed a deep, splotchy red.
“Lord Lannister,” she said, finally, with a sour twist of her lips.
“Ser Jaime,” he corrected, standing up to find that, yes, she was taller than him. “Lord Lannister is my father.”
She blushed again, and this time Jaime noticed that even the tips of her ears turned red, but she soldiered on through her mistake.
“My apologies, Ser Jaime, for being so late to greet you. My father is indisposed or he would have attended you himself. I am Brienne of Tarth, Lord Selwyn’s daughter.”
Brienne of Tarth sounded incredibly formal, almost rehearsed, to his ears. Suddenly Tyrion’s comment about there being something odd about the heir to Tarth made much more sense. She was an odd creature, indeed, though no odder than Tyrion. Like as not she’d never been to court; Cersei would definitely have commented on this giantess knocking her ugly head against the archways. He wondered how his brother had even got wind of the woman at all, hidden away on Tarth as she was.
“Well met, Lady Brienne,” he said back, extending his left hand, reaching for her own so that he could place a kiss on the back of it, as was the customary greeting for two of their rank.
With some reluctance, she placed her hand in his, as though worried about what he would do with it once it was in his grasp. “Brienne is enough,” she said, snatching it back as soon as his lips brushed the skin of her knuckles. “I expect you will want to rest before dinner, but it is a bit of a ride back to the Hall. We’d better leave now while there is still enough light.”
He bowed his head in acquiescence, waving his golden hand before him for her to lead the way.
She guided him outside where there were two horses tied to the hitching post. Thankfully they were both already saddled and there was a conveniently placed mounting block. He saw her glance a moment at his golden hand, before she untied the bay mare for him without a word. Brienne held it steady for him while he mounted, then handed him the reigns. There was no need of the mounting block for her, however. Her dappled grey was at least a hand taller than his yet it was no struggle for her impossibly long legs to hoist her into the saddle.
There was little talk as they rode. Lady Brienne seemed ill suited to the art of conversation, often answering his questions with as few words as she could manage. Her longer answers only were longer because they seemed to be oft-repeated; the type of perfunctory comment she would give to any visitor or guest of the hall.
Every now and then, however, they would pass a butcher or a washerwoman on the street going about their business. The lady greeted them all by name, and spoke with each in a quiet, polite way, inquiring after family members, or whether the market had been lucrative that day. It was precisely the sort of conversation with smallfolk that every member of his family, bar perhaps Tyrion, avoided at pain of death.
The ride to the hall was long, longer than he had expected. As the crow flew, Evenfall Hall was not far from the docks, but to think of it that way was to ignore just how high atop the cliffs the keep was positioned. The road there wound through the village, in a zig-zag fashion between the colourful brick houses, slowly ascending the hill.
Eventually they reached the top, coming across a wide road which followed the curve of the land in each direction. There were divots worn into the surface, where carts and wagons had eaten a track over time. Brienne directed her horse carefully to a smoother path, and he urged his mare to follow in her footsteps. One wrong step for a horse on a road like this could be quite disastrous for horse and rider alike, and he had no desire to fall. If this were Casterly Rock, his father would’ve ordered it resurfaced months before it got to this stage, and if it ever reached this level of disrepair, someone would be facing a whipping.
“This is called the Ring Road,” she said, when he asked what was in the other direction. “It encircles the entire island, and connects most of the major settlements. The next town further south of Evenfall is Pelican Bay. Morne is two days ride from there.”
“And we are not taking the long way to Evenfall tonight? I do so like pelicans,” he said with a caustic smirk, which she could not see from her position in the lead.
“No,” Brienne replied. “Cook has a fine dinner planned for your arrival.”
“Oh, a fine dinner, excellent.”
But soon enough, even he was unable to speak much. He’d had little exercise since his maiming, and it was a hard ride. The muscles in his legs were tight from misuse, and though he was loath to show it, the journey exhausted him far more than he expected.
Finally they arrived at the keep. It was bigger than it looked from the harbour below. Solid white marble stretched at least three storeys high along the outer walls. The gatehouse doors were wrought in some sort of solid metal, though they were wide open and looked like they were not often closed.
Once they were inside the gates, Lady Brienne led him around to the right, where the stables were neatly tucked in against the walls. She dismounted and handed her horse off to the waiting stable boy, then again, came over to hold his mare steady while he dismounted. He made an awkward hash of it, trying to hop down without letting his right arm knock against the saddle. It meant his left hand needed to hold up far more weight than it was used to and he would have fallen, if she had not reached out to steady his shoulder as he came down. It was at once the kindest and cruellest thing anyone had done for him since his maiming, and his mouth went immediately dry.
Lady Brienne, however, did not beleaguer the moment. She handed his horse off to the stable boy as well, and without any fanfare, she led him inside.
“I shall organise a proper tour of Evenfall Hall tomorrow, when the sun is in the right position to show the glass,” she said, as they walked down a narrow corridor. Here too, the walls were the same white marble, though it was clear that they had been polished and occasionally carved by a talented master craftsman. She was right: the light was not the best to see the detail, but there was most certainly a maritime theme to the carvings.
She took him briefly through a larger hall, probably the ‘great hall’ of this place, before ducking through a relatively hidden door. It led to a flight of stairs and then to an open landing. Here a maid was waiting, and Lady Brienne turned to him. He did his best not to look as exhausted as he felt; she walked quickly, and he had tried not to fall behind, but between her and the horse ride, he felt he could sleep for an entire week.
“Nellie will show you the rest of the way to your room. I would like to apologise in advance for your quarters. Normally we would place a guest of your stature in the high tower, it has quite magnificent views of Shipbreaker Bay, but it is in need of renovations and not habitable. My father and I agreed that in the meantime, you are to take his rooms,” Brienne said, in the longest speech he’d heard yet, and possibly the longest speech she’d ever uttered in her life.
“Am I to be sharing with Lord Selwyn?” he asked sardonically. “I thought you said he was indisposed.”
Again, she blushed, a deep red this time. “He is, but he was called to an emergency on the other side of the island. It may take several weeks to be sorted out. When he returns, he shall use one of the other family rooms if you remain long enough for it to be a problem.”
Jaime furrowed his brow, confused. “I intend to stay long enough to meet him. His letter is entirely the reason I came to this island.”
“We understand that, but we also understand that you are an important man. My father trusts me in all things, and I am the future Evenstar. He has authorised me to negotiate with House Lannister in his stead.” The note of rehearsal was back in her voice again, though Jaime was beginning to understand it. He suspected that the heir to Tarth was an intensely shy person, ill-suited to be the sole scion of the Evenstar, and yet here she was. Making do. And if that meant that she practised her lines and excuses in advance, honing the little courtesy she had like a sword against a whetstone, then who was he to begrudge her.
She was lucky that he was the Lannister that was sent. Any of his other relatives would have swallowed this girl whole and spat out the bones.
“Then please thank your father for his hospitality,” he said, affecting a similarly practised tone.
Lady Brienne left him with a nod, and he followed the maid to the rooms of the Evenstar.