Capítulo 197: Brienne 1 295 AC
It was a strange thing, being a knight in service to a Lord Paragon, or a prince, if by title, and half of her wondered what her world would be like had she taken the other path those years ago in the Garden. Would it be her at the prow of the Sword there with him? Would she be happy?
Who could say?
Still, she had made her choice, and in the Seven's light, she would stand by it. Could have beens were not her concern. She was happy enough as it is, and even if he was not taking her as his bride, the Prince of the Narrow Sea had still taken her into his household as a knight, and not merely in practice, for when her father had sworn to him, he had beckoned her forward and knighted her by his royal mandate. She had become a personal bodyguard of sorts to him, under Ser Jaerys Velaryon, and alongside Ser Robert Saltspray, who as far as she could tell had no real business being a knight at all, being crude and entirely uneducated, if quick-witted.
Though in truth, her status was not so great as that of her comrades. The two of them were Sworn Shields in full, while he had bid her swear no oath beyond her word so that she might return as Lady of Tarth when her father passed.
That had stung. She knew why it had to be that way, but it had stung nonetheless. She had no desire to be a mastered knight, so she had strived to be ever diligent in her duties. She had even learned to use a rifle, as Ser Saltspray did. It was a noise weapon, and it felt strange to wield compared to a bow, but if it aided in the role she had chosen for herself then she would let no such qualms stand in her way, as long as they did not violate her oaths at least.
That… well, that had been a sticking point, she would not lie, for she had been aghast to learn that the rumors of the Prince being a sorcerer were true, at least in part. When she had gone to confront him about it, he had explained his way to her.
Now, she glanced down at the rifle at her side and wondered if he was wrong.
She could recall it now as sharply as the morn after it had happened, in the midst of the knight, when she had been sworn to guard him, she had entered the chamber where he was working, to see that he was moving bronze into some variety of the glowing liquid that let his capitol have lights without fire of sun or candle.
He had looked up, unperturbed, closing the lid above the vat, and removing the glass lenses from over his eyes. "Brienne," he had asked her. "What is it?"
"It's… I wish to speak to you regarding your sorcery."
She knew that it had been foolish to confront him that way, that if he were the sorcerers of stories he would have, well, turned her into a frog or something hideous probably. But he had just nodded as if he had known it was coming, which indeed he might well have known it was.
She had questioned him then, perhaps even berated him slightly. Why did he turn to foul sorcery when in all else he was so noble? Did he not know the seven forbade it? Had it not been the death of Lord Renly, the injury of the king?
He had sat there, and listened patiently, and let her throw her words at him, and when it was done, he had nodded gently and explained his mind to her.
"Brienne, I do indeed wield magic." He had admitted with no expression of guilt, "but please do not think that I do so lightly, or that I am not aware of The Faith's ban on it."
"But why-?"
"Why do I persist despite knowing it risks damnation?" Arthur had answered, glancing up towards the light above him, which buzzed low in the night. "Tell me, Brienne, do you know why my Uncle the King's sword could cut down the demon of fire that appeared at the battle of the red plains?"
"It was because it was of Vayrian steel."
"Indeed, and do you know, Brienne, how Valerian steel was made? Could be made again if I were vile enough to do so?"
"No, of course not, it was forgotten."
"Lost and forgotten both, but I found it again, and I tell you now that at minimum the blood of four living men or women was used in the forging of that blade my Uncle carries. And if they did not have a dragon handy then it was probably closer to fifty." He had shaken his head sadly. "The seven speak against magic because all magic requires sacrifice, and the evil will not make it themselves."
Brienne had been shocked, she remembered, as a young girl she had always dreamed of having a Valyrian steel sword, and indeed she doubted ant who followed the warrior's path had not, but to learn then of their origins had filled her with revulsion.
"And yet," the prince had continued, "no mortal blade would have cut the hide of that demon, and with the shadow of Qohor rising it will not be the last demon that needs slaying, so listen when I tell you this Brienne."
She could remember little of his face then, only those piercing blue eyes that crackled with lightning. "I would not mandate any sacrifice that I do not first make of my own flesh. These vats, and indeed those spheres that power this city are wrought of my blood and of copper, and I will see no other man or woman bleed for this unless they choose that course themselves, and I have done so first."
That had been what broke her, what convinced her of his righteousness, even when it seemed to flaunt the Seven's teachings. It was knowing that he had made himself suffer ahead of any other that had swayed her from her conviction.
That was noble enough, as far as she concerned, but knowing that his weapons were fired by blood, even in small quantities, well, she could only hope that the Seven saw fit to forgive her for their use.
She turned at the sound of a roaring crackle as the first of the fireworks went up, streaking above the fleet as they approached King's landing.
They were far less impressive in the daylight than they were at night in her opinion, but she imagined they'd do the job well enough for people who had never seen them before, and Arthur had insisted, wanting to ensure that his marriage to Princess Arianne was as grand as it could possibly be. She sighed as the band started up, loud and blaring with horns and drums, and with the men in dress uniforms preparing to march off the deck, and Arthur and Arianne the dressiest of the lot way up at the prow of the ship, already waving though the people lining the port were scarcely distinguishable yet.
Brienne thought that it all must be terribly exhausting, putting on such a show like a marshaled army of peacocks.
While she doubted she would ever marry, she swore to herself she'd have it in a small chapel by the sea, with maybe a dozen people and a Septon.
Besides, that dress would never fit her anyway.
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