Chapter Text
Brienne spent the nite locked in her room; when he offered her company, she refused, which worried him deeply. His daughter was like that: in front of everyone, she would display an armor against the world, an impenetrable one that no glance or insult could pierce.
But he knew her well—or so he thought—and when his sweet little girl, who dreamed of honor and fairy tales, returned with a wary, guarded heart, even from him, it frightened him deeply. Five long years of waiting, during which his only living daughter had gone off to fight for someone else; five long years of worrying that she wouldn’t come back, that someone would bring a broken shield to his feet.
Instead, his daughter was alive, which was a complete relief, but at the same time she wasn’t herself. She had returned a few months after spending so much time in Winterfell, with many war refugees—mostly widows and children—and he waited happily as she deboarded from the ship. Brienne stepped off with a child helping her walk, and he was horrified to see the red mark on her neck and cheek.
Of course, all of that was overshadowed when he saw his daughter pregnant.
He tried not to be horrified by the story she later confided in him in the privacy of her room, and above all he tried to hide the resentment that arose toward the father of his daughter’s baby. “The king-slayer defiled my little girl,” he recalled bitterly, and deep down he still believed it. Now, when he received the raven’s message that morning, with the news he conveyed to his little girl, he wished he hadn’t done it.
"She'll understand," he tried to convince himself as he entered Brienne's room. She was sitting there by the window, longing for something, her gaze lost in the sapphire-blue waters. He approached slowly; she didn’t seem to notice him, and he had to convince her, if only to eat. He set the food tray down for a moment—he preferred to carry it himself as an excuse to talk to her—placed it on the small table, and sat down beside her.
“Brienne, it’s been three days.” He slowly placed a hand over hers, ignoring the discomfort her pregnancy caused him. “You have to eat something; you can’t just sit here staring at the sea all day.” He couldn’t hide the nervousness in his voice.
“He’s dead, Father.” Brienne’s voice was hoarse, and the pain was evident. “I lost him—” Now she let out a sob. “Jaime, why?” “You promised me—” Tears now streamed easily down her face, and he couldn’t help but embrace her; she clung to him tightly as she continued to tremble.
“Oh, my storm, I’m so sorry,” Selwyn said, running his hand down her back, trying to offer comfort he knew wouldn’t come. A few minutes passed until Brienne seemed to calm down a bit; she looked around the room for a moment and then at her. “Brienne, you need to eat for yourself and—” He swallowed hard before she could say the words “your baby.”
Brienne seemed to consider it for half a second before replying with a faint nod. He got up and handed her the tray, hoping she would eat at least half of it. She accepted it without hesitation and took a few seconds to start eating the crabs he’d had prepared for her.
As he watched her, his mind wandered a bit: as soon as she felt better, they would do it; she would marry that wandering knight, and the Kingslayer would be a thing of the past. He won’t force that conversation on her now—they’d already had too many of them these past few days—and he’ll let her recover until she’s safe. "It's for her own good," he tried to convince himself. "No one will stain her honor anymore, the mockery will stop." He had to do it quickly; this marriage was important. "And she'll be safe."
Anyway, Jaime Lannister was approaching on some smuggler’s ship, and he wouldn’t let him ruin his daughter’s life again. He would prevent her from knowing that the Kingslayer was alive.