I sat in the hallway outside my mother's chambers, listening to her scream.
If I focused hard enough, I could almost forget it was her doing the screaming. Almost convince myself it was some other woman, some stranger, whose pain I could observe with detachment.
But that wasn't possible. Not really. Every scream tore through me like a hooked dagger.
And I wasn't alone in my suffering. Father was wearing out the stones of the hallway, pacing back and forth like a madman. He'd been doing it for hours, muttering to himself under his breath—prayers, maybe, or arguments with some invisible enemy. I couldn't tell.
Beside me, Arianne had a book open on her lap. The same book that had been open on the same page for the past hour. She hadn't turned it once. Her eyes weren't moving. The book was just an excuse to keep her hands occupied.
Alysanne sat beside her sister. She'd been praying since the moment we'd arrived back at Evenfall Hall, working her way through all seven aspects of the gods. She'd gone through the whole sequence so many times now I'd lost count. The Mother. The Father. The Maiden. The Crone. The Warrior. The Smith. The Stranger. Then back to the Mother again.
I couldn't blame either of them. I was so anxious I felt like I might explode out of my own skin.
My hands wouldn't stay still. My leg was bouncing like a child waiting outside a test hall, and I kept grinding my teeth without meaning to. Sweat ran down my back despite the cool stone hallway.
I tried to think about the tourney happening out there. Archers lining up their shots. Taking deep breaths. The absolute calm one had to find to release the arrow at exactly the right moment. The stillness inside oneself.
I tried to embody that same calm.
Then another of Mother's screams tore through the door and my stomach twisted so hard I thought I might be sick.
It was the second day of the tourney. Second of three. We should have been down at Dawnrest right now, watching the middling rounds of the competition, shaking hands with the winning archers and consoling the losers. Father should have been making appearances at all the right pavilions.
Instead, we'd had to ride hard back to Evenfall Hall early in the afternoon when the messenger reached us. Mother had gone into labor early. Maester Rowen had thought there was still a fortnight before the baby came. He'd been wrong.
That had been four hours ago.
Four hours, and the screams were getting weaker now. Less frequent. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. I knew well that long labors were dangerous. That women could die. That babies could die. That sometimes both did.
And the idea that my mother could share the fate of Aemma Arryn made me want to break something.
Or even worse. For one disgraceful moment, it made me want to leave.
To get up, saddle Smoker, and ride out for the day. Take a spear or a bow and find something to kill in the forest. Do as Robert Baratheon had done whenever Cersei was in labor and go off on a hunt or something. Anything to be away from this hallway and these screams.
As if summoned by the thought of it, another scream came from inside the room. Weaker this time. Followed by sobbing.
My heart clenched so hard I had to remind myself to breathe.
Beside me, Arianne reached out and grabbed my hand like a vice. Held onto me like I was the only thing keeping her alive.
I looked down at her. Tears were running down her cheeks despite her tightly shut eyes. Her other hand was clamped onto Alysanne's slender fingers, knuckles white.
Suddenly, the thought of leaving burned like shame in my chest. What kind of coward would I be if I left my sisters here to suffer alone? Whose hand would they hold onto?
I bit my lip, taking down a gulp of breath that still felt too thin in my lungs. I had one goal that mattered in this life. One purpose. To make House Tarth Strong.
But I wasn't Tywin Lannister. I couldn't have cared less about the family name, the dynasty, the political legacy. What truly mattered to me was the family itself. My sisters, holding onto me right now like I was a rock in a storm. My father, who I was watching slowly come apart in front of me. My mother, who was right now fighting to bring another life into the world.
My new brother or sister. Already part of this family before they'd even drawn breath.
Being strong for them meant more than training soldiers or signing trade deals or building ports. It meant being here. Being present. Holding their hands when the world was scary.
Pulling Arianne closer, she buried her face into my shoulder and started crying openly, no longer trying to hold it back. I motioned to Alysanne to come around to my other side and pulled her into the embrace too, so I could hold both of them.
They both clung to me. I could feel them shaking.
I needed to do something. Anything.
"You know," I said, my voice rough but steady enough, "you two would have been too young to remember, too newly-born, but I was there for each of your births too."
Alysanne snorted next to me. The first sound out of her in hours that wasn't a prayer or a sob.
"Idiot," Arianne mumbled, her voice thick. But there was a faint smile in the word.
"It's true," I insisted. "Want to hear about it?"
Neither of them said no.
"I was four when Arianne came along. Old enough to know something important was happening, young enough to be a complete fool about it. They wouldn't let me into the room, you see. Said it was no place for a little boy, so I decided I'd go around them. I went outside and climbed the ivy on the wall up to where I knew the birthing room window was. Except I got about halfway up before a vine snapped under my foot."
Arianne lifted her head slightly. "What?"
"Fell about ten feet onto a hedge. Mother was furious when she found out. Maester Rowen had to check me over for broken bones while she was still recovering from giving birth to you." I shook my head. "Almost broke my leg trying to climb in to see you. I was very young and very stupid."
"What were you trying to do?" Arianne asked.
"What do you think?" I squeezed her shoulder. "I wanted to see my new sister. I'd never wanted anything more in my whole life. Couldn't wait. Was furious they wouldn't let me in."
Arianne pressed her face back into my shoulder. But she was hugging me tighter now.
"It was the same thing for yours, Aly," I continued, looking down at my younger sister. "Except by then I was older and much wiser. I didn't try to climb in through the window."
"You were only a year older," Alysanne pointed out.
"Your brother is a quick learner. A genius, almost." She rolled her eyes at me. "I did try to peek under the door instead. But all I ended up seeing was under Maester Rowen's robes when he walked over to check on something."
Alysanne made a disgusted noise that was half-laugh, half-protest.
"Idiot," Arianne said again. But this time she was chuckling through her tears. A small, watery sound.
Smiling slightly, I held them both tighter, and for a moment, the hallway felt almost bearable.
xxx
It took another three hours.
Three more hours of intermittent screams, occasional quieter moments that somehow felt worse than the screaming, and the constant scrape of Father's boots on the stones.
I told my sisters more stories. Embarrassing ones from when I was younger. Times I'd done foolish things. Times I'd gotten into trouble with Mother. Anything to keep their minds away from what was happening behind the door.
Until, finally, the screams stopped.
A silence fell so deep that you could hear the faint churn of the ocean far below the castle. I felt my whole body go tense. Beside me, Arianne lifted her head sharply. Alysanne's hand tightened on mine.
Father stopped pacing. Turned to face the door.
Nothing for a long, terrible moment.
Then, faintly, the sound of a baby crying.
I felt something inside me unclench, but not fully—not yet. A baby crying didn't mean Mother was safe. Babies could survive when mothers didn't.
The door opened, and Maester Rowen stepped out, looking exhausted. His robes were stained, his white hair disheveled. He was holding a cloth in his hands, drying them.
He looked at Father. Then at us.
And smiled. The best smile I'd ever seen in that old goat's face.
"Both mother and child are safe and well, my lord."
Father made a sound I'd never heard him make before. Something between a sob and a laugh. He nearly fell against the wall, one hand going up to cover his face.
Beside me, Alysanne gasped and brought both hands to her mouth, trying and failing to hide a huge smile.
Arianne jumped to her feet, wiping at her tears only for more to come pouring out, laughing and crying at the same time.
My own relief was so enormous I couldn't move for a moment. I sat there on the bench, my legs apparently refusing to work. The tension that had been winding tighter and tighter inside me for the past nine hours released all at once, and I found I was shaking. Actually shaking.
As if given new life by the good news, Father came to where we sat and kissed each one of us. Pressed his forehead briefly against Arianne's, then Alysanne's, then mine. His eyes were wet. His hand trembled slightly as he touched my cheek.
Without another word, he stepped past us into the labor room.
Arianne and Alysanne followed immediately, but Maester Rowen lifted a hand. "Carefully, my ladies. Your mother is still fragile. She needs rest."
"We'll be careful," Arianne promised, already half through the door.
It took me a second to go after them, but when I did, I saw the best thing I'd ever seen with my own eyes.
Mother lay on the bed, pale and breathless, her hair matted to her forehead with sweat. There were dark circles under her eyes. The bedclothes had been changed but I could see fresh stains on the linens being gathered up by a nursemaid.
Yet despite all of it, the best word I could use to describe her was triumphant.
She was smiling. A tired, fragile, beautiful smile.
Father knelt by the bedside, both of his big hands holding her face like he needed to touch her to believe she was real. His shoulders were slumped as if the weight of the entire world had finally come off his back. He was murmuring something to her too quietly for me to hear.
On the other side of the bed, Arianne and Alysanne crowded around a nurse holding what looked like a bundle of white cloth. Both of my sisters were making cooing noises, their faces lit up with a kind of pure joy I hadn't seen on them in months. Maybe years. They looked like they were already in love.
"Gal," Mother said. Her voice was raspy and weak. "Come. Come meet your newest sister. Another one for you to love and protect."
I walked toward the bed like I was moving through a dream. Each step took twice the effort it should have. Father shifted to give me space, never letting go of Mother's face, and I knelt by the bed beside him.
The first thing I did was reach for Mother's other hand. It was clammy and cold and limp from exhaustion. I brought it up to my lips and kissed it.
"I'm glad you're well, Mother."
My voice sounded like a child's in my own ears.
She smiled at me. Reached weakly with her free hand to touch my cheek. "My first baby."
I realized suddenly that I was crying. Tears running freely down my face. Mother was wiping them away with her thumb, caressing my face and hair. I felt impossibly silly. Having my mother comfort me even though she was the one who had just been through hours of agony. But she just kept wiping my tears with that fond, tired smile, and I let her.
That was what mothers did, I supposed.
The nursemaid moved closer with the bundle of white cloth. She passed it carefully to Mother, who shifted to take it with practiced ease.
Mother cooed at the baby for a moment. Made some soft sound that babies seemed to understand instinctively. Then she held the bundle out toward Father.
"Here, my lord. Meet your fourth child."
Lord Selwyn Tarth took the bundle as if he was being entrusted with something that could shatter at the slightest wrong movement. The baby looked impossibly small in his big hands, the bundle barely seeming to fill his palms.
He looked down at the baby. His blue eyes were glimmering with unshed tears.
I stood up so I could look over his shoulder and got my first glimpse of my new sister.
A tuft of pale blonde hair already showing on her tiny head. Pale skin still flushed pink from the trauma of being born. Eyes squeezed shut against the world. A small, perfect, scrunched-up face. Tiny fists clenched against her tiny chest.
She was beautiful. The most beautiful baby I'd ever seen.
"Have you chosen a name yet?" Father asked. His voice was rough.
"I have," Mother said.
She paused, looking up at him with such tender affection that I felt like I shouldn't be witnessing it. Like this moment belonged only to them.
"This is your daughter Brienne. Brienne of Tarth."
I smiled. She was earlier by many years, but of course it was her.
As if hearing her name—or more likely just responding to her mother's voice—little Brienne started to cry. Her eyes scrunched up tighter. Her tiny face got redder. Her mouth opened in an indignant wail.
Father chuckled, the sound thick with emotion. "A strong voice already."
He shifted her carefully, rocking and shushing her quietly. Brienne's wailing didn't stop, but one of her tiny hands escaped the cloth.
I reached out. Hesitated. Then carefully extended my finger.
Brienne's tiny fist closed around it with surprising strength. Her whole hand barely covered the length of my finger. My smile widened.
Another little sister to hold my hand.
"Hello, Brienne of Tarth," I said softly. "It's so good to meet you."
Her crying didn't stop. But for a moment, she opened her eyes. Just for a moment. Bright blue, unfocused, but looking generally in my direction.
Then they squeezed shut again and she went back to her important business of complaining about the world. I laughed despite the tears still running down my face.
"Welcome to the family, little sister," I whispered. "You're going to have a great life. I'll make sure of it."
xxx
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