In the canon, he chose the most radical, the most severe path — he renounced the world and plunged headlong into faith.
I still remember how astonished and incredulous he looked when he propped himself up on his elbow as Margaery and I visited him. And the tears of remorse that welled up when he asked her to leave and confessed that he had slept with Cersei.
He showed undoubted courage then, believing those were his last words and that death awaited him — Joffrey would never have forgiven him. But I only nodded, patted my uncle sympathetically on the shoulder, and told him that I already knew everything and that he shouldn't trouble himself with such trifles. Everything was fine, and I had no complaints against him. I wished him a speedy recovery, mentioning that we were all very much counting on his participation in the common cause!
It was worth remembering his astonished, bewildered, and shocked look, which only faded after I left the room and closed the door behind me.
Cersei certainly doesn't need to know any of this. I doubt she is capable of understanding such impulses of the soul.
"So what did you discuss?" the queen asked.
"Various interesting things."
"Did Lord Kevan ask you to visit his son? Or someone else?"
"Can't I come up with something myself? I do what I want."
"I didn't think you would be so easy to control when you grew up," Cersei fired her last, most insidious arrow, gathered her skirts, and stormed off.
I watched her thoughtfully. Her motives were obvious — she wanted me to carry out only her own plans. She wanted more power and influence. That was all.
I have to admit, she made a good point at the very end. And if the dim-witted Joffrey had been here, he would certainly have taken offense and started doing all kinds of nonsense, trying to prove to his mother that no one could command him and that he was perfectly capable of making the right decisions himself.
Still… what if Cersei did something truly foolish? I wondered seriously. Could she go so far as to try to poison Tyrion? Or even her own father? Or Margaery?
The sun shone gently outside the window, and the birds were singing. But for a moment, I felt cold.
That day, I had another conversation — this time with Lord Tywin. To be honest, I was beginning to enjoy studying this man, learning from his wisdom and his mastery in managing people.
Tywin himself seemed to notice — or at least sense — my desire, and it flattered him.
As usual, Kevan, another extremely competent man, was with the Hand.
"Did you wish to ask something?" Tywin asked.
"Tell me, Grandfather, do you intend to grant Prince Oberyn request and summon Clegane here?"
"The final decision has not yet been made," Kevan replied cautiously. The Hand leaned back in his chair and waited, curious to hear me continue.
"Still, I believe Oberyn will get his way and the duel will take place," I sighed deeply. "One thing worries me."
Neither of my interlocutors deemed it necessary to speak, so I continued:
"I am concerned for Myrcella's safety."
"What does she have to do with this?" Lord Tywin pursed his thin lips.
"If Oberyn wins, she won't be affected. But if he loses, Myrcella's safety may come into question."
"You think they might take revenge on her?" Tywin asked instantly. "But Prince Doran is a wise man and will try to prevent that."
"He is, and I agree. But I've heard that Oberyn has several daughters. They're called the 'Sand Snakes,' though they're probably just ordinary bitches — very sharp and bloodthirsty. I hope they won't cause trouble for my sister."
Kevan and Tywin exchanged glances. I understood they had not considered this aspect. Without waiting for a question, I suggested:
"Perhaps we should play it safe and make it a condition for Prince Oberyn that we wish to see Myrcella in King's Landing before the duel. If he insists, Prince Trystane may accompany her. Write to Doran that her mother and brothers miss her. But in any case, without her, the duel will not take place."
"I think there's something to consider here," Kevan said cautiously, looking at his older brother.
"There is indeed something to it," the Hand agreed. "A sensible thought. Not bad, Your Majesty."
I couldn't help but smile. It was the first praise I had ever earned from my grandfather. And it warmed my heart.
***
Brienne of Tarth
Her life used to resemble a nightmare.
Actually, it still does, Brienne admitted to herself. But I've begun to see things differently.
She had grown up a large, awkward girl, and all her peers had mocked her. It had cut her deeply at the time. After all, as a child, like all girls, she had dreamed of becoming a real lady and having children.
Time had knocked all that nonsense out of her head. She began to look at the world more soberly. And since she had no place among the other ladies, she would find her place among warriors — or fight for it with strength and perseverance.
Her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth, known as Evenstar, tried three times to marry her off.
Her first betrothed was a small, pimply boy named Edric, the youngest son of Lord Caron. She was seven at the time, while her fiancé was already nine. Edric had stared in horror at his future bride, who was a head taller and twice as broad in the shoulders. Two years later, the boy, along with his two sisters, died of a "nasty cold."
Her second fiancé, Ronnet Connington, an eighteen-year-old young man, nearly fled their castle when he saw his future wife. Even the notorious wealth of the Tarths could not reconcile him to the idea of such a match. In the end, the engagement never took place.
When she turned sixteen, their castle was visited by the old, sixty-five-year-old Ser Humfrey Wagstaff. Septa Roelle, who oversaw Brienne's upbringing, once laughed as she told a peculiar story: last winter, Ser Humfrey had gone hunting, lost his way, and frozen nearly to death. The servants searched for him for more than a day, and when they finally found him and carried him back to the castle, they couldn't warm him for a long time — he was frozen almost through and through. Since then, Roelle laughed, the only thing Sir Humfrey can get to stand these days is his mustache.