Prelude

Brien shared his story.

"I grew up in a castle not far from here, known as Horn Hill," he began. "It stands on a hill surrounded by dense woodlands beneath the Red Mountains.

"As you are aware, House Tarly traces its roots back to the age of heroes, claiming descent from Garth Greenhand.

"According to the songs, which I firmly believe in, the castle atop Horn Hill was built by Garth's twin sons, Harlon the Hunter and Herndon of the Horn."

Noticing Rhaenyra's focused expression, I nudged her, "Did Septa Marlow overlook this part?"

Rhaenyra was engrossed in the tale. She placed a hand on mine and hushed me.

"In any case," Brien continued, "the twin sons took to wife a beautiful woods witch who resided in the surrounding forest. Legend has it that they shared her favor for a hundred years, meeting her during each full moon. This union prolonged their lives well beyond a century."

I chuckled, "Must have been some damn good pussy."

But my sister kicked my shin below the table, "Rhaenar!"

"Apologies…"

Brien sipped his wine, "While his choice of words are unseemly infront of a Princess," he said, "There is some truth to it, at least as far as my father was concerned."

"The people of Horn Hill are renowned for their exceptional skill in warfare and archery," Brien explained. "Given the constant Dornish invasions from the south and the competitions among the marcher lords in the era of the hundred petty kingdoms, they needed to be formidable warriors. Even during times of peace, as the surrounding woods teemed with life, providing ample opportunities for target practice. The red huntsman on a field of green is a suitable banner in this regard."

"Such was the way of Horn Hill. As militaristic as any House. Lord Donald inherited the Tarly traditions to the extreme, and he longed for a son.

"He sought his pleasures without restraint, undeterred by the legitimacy of his offspring. Whether they were born as bastards or not held little significance, for Lord Donald would legitimize them if the need arose. Yet, time after time, fate conspired against him, granting him only daughters.

"Frustrated, desperate. Lord Donald turned to prayer, hoping for a solution to his predicament. Rumor of a beautiful witch dwelling within the woods reached his ears, and hope woke within him.

"In his heart, Lord Donald believed his prayers had been answered. It seemed that fate had bestowed upon him a witch akin to those in his ancestral tales. With newfound determination, he set out on a quest to locate the enchantress. And find her he did. However, unlike the outcome of Garth's twin sons, Lord Donald was unable to win the witch's favor."

By then I could sense where it was going. "So he raped her?"

Brien nodded, "Yes, locked in a tower, he took her time and time again. In the fashion of Garth's sons, he did so every full moon. When she wouldn't eat or drink, they forced it down her throat. And when she threatened to curse Lord Donald and his entire family line should they not release her, he cut out her tongue.

"Escape, she tried, so he cut off her legs. Fearful she'd draw runes with her blood, he was, so he severed her arms.

"But even as a torso with only her head, his paranoia remained. For she possessed a captivating beauty that could ensnare the hearts of men with just a glance, her pale eyes beguiling like that of a snake. Thus he gouged them out, in fear that one of his guards might succumb to her gaze, take pity, and end her suffering.

"Lord Donald eventually got what he desired, for his son was born, and they named him Brien.

"After my birth, it seemed his curse was broken, as Lord Donald was able to father sons from thence forward. However, his joy was short-lived. While my father expected me to embrace the Tarly traditions of warfare, I yearned for books and knowledge instead. Bows and spears held no appeal for me on my nameday; I sought solace in the glow of glass candles and the weight of ponderous tomes.

"As time passed and it became evident that I did not embody the Tarly militaristic spirit, my father's once warm gaze turned cold and disdainful. My nature seemed an affront to his very metal, an embarrassment. It started with neglect, gradually escalating into cruel abuse. Then, one fateful night, when Lord Donald's wife gave birth to Alan, a legitimate heir, a servant came to my chambers.

"'He's going to kill you,' she said, and my heart sank. 'Who?' I asked, though deep down, I already knew the answer. 'The lord, my dear,' she replied. 'At first light, they will take you on a hunt, and this time you will not return.'

"Joan was her name, my wet nurse. I owe her my life, for if it weren't for her, I would not be here. She helped me gather my belongings and aided in my escape. But before I left, she shared the tale of my mother. I was only one-and-ten at the time.

"Fortunately, my mother was put out of her misery long ago, after it became clear that their encounters under the full moon did not grant Lord Donald eternal youth. I rode off on a mare to Oldtown, never to return.

"It was there that I found myself. Instead of facing rejection for my scholarly inclinations, the maesters embraced me with open arms. I remained at the Citadel ever since, indulging in endless reading and forging my chain of knowledge at a turtle pace. I had no desire to take my vows and serve in some lord's keep.

"The irony was not lost on me when, eventually, the excuse no longer held, and I was summoned to accompany Archmaester Mellos to the capital. My intelligence and non-maester status made me the perfect tutor, or so they thought. They believed they were not losing a valuable manpower, except for my swiftness in writing. Perhaps it was this very speed that led me here, as the archmaester's were keen on documenting your life, Rhaenar, as well as that of the Princess.

"You know how the story unfolded from there. Theodore and I fell under Rhaenar's influence, and it has remained that way ever since. So concludes my tale, a sad one indeed, but one you wished to hear."

There was a moment of silence in the room, save for Rhaenyra's sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Brien," Rhaenyra finally spoke in a waterfall of sympathy. "No one should have to endure such horror."

"Thank you, Princess," said Brien somberly, "but it's all right. Otherwise, I would not have had the chance to meet all of you and be here today."

Anger surged within me; I slammed my fist on the table. "It is not all right, or else you wouldn't sulk in the shadows!"

I stood and forcefully pulled Brien along by his arm.

Brien attempted to resist, but he was too weak even against me at age 13. "What are you doing?"

"Dragging your desolate self to the feast. We must reclaim your power!"

"No, I don't want to," Brien protested.

At that moment, Rhaenyra rose with elation and took hold of Brien's other arm, lending her support. "You must!"

In the end, we managed to bring Brien to the feast. We positioned him among our group, as if he were the life of the party. We laughed at all his japes, silenced all those who interrupted his conspiracy theory rants. Many sought Rhaenyra's hand in dance, but it was only Brien she danced with.

And would you believe it? When Lord Donald Tarly finally stood face-to-face with Brien Flowers, he didn't even recognize him!

But when Brien tugged at the fringe of his black hair and gazed at Lord Donald with those pale eyes inherited from his mother, all color drained from the lord's face, leaving him as white as snow.

Suddenly, Lord Donald lost his liveliness and no longer made snide remarks about the absence of meat at the feast. In fact, he seemed lifeless altogether. His face twitched uncontrollably as he glanced in my direction, seeking warmth in my gaze — a warmth I feigned to provide.

The whole encounter seemed to momentarily break his mind, rendering him almost unable to speak as he excused himself, muttering 'no, it can't be' as he retreated.

Happily, this encounter rejuvenated Brien's timid spirit, smiling as he witnessed House Tarly slither out of the great hall. They departed for Horn Hill that very night.

And bless him, when I asked Brien if he wanted Lord Donald executed, he refused.

"Though his mistreatment during my youth remains a wound yet to heal, the fear etched on his face gave me the satisfaction I sought. Perhaps he believes I possess the power to curse him? It's better to let him live in dread for his soul than to end him swiftly, that's what I think."

"Okay," I responded. "Then how about we give him the nugget treatment? You hardly need arms, legs, eyes, or tongue to fear for your soul."

At that, Brien erupted into a cathartic laughter, his smile noticeably lighter. We sang and danced the night away. And as dawn approached, we found ourselves seated upon the walls, basking in the sunrise.

Brien indulged in excessive drinking and ended up squirting from both ends. As a result, it wasn't until noon that we were able to bid farewell to Highgarden.

In a way that worked out for the best. It took the entire morning to convince Rhaenyra to refrain from joining us on tour. I have no doubt she sulked for the entire flight home.