The doll walked and jumped through the plants and bricks. Meanwhile, Brienne hummed a made-up tune, helping her to enter an imaginary world, where the doll was a real woman, a friend of Brienne's, her mother, her sister, or even Brienne herself. She was quite concentrated, but she noticed someone approaching and blushed as she met Aemond. He sat down beside her and the girl stopped making the doll dance.
"What song were you singing?" He asked her, but the girl refused to say a word, only shrugged her shoulders. "So you made it up? It's very pretty..."
She was still silent, but despite that, Aemond knew Brienne was eager to speak. And she was probably eager to sing the song to him. But she was indignant, and it was entirely understandable, a good quality in her even. No one could say that the girl lacked personality. The only bad thing was that Aemond didn't want to be blamed for her sorrows, and someone as sweet as her helped him keep his cool in those days.
"I see you're still mad at me." At last, the girl nodded, looking him in the face decisively. "I was so nervous...when you're older you'll understand."
"I know. Matylda used to get very nervous when something happened, too. And those days she would hit me."
Aemond felt a shudder, that comparison did not seem fair, but Brienne must be more disturbed than she let on, and perhaps all mistreatment began that way, with simple words and tones. He took her small hand in his, and squeezed it gently.
"Brienne, I would never be able to hit you. Never. You are my friend."
"We are friends?"
"Of course. And we wear the matching scar...it just looks better on me." Aemond smiled sideways, trying to let the mockery show in his voice.
The girl giggled and before he could realize it, Brienne lunged for his neck and nearly fell backwards from the force of the hug she gave him. He didn't, he balanced himself and hugged her back. It wasn't like when Luke hugged him in the forest, with his head on his chest and Lucerys' hand squeezing his sleeve. No, it was like Helaena's hugs, who always dropped her body onto his shoulders, and she seemed to be the one holding him. It was a joyful squeeze, even the blonde hair tickled his face in the same way that the waves of Helaena's silver hair did.
When the girl pulled away from him, Aemond could see Orla in the distance, chattering away as she sewed in the open air. Next to her, standing and folding clothes, was Luke, who was looking back at him. He was wearing his new shirt, his hair blown back by the wind, and he was smiling. It was a light smile, comparable to that of that last dinner at King's Landing. Only there was something different in his eyes, though the lips moved the same, there was no mockery. He even seemed to be touched by scene, and he turned slightly red, though he was slow to look away to continue gathering clothes.
He heard Brienne's laughter and then looked away. The girl was teasing him.
"You've gone red."
~
Orla had taught him how to sew, while Aemond taught Brienne how to handle the sword Luke could not yet use. The bruise hurt less and less each day, and he even felt sad at the thought that they would soon be marching again. They were standing still in time, under that colourful roof and breakfasts of milk and hot bread. In three days, no act of discord had occurred between him and Aemond, though no special rapprochement could have been noted. They slept side by side, with the fire burning. Aemond used to go to sleep before Luke, and it was Aemond who got up before Luke. He heard him many mornings training alone. And from the window, Luke watched as he barely broke a sweat, braving the air. It was much like the training he saw that day back at the Red Keep. This time, though, admiration won out over panic and longing for a fantasy.
