There was the sickening crush of bones, plate armor being disheveled underneath the weight of her blow. Her sword was fine steel, forged directly from the heart of the Evenstar. It felt like it belonged in her hold, hand swift as it could be.

Sweat ran down her brow, but she didn't mind it — it served as a reminder that she was alive, that she was better than most men around her. They could judge, stare, belittle her for her appearance, but they could never say a damn thing about her strength.

Her opponent swayed, body clashing on to the muddy ground. The knight seemed to tremble, but he was too proud to yield just yet. The crowd roared, calling for blood, for someone's head, but Brienne didn't know whether they wished for her own or for her enemy's.

Another blow, this time, right on the center of their chest. The noise itself was disgusting, the powerful ripple of metal as her opponent yowled out in pain — no doubt their armor was of lesser material, now that she had proven it couldn't defend a mere man from the strength of her sword.

People either screamed for her, or at her, but Brienne couldn't care less. She spared the man below a single glance, then turned on her feet. Renly's men parted to allow her out of the arena, none thinking it wise to stop her on her way.

Her boots were muddy by the time she reached her tent, gaze zeroing in on your presence. Like it or not, you were always there after one of her battles, and for some reason... it annoyed her.

"I don't need your help."

Those were the words that always left her mouth the second she spotted you, knowing you'd offer to take her armor, run her a bath or get her some wine or food — she never particularly understood why you always insisted, and she always told you to stop with it.

Yet, she didn't push you away when you approached. She never could.