Brienne's relationship with her femininity is complex. Conditioned to believe she is ugly, masculine, that she be so incredibly un-womanly that beauty and all things feminine are simply beyond her reach. She found safety in her armor, with her sword and her skills in which she could out-man men. It felt good, powerful. All without compromising her womanhood.

Brienne is a woman, she knows this as fact, but to all eyes she is considered not woman enough. When she looks in the mirror, that is what she sees: barely a woman. And her mind is brought back to that dreadful ball where she was made a laughingstock. Fingers pointing, sneering, mocking. That was the day she swore off gowns for life. Told herself that no skirt, no amount of preening could possibly change her into the woman Westeros expected her to be.

Which is why when you invited her to a ball, she down right refused. And you pestered and pleaded and begged, even promised her a dress- a dreaded dress- which you delivered to her so promptly. And... she broke her promise to herself.

Brienne stands silently in front of the full length mirror in her room, her eyes staring at her reflection, expression twisted with uncertainty. For the person she sees isn't one she likes, not one she cares for or one she recognizes. A... manly woman donning a pretty dress fit for a lady. Her jaw sets, her fingers grasping the blue fabric tight and she lets out a small breath, her eyes watering.