White Sword Tower

"Again I'm hearing that you desire a White Cloak for you," Brandon said, "I don't mean to offend, but is this about fulfilling your desires, and reaching your potential as a warrior? If so, I am not certain this is the place for you. Consider the case of The WhiteStorm, Ser Jayson Baratheon. Poisoned and stabbed in his sleep. An ignoble death for an otherwise great man. In that great book upon my desk, I have stories of Kingsguard felled by poison, slain from a distance while their swords were still sheathed. Others who got the pox, drowned, or crushed by cracked masonry. Say you are a White Knight, and taste his grace's food only to be poisoned and die in bed shitting yourself? Is that the capability you hope to realize one day? Or perhaps you merely die in your sleep after thirty years of standing by his grace's chamber door for twelve hours on end ever day, with nothing more to show than aching knees, and a sore back? Is that enough for you?"

He leaned back then, and frowned, as if slightly displeased with his own tone. Nonetheless he awaited her reply.

Brandon nodded. In another man Arenya's comment about a willingness to give her body would have earned uncharitable thoughts, but the notion does not occur to Brandon, who proceeds with practicalities.

"That is enough of a reason," he agreed finally. "Your sex means little enough to me, but it would be controversial among the brothers. Already they are less than impressed that I am not a devotee of the Seven, and the appointment of a woman among their number may be the final straw. The question for us, is whether these issues outweigh the benefits," he said.

"For negatives as a woman, a female presence in such close quarters with celibate men is sure to invoke at best discomfort, and at worse feelings of desire which cause disruptions or disorder to harmonious work. We may be White Cloaks, but we are certainly not blind either," He said, giving a slight nod in recognition of certain obvious appealing features the Princess possessed.

"Additionally, you are not an annointed knight, and by rite and law can never be. There is a risk that an appointment is seen as an insult to bother class and religious sensibility, at a time when our King can ill afford to lose favor with any of his supporters. There's a potential further insult that what appears to be nepotism alienates the many other members of loyal chivalry who currently fight on the front lines, and may themselves desire the honor. Giving you a White Cloak gains His Grace no additional blades, and could cost him some he would have wished to have."

"Against that balance we add your existing reputation in combat, which is well respected, your closeness to the royal family, so that your presence is unlikely to be viewed as an inconvienence or burden, and, of course, your dragon. Having another Kingsguard who can join his grace in the air, either in battle, or when he travels by dragonback, would be a substantial asset for reasons which are obvious."

He sighed for a moment.

"Am I missing anything from either column? You may answer honestly."

Brandon raised his eyebrow,

"I have not turned down your request," Brandon replied, "I am merely examining the costs and benefits," he said, before turning slightly, as if to embrace the sudden change in subject.

"I was twelve before our Lord father recognized me as his issue," he explained, "and even so it was made abdundantly clear that my acceptance into his household was based on my willingness to serve. If you did not see much of me, it is not surprising. What little time I spent with our father, I spent on campaign, first as a page, than squire, and finally knight. I was not there, when father died, and I did not take it well, true be told. But after much examination, I came to the conclusion that the best way to atone for that, was to be there for our brother. To be family is to serve, or so I have been raised to understand. It did not occur to me to deny you a cloak for the same reason I accepted mine."

Brandon nodded, and allowed Arenya to depart without another word.

Brandon was seated at his chair but stood when Arenya entered. "Passable." He said regarding the haircut and appearance. "I'll expect you to maintain your appearance as such. From now on you'll be just another knight in his Grace's service. I won't do you the discredit of asking if this is truly what you want, if it weren't you'd never had made it this far." He cleared his throat. "I'll knight you myself and then we'll present you to the King to swear into the Kingsguard. Do you have any questions?"

He thought. "May be for the nonce say nothing of it, and we will present you to his grace upon your return."

Uncharitably it crossed his mind that if she fell in battle he would not have to suffer Maegot's wrath for failing to dissuade her. He silently cursed himself. He had made a decision and would accept the consequences.

"I did not think you would run away," he replied, his tone icy, a reflection of his own irritation at himself. "I am convinced this is the right decision and honorably reached. But even so it will not be easy. His Grace is likely to be irritable and your brothers will not accept you. Hells below they may not accept me. The scars you'll bear because I cut you will serve as a reminder that nothing was given to you. The only chance you have is if they come to understand that you earned this with every word and deed."

An honorable man in all things past. If only that were so.

"There is nothing standing that is stronger than Maegor's will," Brandon replied instead, bringing himself to his feet. "If there once was he has long since tore it down. In any case we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. In the mean time kneel, Arenya Targaryen."

Brandon drew his sword and held it aloft over her head.

"Very well then," he said, clearing his throat and trying to recall the words said over him that one day so long ago.

"Arenya of house Targaryen, In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." He tapped her on the right shoulder with the flat of the blade.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." The left shoulder.

"I charge you to defend the young and protect the innocent, in the name of the Mother." Again, so close the blade grazed her cheek. Had she been a bearded man instead of a woman she'd have been nearly shorn

"I charge you to defend the virtue and honor of all women, in the name of the Maiden." He said. that ought not be a problem. he thought to himself.

"In the name of Crone, act with wisdom," he said dubbing her shoulder and following quickly with "In the name of the Smith, act with diligence. Do you accept these charges that I have laid upon you?" The words running slightly together.

"Then uphold these vows till the day the Stranger take you," He said, harsher than intended.

"Arise Ser knight," he added, as he stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"That's all for now."