There are several great warriors at the Wall.
There was a moment where Tommen indulged a little in pride, not fighting the smile that teased at his lips. His relationship with the Wall and his status as essentially a prisoner there was – complex – but he was indeed – proud of what they had accomplished, what hard work and determination had done to shape what had been raw clay – not necessarily Westeros’ best and brightest – into something that was worthy of pride. “Perhaps one day I’ll be among them. It’s all I want.” His words were earnest and bright with firm, youthful determination. It wasn’t true that that was all that he wanted – he wanted a life of his own choosing completely, he wanted a chance at love – but above all, Tommen was a practical young man. He understood well enough that this might be the only dream that he had in reach that he could accomplish. He’d never fall in love, he’d never hold a newborn babe in his arms, he’d never command his own holdfast, or swear different vows, but he could become very, very good at this. He could matter, in that way, in his own very small way. As complicated as things could be with Jaime, he wanted his father to be proud of him.
The boy smiled at her reaction to the sword’s name and explanation, happy that she was pleased. “I didn’t know that he named it,” he admitted in a moment of quiet surprise, and the significance of the name Oathkeeper suddenly made far more poignant sense. “I suppose there’s a lot of things I don’t really know about him,” he confessed, with a small shrug, holding his blade lightly in his hand, beginning to move slowly, defensive. It was an irony that he knew little about the man who sired him when he appeared, in that moment, as a younger copy of the older man – bright hair, green eyes and an easy, natural grace. There was a clear look in his gaze of admiration as Oathkeeper was drawn – no matter how many times he had seen it, he never tired of looking at Valyrian steel. It seemed to dance in the faint light of the torches like a living thing, unspeakably beautiful and unspeakably deadly.
Still, his attention didn’t waver for long, focusing back on the woman holding the sword rather than the sword itself. That was something he had learned – self taught, and taught by others – the importance of understanding a person’s body language in combat, to watch for the faintest shift of weight that would speak of an impeding blow, a flicker in the eyes, a tensing. Brienne had far the advantage on him, in weight, height, breadth, and experience, and so Tommen knew his only chance at a decent showing might to rely on his speed. He would have to keep his head, and not be intimidated. Admittedly, the young man was surprised as she moved forward in a straightforward attack – the big woman seemed ungainly at first glance but attacked with a surprising power. There was no clumsiness in that motion, and he recognized it for what it was – a safe choice to begin the sparring, to test him until she could analyze his abilities.
When the boy moved, it was smooth as the movement of silk through fingertips, fluid as if he was dancing. He didn’t catch the Valyrian sword with his own, as she might easily disarm him with her superior strength, and he had no chance of maneuvering out of a bind. Instead, he side stepped the blow neatly, feeling a rush of cool air where it missed him, and shifted back to circling again, choosing to attack after several long moments, explosive and sudden. Tommen swung his blade quickly as if to aim for her outer shoulder, before he turned it into a rapid fire feint at the last moment, directed lower towards her chest. Despite the intensity with which he moved, and the seriousness with which he took this, there was a happiness in his gaze, a brightness in him, that didn’t exist in any other circumstance. He came alive with a sword in his hand.
Jaime hadn’t told him. That was somewhat surprising - in what other instance would the name of her sword come up in conversation, if not to tell Tommen the story? She had performed no great deeds worthy of the sword’s name yet, but someday she hoped she would - as he hoped someday to be renowned at the Wall. But he was still young, and had time to do many deeds of renown. She was less certain about herself. Though so long as she kept everyone safe, she rationalized, it didn’t matter what great wars she won. So long as she did not abandon her duty.
“Oh. Well - he did,” she said, uselessly. Perhaps he had only mentioned it in passing. “When we arrived at King’s Landing. You might ask him, sometime.” Jaime would likely tell him the story. No matter how he changed, Brienne doubted she would ever need call him too humble.
His dodge was successful enough. She let him take the next opening, and he seemed to consider it a moment - Brienne was about to go in for another strike before he attacked once more, a feint. She parried the expected attack, but had to rely on a sidestep to emerge unharmed from the actual one. She took only a second to give him an encouraging smile - he showed promise, after all - before recovering to a more neutral stance. Although she had a size advantage on Tommen, Brienne was used to fights with men larger than her, and as such almost always made her attacks quickly. Tommen may have had a speed advantage on her, however; he was several years younger. Instead, she compromised, attempting an attack almost immediately after her recovery, with as much force as she dared. Valyrian Steel was not meant for sparring, after all. If he was expecting her to react as quickly, or if he had exceptionally good reflexes, it would be easy enough to parry or dodge.
The thoughts were quick, each fluttering through her mind as she moved. Battle was one place where you could not spend too much time in deliberation or extraneous thoughts.
