Chapter Text
Sansa stops mid-stride and lets her bag slip further down her shoulder.
"Who is that?" Sansa blinks.
Jeyne follows her eyeline towards the lone figure twirling at centre ice. The girl in a silver leotard and tight, grey pants pulls out of a tight camel spin and takes a half lap around the far side of the rink. She ducks for a moment, chest heaving before snapping a pearly white smile towards a woman leaning on the boards. The woman calls out, but her words do not carry far enough to reach were Sansa and her friends stand. She recognises the voice, Ms Mordane.
"Must be the new girl." Jeyne shrugs.
"Didn't know there was one." Sansa keeps walking towards the stands, catching in the corner of her eye as the new girl flicks her long mane of hair over her shoulder. Even in a high pony tail, the brown curls reach her back. It surprises Sansa, whose hair is of a similar length and best put out of the way in a tight bun.
Myranda is waiting for them in the stands, using a seat to stretch out her hamstrings. She waves to them before switching legs and reaching out to touch the blade covers on her skates.
"New girl, huh?" She half laughs when they near her, pulling out an ear pod blasting her pump-up playlist.
"Who is she?" Sansa asks dumping her bag down on the next seat over and beginning to stretch too.
"No idea haven't seen her around before."
"A transfer?" Jeyne wonders.
"Must be. She looks pretty good." Myranda watches Sansa turn around to watch. The girl is old enough to be in their class, but it seems odd for her to be training alone. Maybe Mordane wanted to evaluate her first, or maybe the girl wanted to show off in front of her new classmates. When the girl skates towards their side of the rink and lands a solid single axel, Sansa must admit she's good, show-off or not.
"Good." Mordane calls out and the new girl skates back to her, not once sending a look in their direction. Sansa pays it no mind, finishes her warm up and pulls off her skate guards. Their class begins now anyway.
She walks over the door where Mordane is waiting for them, extra careful not to wobble on her skates. It might be the first lesson back from the summer break, but Sansa doesn't want to appear like she's been slacking.
"Hello girls!" Mordane tucks her hands into the pants of her velvet tracksuit. "Good to see you all on time for your first day back."
"Did you have a relaxing summer Ms Mordane?" Sansa smiles.
"Ha! No rest for the wicked dear Sansa, and I hope you all stuck to your summer training schedules." Mordane says sternly. Myranda groans.
On the other side of the boards the new girl is waiting, quietly. Sansa meets her eyes for a second, she smiles before Sansa looks away. Up close she is even more beautiful. Tan, unblemished skin and sparkling dark brown eyes. She looks as if she'd spent the last month on a Dornish beach, but Sansa knew a push-over when she saw one. Anyone who could skate like that didn't get there without hours a day practicing on ice.
"Ladies, we have a new student with us this year. Margaery would you like to introduce yourself?"
"Hi, I'm Margaery. Oh, you already know my name." The girl giggles bashfully. "I'm from High Garden but I just transferred here to join Winterfell's program, it's the best in Westeros."
"Well, we like to challenge our students to be the best they can." Mordane nods approvingly. "I'm sure you'll fit in well with this class. Right girls?"
Jeyne, Sansa, and Myranda all nod along.
"Excellent, we've got a long season ahead of us girls, let's get into the hard work." Mordane claps and ushers them all onto the ice. Once their lesson is underway, there isn't much time for chatter. Mordane is hell bent on testing their strength and conditioning by having them skate gruelling laps between drills. By the end of the lesson they're just about dead on their feet. Sansa can feel her face must be beet red by now, but she looks over at Margaery to see the girl only wipe at a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. Sansa resists the urge to roll her eyes.
Sansa huddles with Jeyne and Myranda on the bench afterwards as they change out of their skates. Margaery's bag is a little further down the bench, but not quite out of earshot. Sansa watches the girl change quickly, not looking keen on hanging around. Between unlacing her skates, she pulls her phone from her bag and sends a couple of quick text messages. She packs away her bag and slips into a black adidas jacket.
Before Sansa has one skate off, she is already walking past them.
"Sorry, my brother is waiting in the car. It was really nice meeting you all, I'll see you on Tuesday." Margaery flashes them one last perfect smile before leaving through the café entrance.
"So," Sansa says, watching the small bouncing figure retreat. "What do you guys think?"
"She can skate." Myranda huffs, brushing her fringe from her eyes.
"Did you see that axel?" Jeyne sighs. She didn't know much about figure skating in the Reach, and she'd never seen this girl in the under sixteen competitions in the North. No doubt she'd be some serious competition.
"Yeah." Sansa feels like a fire has been lit under her. She may have won the last two metro-north division titles, but they were in the under eighteens category now. Between the higher age and the added pressure of their final year of school, Sansa knew her work was cut out for her this year. It was more than that though. "But what do you guys think of her?"
Myranda shrugs.
"She seems nice I guess. Kind of cocky maybe." Jeyne hums.
"How is she just transferring here now? Seems kind of weird if you ask me."
"Family has gotta be rich."
"In a leotard like that? She must be loaded."
"Do you think she's enrolled at GA?" Sansa asks. Godswood Academy was the best private school in Winterfell, all three of them went there, as had all the Stark family.
"She a southerner, she'll probably want to go to one that worships the Seven." Jeyne says.
"My family is all southern," Myranda points out. Well, as much as the Vale was considered southern compared to the rest of Westeros.
"I'll guess we'll just wait and see."
"We could ask her next time." Sansa says, both girls look surprised having not thought of that.
The three leave together, having turned the conversation away from Margaery to the mention of her brother.
"I wonder how old he is." Jeyne giggles and Sansa rolls her eyes.
"All I'm saying is that bone structure like that must run in the family." Myranda adds.
"You're both so pathetic."
"Don't act like you're much better. We know your type, Sans. There's like a seventy percent chance he's hot and you're just as pathetic as us." Myranda laughs.
Sansa imagines for a moment a boyish version of Margaery. The same dark eyes and curly hair, but perhaps taller with a bit more muscle on him. Would he have the same disarming smile that his sister did?
"Yeah right." Sansa lies and pushes the heavy door out to the carpark. She scans the mostly empty carpark for a moment before she spots a silver station wagon in the corner. Just as she sees it, the car honks twice and a hand waves out the driver's side window. Sansa flushes, yes, she had already found it. Her mother can be so embarrassing at times.
"I'll see you guys later." Sansa says a quick goodbye and rushes to the car. It's late in summer but the cool change to the air had already begun. Sansa hops into the front seat and dumps her bag on the backseat before leaning in to give her mum a kiss on the cheek.
"How was practice?" Cat asks as she puts the car into gear.
"We have a new girl in the class." Sansa leans over the dashboard to turn the heat up.
"What's she like?"
"Not sure yet." Is all Sansa says as she then turns the radio station over from the tragic golden-oldies Cat had been listening while she waited.
On the way out the carpark, Cat overtakes a powder blue SUV driving in. She pays it no mind, instead chastising her daughter for putting the seat warmers on in late August.
The Blue SUV parks close to the door, out of the driver's seat steps a tall woman in jeans and dusty jacket. She pulls a knitted toque over her short blonde hair and rushes inside, already late for her first day on the job. She wouldn't have been late if Jaime hadn't lost her keys, but that's another story. She rushes pass the admission box and pass the café, towards the staff entrance. Double checking she's going the right way, she dashes towards the staff lunch room where half a dozen people are already seated around a battered wooden table. In the corner, someone has wheeled in a whiteboard.
"Tarth, glad you made it." Rodrik Cassel says as she enters.
"Sorry I'm late." She ducks her head, trying and failing to hide herself from view of the rest of the table. She takes the seat furthest away from Cassel and busies herself pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup.
"No sweat, you're not officially on the clock today." Cassel nods, continuing to hand out the paper leaflets. Brienne takes one and flicks through the first few pages. There's a short blurb on the front before it gets into the itinerary and safety forms. Thankfully, Brienne still has her blue card from her other job. In hindsight she hadn't expected so much formality for a simple coaching job, but Winterfell took ice hockey seriously. In hindsight she should have seen it all coming.
Evenfall had been much less of a grandiose affair. She got paid in cash in a manila envelope every Friday she was there. She assisted coaching on a few local teams, helped run drills and stepped in whenever someone more experienced was out sick. There was only one rink on an island as small as that, so demand for her skillset wasn't exactly high. Things were a little better in Storm's End, but only when she managed to get people to take her seriously.
For the little she knew of the North so far, it hadn't been hard for her to be taken seriously. Perhaps it was a general level of respect, or maybe her reputation was enough at this point for people to stay the hell out of her way. Sure, perhaps riding the coat tails of a Lannister had its benefits too.
She flipped to the fourth page in the coaching guide, that had the name and contact info of everyone on staff. She scanned down the list of names until she saw her own, just checking she hadn't been forgotten. It had happened before. Her name was there towards the end of the page running last name alphabetical.
Tarth, Brienne. Coaching Girls Under 14's. Contact by phone on...
Brienne blinked. She reread the line again searching for some kind of mistake.
"You right there, Brienne?"
Brienne looked up, slightly frazzled. Cassel was looking at her.
"You want me coaching Under 14's?"
"Yes, well, we thought with your set of skills it might suit you better there."
My set of skills? Brienne wonders, before it sinks in. She looks around the table, the rest of the coaching staff is entirely male.
"I wasn't aware there was a girls’ Under 14's"
"It's a new addition to the club." Cassel sighs looking off in the distance for a moment. "Let's just say it was in very high demand."
Brienne says nothing else but downs the rest of her coffee. Sure, she's a woman so she must be the one qualified to coach a bunch of teenage girls. She wonders if Cassel, or anyone else in this room, is exactly aware of her skillset. Never mind the fact the last and only time she was on a team with another woman was over a decade ago. There were no girls’ teams growing up in the Stormlands. She hadn't the faintest idea what to say to a thirteen-year-old girl, let alone what the rules of that division would be.
Cassel goes over the forms and paraphernalia they need to sign for the rest of the meeting, Brienne sits back quietly until it’s over. Once most of the staff has left, she pours herself and Cassel another coffee and sits him down.
"I thought you might have some questions." He says.
"Yes, well," Brienne flounders unsure where to begin.
"I know, it's not ideal but you're not as underqualified as you think. It's basically another youth league with no body checking. All you do is run your shooting and passing drills and hand out orange slices at the end of the period."
"That's not really my problem here."
"I think you're over thinking this."
"Did you really hire me because I'm a woman?"
"Well, was it wrong of me to do that?"
Brienne huffs.
"I thought it might be nice, you know," Cassel slumps back in his seat. "The kids might actually look up to you."
"My story isn't inspiring."
"Isn't it?"
"I'm a goon! In the North's premiere goon league! You mean to tell me parents won't be calling you up when they here you hired an enforcer to teach their daughters?"
"Now, goon is a little harsh."
Brienne scoffs and is almost tempted to look up her penalty minutes from last season.
"Alright, fine." Cassel shakes his head. "Give it a couple of weeks and if it doesn't work I'll put you with one of the senior teams. But you have to promise me to give this a shot."
"Fine." Brienne rolls her eyes, already predicting the disaster that is about to unfold.
There's a moment there when Cassel shake's Brienne's hand that he wishes Clegane wasn't retiring. But if there was someone who might have a chance at wrangling a team Arya Stark is on, it might as well be Brienne Fucking Tarth.