Tired, and still, still beautiful. That's a thing that does not change. Though blooms indeed have their cyclical life. Brienne holds her closer as they have their exchange amidst the dance.

"I... have no sword in this moment," she admits in a hush as though someone could hear and do something about it. "We shall fight together, yes. This is your treaty then?"

If she felt so inclined, Brienne could carry her through all the steps. The count of four over and over, sometimes dull. Not here. Not now. The lights are bright and pretty, the crowd strange and exotic. Frea sweet and comfortable in her arms.