One day she came back grinning her honey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covererd in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers.
“She had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted. Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come for them with a vengeance.”
“Dracarys! Dracarys!” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.
but it’s just so perfect for their relationship, brienne grabs his fork with a sort of annoyance like, she doesn’t wholly want to admit that she’s grown fond of him, and jaime comes in real quiet and subtle,which i think is often his way of caring for people, which is probably something he learned a long time ago, that when he needed to care for tyrion and cersei he couldn’t be loud and he always needed to be gentle, because when he dealt with his family he was always walking a tightrope, jaime’s whole identity up to this point has been as the rock of his siblings who hate each other, hes stability and comfort to people who are sloppy and angry and scared and ready to pounce at any time, so taking care of brienne comes naturally to him in that way,
His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied.
Pain shuddered through him… and suddenly the bathhouse was spinning. Brienne caught him before he could fall. Her arm was all gooseflesh, clammy and chilled, but she was strong, and gentler than he would have thought. Gentler than Cersei, he thought as she helped him from the tub, his legs wobbly as a limp cock. “Guards!” he heard the wench shout. “The Kingslayer!”
Jaime, he thought, my name is Jaime.
She jerked to her feet as if he’d struck her, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of the thick blonde bush at the juncture of her thighs as she climbed out. She was much hairier than his sister. Absurdly, he felt his cock stir beneath the bathwater… He averted his eyes, troubled by his body’s response. “That was unworthy,” he mumbled. “I’m a maimed man, and bitter. Forgive me, wench. You have protected me as well as any man could have, and better than most.”
She had been denied too often in her time. Her name was Shireen. She would be ten on her next name day, and she was the saddest child he had ever known
He laughed a ragged, breathless laugh. “Come on, come on, my sweetling, the music’s still playing. Might I have this dance, my lady?”