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“This road is too dangerous for a boy alone.”
“Not for a squire. I’m his squire. The Hand’s squire.”
“Lord Tywin?” Brienne sheathed her blade.
“No. Not that Hand. The one before. His son. I fought with him in the battle. I shouted
‘Halfman! Halfman!’”
The Imp’s squire. Brienne had not even known he had one. Tyrion Lannister was no knight. He
might have been expected to have a serving boy or two to attend him, she supposed, a page and a
cupbearer, someone to help dress him. But a squire? “Why are you stalking after me?” she said.
“What do you want?”
“To find her.” The boy got to his feet. “His lady. You’re looking for her. Brella told me. She’s
his wife. Not Brella, Lady Sansa. So I thought, if you found her...” His face twisted in sudden
anguish. “I’m his squire,” he repeated, as the rain ran down his face, “but he left me.”
This post was edited by SummertimeClothes on Feb 21 2012 02:10pm