There she was, training with Jaime again.

You're brother was always more of a fighter than you, which was why father made him a knight and you a bard. Ever since Brienne's arrival in King's Landing you'd been smitten. You'd come up with a myriad of excuses to sit by her at dinner, watch her train, or simply escort her somewhere around the castle. And every time you'd make the slightest advance or pay a compliment, Brienne would sigh and stare at the floor.

"She hates me," you moped, absently strumming your lute.

Your younger brother Tyrion, the dwarf, scoffed. "She's probably tired of you hovering around her like a wet nurse." You glared at him as he took another drink from his wine glass.

Tyrion rolled his eyes when he saw you pick at the grass like a sulking toddler. "That's it. I've had enough of this. Brienne!" Brienne turned away from Jaime and dropped her sword, walking over.