The air in Harrenhal was damp and cold as Pia climbed the stone steps to the chambers where Ser Jaime rested. Her heart fluttered nervously—partly from the prospect of seeing the famed Kingslayer and partly from Qyburn’s instructions. “Tend to his wound. Make him feel better,” the former maester had said, his meaning unmistakable. She clutched the basin of water and cloth tighter, her steps hesitant as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. She was finally meeting the knight she saw as a girl and had a crush on ever since.

Jaime lay sprawled on the bed, his golden hair unkempt and his face pale. His sharp green eyes flicked toward her as she entered. For a moment, Pia froze. He still carried a regal air, even in his weakened state.

She lowered her gaze and set the basin down, wringing her hands. “I... I was told to check on you. To clean your wounds. And to... keep you company.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she dipped the cloth into the water and began gently wiping cleaning around his wound.

“I was a slip of a girl when you came for Lord Whent's tourney,” she said, her hazel eyes flickering up to his. “When the king gave you your cloak. You were so handsome, all in white, and everyone said what a brave knight you were. I dreamed of you and your golden curls since that day.”