千倍の女の子

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“I never did. I would have died for him.” “You will.” Ser Loras drew his longsword. “It was not me.” “Emmon Cuy swore it was, with his dying breath.” “He was outside the tent, he never saw -” “There was no one in the tent but you and Lady Stark. Do you claim that old woman could cut through hardened steel?” “There was a shadow I know how mad it sounds, but... I was helping Renly into his armor, and the blood everywhere. It was Stannis, Lady Catelyn said. His ...
his shadow. I had no part in it, on my honor...” “You have no honor. Draw your sword. I won’t have it said that I slew you while your hand was empty.” Jaime stepped between them. “Put the sword away, ser.” Ser Loras edged around him. “Are you a craven as well as a killer, Brienne? Is that why you ran, with his blood on your hands? Draw your sword, woman!” “Best hope she doesn’ dermes hkt.” Jaime blocked his path again. “Or it’s like to be your corpse we carry out. The wench is as strong as Gregor Clegane, though not so pretty.” “This is no concern of yours.” Ser Loras shoved him aside. Jaime grabbed the boy with his good hand and yanked him around. “I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you arrogant pup. Your commander, so long as you wear that white cloak. Now sheathe your bloody sword, or I’ll take it from you and shove it up some place even Renly never found.” The boy hesitated half a heartbeat, long enough for Ser Balon Swann to say,
“Do as the Lord Commander says, Loras.” Some of the gold cloaks drew their steel then, and that made some Dreadfort men do the same. Splendid, thought Jaime, no sooner do I climb down off my horse than we have a bloodbath in the yard. Ser Loras Tyrell slammed his sword back into its sheath. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” “I want her arrested.” Ser Loras pointed. “Lady Brienne, I charge you with the murder of Lord Renly Baratheon.” “For what it’s worth,” said Jaime, “the wench does have honor. More than I have seen from you. And it may even be she’s telling it true almo nature.  

“The heat of the tubs will do it,” Maester Qyburn was telling them. No, he’s not a maester, they took his chain. “There’s still poison in his blood as well, and he’s malnourished. What have you been feeding him?” “Worms and piss and grey vomit,” offered Jaime. “Hardbread and water and oat porridge,” insisted the guard. “He don’t hardly eat it, though. What should we do with him ?” “Scrub him and dress him and carry him to Kingspyre, if need be,” Qyburn said. “Lord Bolton insists he will sup with him tonight. The time is growing short.” “Bring me clean garb for him,” Brienne said, “I’ll see that he’s washed and dressed.” The others were all too glad to give her the task. They him on a stone bench by the wall. Brienne went away to retrieve her towel, and returned with a stiff brush to finish scrubbing him. One of the guards gave her a razor to trim his beard. Qyburn returned with roughspun smallclothes, clean black woolen breeches, a loose green tunic, and a leather jerkin that laced up the front. Jaime was feeling less dizzy by then, though no less clumsy. With the wench’s help he managed to dress himself. “Now all I need is a silver looking glass.” The Bloody Maester had brought fresh clothing for Brienne as well; a stained pink satin gown and a linen undertunic. “I am sorry, my lady .
These were the only women’s garments in Harrenhal large enough to fit YOU.” It was obvious at once that the gown had been cut for someone with slimmer arms, shorter legs, and much fuller breasts. The fine Myrish lace did little to conceal the bruising that mottled Brienne’s skin. All in all, the garb made the wench look ludicrous. She has thicker shoulders than I do, and a bigger neck, Jaime thought. Small wonder she prefers to dress in mail. Pink was not a kind color for her either .
A dozen cruel japes leaped into his head, but for once he kept them there. Best not to make her angry; he was no match for her one-handed. Qyburn had brought a flask as well. “What is it?” Jaime demanded when the chainless maester pressed him to drink. “Licorice steeped in vinegar, with honey and cloves. It will give you some strength and clear your head.” “Bring me the potion that grows new hands,” said Jaime. “That’s the one I want.” “Drink it,” Brienne said, unsmiling, and he did. It was half an hour before he felt strong enough to stand. After the dim wet warmth of the bathhouse, the air outside was a slap across the face.