Olenna stared at the sellsword, eyes bright. The pet of Tyrion, she’d heard, and now the pet of Jaime Lannister, but he was an interesting character as far as she could tell. “I think you might be the only person at this feast who isn’t a total bore,” she observed, glancing over at him across the table.
“An you must be the smartest person in the room.” He remarked, giving a grin as the old lady addressed him. Olenna Tyrell. The true lord of House Tyrell. If her granddaughter was anything like her, well, the royal family had better look out. Bronn leaned over the table, pouring the woman another glass. “Lady Tyrell. My services do extend to other things than just swingin’ a sword. I know how to liven up these stuffy feasts.” He had been known to sing a shanty or two but to some of the noble’s displeasure.
Goldnwulf 