She had wed Ser Daven right in the Lannister camp outside of Riverrun, and Bronn had been awful ever since. She couldn’t blame him … no, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d had a part to play in all of this too. She’d begged him to take her away from here but he’d refused.
She’d returned his coldness with an icy demeanour of her own, but it was harder and harder to keep that uncaring mask in place. He hated that she was married to another, but she hated it too.
“Of course I am jealous. The very thought of you with another … I know I have no right, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
“You haven’t taken to enjoying married life? Surely your husband doesn’t want to see you talking to me, or, have you told him of our night together and he is allowing you to come to bed with me?” He asked, Bronn a part of him, wishing he could not have chosen what he had and she was with him, spending their lives together. But he’d been foolish and hurt and so their lives had become as such. She, a married woman and he, still the same.
Goldnwulf 