Ser Brien and the Golden Lion

“No,” Brien says, miserably. His hand tightens unconsciously on Oathkeeper’s hilt. “No wife, no maid. No – no women. At all.”

“Ah,” Tormund says. “Well.” He coughs, strokes his luxurious ginger beard. “I’m not judging, lad. It takes all sorts, and we can’t help who we love.” He grins, suddenly. “Did I ever tell you why they call me Husband to Bears?”

**

In which the author reaches for something insightful and ambitious, but instead ends up writing fluff.