A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

in swaddling clothes and hung upon the wall until the girls grow breasts and the boys are old enough to shave.”
    â€œI feel sorry for them. All of them have lost their mothers and fathers. Some have seen them slain.”
    Hunt rolled his eyes. “I forgot that I was talking to a woman. Your heart is as mushy as our septon’s porridge. Can it be? Somewhere inside our swordswench is a mother just squirming to give birth. What you really want is a sweet pink babe to suckle at your teat.” Ser Hyle grinned. “You need a man for that, I hear. A husband, preferably. Why not me?”
    â€œIf you still hope to win your wager—”
    â€œWhat I want to win is you, Lord Selwyn’s only living child. I’ve known men to wed lackwits and suckling babes for prizes a tenth the size of Tarth. I am not Renly Baratheon, I confess it, but I have the virtue of being still amongst the living. Some would say that is my only virtue. Marriage would serve the both of us. Lands for me, and a castle full of these for you.” He waved his hand at the children. “I am capable, I assure you. I’ve sired at least one bastard that I know of. Have no fear, I shan’t inflict her upon you. The last time I went to see her, her mother doused me with a kettle of soup.”
    A flush crept up her neck. “My father’s only four-and-fifty. Not too old to wed again and get a son by his new wife.”
    â€œThat’s a risk . . .
if
your father weds again and
if
his bride proves fertile and
if
the babe’s a boy. I’ve made worse wagers.”
    â€œAnd lost them. Play your game with someone else, ser.”
    â€œSo speaks a maid who has never played the game with anyone. Once you do you’ll take a different view. In the dark you’d be as beautiful as any other woman. Your lips were made for kissing.”
    â€œThey are lips,” said Brienne. “All lips are the same.”
    â€œAnd all lips are made for kissing,” Hunt agreed pleasantly. “Leave your chamber door unbarred tonight, and I will steal into your bed and prove the truth of what I say.”
    â€œIf you do, you’ll be a eunuch when you leave.” Brienne got up and walked away from him.
    Septon Meribald asked if he might lead the children in a grace, ignoring the small girl crawling naked across the table. “Aye,” said Willow, snatching up the crawler before she reached the porridge. So they bowed their heads together and thanked the Father and the Mother for their bounty . . . all but the black-haired boy from the forge, who crossed his arms against his chest and sat glowering as the others prayed. Brienne was not the only one to notice. When the prayer was done Septon Meribald looked across the table, and said, “Do you have no love for the gods, son?”
    â€œNot for your gods.” Gendry stood abruptly. “I have work to do.” He stalked out without a bite of food.
    â€œIs there some other god he loves?” asked Hyle Hunt.
    â€œThe Lord of Light,” piped one scrawny boy, nigh to six.
    Willow hit him with her spoon. “Ben Big Mouth. There’s
food
. You should be eating it, not bothering m’lords with talk.”
    The children fell upon the supper like wolves upon a wounded deer, quarreling over codfish, tearing the barley bread to pieces, and getting porridge everywhere. Even the huge wheel of cheese did not long survive. Brienne contented herself with fish and bread and carrots, whilst Septon Meribald fed two morsels to Dog for every one he ate himself. Outside, a rain began to fall. Inside, the fire crackled, and the common room was filled by the sounds of chewing, and Willow smacking children with her spoon. “One day that little girl will make some man a frightful wife,” Ser Hyle observed. “That poor ’prentice boy, most like.”
    â€œSomeone should take him some food before it’s all gone.”
    â€œYou’re someone.”
    She wrapped a wedge of cheese, a heel of bread, a dried apple, and two chunks of flaky fried cod in a square of cloth. When Podrick got up to follow her outside, she told him to sit back down and eat. “I will not be long.”
    The rain was coming down heavy in the yard. Brienne covered the food with a fold of her cloak. Some of the horses whinnied at her as she made her way past the stables.
They are hungry too.
    Gendry was at his forge, bare-chested beneath his leather