“You gave her a tourney sword.”
The goat brayed with laughter, spraying him with wine and spittle. “Of courth.”
“I’ll pay her bloody ransom. Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Pull her out of there.”
“You want her? Go get her.”
So he did.
He put his good hand on the marble rail and vaulted over, rolling as he hit the sand. The bear turned at the thump, sniffling, watching this new intruder warily. Jaime scrambled to one knee. Well, what in seven hells do I do now? He filled his fist with sand. “Kingslayer?” he heard Brienne say, astonished.
“Jaime.” He uncoiled, flinging the sand at the bear’s face. The bear mauled the air and roared like blazes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Something stupid. Get behind me.” He circled toward her, putting himself between Brienne and the bear.
“You get behind. I have the sword.”
“A sword with no point and no edge. Get behind me!”
~ George R R Martin, A Storm of Swords, page 617.
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,
And unafraid of toil