“You know the best thing about heroes, Jaime? They all die young and leave more women for the rest of us.”

“Jaime smiled knowingly. Men will read all sorts of things into a knowing smile if you let them.”

“Jaime," Brienne whispered, so faintly he thought he was dreaming it. "Jaime, what are you doing?""Dying," he whispered back."No," she said, "no, you must live."He wanted to laugh. "Stop telling me what to do, wench. I'll die if it pleases me.""Are you so craven?"The words shocked him. He was Jaime Lannister, a knight of the Kingsguard, he was the Kingslayer. No man had ever called him craven. Other things they called him, yes; oathbreaker, liar, murderer. They said he was cruel, treacherous, reckless. But never craven. "What else can I do, but die?""Live," she said, "live, and fight, and take revenge."Craven, Jaime thought.... Can it be? They took my sword hand. Was that all I was, a sword hand? Gods be good, is it true?The wench had the right of it. He could not die.”

“I know a song about him. But I thought he lived a hundred years ago.We all did. Once I was as young as you.”

“Ser Jaime?" Even in soiled pink satin and torn lace, Brienne looked more like a man in a gown than a proper woman."I am grateful, but...you were well away. Why come back?"A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but Jaime only shrugged. "I dreamed of you," he said.”

“I just need to rest, that’s all, to rest and sleep some, and maybe die a little.”

“Do you believe in ghosts, Maester?" [Jaime] asked Qyburn.The man's face grew strange. "Once, at the Citadel, I came into an empty room and saw an empty chair. Yet I knew a woman had been there, only a moment before. The cushion was dented where she'd sat, the cloth was still warm, and her scent lingered in the air. If we leave our smells behind us when we leave a room, surely something of our souls must remain when we leave this life?”