“He was all I had once, before Myrcella was born. I used to spend hours looking at him. His wisps of hair. His tiny hands and feet. He was such a jolly little fellow. You always hear the terrible ones were terrible babies. “We should have known. Even then, we should have known.” It’s nonsense. Whenever he was with me, he was happy. And no one can take that away from me. Not even Joffrey.”
“Bran…” He stopped suddenly. “I don’t know what message to send to Bran. Help him, Tyrion.” “What help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spells to give him back his legs.” “You gave me help when I needed it,” Jon Snow said. “I gave you nothing,” Tyrion said. “Words.” “Then give your words to Bran too.” “You’re asking a lame man to teach a cripple how to dance,” Tyrion said. “However sincere the lesson, the result is likely to be grotesque. Still, I know what it is to love a brother, Lord Snow. I will give Bran whatever small help is in my power.” “Thank you, my lord of Lannister.” He pulled off his glove and offered his bare hand. “Friend.” Tyrion found himself oddly touched. “Most of my kin are bastards,” he said with a wry smile, “but you’re the first I’ve had to friend.” He pulled a glove off with his teeth and clasped Snow by the hand, flesh against flesh. The boy’s grip was firm and strong.
“Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel… whole.”