To say you could pick Brienne of Tarth out of a crowd was an understatement. The woman stood a head above most everyone else, a gorgeous show of long limbs and sunkissed hair. Loras watched her as if she were a ghost for a few moments before he approached her, smiling at the face she pulled.
He should have still been jealous. Renly had made her what he'd wanted to be, but after all his dreams, Loras only felt a certain respect and fondness toward her. In his hand, he held a raspberry sorbet. He shifted it to his left hand as he stood over her, his right hand going to his abdomen. He bowed at the waist. "Ser Brienne," he greeted before straightening. "Is your milkshake not up to standard, my lady?" It was habit, really, something that couldn't be helped.