They walked slowly, their visit would be long enough, and the rush and smell of war was blown away by the breeze. Loras had a hand in hers and Arya looked vaguely bored. Roses were pretty, she’d admitted as much to him when they first entered the garden, but they far from held her interest.
After several moments, when the high walls of bushes covered them from sight, he stopped. With one brow raised, he waited, watching her stare back up at him blankly.