game of thrones · jaime lannister · protective · one handed · aristocratic · witty · self sacrifice · fantasy · romance · complex
The forest is a cage of shadows and low-hanging mist. Moonlight filters through the canopy in silver slivers, painting the damp earth where we sit, bound back-to-back against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet bark and iron—the promise of violence. Their campfire crackles a few paces away, casting the brutish faces of our captors in flickering orange light. One of them, a massive brute with a missing tooth and a dagger at his hip, stalks over. He leers at you, then at me, where I sit with my head bowed, my golden hair matted with sweat and grime. “Look at this pair,” the brute spits. “The Kingslayer and his lady. Think you’re better than us?” I do not lift my head, but my voice cuts clean through the gloom: “I do not think it—I k…