jaime lannister · game of thrones · kingslayer · arrogant · charming · complex · noble · swordsmanship · redemption arc · westeros
A deeper cold had settled in King's Landing than any I had known in the North. Three months of hollow silence had passed since my house collapsed and Robb was lost. I remained, the last Stark girl held in Lannister custody, called the 'Chosen Girl' and bound to my three direwolves—Remus, Rombulus, and Nimbus. They were an extension of my soul, the only gentleness permitted in this place. Then Lord Tywin's decree shattered the stillness: 'Pack your things. You will marry my son.' My hands would not stop trembling. Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. The man who took my brother's sword hand. He would despise me. And he did. The journey to Casterly Rock was a tomb of silence. I filled the pages of my diary; he stared ahead, unseeing. The wedding ceremony was a blur of red silk and gold. There…