kingslayer*

4

There it is. There’s the look. I’ve seen it for seventeen years on face after face. You all despise me. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. A man without honor. You’ve heard of wildfire, of course? The Mad King was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. […] So we opened the gates and my father sacked the city. Once again, I came to the King, begging him to surrender. He told me to… bring him my father’s head. Then he turned to his pyromancer. “Burn them all,” he said. “Burn them in their homes. Burn them in their beds.”

8

favorite male character: Jaime Lannister (Game of Thrones)

They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.                       “This is what a king should look like”, he thought to himself as he passed.

6

The mother heard her. Somehow the queen’s voice cut through the woman’s ravaged wits. Her slack face twisted in loathing. “Whore!” she shrieked. “Kingslayer’s whore! Brotherfucker!” Her dead child dropped from her arms like a sack of flour as she pointed at Cersei. “Brotherfucker brotherfucker brotherfucker.” - Tyrion IX, ACoK

“M’lady,” said the big man. “Here she is.”
“Aye,” added the one-eyed man. “The Kingslayer’s whore.
She flinched. “Why would you call me that?”
“If I had a silver stag for every time you said his name, I’d be as rich as your friends the Lannisters.”
“That was only … you do not understand …”
“Don’t we, though?” The big man laughed. “I think we might. There’s a stink of lion about you, lady.” 
- Brienne VIII, AFfC

She scowled again, her face all horse teeth and glowering suspicion. “You’ll wear your chains, Kingslayer.”
“You figure to row all the way to King’s Landing, wench?”
“You will call me Brienne. Not wench.”

* * *

“You will be courteous as concerns Cersei, wench,” he warned her.”
“My name is Brienne, not wench.”
“What do you care what a monster calls you?”
“My name is Brienne,” she repeated, dogged as a hound.”

* * *

“Tell me, wench, are all the women on Tarth as homely as you? I pity the men, if so. Perhaps they do not know what real women look like, living on a dreary mountain in the sea.”
“Tarth is beautiful,” the wench grunted between strokes. “The Sapphire Isle, it’s called. Be quiet, monster, unless you mean to make me gag you.”

* * *

“You’re a bloody stupid wench,” he told her. “We could have sailed on without you. I suppose you expect me to thank you?”
“I want none of your thanks, Kingslayer. I swore an oath to bring you safe to King’s Landing.”
“And you actually mean to keep it?” Jaime gave her his brightest smile. “Now there’s a wonder.”

* * *

“Frightened of a few corpses, wench?” Jaime said.
She glared at him. “My name is—”
“—Brienne, yes.”

* * *

“Don’t presume to judge what you do not understand, wench.”
“My name is—”
“—Brienne, yes. Has anyone ever told you that you’re as tedious as you are ugly?”

* * *

“If you won’t be quiet, you leave me no choice but to gag you, Kingslayer.”
“Unchain my hands and I’ll play mute all the way to King’s Landing. What could be fairer than that, wench?”
“Brienne! My name is Brienne!” Three crows went flapping into the air, startled at the sound.”

* * *

“You can stand a watch without weapons.” She rose.
“Chained to a tree? Perhaps I could. Or perhaps I could make my own bargain with the next lot of outlaws and let them slit that thick neck of yours, wench.”
“I will not arm you. And my name is—”
“—Brienne, I know. I’ll swear an oath not to harm you, if that will ease your girlish fears.”

* * *

Somehow Brienne had gotten her own blade out in time. Jaime laughed. “Very good, wench.”
“Give me the sword, Kingslayer.”
“Oh, I will.” He sprang to his feet and drove at her, the longsword alive in his hands.”

* * *

“Not bad at all,” he said when he paused for a second to catch his breath, circling to her right.
“For a wench?”
“For a squire, say. A green one.”

* * *

“I hope you’re pleased, wench,” Jaime whispered at Brienne. He coughed, and spat out a mouthful of blood. “If you’d armed me, we’d never have been taken.” She made no answer. There’s a pig-stubborn bitch, he thought. But brave, yes. He could not take that from her. “When we make camp for the night, you’ll be raped, and more than once,” he warned her. “You’d be wise not to resist. If you fight them, you’ll lose more than a few teeth.”
He felt Brienne’s back stiffen against his. “Is that what you would do, if you were a woman?”
If I were a woman I’d be Cersei. “If I were a woman, I’d make them kill me.”

* * *

Two nights passed in silence before the wench finally found the courage to whisper, “Jaime? Why did you shout out?”
“Why did I shout ‘sapphires,’ you mean? Use your wits, wench. Would this lot have cared if I shouted ‘rape’?”
“You did not need to shout at all.”

* * *

“How did you come by this one?” the maester asked.
“A wench’s gift.”
“Rough wooing, my lord?”
“This wench is bigger than me and uglier than you. You’d best see to her as well. She’s still limping on the leg I pricked when we fought.”

* * *

“Brienne wore the same ill-fitting gown she’d worn to supper with Roose Bolton. No shield, no breastplate, no chainmail, not even boiled leather, only pink satin and Myrish lace. Maybe the goat thought she was more amusing when dressed as a woman. Half her gown was hanging off in tatters, and her left arm dripped blood where the bear had raked her.
At least they gave her a sword. The wench held it one-handed, moving sideways, trying to put some distance between her and the bear. That’s no good, the ring’s too small. She needed to attack, to make a quick end to it. Good steel was a match for any bear. But the wench seemed afraid to close. The Mummers showered her with insults and obscene suggestions.
“This is none of our concern,” Steelshanks warned Jaime. “Lord Bolton said the wench was theirs, to do with as they liked.”
“Her name’s Brienne.” Jaime descended the steps, past a dozen startled sellswords.”

* * *

“Ser Jaime?” Even in soiled pink satin and torn lace, Brienne looked more like a man in a gown than a proper woman. “I am grateful, but … you were well away. Why come back?”
A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but Jaime only shrugged. “I dreamed of you,” he said.”

4

Be that as it may. Lady Olenna was not about to let Joff harm her precious darling granddaughter, but unlike her son she also realized that under all his flowers and finery, Ser Loras is as hot-tempered as Jaime Lannister. Toss Joffrey, Margaery, and Loras in a pot, and you’ve got the makings for kingslayer stew.

(ASOS, Chapter 68)

2

                                             margaery and loras tyrell of highgarden

Margaery was different, though. Sweet and gentle, yet there was a little of her grandmother in her, too. 
A Storm of Swords → Sansa II  

“Have you seen Mace Tyrell’s boy? The Knight of Flowers, they call him. Now there’s a son any man would be proud to own to. Last tourney, he dumped the Kingslayer on his golden rump, you ought to have seen the look on Cersei’s face.”
A Game of Thrones → Eddard VII