The boy won’t talk. And if he does, I’ll kill him. Him, Ned Stark, the king - the whole bloody lot of them, until you and I are the only people left in this world.
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@dailyjaimelannister
The boy won’t talk. And if he does, I’ll kill him. Him, Ned Stark, the king - the whole bloody lot of them, until you and I are the only people left in this world.
Soldier!
Farewell, little brother.
Jaime sat alone at the table while the shadows crept across the room. As dusk began to settle, he lit a candle and opened the White Book to his own page. Quill and ink he found in a drawer. Beneath the last line Ser Barristan had entered, he wrote in an awkward hand that might have done credit to a six-year-old being taught his first letters by a maester: Defeated in the Whispering Wood by the Young Wolf Robb Stark during the War of the Five Kings. Held captive at Riverrun and ransomed for a promise unfulfilled. Captured again by the Brave Companions, and maimed at the word of Vargo Hoat, their captain, losing his sword hand to the blade of Zollo the Fat. Returned safely to King’s Landing by Brienne, the Maid of Tarth. When he was done, more than three-quarters of his page still remained to be filled between the gold lion on the crimson shield on top and the blank white shield at the bottom. Ser Gerold Hightower had begun his history, and Ser Barristan Selmy had continued it, but the rest Jaime Lannister would need to write for himself. He could write whatever he chose, henceforth. Whatever he chose… - ASOS, Jaime IX
You came back for me. Of course I did. “We belong together.”
Thank you, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau
First, I killed the pyromancer. And then when the king turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. “Burn them all,” he kept saying. “Burn them all.” I don’t think he expected to die. He meant to burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn’t happen.
When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story. About the man who murdered our father, who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the iron throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor. He told me other stories as well, about all the things we would do to that man.
If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve survived my childhood. You would have.
I NEVER BET AGAINST MY FAMILY.
“Please, don’t let me die.”
Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just.
Well, here we are. Together again. And the masses rejoice.
[Your dynasty] survives through me. I’ll leave the Kingsguard. I’ll take my place as your son and heir if you let Tyrion live.
The Lions of the Rock.
3.06 | 8.04