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Wench,
I know we’ve had a rocky start. I may not have given you the best first impression. However, you must understand me: I am your prisoner, which means I won’t be much of a help and will try to escape. It’s in my nature. Although, now that I think about it, it is a bit stupid on my part. After all, we have the same goal.
But, come on, Wench, I’m sure you get it. You can’t be as dumb as ugly. A whole year in that gods’ forsaken dungeon as a guest of the oh-so-honorable Tullys, alone with my thoughts and ghosts, is more than I can manage. So, when you come with all your rightfulness and scowls, calling me Kingslayer to my face, that hurts. A lot. I can’t stand it, that’s why I lash out. Being dragged through half the kingdoms by Ned Stark with teats not that you show signs of having any, and the halfwit of my cousin Cleos is not a pleasant prospect.
I’m not trying to justify my conduct. I want you to understand me. It’s important to me. I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND ME.
I can't deny that I admire how calmly and steadily you dealt with that old trout of Ser Robin Ryger. The whole ordeal was material for the Book of Brothers, Ser Duncan the Tall wouldn’t have done it better. Nonetheless, what amazes me more it’s your intention to keep your vow to take me home.
I still don’t know what overcame me that I didn’t smash your ugly face with the oar, probably your eyes are to blame.
Your prisoner,
Ser Jaime Lannister