"‘How is it that you did not wed?’ Jaime asked him.
'Why, I went to Tarth and saw her. I had six years on her, yet the wench could look me in the eye. She was a sow in silk, though most sows have bigger teats. When she tried to talk she almost choked on her own tongue. I gave here a rose and told her it was all she would ever have from me.’ Connington glanced into the pit. 'The bear was less hairy than that freak, I’ll-’
Jaime’s golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning.
'You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.’
Connington edged away from the spreading flames on his hands and knees. 'Brienne. If it please my lord.’ He spat a glob of blood at Jaime’s foot. 'Brienne the Beauty.’"
- A Feast for Crows, Jaime III