The sharp voice of Tyrion Lannister broke in. He did more than that. That first day, after girding up his courage for hours, Tyrion had lain flat on his stomach and squirmed to the edge, to poke out his head and look down. Oh, gods, he said, choking on his laughter and shaking his head, I suppose I do rather look like a grumkin.
He's not the least bit like that old drunken king, she had declared, angry and unknowing, and the simple truth of it had twisted inside him, cold as death. The king was not pleased. I only want to go home. Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood.
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