Tyrion

           Youwanteat?"Mordasked,glowering.Hehadaplateofoiledbeansinonethick,stub-fingeredhand.

           TyrionLannisterwasstarved,butherefusedtoletthisbruteseehimcringe."Alegoflambwouldbepleasant,"hesaid,fromtheheapofsoiledstrawinthecornerofhiscell."Perhapsadishofpeasandonions,somefreshbakedbreadwithbutter,andaflagonofmulledwinetowashitdown.Orbeer,ifthat’seasier.Itrynottobeoverlyparticular."

           "Isbeans,"Mordsaid."Here."Heheldouttheplate.

           Tyrionsighed.Theturnkeywastwentystoneofgrossstupidity,withbrownrottingteethandsmalldarkeyes.Theleftsideofhisfacewasslickwithscarwhereanaxehadcutoffhisearandpartofhischeek.Hewasaspredictableashewasugly,butTyrionwashungry.Hereachedupfortheplate.

           Mordjerkeditaway,grinning."Ishere,"hesaid,holdingitoutbeyondTyrion’sreach.

           Thedwarfclimbedstifflytohisfeet,everyjointaching."Mustweplaythesamefool’sgamewitheverymeal?"Hemadeanothergrabforthebeans.

           Mordshambledbackward,grinningthroughhisrottenteeth."Ishere,dwarfman."Heheldtheplateoutatarm’slength,overtheedgewherethecellendedandtheskybegan."Younotwanteat?Here.Cometake."

           Tyrion’sarmsweretooshorttoreachtheplate,andhewasnotabouttostepthatclosetotheedge.

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