Tyrion

           Onahilloverlookingthekingsroad,alongtrestletableofrough-hewnpinehadbeenerectedbeneathanelmtreeandcoveredwithagoldencloth.There,besidehispavilion,LordTywintookhiseveningmealwithhischiefknightsandlordsbannermen,hisgreatcrimson-and-goldstandardwavingoverheadfromaloftypike.

           Tyrionarrivedlate,saddlesore,andsour,alltoovividlyawareofhowamusinghemustlookashewaddleduptheslopetohisfather.Theday’smarchhadbeenlongandtiring.Hethoughthemightgetquitedrunktonight.Itwastwilight,andtheairwasalivewithdriftingfireflies.

           Thecookswereservingthemeatcourse:fivesucklingpigs,skinsearedandcrackling,adifferentfruitineverymouth.Thesmellmadehismouthwater."Mypardons,"hebegan,takinghisplaceonthebenchbesidehisuncle.

           "PerhapsI’dbestchargeyouwithburyingourdead,Tyrion,"LordTywinsaid."Ifyouareaslatetobattleasyouaretotable,thefightingwillallbedonebythetimeyouarrive."

           "Oh,surelyyoucansavemeapeasantortwo,Father,"Tyrionreplied."Nottoomany,Iwouldn’twanttobegreedy."Hefilledhiswinecupandwatchedaservingmancarveintothepig.Thecrispskincrackledunderhisknife,andhotjuiceranfromthemeat.ItwastheloveliestsightTyrionhadseeninages.

           "SerAddam’soutriderssaytheStarkhosthasmovedsouthfromtheTwins,"hisfatherreportedashistrencherwasfilledwithslicesofpork."LordFrey’slevieshavejoinedthem.

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