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Tyrion

           

           TheycrossedFishmonger’sSquareandrodealongMuddyWaybeforeturningontothenarrow,curvingHooktobegintheirclimbupAegon’sHighHill.Afewvoicesraisedacryof"Joffrey!Allhail,allhail!"astheyoungkingrodeby,butforeverymanwhopickeduptheshout,ahundredkepttheirsilence.TheLannistersmovedthroughaseaofraggedmenandhungrywomen,breastingatideofsulleneyes.Justaheadofhim,CerseiwaslaughingatsomethingLancelhadsaid,thoughhesuspectedhermerrimentwasfeigned.Shecouldnotbeoblivioustotheunrestaroundthem,buthissisteralwaysbelievedinputtingonthebraveshow.

           Halfwayalongtheroute,awailingwomanforcedherwaybetweentwowatchmenandranoutintothestreetinfrontofthekingandhiscompanions,holdingthecorpseofherdeadbabyaboveherhead.Itwasblueandswollen,grotesque,buttherealhorrorwasthemother’seyes.Joffreylookedforamomentasifhemeanttorideherdown,butSansaStarkleanedoverandsaidsomethingtohim.Thekingfumbledinhispurse,andflungthewomanasilverstag.Thecoinbouncedoffthechildandrolledaway,underthelegsofthegoldcloaksandintothecrowd,whereadozenmenbegantofightforit.Themotherneveronceblinked.Herskinnyarmsweretremblingfromthedeadweightofherson.

           "Leaveher,YourGrace,"Cerseicalledouttotheking,"she’sbeyondourhelp,poorthing."

           Themotherheardher.

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