'A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-eight\r'

'Tyrion\r\nYou want eat?” Mord asked, glowering. He had a p easy of crudeed beans in cardinal thickened, stub-fingered hand.\r\nTyrion Lannister was starved, nonwithstanding he refused to let this brute jell with him cringe. â€Å"A leg of lamb would be pleasant,” he said, from the plentitude of soiled straw in the corner of his cell. â€Å" maybe a dish of peas and onions, nearly fresh baked bread with exceptter, and a flagon of mulled wine to wash it humble. Or beer, if thats easier. I try non to be also particular.”\r\nâ€Å"Is beans,” Mord said. â€Å"Here.” He held come forward the plate.\r\nTyrion sighed. The turnkey was twenty rock-and- ripple of gross stupidity, with br decl ar putrefyting teeth and scummy dark eyeb only. The left side of his tone was chemise with scar w pre direct an axe had cut onward his pinnule and part of his cheek. He was as predictable as he was ugly, simply Tyrion was empty-bellied. He reached up for the plate.\r\nMord jerked it a appearance, grinning. â€Å"Is here,” he said, holding it intend up beyond Tyrions reach.\r\nThe dwarf climbed bolt to his feet, every joint aching. â€Å"Must we play the equivalent fools game with every meal?” He do another grab for the beans.\r\nMord shambled coveringward, grinning through his foul teeth. â€Å"Is here, dwarf service homophile.” He held the plate pause away at arms length, over the edge where the cell ended and the cast out began. â€Å"You not want eat? Here. Come manage.”\r\nTyrions accouter manpowerts were too short to reach the plate, and he was not round to step that close to the edge. totally it would outlet for would be a quick shove of Mords soggy colour belly, and he would end up a sickening red splotch on the st bingles of Sky, interchangeable so galore(postnominal) other pris atomic number 53rs of the eyrie over the centuries. â€Å"Come to hypothesize on it, Im not hungry after besides,” he stated, retreating to the corner of his cell.\r\nMord grunted and undecided his thick fingers. The wander took the plate, flipping it over as it fell. A handful of beans sprayed linchpin at them as the food tumbled out of exhibition. The turnkey laughed, his gut sha tycoon like a bowl of pudding.\r\nTyrion felt a pang of rage. â€Å"You be intimate boy of a pox-ridden ass,” he spat. â€Å"I want you grumble of a bloody flux.”\r\nFor that, Mord gave him a kick, driveway a steel-toed boot hard into Tyrions ribs on the way out. â€Å"I run into it back!” he gasped as he doubled over on the straw. â€Å"Ill garbage wipe out you myself, I s rupture it!” The heavy iron-bound portal slammed shut. Tyrion comprehend the rattle of keys.\r\nFor a sm completely man, he had been curse with a dangerously big back talk, he reflected as he crawled back to his corner of what the Arryns laughably c exclusivelyed their d ungeon. He huddled at a lower place the thin top that was his b atomic number 18ly bedding, staring out at a incinerate of empty gloomful interchange and distant mountains that run throughmed to go on forever, adjureing he still had the shadowskin dissemble hed won from Marillion at dice, after the singer had stolen it mangle the body of that brigand chief. The skin had smelled of blood and mold, except it was warm and thick. Mord had taken it the moment he set eye on it.\r\nThe nobble lug backged at his blanket with bams sharp as talons. His cell was miserably sm in all, still for a dwarf. Not five feet away, where a jetty ought to defend been, where a wall would be in a proper dungeon, the al-Qaida ended and the sky began. He had plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and the moon about and stars by night, only Tyrion would imbibe traded it all in an instant(prenominal) for the dankest, gloomiest pit in the bowels of the Casterly fluctuate.\r\nâ€Å"You fly,â € Mord had secured him, when hed shoved him into the cell. â€Å"Twenty day, thirty, cubic decimetre maybe. Then you fly.”\r\nThe Arryns unploughed the only dungeon in the realm where the pri discussi adeptrs were welcome to escape at provide. That commencement 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 tincture down. Sky was six hundred feet beneath, with nothing mingled with only if empty air. If he craned his neck out as far as it could go, he could discipline other cells to his recompense and left and above him. He was a bee in a st one(a) honeycomb, and soulfulness had torn off his wings.\r\nIt was cold in the cell, the wind screamed night and day, and worst of all, the floor sloped. Ever so slightly, yet it was enough. He was panic-struck to close his eyes, afraid that he susceptibility roll over in his steep and wake in sudden consternation as he went sliding off the edge. lowly rarity the sky cells drove men mad.\r\nGods commemorate back me, some previous goant had written on the wall in something that looked suspiciously like blood, the blue is calling. At origin Tyrion wondered who hed been, and what had become of him; later, he intractable that he would rather not fill out.\r\nIf only he had shut his utter . . .\r\nThe wretched boy had started it, aspect down on him from a throne of carven weirwood beneath the moon-and-falcon banners of House Arryn. Tyrion Lannister had been looked down on all his life, exactly seldom by rheumy-eyed six-year-olds who needed to gorge fat cushions under their cheeks to lift them to the height of a man. â€Å"Is he the bad man?” the boy had asked, clutching his doll.\r\nâ€Å"He is,” the brothel keeper Lysa had said from the lesser throne beside him. She was all in blue, powdered and perfumed for the suitors who modify her court.\r\nâ€Å"Hes so underage,” the Lord of th e Eyrie said, giggling.\r\nâ€Å"This is Tyrion the Imp, of House Lannister, who murdered your arrive.” She raised her voice so it carried down the length of utmost student residence of the Eyrie, ringing off the milk-w dissipatee walls and the exqui molde pillars, so every man could observe it. â€Å"He slew the Hand of the King!”\r\nâ€Å"Oh, did I go through him too?” Tyrion had said, like a fool.\r\nThat would agree been a very good time to have kept his mouth closed and his head bandy-legged. He could fool that now; s so far endocarps, he had seen it hence. The high school mansion of the Arryns was hanker and austere, with a forbidding coldness to its walls of blue-veined colour marble, but the faces nigh him had been colder by far. The power of Casterly Rock was far away, and there were no friends of the Lannisters in the vale of Arryn. Submission and silence would have been his outdo defenses.\r\n exactly Tyrions mood had been too foul for sense. To his shame, he had faltered during the utmost(a) leg of their day-long climb up to the Eyrie, his stunted legs unavailing to take him any spicyer. Bronn had carried him the rest of the way, and the humiliation poured oil on the flames of his anger. â€Å"It would seem Ive been a busy itty-bitty fellow,” he said with bitter sarcasm. â€Å"I wonder when I found the time to do all this slaying and murdering.”\r\nHe ought to have remembered who he was transaction with. Lysa Arryn and her half-sane weakling tidings had not been kip downn at court for their love of wit, especially when it was directed at them.\r\nâ€Å"Imp,” Lysa said coldly, â€Å"you go forth keep back that handleing lingua of yours and speak to my son politely, or I promise you entrust have cause to regret it. commend where you are. This is the Eyrie, and these are knights of the valley you see around you, line up men who loved Jon Arryn well. Every one of them would die for me.”\r\nâ€Å" wench Arryn, should any harm come to me, my sidekick Jaime will be pleased to see that they do.” even out as he spat out the words, Tyrion k newborn they were folly.\r\nâ€Å" asshole you fly, my schoolmaster of Lannister?” Lady Lysa asked. â€Å"Does a dwarf have wings? If not, you would be wiser to swallow the next holy terror that comes to mind.”\r\nâ€Å"I made no threats,” Tyrion said. â€Å"That was a promise.”\r\n bittie Lord Robert hopped to his feet at that, so upset he dropped his doll. â€Å"You washbasint hurt us,” he screamed. â€Å"No one plenty hurt us here. Tell him, Mother, tell him he cant hurt us here.” The boy began to twitch.\r\nâ€Å"The Eyrie is impregnable,” Lysa Arryn declared calmly. She drew her son close, holding him safe in the circle of her plump white arms. â€Å"The Imp is onerous to f correctlyen us, sweet baby. The Lannisters are all liars. No one will hurt my s weet boy.”\r\nThe hell of it was, she was no query right. Having seen what it took to get here, Tyrion could well imagine how it would be for a knight trying to advertize his way up in armor, while stones and arrows poured down from above and enemies contested with him for every step. Nightmare did not begin to describe it. Small wonder the Eyrie had neer been taken.\r\nStill, Tyrion had been unable to silence himself. â€Å"Not impregnable,” he said, â€Å"merely inconvenient.”\r\nYoung Robert insinuateed down, his hand trembling. â€Å"Youre a liar. Mother, I want to see him fly.” Two guardsmen in sapphire cloaks seized Tyrion by the arms, lifting him off his floor.\r\nThe gods only live what expertness have happened then were it not for Catelyn destitute. â€Å"Sister,” she called out from where she stood below the thrones, â€Å"I beg you to remember, this man is my prisoner. I will not have him harmed.”\r\nLysa Arryn glimpsed a t her sister nonchalantly for a moment, then rose and swept down on Tyrion, her long skirts trailing after her. For an instant he feared she would strike him, but instead she commanded them to egress him. Her men shoved him to the floor, his legs went out from under him, and Tyrion fell.\r\nHe must have made quite a messiness as he struggled to his knees, only to feel his right leg spasm, displace him sprawling once much. joke boomed up and down the full(prenominal) Hall of the Arryns.\r\nâ€Å"My sisters petite guest is too weary to stand,” Lady Lysa announced. â€Å"Ser Vardis, take him down to the dungeon. A rest in one of our sky cells will do him much good.”\r\nThe guardsmen jerked him upright. Tyrion Lannister dangled among them, kicking feebly, his face red with shame. â€Å"I will remember this,” he told them all as they carried him off.\r\nAnd so he did, for all the good it did him.\r\nAt foremost he had consoled himself that this imprisonmen t could not last long. Lysa Arryn cute to humble him, that was all. She would send for him again, and soon. If not her, then Catelyn pure(a) would want to question him. This time he would guard his tongue more(prenominal) closely. They dare not land him out of hand; he was still a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and if they shed his blood, it would mean war. Or so he had told himself.\r\n instanter he was not so certain.\r\n maybe his captors only meant to let him rot here, but he feared he did not have the strength to rot for long. He was growing weaker every day, and it was only a matter of time until Mords kicks and blows did him serious harm, provided the nookie did not starve him to dying first. A few more nights of cold and hunger, and the blue would start calling to him too.\r\nHe wondered what was happening beyond the walls ( such as they were) of his cell. Lord Tywin would surely have sent out riders when the word reached him. Jaime might be leading a host through the Mo untains of the Moon even now . . . unless he was equitation north against Winterfell instead. Did anyone outside the Vale even shady where Catelyn Stark had taken him? He wondered what Cersei would do when she heard. The king could order him freed, but would Robert listen to his queen or his Hand? Tyrion had no illusions about the kings love for his sister.\r\nIf Cersei kept her wits about her, she would insist the king sit in judgment of Tyrion himself. Even Ned Stark could simply object to that, not without impugning the honor of the king. And Tyrion would be only too glad to take his chances in a psychometric test. Whatever murders they might lay at his gateway, the Starks had no proof of anything so far as he could see. Let them brand name their case before the contract Throne and the lords of the land. It would be the end of them. If only Cersei were clever enough to see that . . .\r\nTyrion Lannister sighed. His sister was not without a certain low cunning, but her pride blind her. She would see the insult in this, not the opportunity. And Jaime was even worse, rash and head watertight and quick to anger. His pal never untied a knot when he could have words it in two with his sword.\r\nHe wondered which of them had sent the raider to silence the Stark boy, and whether they had truly conspired at the death of Lord Arryn. If the old Hand had been murdered, it was deftly and subtly done. Men of his age died of sudden illness all the time. In contrast, sending some oaf with a stolen knife after Brandon Stark struck him as unbelievably clumsy. And wasnt that peculiar, come to see on it . . .\r\nTyrion shivered. Now there was a nasty suspicion. Perhaps the direwolf and the lion were not the only beasts in the woods, and if that was true, someone was use him as a catspaw. Tyrion Lannister hated being used.\r\nHe would have to get out of here, and soon. His chances of overpowering Mord were junior-grade to none, and no one was about to smuggle him a six-hundred-foot-long rope, so he would have to talk himself free. His mouth had gotten him into this cell; it could damn well get him out.\r\nTyrion pushed himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the slope of the floor beneath him, with its ever-so-subtle tug toward the edge. He hammered on the door with a fist. â€Å"Mord!” he shouted. â€Å"Turnkey! Mord, I want you!” He had to keep it up a good ten minutes before he heard footsteps. Tyrion stepped back an instant before the door opened with a crash.\r\nâ€Å"Making noise,” Mord growled, with blood in his eyes. Dangling from one meaty hand was a leather lambast, capacious and thick, doubled over in his fist.\r\nNever show them youre afraid, Tyrion reminded himself. â€Å"How would you like to be rich?” he asked.\r\nMord hit him. He swung the strap backhand, lazily, but the leather caught Tyrion high on the arm. The force of it staggered him, and the pain made him coat his teeth. â€Å"No mout h, dwarf man,” Mord warned him.\r\nâ€Å"Gold,” Tyrion said, miming a smile. â€Å"Casterly Rock is wide of luxurious . . . ahhhh . . . ” This time the blow was a forehand, and Mord put more of his arm into the swing, making the leather founder and jump. It caught Tyrion in the ribs and dropped him to his knees, wimpering. He forced himself to look up at the shag. â€Å"As rich as the Lannisters,” he wheezed. â€Å"Thats what they assign, Mordâ€â€\r\nMord grunted. The strap whistled through the air and smashed Tyrion bountiful in the face. The pain was so bad he did not remember falling, but when he opened his eyes again he was on the floor of his cell. His ear was ringing, and his mouth was full of blood. He groped for purchase, to push himself up, and his fingers brushed against . . . nothing. Tyrion snatched his hand back as devalued as if it had been scalded, and tried his best to stop breathing. He had fallen right on the edge, inches from the blue.\r\nâ€Å"More to say?” Mord held the strap between his fists and gave it a sharp pull. The stab made Tyrion jump. The turnkey laughed.\r\nHe wont push me over, Tyrion told himself urgently as he crawled away from the edge. Catelyn Stark wants me alive, he doesnt dare devour me. He wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, grinned, and said, â€Å"That was a stiff one, Mord.” The gaoler squinted at him, trying to decide if he was being mocked. â€Å"I could make good use of a strong man like you.” The strap flew at him, but this time Tyrion was able to cringe away from it. He took a glancing blow to the shoulder, nothing more. â€Å"Gold,” he repeated, scrambling sweptback like a crab, â€Å"more gold than youll see here in a lifetime. Enough to buy land, women, horses . . . you could be a lord. Lord Mord.” Tyrion hawked up a glob of blood and phlegm and spat it out into the sky.\r\nâ€Å"Is no gold,” Mord sa id.\r\nHes listening! Tyrion thought. â€Å"They relieved me of my grip when they captured me, but the gold is still mine. Catelyn Stark might take a man prisoner, but shed never bow to rob him. That wouldnt be honorable. Help me, and all the gold is yours.” Mords strap licked out, but it was a halfhearted, desultory swing, slow and contemptuous. Tyrion caught the leather in his hand and held it prisoned. â€Å" in that respect will be no risk to you. All you need do is feature a message.”\r\nThe gaoler yanked his leather strap free of Tyrions grasp. â€Å"Message,” he said, as if he had never heard the word before. His turn down made deep creases in his brow.\r\nâ€Å"You heard me, my lord. however carry my word to your lady. Tell her . . . ” What? What would possibly make Lysa Anyn relent? The inspiration came to Tyrion Lannister suddenly. ” . . . .tell her that I wish to squeal my crimes.”\r\nMord raised his arm and Tyrion braced hims elf for another blow, but the turnkey hesitated. Suspicion and greed warred in his eyes. He wanted that gold, yet he feared a fancy; he had the look of a man who had oft been tricked. â€Å"Is lie,” he muttered darkly. â€Å"Dwarf man cheat me.”\r\nâ€Å"I will put my promise in writing,” Tyrion vowed.\r\n near illiterates held writing in disdain; others seemed to have a superstitious reverence for the written word, as if it were some select of magic. Fortunately, Mord was one of the latter. The turnkey lowered the strap. â€Å" write down gold. Much gold.”\r\nâ€Å"Oh, much gold,” Tyrion assured him. â€Å"The purse is just a assay, my friend. My brother wears armor of consentaneous gold plate.” In rightfulness, Jaimes armor was gilded steel, but this oaf would never know the difference.\r\nMord fingered his strap thoughtfully, but in the end, he relented and went to fetch melodic theme and ink. When the letter was written, the gaole r frowned at it suspiciously. â€Å"Now deliver my message,” Tyrion urged.\r\nHe was shivering in his sleep when they came for him, late that night. Mord opened the door but kept his silence. Ser Vardis Egen woke Tyrion with the point of his boot. â€Å"On your feet, Imp. My lady wants to see you.”\r\nTyrion rubbed the sleep from his eyes and put on a grimace he scarcely felt. â€Å"No doubt she does, but what makes you think I wish to see her?”\r\nSer Vardis frowned. Tyrion remembered him well from the historic period he had spent at Kings Landing as the captain of the Hands household guard. A square, plain face, silverish hair, a heavy build, and no humor whatsoever. â€Å"Your wishes are not my concern. On your feet, or Ill have you carried.”\r\nTyrion clambered awkwardly to his feet. â€Å"A cold night,” he said casually, â€Å"and the High Hall is so drafty. I dont wish to stoppage a chill. Mord, if you would be so good, fetch my cloak.â⠂¬Â\r\nThe gaoler squinted at him, face dull with suspicion.\r\nâ€Å"My cloak,” Tyrion repeated. â€Å"The shadowskin you took from me for safekeeping. You recall.”\r\nâ€Å"Get him the cursed cloak,” Ser Vardis said.\r\nMord did not dare grumble. He gave Tyrion a glow that promised future retribution, yet he went for the cloak. When he masked it around his prisoners neck, Tyrion smiled. â€Å"My give conveyss. I shall think of you whenever I wear it.” He flung the trailing end of the long skin over his right shoulder, and felt warm for the first time in days. â€Å"Lead on, Ser Vardis.”\r\nThe High Hall of the Arryns was aglow with the light of fifty torches, longing in the sconces along the walls. The Lady Lysa wore black silk, with the moon-and-falcon sewn on her breast in pearls. Since she did not look the sort to join the Nights Watch, Tyrion could only imagine that she had decided affliction clothes were appropriate garb for a proc laimion. Her long auburn hair, woven into an elaborate braid, fell crosswise her left shoulder. The taller throne beside her was empty; no doubt the little Lord of the Eyrie was off frisson in his sleep. Tyrion was conveyful for that much, at least.\r\nHe bowed deeply and took a moment to glance around the hall. Lady Arryn had summoned her knights and retainers to hear his confession, as he had hoped. He saw Ser Brynden Tullys craggy face and Lord genus Nestor Royces bluff one. Beside Nestor stood a juvenileer man with fierce black side-whiskers who could only be his heir, Ser Albar. Most of the principal houses of the Vale were represented. Tyrion noted Ser Lyn Corbray, slim as a sword, Lord Hunter with his sick legs, the widowed Lady Waynwood surrounded by her sons. Others sported sigils he did not know; grim lance, green viper, burning tower, winged chalice.\r\nAmong the lords of the Vale were several of his companions from the high channel; Ser Rodrik Cassel, pale from ha lf-healed wounds, stood with Ser Willis Wode beside him. Marillion the singer had found a new woodharp. Tyrion smiled; whatever happened here tonight, he did not wish it to happen in secret, and there was no one like a singer for spreading a story near and far.\r\nIn the rear of the hall, Bronn lounged beneath a pillar. The freeriders black eyes were fixed on Tyrion, and his hand lay lightly on the pummel of his sword. Tyrion gave him a long look, wondering . . .\r\nCatelyn Stark spoke first. â€Å"You wish to confess your crimes, we are told.”\r\nâ€Å"I do, my lady,” Tyrion answered.\r\nLysa Arryn smiled at her sister. â€Å"The sky cells incessantly break them. The gods can see them there, and there is no darkness to hide in.”\r\nâ€Å"He does not look broken to me,” Lady Catelyn said.\r\nLady Lysa paid her no mind. â€Å"Say what you will,” she commanded Tyrion.\r\nAnd now to roll the dice, he thought with another quick glance back at Bronn. â€Å"Where to begin? I am a vile little man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting, my lords and ladies. I have lain with whores, not once but hundreds of times. I have wished my own lord father dead, and my sister, our gracious queen, as well.” rump him, someone chuckled. â€Å"I have not always treated my servants with kindness. I have gambled. I have even cheated, I blush to admit. I have said legion(predicate) cruel and malicious things about the noble lords and ladies of the court.” That drew outright laughter. â€Å"Once Iâ€â€\r\nâ€Å"Silence!” Lysa Arryns pale round face had off-key a burning pink. â€Å"What do you imagine you are doing, dwarf?”\r\nTyrion cocked his head to one side. â€Å"Why, confessing my crimes, my ladyâ€â€\r\nCatelyn Stark took a step forward. â€Å"You are accused of sending a hired knife to slay my son Bran in his bed, and of conspiring to murder Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.à ¢â‚¬Â\r\nTyrion gave a helpless shrug. â€Å"Those crimes I cannot confess, I fear. I know nothing of any murders.”\r\nLady Lysa rose from her weirwood throne. â€Å"I will not be made mock of. You have had your little jape, Imp. I trust you enjoyed it. Ser Vardis, take him back to the dungeon . . . but this time ensure him a smaller cell, with a floor more sharply sloped.”\r\nâ€Å"Is this how justice is done in the Vale?” Tyrion roared, so loudly that Ser Vardis froze for an instant. â€Å"Does honor stop at the Bloody Gate? You accuse me of crimes, I span them, so you throw me into an open cell to draw a blank and starve.” He lifted his head, to give them all a good look at the bruises Mord had left on his face. â€Å"Where is the kings justice? Is the Eyrie not part of the sevener Kingdoms? I stand accused, you say. Very well. I use up a trial! Let me speak, and let my truth or falsehood be judged openly, in the sight of gods and men.”\r\ nA low murmuring filled the High Hall. He had her, Tyrion knew. He was highborn, the son of the most flop lord in the realm, the brother of the queen. He could not be denied a trial. Guardsmen in sky-blue cloaks had started toward Tyrion, but Ser Vardis bid them halt and looked to Lady Lysa.\r\nHer small mouth twitched in a petulant smile. â€Å"If you are tried and found to be guilty of the crimes for which you stand accused, then by the kings own laws, you must pay with your lifes blood. We keep no headsman in the Eyrie, my lord of Lannister. easy the Moon Door.”\r\nThe press of spectators parted. A narrow weirwood door stood between two slender marble pillars, a crescent moon carved in the white wood. Those standing closest edged backward as a pair of guardsmen marched through. One man aloof the heavy bronze bars; the second pulled the door inward. Their blue cloaks rose snapping from their shoulders, caught in the sudden gust of wind that came howling through the open door. beyond was the emptiness of the night sky, speckled with cold unthoughtful stars.\r\nâ€Å"Behold the kings justice,” Lysa Arryn said. Torch flames fluttered like pennons along the walls, and here and there the odd torch guttered out.\r\nâ€Å"Lysa, I think this unwise,” Catelyn Stark said as the black wind swirled around the hall.\r\nHer sister ignored her. â€Å"You want a trial, my lord of Lannister. Very well, a trial you shall have. My son will listen to whatever you care to say, and you shall hear his judgment. Then you may leave . . . by one door or the other.”\r\nShe looked so pleased with herself, Tyrion thought, and small wonder. How could a trial threaten her, when her weakling son was the lord judge? Tyrion glanced at her Moon Door. Mother, I want to see him fly! the boy had said. How many men had the snot-nosed little wretch sent through that door already?\r\nâ€Å"I thank you, my good lady, but I see no need to trouble Lord Robert,” T yrion said politely. â€Å"The gods know the truth of my innocence. I will have their verdict, not the judgment of men. I demand trial by combat.”\r\nA storm of sudden laughter filled the High Hall of the Arryns. Lord Nestor Royce snorted, Ser Willis chuckled, Ser Lyn Corbray guffawed, and others threw back their heads and howled until tears ran down their faces. Marillion clumsily plucked a gay note on his new woodharp with the fingers of his broken hand. Even the wind seemed to whistle with derision as it came skirling through the Moon Door.\r\nLysa Arryns watery blue eyes looked uncertain. He had caught her off balance. â€Å"You have that right, to be sure.”\r\nThe young knight with the green viper embroidered on his surcoat stepped forward and went to one knee. â€Å"My lady, I beg the boon of championing your cause.”\r\nâ€Å"The honor should be mine,” old Lord Hunter said. â€Å"For the love I bore your lord husband, let me avenge his death.†\r\nâ€Å"My father served Lord Jon faithfully as High custodian of the Vale,” Ser Albar Royce boomed. â€Å"Let me serve his son in this.”\r\nâ€Å"The gods upgrade the man with the just cause,” said Ser Lyn Corbray, â€Å"yet a lot that turns out to be the man with the surest sword. We all know who that is.” He smiled modestly.\r\nA dozen other men all spoke at once, clamoring to be heard. Tyrion found it disheartening to realize so many strangers were eager to kill him. Perhaps this had not been such a clever plan after all.\r\nLady Lysa raised a hand for silence. â€Å"I thank you, my lords, as I know my son would thank you if he were among us. No men in the 7 Kingdoms are as bold and true as the knights of the Vale. Would that I could grant you all this honor. Yet I can choose only one.” She gestured. â€Å"Ser Vardis Egen, you were ever my lord husbands good right hand. You shall be our champion.”\r\nSer Vardis had been singularly silent. â€Å"My lady,” he said gravely, sinking to one knee, â€Å"pray give this burden to another, I have no taste for it. The man is no warrior. Look at him. A dwarf, half my size and lame in the legs. It would be shameful to slaughter such a man and call it justice.”\r\nOh, excellent, Tyrion thought. â€Å"I agree.”\r\nLysa glared at him. â€Å"You demanded a trial by combat.”\r\nâ€Å"And now I demand a champion, such as you have chosen for yourself. My brother Jaime will gladly take my part, I know.”\r\nâ€Å"Your curious Kingslayer is hundreds of leagues from here,” snapped Lysa Arryn.\r\nâ€Å"Send a bird for him. I will gladly await his arrival.”\r\nâ€Å"You will face Ser Vardis on the morrow.”\r\nâ€Å"Singer,” Tyrion said, turning to Marillion, â€Å"when you make a ballad of this, be certain you tell them how Lady Arryn denied the dwarf the right to a champion, and sent him forth lame and bruised and hob bling to face her finest knight.”\r\nâ€Å"I deny you nothing!” Lysa Arryn said, her voice crocked and shrill with irritation. â€Å"Name your champion, Imp . . . if you think you can find a man to die for you.”\r\nâ€Å"If it is all the same to you, Id sooner find one to kill for me.” Tyrion looked over the long hall. No one moved. For a long moment he wondered if it had all been a colossal blunder.\r\nThen there was a breathing in in the rear of the chamber. â€Å"Ill stand for the dwarf,” Bronn called out.\r\n'