We cut to the throne room, where Lady Arryn and her son Robin are sitting on the throne, at the helm of the room. Catelyn is standing next to them, as Robin is tapping a knife against the throne itself very annoyingly.
Lysa Arryn: You wish to confess your crimes?
Tyrion Lannister: Yes, my lady. I do, my lady.
Lysa Arryn: Skycells always break them. Speak, Imp. Meet your gods as an honest man.
Tyrion Lannister: Where do I begin, my lords and ladies? I’m a vile man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting. I have lied and cheated, gambled and whored. I’m not particularly good at violence, but I’m good at convincing others to do violence for me. You want specifics, I suppose. When I was seven, I saw a servant girl bathing in the river. I stole her robe. She was forced to return to the castle, naked and in tears. I close my eyes, I can still see her tits bouncing. When I was ten, I stuffed my uncle’s boots with goatshit. When confronted with my crime, I blamed a squire. Poor boy was flogged and… I escaped justice. When I was twelve, I milked my eel into a pot of turtle stew. I flogged the one-eyed snake. I skinned my sausage. I made the bald man cry into the turtle stew, which I do believe my sister ate. At least I hope she did. I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel –
Lysa Arryn: Silence!
Robin Arryn: What happened next?!
Lysa Arryn: What do you think you’re doing?
Tyrion Lannister: Confessing my crimes.
Catelyn Stark: Lord Tyrion, you are accused of hiring a man to slay my son Bran in his bed, and of conspiring to murder my sister’s husband; Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.
Tyrion Lannister: Oh, I’m very sorry. I don’t know anything about all that.
Lysa Arryn: You’ve had your little joke. I trust you enjoyed it. Mord, take him back to the dungeon. But this time find a smaller cell, with a steeper floor.
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