— What was she like?
— You've never asked about her, not once. Why not?
— At first, just saying her name even in private felt like I was breathing life back into her. I thought if I didn't talk about her, she'd just fade away for you. When I realized that wasn't going to happen, I refused to ask out of spite. I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I cared enough to ask. And eventually it became clear
that my spite didn't mean anything to you. As far as l couId tell,
you actually enjoyed it.
— So why now?
— What harm could Lyanna Stark's ghost do to either of us that we haven't done to each other a hundred times over?
— Why no shoes?
— Because I gave them away to someone who needed them more. We all do that. It stops us from forgetting what we really are.
— What are you doing?
— Praying.
— You're perfect, aren't you? Praying. What are you praying for?
— For the gods to have mercy on us all.
— Oh. On all of us?
— Yes, Your Grace.
— Even me?
— Of course, Your Grace.
— Even Joffrey?
— Joffrey is my...
— Oh, shut up, you little fool. Praying to the gods to have mercy on us all. The gods have no mercy. That's why they're gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died, you see. I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very, very hard, the gods would return my mother to me.
— Do you think I'm an idiot?
— No, I'd say you possess above-average intelligence.
People will whisper, they'll make their jokes. Let them. They're all so small, I can't even see them. I only see what matters.
If someone is planning on making our losses their gains, I want to hear it. If someone is laughing at the queen who walked naked through the streets covered in shit, I want to hear. I want to know who they are. I want to know where they are.
When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.
Too often, the wicked are the wealthiest, beyond the reach of justice.
— Well, I tell them no one's special, and they think I'm special for telling them so.
— Perhaps they're right.
— It would be comforting to believe that, wouldn't it?
— Put the pen down, dear. We both know you're not writing anything.
— Ah, yes. The famously tart-tongued Queen of Thorns.
— And the famous tart, Queen Cersei.
How can someone so consumed by the idea of his family have any conception what his actual family was doing?
