Small chance of that here, Tyrion put in. For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of Tyrion remembered him well from the years he had spent at King's Landing as the captain of the Hand's household guard. In truth, I was made to sing for kings and high lords.
Stone kings looked down on her from their thrones, their faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks were making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors stuffed with straw. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. Rely on it, my lord.
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