"Who gave you leave to enter my tower?"
"Your tower? This is my son's royal city!"
"I suppose it is," Tyrion said unhappily. He would have to teach Crown a lesson later. His Moon People warriors were on guard today. "In fact, I was just about to look for you."
"Were you?"
He closed the door. "What, don't you believe me?"
"Of course not, and I have ample reason."
"I'm heartbroken." Tyrion had little desire to trade barbs. Instead, he limped over to the wine cabinet, found a bottle of fine wine, and poured himself a cup.
"Enough, you disgusting maggot! Myrcella is my only daughter. Do you really think I'll let you sell her off like a sack of oats?" Cersei finally came to the point. She had come to confront Tyrion over the girl.
The two began arguing over the matter. Tyrion looked at his sister. "What do you mean, like a sack of oats? Myrcella is a princess. In a sense, she was born for this sort of thing. Surely you weren't planning to marry her to Tommen?"
The Queen Mother hurled her cup to the floor, spilling wine everywhere. "For that alone, I could have your tongue torn out, brother or not. I am Joffrey's regent, not you. And I will never agree to have Myrcella shipped off and sold to that Dornishman, the way I was sold to Robert."
"Enough!" Tyrion looked at Cersei, shaking the drops of wine from his hand. "We both know she would be safer in Dorne or the Vale than she is here."
"Are you hopelessly stupid, or have you truly lost your mind? We both know House Martell has no love for us, and neither does Lysa Arryn."
"There is no Lysa Arryn anymore. She is dead, and so