“The seven-faced god has cheated me,” he said. “My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay, twisted into this rude shape you see before you.”
"But the Imp saw me at the Green Fork and put the boy I meant to marry in the front rank of the van, and after he was killed he sent his wildlings to bring me to his tent. Shagga, the big one, and Timett with the burned eye. He said if I didn’t pleasure him, he’d give me to them, so I did. Then he brought me to the city, so I’d be close when he wanted me. He made me do such shameful things..."
—Tyrion X, A Storm of Swords
One of the spearmen drifted over to Lommy. “Something wrong with your leg, boy?”
“It got hurt.”
“Can you walk?” He sounded concerned.
“No,” said Lommy. “You got to carry me.”
“Think so?” The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy’s soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. When the man pulled his spear loose, blood sprayed out in a dark fountain. “Carry him, he says,” he muttered, chuckling.
"... As I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love.”
Mercy mouthed the last lines along with him.
She caught his nose between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. “You’ll have no nose until you get your hands off me.”
“Owwwww,” the dwarf squealed, releasing her.
Bobono rubbed his tender nose.
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