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- Джордж Мартин
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Tyrion
shrugged
.
"
When
the
king
comes
of
age
in
three
years
,
he
may
give
or
withhold
his
consent
as
he
pleases
.
Until
then
,
you
are
his
regent
and
I
am
his
Hand
,
and
he
will
marry
whomever
we
tell
him
to
marry
.
Leavings
or
no
.
"
Cersei
’
s
quiver
was
empty
.
"
Make
your
offer
then
,
but
gods
save
you
all
if
Joff
does
not
like
this
girl
.
"
"
I
’
m
so
pleased
we
can
agree
,
"
Tyrion
said
.
"
Now
,
which
of
us
shall
go
to
Bitterbridge
?
We
must
reach
Ser
Loras
with
our
offer
before
his
blood
can
cool
.
"
"
You
mean
to
send
one
of
the
council
?
"
"
I
can
scarcely
expect
the
Knight
of
Flowers
to
treat
with
Bronn
or
Shagga
,
can
I
?
The
Tyrells
are
proud
.
"
His
sister
wasted
no
time
trying
to
twist
the
situation
to
her
advantage
.
"
Ser
Jacelyn
Bywater
is
nobly
born
.
Send
him
.
"
Tyrion
shook
his
head
.
"
We
need
someone
who
can
do
more
than
repeat
our
words
and
fetch
back
a
reply
.
Our
envoy
must
speak
for
king
and
council
and
settle
the
matter
quickly
.
"
"
The
Hand
speaks
with
the
king
’
s
voice
.
"
Candlelight
gleamed
green
as
wildfire
in
Cersei
’
s
eyes
.
"
If
we
send
you
,
Tyrion
,
it
will
be
as
if
Joffrey
went
himself
.
And
who
better
.
You
wield
words
as
skillfully
as
Jaime
wields
a
sword
.
"
Are
you
that
eager
to
get
me
out
of
the
city
,
Cersei
?
"
You
are
too
kind
,
sister
,
but
it
seems
to
me
that
a
boy
’
s
mother
is
better
fitted
to
arrange
his
marriage
than
any
uncle
.
And
you
have
a
gift
for
winning
friends
that
I
could
never
hope
to
match
.
"
