Finally the Lord Commander recovered himself. “You are a wicked man, to provoke our Ser Alliser so,” he scolded. Tyrion seated himself and took a sip of wine. “If a man paints a target on his chest, he should expect that sooner or later someone will loose an arrow at him. I have seen dead men with more humor than your Ser Alliser.” “Not so,” objected the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, a man as round and red as a pomegranate. “You ought to hear the droll names he gives the lads he trains.” Tyrion had heard a few of those droll names. “I’ll wager the lads have a few names for him as well,” he said.
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