Tyrion was dimly aware of a maester asking if he was injured. He pushed his way across the yard to where his nephew stood, his dungencrusted crown askew. "Traitors," Joffrey was babbling excitedly, "I'll have all their heads, I'll-"
The dwarf slapped his flushed face so hard the crown flew from Joffrey's head. Then he shoved him with both hands and knocked him sprawling. "You blind bloody
fool."
"They were traitors," Joffrey squealed from the ground. "They called me names and attacked me!"
"
You set your dog on them! What did you imagine they would do, bend the knee meekly while the Hound lopped off some limbs? You spoiled witless little boy, you've killed Clegane and gods know how many more, and yet you come through unscratched.
Damn you!" And he kicked him. It felt so good he might have done more, but Ser Mandon Moore pulled him off as Joffrey howled, and then Bronn was there to take him in hand. Cersei knelt over her son, while Ser Balon Swann restrained Ser Lancel. Tyrion wrenched free of Bronn's grip.
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