Spare me the homilies. I can smell a fraud from a mile away
I'd hate to die like your son, clawing at my neck, foam and bile spilling from my mouth, eyes bloodred, skin purple. Must have been horrible for you as a kingsguard, as a father. It was horrible for me, a shocking scene. Not at all what I intended
Obara. You look like an angry little boy. Don't presume to tell me what I need
You're not in your sanctuary now, my dear. All I have to do is whistle and my men will stroll in here and bash you about until I tell them to stop
