The cooks were serving the meat course: five suckling pigs, skin seared and crackling, a different fruit in every mouth. The smell made his mouth water. "My pardons," he began, taking his place on the bench beside his uncle.
Perhaps I'd best charge you with burying our dead, Tyrion, Lord Tywin said. "If you are as late to battle as you are to table, the fighting will all be done by the time you arrive."
Oh, surely you can save me a peasant or two, Father, Tyrion replied. "Not too many, I wouldn't want to be greedy." He filled his wine cup and watched a serving man carve into the pig. The crisp skin crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. It was the loveliest sight Tyrion had seen in ages.
Sir Addam's outriders say the Stark host has moved south from the Twins, his father reported as his trencher was filled with slices of pork. "Lord Frey's levies have joined them. They are likely no more than a day's march north of us."
Please, Father, Tyrion said. "I'm about to eat."
Does the thought of facing the Stark boy unman you, Tyrion? Your brother Jaime would be eager to come to grips with him.
I'd sooner come to grips with that pig. Robb Stark is not half so tender, and he never smelled as good.