The badge looks good on you. Almost as good as it looked on me. Are you enjoying your new position?
Am I enjoying it?
I was very happy as Hand of the King.
Yes. I heard how happy you were. You brought a whore into my bed.
It wasn't your bed at the time.
I sent you here to advise the king. I gave you real power and authority. You chose to spend your days as you always have: bedding harlots and drinking with thieves.
Occasionally I drank with the harlots.
What do you want, Tyrion?
Why does everyone assume I want something? Can't I simply visit with my beloved father? My beloved father who somehow forgot to visit his wounded son after he fell on the battlefield.
Maester Pycelle assured me your wounds were not fatal.
I organized the defense of this city while you held court in the ruins of Harrenhal. I led the foray when the enemies were at the gate while your grandson, the king, quivered in fear behind the walls. I bled in the mud for our family. And as my reward, I was trundled off to some dark little cell. But what do I want? A little bloody gratitude would be a start.
Jugglers and singers require applause. You are a Lannister. Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on a battlefield? Hmm? Now, I have seven kingdoms to look after and three of them are in open rebellion. So tell me what you want.
I want what is mine by right. Jaime is your eldest son, heir to your lands and titles. But he is a Kingsguard, forbidden from marriage or inheritance. The day Jaime put on the white cloak, he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock. I am your son and lawful heir.
You want Casterly Rock?
It is mine by right.
We'll find you accommodations more suited to your name and as a reward for your accomplishments during the battle of Blackwater Bay. And when the time is right, you will be given a position fit for your talents so that you can serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you serve faithfully, you will be rewarded with a suitable wife. And I would let myself be consumed by maggots before mocking the family name and making you heir to Casterly Rock.
Why?
Why? You ask that? You, who killed your mother to come into the world? You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors since I cannot prove that you are not mine. And to teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse. Go, now. Speak no more of your rights to Casterly Rock. Go. [Tyrion walks away] Oh, one more thing. The next whore I catch in your bed, I'll hang.
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