“What are you reading about?” he asked. “Dragons,” Tyrion told him. “What good is that? There are no more dragons,” the boy said with the easy certainty of youth. “So they say,” Tyrion replied. “Sad, isn’t it? When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own.” “You did?” the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him. “Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back.” Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. “I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.” Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination.