Yes, Arya thought. Yes, it’s you who ought to run, you and Lord Tywin and the Mountain and Ser Addam and Ser Amory and stupid Ser Lyonel whoever he is, all of you better run or my brother will kill you, he’s a Stark, he’s more wolf than man, and soamI. ― Arya VIII, A Clash of Kings.
Gerion liked to set him on the table during feasts and make him recite
them. I liked that well enough, didn’t
there amongst the trenchers with every eye upon me, proving what a
clever little imp I was. For years afterward, he had cherished a dream
that one day he would travel the world and see Longstrider’s wonders for
Tywin had put an end to that hope ten days before his dwarf son’s
sixteenth nameday, when Tyrion asked to tour the Nine Free Cities, as
his uncles had done at that same age. “My brothers could be relied upon to bring no shame upon House Lannister,” his father had replied. “Neither ever wed a whore.” And when Tyrion had reminded him
that in ten days he would be a man grown, free to travel where he
wished, Lord Tywin had said,“ No
man is free. Only children and fools think elsewise. Go, by all means.
Wear motley and stand upon your head to amuse the spice lords and the
cheese kings. Just see that you pay your own way and put aside any thoughts of returning.”