Lysa Arryn: You wish to confess your crimes?
Tyrion Lannister: Yes, my lady. I do, my lady.
Lysa Arryn: The Sky cells always break them. Speak, Imp. Meet your gods as an honest man.
Tyrion Lannister: Where do I begin, my lords and ladies? I'm a vile man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting. I have lied and cheated, gambled and whored. I'm not particularly good at violence, but I'm good at convincing others to do violence for me. You want specifics, I suppose. When I was seven, I saw a servant girl bathing in the river. I stole her robe. She was forced to return to the castle naked and in tears. If I close my eyes, I can still see her tits bouncing. When I was ten, I stuffed my uncle's boots with goat shit. When confronted with my crime, I blamed a squire. Poor boy was flogged and I escaped justice. When I was twelve, I milked my eel into a pot of turtle stew. I flogged the one-eyed snake. I skinned my sausage. I made the bald man cry into the turtle stew, which I do believe my sister ate, at least I hope she did. I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel--
Lysa Arryn: Silence!
Robin Arryn: What happened next?
Lysa Arryn: What do you think you're doing?
Tyrion Lannister: Confessing my crime.
Catelyn Stark: Lord Tyrion, you are accused of hiring a man to slay my son Bran in his bed and of conspiring to murder my sister's husband, Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the king.
Tyrion Lannister: Oh, I'm very sorry. I don't know anything about all that.
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