When you were marched to the imp's tent, you weren't sure what to expect. You'd immediately assumed the royal family was angry with you for some reason. You'd heard countless tales of all the maids accused of sticky fingers, or being one of Robert's many whores. But you hadn't done anything of the sort.

"What did you want of me?" you asked, trying to keep your eyes on the dwarf rather than look around the large tent. The Battle of Blackwater had been difficult, but this tent made it seem like a vacation.

Tyrion didn't look you up and down like most men did. He didn't appraise you like you were a prized pig. He simply swirled his goblet of wine and looked up at you. "I want you to share my tent."