Tyrion Lannister dangled between them, kicking feebly, his face red with shame. His arm burned from the weight of the longsword, and he was starting to feel his bruises now that the fight was done. The memory made Arya smile, and after that the darkness held no more terrors for her. Ser Rodrik glanced at his lady, his look worried, as well it might be.
Oh, look, she exclaimed to Doreah, those are the kind of sausages I meant. She'd been lying on top of Needle, or else it would have been gone too; it was worth more than all the rest together. That was when he knew. Tyrion adjusted his stolen helm and took the axe from Bronn.
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