They promise altars and arks;
the hollow earth, the ascending light.
You will be gold, and gold again. You are not surprised when their throats
are torn open, they reveal to be hollow.
Tyrion wanted to slap him, to spit in his face, to draw his dagger and cut the heart out of him and see if it was made of old hard gold, the way the smallfolks said. Yet he sat there, silent and still.