For hours, Tyrion had been blindfolded. He'd bee harassed, scolded, taunted, and poked at with far more malice than he cared for. When his glib tongue would speak against them, fists from nowhere would humble him, until he learned it was better to not talk at all. It went on like this for some time, even as he listened in on the conversations.

But one voice stood out in particular. It did not become obvious who it was until Tyrion's blindfold was removed and he found himself looking eye to eye with Thoros of Myr, looking down sympathetically at Tyrion.

"It's been ages," he said. "That's a nasty scar you've got."

"It seems I shall have more to go with them," Tyrion said bitterly. "Am I to be taken to your Beric Dondarrion now? I do hope you can find a noose long enough to reach my neck."

"You won't hang," Thoros said. "The lady hangs nobles. But for you, you'll get the same treatment her lord husband did."

"The lady?"

Thoros said no more. He nodded to the men at either side of Tyrion and off they went, further through the forest, to a small clearing where a hooded woman waited to pass sentence on him. Tyrion thought it suddenly that much colder now.