Your mother’s dead. Before long I’ll be dead, and you and your brother and your sister and all of her children, all of us dead, all of us rotting underground. It’s the family name that lives on. It’s all that lives on. Not your personal glory, not your honour… but family. You understand?
When we met your sister, she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say, “Soon.” Then she and your brother took us to your nursery and she unveiled the freak. Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small, but no claw. No red eye. No tail between your legs. Just a tiny pink cock. We didn’t try to hide our disappointment. “That’s not a monster,” I told Cersei, “That’s just a baby.” And she said, “He killed my mother.” And she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off. Until your brother made her stop. “It doesn’t matter.” she told us, “Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they’re right. He should not have lived this long.”