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Tyrion Lannister is being auctioned off along with another dwarf in Slaver's Bay. There are buyers from different places bidding on them. Tyrion notices some Westerners among the crowd. The bidding goes up to nine hundred and fifty-one pieces of silver, but the auctioneer wants a higher bid. Tyrion and the other dwarf are then brought onto the platform for the crowd's amusement. The bidding continues, with the grotesque fat man and the crone placing the highest bids. The crone mentions that her father said a Lannister is worth ten times more than a common man. A DANCE WITH DRAGONS Book Two After the Feast By George R.R. Martis Tyrion Lot 97 The auctioneer snapped his whip. A pair of dwarves! We'll trade for your amusement! The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. Tyrion Lannister could smell the salt in the air. Mingled with the stink from the lecturing ditches, Tyrion and Lannister could smell the salt in the air. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown shire of Dunne flowed into Slaver's Bay. benches sipping fruit drinks. A few were being fanned by slaves. Many wore tucars, that peculiar garment beloved by the old bloke of Slaver's Bay, as elegant as it was impractical. Others dressed more plainly, men in tunics and hooded cloaks, women in coloured silks, whores or priestesses, most alike, thus far east it was hard to tell who. Back behind the benches, trading japes and making mock-up of proceedings, stood a clot of Westerners. Sell swords, Tyrion knew. He spied long swords, dirks, and daggers. A brace of throwing-axes, mailed beneath their cloaks, their hair of beards and faces marked most of the men for the Free Cities, but here and there were a few who might be... Westerosi. Are they buying, or did they just turn up for the show? Who will open for the spare? Three hundred! bid a matron on an antique palanquin. Four! called a monstrously fat young kishma from Melissa, where he sprawled like a leviathan, covered all in yellow silk, fringed with gold. He looked as large as four ileros. Tyrion pitied the slaves who had to carry him. At least we will be spared that duty. What joy to be a dwarf! said a crone in a violet turquoise. The auctioneer gave her a sour look, but did not disallow the bid. The slave-sailors of the Selesauri Curran, sold singly, had gone for prices ranging from five hundred to nine hundred pieces of silver. Seasoned seamen were a valuable commodity. None had put up any sort of a fight with the slaves that had boarded their crippled cog. For them this was just a change of owner. The ship's mate had been freeman, but the widow of the waterfront had written them a binder, promising to stand their ransom in a case such as this. The three surviving fiery fingers had not been sold yet, but they were shuttles of the Lord of Light, and could count on being brought back by some red temple. The flames tattooed upon their faces were their binders. Tyrion and Penny had no such reassurance. Four fifty, came the bid, four eighty, five hundred. Some bids were called out in high Beleriand, some in the mongrel tongue of Geass. A few buyers signalled with a finger, the twist of a wrist, or the wave of a painted fan. I'm glad they are keeping us together, Penny whispered. The slave-traders shot them a look. No talk. Tyrion gave Penny's shoulder a squeeze. Strands of hair, pale blonde and black, clung to his brow, the rags of his tunic to his back. Some of that was sweat, some dried blood. He had not been so foolish as to fight the slavers, as Jorah Mormont had, but that did not mean he had escaped punishment. In his case, it was his mouth that had earned him lashes. Eight hundred, and fifty, and one. We're worth as much as a sailor, Tyrion mused, though perhaps it was pretty pig that the buyers wanted. A well-trained pig is hard to find. They certainly were not bidding for by the pound. At nine hundred pieces of silver, the bidding began to slow. At nine hundred and fifty-one, from the crone, it stopped. The auctioneer had the scent, though, and nothing would do but have the dwarves get the crowded taste of their show. Crunch and Pretty Pig were led up onto the platform. Without saddles or bridles, mounting them proved tricky. The moment the sail began to move, Tyrion slid off a rump and landed on his own, provoking gales of laughter from the bidders. One thousand bid the grotesque fat man, and one the crone again. Penny Smart was frozen in a rictus of a smile. Well-trained for your amusement, her father had a deal to answer for in whatever small hell was reserved for dwarves. Twelve hundred, the Leviathan in yellow, a slave beside him handed him a drink, lemon, no doubt. The way those yellow eyes were fixed upon the block made Tyrion uncomfortable. One hundred and one the crone. My father always said a Lannister was worth ten times as much as any common man.