"The tourney-- you mean the Arena, then?" He can't think what else it would be, and so he goes on, with a disapproving shake of his head. "Oh, there's tales of the tourney, all right - in fact, it's near all they have to tell of. Here--" and he flips to a page containing a chart, with cheerful pictures, detailing the names of the Victors of the first twenty-five Hunger Games.

"Those're the only conquerors they have in this place. Just murderers, all of 'em! There's no heroes among them, and a story ought to have a hero - one doing as he does, whether for good or ill, because he's got the choice to do it. And he ought to travel-- there ought to be a quest, in lands strange and beautiful, and all." He doesn't even mean to go on so - he didn't realize himself just how many opinions about this he had. "This is all the same story, again and again - all that changes is the Arena, and there's none of them that do it because they want to. When it isn't dull, it's just... sad, is all it is. There's no purpose to it."

He shuts the book and looks back up at Arya. "...Though if those are the sorts of heroes you're in search of, then I suppose you're welcome to them. But there's better, I say."