Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic," the King-Beyond-the-Wall had told him. "They won't dance for coins, they don't care how your style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man.
In church your grandsire cut his throat; to do the job too long he tarried: he should have had my hearty vote to cut his throat before he married.
Good old grandsire. . . we shall be joyful of thy company.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.
Mencheres. Bones co-ruler, grandsire, Master vampire of incredible power, and the ally who unnerved me the most, had telekinetically held me down so Bones could boink me into submission enroute to the vampire holding cell? Sweet holy Jesus, let me have hallucinated hearing that!