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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 102/853
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Her
brother
would
sooner
face
battle
than
that
sickroom
.
The
shortest
way
to
the
central
keep
where
her
father
lay
dying
was
through
the
godswood
,
with
its
grass
and
wildflowers
and
thick
stands
of
elm
and
redwood
.
A
wealth
of
rustling
leaves
still
clung
to
the
branches
of
the
trees
,
all
ignorant
of
the
word
the
white
raven
had
brought
to
Riverrun
a
fortnight
past
.
Autumn
had
come
,
the
Conclave
had
declared
,
but
the
gods
had
not
seen
fit
to
tell
the
winds
and
woods
as
yet
.
For
that
Catelyn
was
duly
grateful
.
Autumn
was
always
a
fearful
time
,
with
the
specter
of
winter
looming
ahead
.
Even
the
wisest
man
never
knew
whether
his
next
harvest
would
be
the
last
.
Hoster
Tully
,
Lord
of
Riverrun
,
lay
abed
in
his
solar
,
with
its
commanding
view
to
the
east
where
the
rivers
Tumblestone
and
Red
Fork
met
beyond
the
walls
of
his
castle
.
He
was
sleeping
when
Catelyn
entered
,
his
hair
and
beard
as
white
as
his
featherbed
,
his
once
-
portly
frame
turned
small
and
frail
by
the
death
that
grew
within
him
.
Beside
the
bed
,
still
dressed
in
mail
hauberk
and
travel
-
stained
cloak
,
sat
her
father
’
s
brother
,
the
Blackfish
.
His
boots
were
dusty
and
spattered
with
dried
mud
.
"
Does
Robb
know
you
are
returned
,
Uncle
?
"
Ser
Brynden
Tully
was
Robb
’
s
eyes
and
ears
,
the
commander
of
his
scouts
and
outriders
.
"
No
.
I
came
here
straight
from
the
stables
,
when
they
told
me
the
king
was
holding
court
.
His
Grace
will
want
to
hear
my
tidings
in
private
first
I
’
d
think
.
"
The
Blackfish
was
a
tall
,
lean
man
,
grey
of
hair
and
precise
in
his
movements
,
his
clean
-
shaven
face
lined
and
wind
-
burnt
.
"
How
is
he
?
"
he
asked
,
and
she
knew
he
did
not
mean
Robb
.
"
Much
the
same
.
The
maester
gives
him
dreamwine
and
milk
of
the
poppy
for
his
pain
,
so
he
sleeps
most
of
the
time
,
and
eats
too
little
.
He
seems
weaker
with
each
day
that
passes
.
"
"
Does
he
speak
?
"
"
Yes
.
.
.
but
there
is
less
and
less
sense
to
the
things
he
says
.
He
talks
of
his
regrets
,
of
unfinished
tasks
,
of
people
long
dead
and
times
long
past
.
Sometimes
he
does
not
know
what
season
it
is
,
or
who
I
am
.
Once
he
called
me
by
Mother
’
s
name
.
"
"
He
misses
her
still
,
"
Ser
Brynden
answered
.
"
You
have
her
face
.
I
can
see
it
in
your
cheekbones
,
and
your
jaw
.
.
.
"
