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- Джордж Мартин
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"
A
thing
that
must
be
done
,
"
Maester
Cressen
answered
,
"
for
the
sake
of
the
realm
,
and
the
soul
of
my
lord
.
"
He
shook
off
Davos
’
s
hand
,
spilling
a
drop
of
wine
on
the
rushes
.
She
met
him
beneath
the
high
table
with
every
man
’
s
eyes
upon
them
.
But
Cressen
saw
only
her
.
Red
silk
,
red
eyes
,
the
ruby
red
at
her
throat
,
red
lips
curled
in
a
faint
smile
as
she
put
her
hand
atop
his
own
,
around
the
cup
.
Her
skin
felt
hot
,
feverish
.
"
It
is
not
too
late
to
spill
the
wine
,
Maester
.
"
"
No
,
"
he
whispered
hoarsely
.
"
No
.
"
"
As
you
will
.
"
Melisandre
of
Asshai
took
the
cup
from
his
hands
and
drank
long
and
deep
.
There
was
only
half
a
swallow
of
wine
remaining
when
she
offered
it
back
to
him
.
"
And
now
you
.
"
His
hands
were
shaking
,
but
he
made
himself
be
strong
.
A
maester
of
the
Citadel
must
not
be
afraid
.
The
wine
was
sour
on
his
tongue
.
He
let
the
empty
cup
drop
from
his
fingers
to
shatter
on
the
floor
.
"
He
does
have
power
here
,
my
lord
,
"
the
woman
said
.
"
And
fire
cleanses
"
At
her
throat
,
the
ruby
shimmered
redly
.
Cressen
tried
to
reply
,
but
his
words
caught
in
his
throat
.
His
cough
became
a
terrible
thin
whistle
as
he
strained
to
suck
in
air
.
Iron
fingers
tightened
round
his
neck
.
As
he
sank
to
his
knees
,
still
he
shook
his
head
,
denying
her
,
denying
her
power
,
denying
her
magic
,
denying
her
god
.
And
the
cowbells
peeled
in
his
antlers
,
singing
fool
,
fool
,
fool
while
the
red
woman
looked
down
on
him
in
pity
,
the
candle
flames
dancing
in
her
red
red
eyes
.
At
Winterfell
they
had
called
her
"
Arya
Horseface
"
and
she
’
d
thought
nothing
could
be
worse
,
but
that
was
before
the
orphan
boy
Lommy
Greenhands
had
named
her
"
Lumpyhead
.
"
Her
head
felt
lumpy
when
she
touched
it
.
When
Yoren
had
dragged
her
into
that
alley
she
’
d
thought
he
meant
to
kill
her
,
but
the
sour
old
man
had
only
held
her
tight
,
sawing
through
her
mats
and
tangles
with
his
dagger
.
She
remembered
how
the
breeze
sent
the
fistfuls
of
dirty
brown
hair
skittering
across
the
paving
stones
,
toward
the
sept
where
her
father
had
died
.
"
I
’
m
taking
men
and
boys
from
the
city
,
"
Yoren
growled
as
the
sharp
steel
scraped
at
her
head
.
"
Now
you
hold
still
,
boy
.
"
By
the
time
he
had
finished
,
her
scalp
was
nothing
but
tufts
and
stubble
.
Afterward
he
told
her
that
from
there
to
Winterfell
she
’
d
be
Arry
the
orphan
boy
.
"
Gate
shouldn
’
t
be
hard
,
but
the
road
’
s
another
matter
.
You
got
a
long
way
to
go
in
bad
company
.
I
got
thirty
this
time
,
men
and
boys
all
bound
for
the
Wall
,
and
don
’
t
be
thinking
they
’
re
like
that
bastard
brother
o
’
yours
.
"
He
shook
her
.
"
Lord
Eddard
gave
me
pick
o
’
the
dungeons
,
and
I
didn
’
t
find
no
little
lordlings
down
there
.
This
lot
,
half
o
’
them
would
turn
you
over
to
the
queen
quick
as
spit
for
a
pardon
and
maybe
a
few
silvers
.
The
other
half
’
d
do
the
same
,
only
they
’
d
rape
you
first
.
So
you
keep
to
yourself
and
make
your
water
in
the
woods
,
alone
.
That
’
ll
be
the
hardest
part
,
the
pissing
,
so
don
’
t
drink
no
more
’
n
you
need
.
"
