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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Think
I
’
m
so
drunk
that
I
’
d
believe
that
?
"
He
let
go
his
grip
on
her
arm
,
swaying
slightly
as
he
stood
,
stripes
of
light
and
darkness
falling
across
his
terrible
burnt
face
.
"
You
look
almost
a
woman
.
.
.
face
,
teats
,
and
you
’
re
taller
too
,
almost
.
.
.
ah
,
you
’
re
still
a
stupid
little
bird
,
aren
’
t
you
?
Singing
all
the
songs
they
taught
you
.
.
.
sing
me
a
song
,
why
don
’
t
you
?
Go
on
.
Sing
to
me
.
Some
song
about
knights
and
fair
maids
.
You
like
knights
,
don
’
t
you
?
"
He
was
scaring
her
.
"
T
-
true
knights
,
my
lord
.
"
"
True
knights
,
"
he
mocked
.
"
And
I
’
m
no
lord
,
no
more
than
I
’
m
a
knight
.
Do
I
need
to
beat
that
into
you
?
"
Clegane
reeled
and
almost
fell
.
"
Gods
,
"
he
swore
,
"
too
much
wine
.
Do
you
like
wine
,
little
bird
?
True
wine
?
A
flagon
of
sour
red
,
dark
as
blood
,
all
a
man
needs
.
Or
a
woman
.
"
He
laughed
,
shook
his
head
.
"
Drunk
as
a
dog
,
damn
me
.
You
come
now
.
Back
to
your
cage
,
little
bird
.
I
’
ll
take
you
there
.
Keep
you
safe
for
the
king
.
"
The
Hound
gave
her
a
push
,
oddly
gentle
,
and
followed
her
down
the
steps
.
By
the
time
they
reached
the
bottom
,
he
had
lapsed
back
into
a
brooding
silence
,
as
if
he
had
forgotten
she
was
there
.
When
they
reached
Maegor
’
s
Holdfast
,
she
was
alarmed
to
see
that
it
was
Ser
Boros
Blount
who
now
held
the
bridge
.
His
high
white
helm
turned
stiffly
at
the
sound
of
their
footsteps
.
Sansa
flinched
away
from
his
gaze
.
Ser
Boros
was
the
worst
of
the
Kingsguard
,
an
ugly
man
with
a
foul
temper
,
all
scowls
and
jowls
.
"
That
one
is
nothing
to
fear
,
girl
.
"
The
Hound
laid
a
heavy
hand
on
her
shoulder
.
"
Paint
stripes
on
a
toad
,
he
does
not
become
a
tiger
.
"
Ser
Boros
lifted
his
visor
.
"
Ser
,
where
—
"
"
Fuck
your
ser
,
Boros
.
You
’
re
the
knight
,
not
me
.
I
’
m
the
king
’
s
dog
,
remember
?
"
"
The
king
was
looking
for
his
dog
earlier
.
"
