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- Джордж Мартин
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From
time
to
time
,
King
Renly
would
feed
Margaery
some
choice
morsel
off
the
point
of
his
dagger
,
or
lean
over
to
plant
the
lightest
of
kisses
on
her
cheek
,
but
it
was
Ser
Loras
who
shared
most
of
his
jests
and
confidences
.
The
king
enjoyed
his
food
and
drink
,
that
was
plain
to
see
,
yet
he
seemed
neither
glutton
nor
drunkard
.
He
laughed
often
,
and
well
,
and
spoke
amiably
to
highborn
lords
and
lowly
serving
wenches
alike
.
Some
of
his
guests
were
less
moderate
.
They
drank
too
much
and
boasted
too
loudly
,
to
her
mind
.
Lord
Willum
’
s
sons
Josua
and
Elyas
disputed
heatedly
about
who
would
be
first
over
the
walls
of
King
’
s
Landing
.
Lord
Varner
dandled
a
serving
girl
on
his
lap
,
nuzzling
at
her
neck
while
one
hand
went
exploring
down
her
bodice
.
Guyard
the
Green
,
who
fancied
himself
a
singer
,
diddled
a
harp
and
gave
them
a
verse
about
tying
lions
’
tails
in
knots
,
parts
of
which
rhymed
.
Ser
Mark
Mullendore
brought
a
black
-
and
-
white
monkey
and
fed
him
morsels
from
his
own
plate
,
while
Ser
Tanton
of
the
red
-
apple
Fossoways
climbed
on
the
table
and
swore
to
slay
Sandor
Clegane
in
single
combat
.
The
vow
might
have
been
taken
more
solemnly
if
Ser
Tanton
had
not
had
one
foot
in
a
gravy
boat
when
he
made
it
.
The
height
of
folly
was
reached
when
a
plump
fool
came
capering
out
in
gold
-
painted
tin
with
a
cloth
lion
’
s
head
,
and
chased
a
dwarf
around
the
tables
,
whacking
him
over
the
head
with
a
bladder
.
Finally
King
Renly
demanded
to
know
why
he
was
beating
his
brother
.
"
Why
,
Your
Grace
,
I
’
m
the
Kinslayer
,
"
the
fool
said
.
"
It
’
s
King
slayer
,
fool
of
a
fool
,
"
Renly
said
,
and
the
hall
rang
with
laughter
.
Lord
Rowan
beside
her
did
not
join
the
merriment
.
"
They
are
all
so
young
,
"
he
said
.
It
was
true
.
The
Knight
of
Flowers
could
not
have
reached
his
second
name
day
when
Robert
slew
Prince
Rhaegar
on
the
Trident
.
Few
of
the
others
were
very
much
older
.
They
had
been
babes
during
the
Sack
of
King
’
s
Landing
,
and
no
more
than
boys
when
Balon
Greyjoy
raised
the
Iron
Islands
in
rebellion
.
They
are
still
unblooded
,
Catelyn
thought
as
she
watched
Lord
Bryce
goad
Ser
Robar
into
juggling
a
brace
of
daggers
.
It
is
all
a
game
to
them
still
,
a
tourney
writ
large
,
and
all
they
see
is
the
chance
for
glory
and
honor
and
spoils
.
They
are
boys
drunk
on
song
and
story
,
and
like
all
boys
,
they
think
themselves
immortal
.
"
War
will
make
them
old
,
"
Catelyn
said
,
"
as
it
did
us
.
"
She
had
been
a
girl
when
Robert
and
Ned
and
Jon
Arryn
raised
their
banners
against
Aerys
Targaryen
,
a
woman
by
the
time
the
fighting
was
done
.
"
I
pity
them
.
"
"
Why
?
"
Lord
Rowan
asked
her
.
"
Look
at
them
.
They
’
re
young
and
strong
,
full
of
life
and
laughter
.
And
lust
,
aye
,
more
lust
than
they
know
what
to
do
with
.
There
will
be
many
a
bastard
bred
this
night
,
I
promise
you
.
Why
pity
?
"
