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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 37/853
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Joffrey
shrugged
.
"
What
if
he
is
?
"
"
You
should
help
him
up
and
tell
him
how
well
he
rode
.
"
Sansa
could
not
seem
to
stop
herself
.
"
He
got
knocked
off
his
horse
and
fell
in
the
dirt
,
"
the
king
pointed
out
.
"
That
’
s
not
riding
well
.
"
"
Look
,
"
the
Hound
interrupted
.
"
The
boy
has
courage
.
He
’
s
going
to
try
again
.
"
They
were
helping
Prince
Tommen
mount
his
pony
.
If
only
Tommen
were
the
elder
instead
of
Joffrey
,
Sansa
thought
.
I
wouldn
’
t
mind
marrying
Tommen
.
The
sounds
from
the
gatehouse
took
them
by
surprise
.
Chains
rattled
as
the
portcullis
was
drawn
upward
,
and
the
great
gates
opened
to
the
creak
of
iron
hinges
.
"
Who
told
them
to
open
the
gate
?
"
Joff
demanded
.
With
the
troubles
in
the
city
,
the
gates
of
the
Red
Keep
had
been
closed
for
days
.
A
column
of
riders
emerged
from
beneath
the
portcullis
with
a
clink
of
steel
and
a
clatter
of
hooves
.
Clegane
stepped
close
to
the
king
,
one
hand
on
the
hilt
of
his
longsword
.
The
visitors
were
dinted
and
haggard
and
dusty
,
yet
the
standard
they
carried
was
the
lion
of
Lannister
,
golden
on
its
crimson
field
.
A
few
wore
the
red
cloaks
and
mail
of
Lannister
men
-
at
-
arms
,
but
more
were
freeriders
and
sellswords
,
armored
in
oddments
and
bristling
with
sharp
steel
.
.
.
and
there
were
others
,
monstrous
savages
out
of
one
of
Old
Nan
’
s
tales
,
the
scary
ones
Bran
used
to
love
.
They
were
clad
in
shabby
skins
and
boiled
leather
,
with
long
hair
and
fierce
beards
.
Some
wore
bloodstained
bandages
over
their
brows
or
wrapped
around
their
hands
,
and
others
were
missing
eyes
,
ears
,
and
fingers
.
In
their
midst
,
riding
on
a
tall
red
horse
in
a
strange
high
saddle
that
cradled
him
back
and
front
,
was
the
queen
’
s
dwarf
brother
Tyrion
Lannister
,
the
one
they
called
the
Imp
.
He
had
let
his
beard
grow
to
cover
his
pushed
-
in
face
,
until
it
was
a
bristly
tangle
of
yellow
and
black
hair
,
coarse
as
wire
.
Down
his
back
flowed
a
shadowskin
cloak
,
black
fur
striped
with
white
.
He
held
the
reins
in
his
left
hand
and
carried
his
right
arm
in
a
white
silk
sling
,
but
otherwise
looked
as
grotesque
as
Sansa
remembered
from
when
he
had
visited
Winterfell
.
With
his
bulging
brow
and
mismatched
eyes
,
he
was
still
the
ugliest
man
she
had
ever
chanced
to
look
upon
.
Yet
Tommen
put
his
spurs
into
his
pony
and
galloped
headlong
across
the
yard
,
shouting
with
glee
.
One
of
the
savages
,
a
huge
shambling
man
so
hairy
that
his
face
was
all
but
lost
beneath
his
whiskers
,
scooped
the
boy
out
of
his
saddle
,
armor
and
all
,
and
deposited
him
on
the
ground
beside
his
uncle
.
Tommen
’
s
breathless
laughter
echoed
off
the
walls
as
Tyrion
clapped
him
on
the
backplate
,
and
Sansa
was
startled
to
see
that
the
two
were
of
a
height
.
Myrcella
came
running
after
her
brother
,
and
the
dwarf
picked
her
up
by
the
waist
and
spun
her
in
a
circle
,
squealing
.
