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- Джордж Мартин
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Grand
Maester
Pycelle
stroked
his
flowing
white
beard
and
nodded
ponderously
.
"
It
would
seem
that
a
welcome
is
in
order
.
"
"
Indeed
.
"
Jowly
,
balding
Janos
Slynt
looked
rather
like
a
frog
,
a
smug
frog
who
had
gotten
rather
above
himself
.
"
We
have
sore
need
of
you
,
my
lord
.
Rebellion
everywhere
,
this
grim
omen
in
the
sky
,
rioting
in
the
city
streets
.
.
.
"
"
And
whose
fault
is
that
,
Lord
Janos
?
"
Cersei
lashed
out
.
"
Your
gold
cloaks
are
charged
with
keeping
order
.
As
to
you
,
Tyrion
,
you
could
better
serve
us
on
the
field
of
battle
.
"
He
laughed
.
"
No
,
I
’
m
done
with
fields
of
battle
,
thank
you
.
I
sit
a
chair
better
than
a
horse
,
and
I
’
d
sooner
hold
a
wine
goblet
than
a
battle
-
axe
.
All
that
about
the
thunder
of
the
drums
,
sunlight
flashing
on
armor
,
magnificent
destriers
snorting
and
prancing
?
Well
,
the
drums
gave
me
headaches
,
the
sunlight
flashing
on
my
armor
cooked
me
up
like
a
harvest
-
day
goose
,
and
those
magnificent
destriers
shit
everywhere
.
Not
that
I
am
complaining
.
Compared
to
the
hospitality
I
enjoyed
in
the
Vale
of
Arryn
,
drums
,
horseshit
,
and
fly
bites
are
my
favorite
things
.
"
Littlefinger
laughed
.
"
Well
said
,
Lannister
.
A
man
after
my
own
heart
.
"
Tyrion
smiled
at
him
,
remembering
a
certain
dagger
with
a
dragonbone
hilt
and
a
Valyrian
steel
blade
.
We
must
have
a
talk
about
that
,
and
soon
.
He
wondered
if
Lord
Petyr
would
find
that
subject
amusing
as
well
.
"
Please
,
"
he
told
them
,
"
do
let
me
be
of
service
,
in
whatever
small
way
I
can
.
"
Cersei
read
the
letter
again
.
"
How
many
men
have
you
brought
with
you
?
"
"
A
few
hundred
.
My
own
men
,
chiefly
.
Father
was
loath
to
part
with
any
of
his
.
He
is
fighting
a
war
,
after
all
.
"
"
What
use
will
your
few
hundred
men
be
if
Renly
marches
on
the
city
,
or
Stannis
sails
from
Dragonstone
?
I
ask
for
an
army
and
my
father
sends
me
a
dwarf
.
The
king
names
the
Hand
,
with
the
consent
of
council
.
Joffrey
named
our
lord
father
.
"
