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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 445/853
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She
knelt
before
the
Mother
.
"
My
lady
,
look
down
on
this
battle
with
a
mother
’
s
eyes
.
They
are
all
sons
,
every
one
.
Spare
them
if
you
can
,
and
spare
my
own
sons
as
well
.
Watch
over
Robb
and
Bran
and
Rickon
.
Would
that
I
were
with
them
.
"
A
crack
ran
down
through
the
Mother
’
s
left
eye
.
It
made
her
look
as
if
she
were
crying
.
Catelyn
could
hear
Ser
Wendel
’
s
booming
voice
,
and
now
and
again
Ser
Robar
’
s
quiet
answers
,
as
they
talked
of
the
coming
battle
.
Otherwise
the
night
was
still
.
Not
even
a
cricket
could
be
heard
,
and
the
gods
kept
their
silence
.
Did
your
old
gods
ever
answer
you
,
Ned
?
she
wondered
.
When
you
knelt
before
your
heart
tree
,
did
they
hear
you
?
Flickering
torchlight
danced
across
the
walls
,
making
the
faces
seem
half
alive
,
twisting
them
,
changing
them
.
The
statues
in
the
great
septs
of
the
cities
wore
the
faces
the
stonemasons
had
given
them
,
but
these
charcoal
scratchings
were
so
crude
they
might
be
anyone
.
The
Father
’
s
face
made
her
think
of
her
own
father
,
dying
in
his
bed
at
Riverrun
.
The
Warrior
was
Renly
and
Stannis
,
Robb
and
Robert
,
Jaime
Lannister
and
Jon
Snow
.
She
even
glimpsed
Arya
in
those
lines
,
just
for
an
instant
.
Then
a
gust
of
wind
through
the
door
made
the
torch
sputter
,
and
the
semblance
was
gone
,
washed
away
in
orange
glare
.
The
smoke
was
making
her
eyes
burn
.
She
rubbed
at
them
with
the
heels
of
her
scarred
hands
.
When
she
looked
up
at
the
Mother
again
,
it
was
her
own
mother
she
saw
.
Lady
Minisa
Tully
had
died
in
childbed
,
trying
to
give
Lord
Hoster
a
second
son
.
The
baby
had
perished
with
her
,
and
afterward
some
of
the
life
had
gone
out
of
Father
.
She
was
always
so
calm
,
Catelyn
thought
,
remembering
her
mother
’
s
soft
hands
,
her
warm
smile
.
If
she
had
lived
,
how
different
our
lives
might
have
been
.
She
wondered
what
Lady
Minisa
would
make
of
her
eldest
daughter
,
kneeling
here
before
her
.
I
have
come
so
many
thousands
of
leagues
,
and
for
what
?
Who
have
I
served
?
I
have
lost
my
daughters
,
Robb
does
not
want
me
,
and
Bran
and
Rickon
must
surely
think
me
a
cold
and
unnatural
mother
.
I
was
not
even
with
Ned
when
he
died
.
.
.
Her
head
swam
,
and
the
sept
seemed
to
move
around
her
.
The
shadows
swayed
and
shifted
,
furtive
animals
racing
across
the
cracked
white
walls
.
Catelyn
had
not
eaten
today
.
Perhaps
that
had
been
unwise
.
She
told
herself
that
there
had
been
no
time
,
but
the
truth
was
that
food
had
lost
its
savor
in
a
world
without
Ned
.
When
they
took
his
head
off
,
they
killed
me
too
.
Behind
her
the
torch
spit
,
and
suddenly
it
seemed
to
her
that
it
was
her
sister
’
s
face
on
the
wall
,
though
the
eyes
were
harder
than
she
recalled
,
not
Lysa
’
s
eyes
but
Cersei
’
s
.
Cersei
is
a
mother
too
.
No
matter
who
fathered
those
children
,
she
felt
them
kick
inside
her
,
brought
them
forth
with
her
pain
and
blood
,
nursed
them
at
her
breast
.
If
they
are
truly
Jaime
’
s
.
.
.
"
Does
Cersei
pray
to
you
too
,
my
lady
?
"
Catelyn
asked
the
Mother
.
She
could
see
the
proud
,
cold
,
lovely
features
of
the
Lannister
queen
etched
upon
the
wall
.
The
crack
was
still
there
;
even
Cersei
could
weep
for
her
children
.
"
Each
of
the
Seven
embodies
all
of
the
Seven
,
"
Septon
Osmynd
had
told
her
once
.
There
was
as
much
beauty
in
the
Crone
as
in
the
Maiden
,
and
the
Mother
could
be
fiercer
than
the
Warrior
when
her
children
were
in
danger
.
Yes
.
.
.
