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- Джордж Мартин
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For
a
moment
no
one
answered
.
Finally
Joffrey
said
,
"
She
was
riding
by
me
.
I
don
’
t
know
where
she
went
.
"
Tyrion
pressed
blunt
fingers
into
his
throbbing
temples
.
If
Sansa
Stark
had
come
to
harm
,
Jaime
was
as
good
as
dead
.
"
Ser
Mandon
,
you
were
her
shield
.
"
Ser
Mandon
Moore
remained
untroubled
.
"
When
they
mobbed
the
Hound
,
I
thought
first
of
the
king
.
"
"
And
rightly
so
,
"
Cersei
put
in
.
"
Boros
,
Meryn
,
go
back
and
find
the
girl
.
"
"
And
my
daughter
,
"
Lady
Tanda
sobbed
.
"
Please
,
sers
.
.
.
"
Ser
Boros
did
not
look
pleased
at
the
prospect
of
leaving
the
safety
of
the
castle
.
"
Your
Grace
,
"
he
told
the
queen
,
"
the
sight
of
our
white
cloaks
might
enrage
the
mob
.
"
Tyrion
had
stomached
all
he
cared
to
.
"
The
Others
take
your
fucking
cloaks
!
Take
them
off
if
you
’
re
afraid
to
wear
them
,
you
bloody
oaf
.
.
.
but
find
me
Sansa
Stark
or
I
swear
,
I
’
ll
have
Shagga
split
that
ugly
head
of
yours
in
two
to
see
if
there
’
s
anything
inside
but
black
pudding
.
"
Ser
Boros
went
purple
with
rage
.
"
You
would
call
me
ugly
,
you
?
"
He
started
to
raise
the
bloody
sword
still
clutched
in
his
mailed
fist
.
Bronn
shoved
Tyrion
unceremoniously
behind
him
.
"
Stop
it
!
"
Cersei
snapped
.
"
Boros
,
you
’
ll
do
as
you
’
re
bid
,
or
we
’
ll
find
someone
else
to
wear
that
cloak
.
Your
oath
—
"
