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- Джордж Мартин
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Devan
stood
to
one
side
of
the
door
,
waiting
to
lift
the
flap
for
the
king
.
An
older
squire
waited
beside
him
.
Stannis
took
off
his
crown
and
handed
it
to
Devan
.
"
Cold
water
,
cups
for
two
.
Davos
,
attend
me
.
My
lady
,
I
shall
send
for
you
when
I
require
you
.
"
"
As
the
king
commands
.
"
Melisandre
bowed
.
After
the
brightness
of
the
morning
,
the
interior
of
the
pavilion
seemed
cool
and
dim
.
Stannis
seated
himself
on
a
plain
wooden
campstool
and
waved
Davos
to
another
.
"
One
day
I
may
make
you
a
lord
,
smuggler
.
If
only
to
irk
Celtigar
and
Florent
.
You
will
not
thank
me
,
though
.
It
will
mean
you
must
suffer
through
these
councils
,
and
feign
interest
in
the
braying
of
mules
.
"
"
Why
do
you
have
them
,
if
they
serve
no
purpose
?
"
"
The
mules
love
the
sound
of
their
own
braying
,
why
else
?
And
I
need
them
to
haul
my
cart
.
Oh
,
to
be
sure
,
once
in
a
great
while
some
useful
notion
is
put
forth
.
But
not
today
,
I
think
—
ah
,
here
’
s
your
son
with
our
water
.
"
Devan
set
the
tray
on
the
table
and
filled
two
clay
cups
.
The
king
sprinkled
a
pinch
of
salt
in
his
cup
before
he
drank
;
Davos
took
his
water
straight
,
wishing
it
were
wine
.
"
You
were
speaking
of
your
council
?
"
"
Let
me
tell
you
how
it
will
go
.
Lord
Velaryon
will
urge
me
to
storm
the
castle
walls
at
first
light
,
grapnels
and
scaling
ladders
against
arrows
and
boiling
oil
.
The
young
mules
will
think
this
a
splendid
notion
.
Estermont
will
favor
settling
down
to
starve
them
out
,
as
Tyrell
and
Redwyne
once
tried
with
me
.
That
might
take
a
year
,
but
old
mules
are
patient
.
And
Lord
Caron
and
the
others
who
like
to
kick
will
want
to
take
up
Ser
Cortnay
’
s
gauntlet
and
hazard
all
upon
a
single
combat
.
Each
one
imagining
he
will
be
my
champion
and
win
undying
fame
.
"
The
king
finished
his
water
.
"
What
would
you
have
me
do
,
smuggler
?
"
Davos
considered
a
moment
before
he
answered
.
"
Strike
for
King
’
s
Landing
at
once
.
"
The
king
snorted
.
"
And
leave
Storm
’
s
End
untaken
?
"
