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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 587/853
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Beside
her
,
Brienne
’
s
misery
was
almost
palpable
.
Catelyn
had
ordered
garments
sewn
to
her
measure
,
handsome
gowns
to
suit
her
birth
and
sex
,
yet
still
she
preferred
to
dress
in
oddments
of
mail
and
boiled
leather
,
a
swordbelt
cinched
around
her
waist
.
She
would
have
been
happier
riding
to
war
with
Edmure
,
no
doubt
,
but
even
walls
as
strong
as
Riverrun
’
s
required
swords
to
hold
them
.
Her
brother
had
taken
every
able
-
bodied
man
for
the
fords
,
leaving
Ser
Desmond
Grell
to
command
a
garrison
made
up
of
the
wounded
,
the
old
,
and
the
sick
,
along
with
a
few
squires
and
some
untrained
peasant
boys
still
shy
of
manhood
.
This
,
to
defend
a
castle
crammed
full
of
women
and
children
.
When
the
last
of
Edmure
’
s
foot
had
shuffled
under
the
portcullis
,
Brienne
asked
,
"
What
shall
we
do
now
,
my
lady
?
"
"
Our
duty
.
"
Catelyn
’
s
face
was
drawn
as
she
started
across
the
yard
.
I
have
always
done
my
duty
,
she
thought
.
Perhaps
that
was
why
her
lord
father
had
always
cherished
her
best
of
all
his
children
.
Her
two
older
brothers
had
both
died
in
infancy
,
so
she
had
been
son
as
well
as
daughter
to
Lord
Hoster
until
Edmure
was
born
.
Then
her
mother
had
died
and
her
father
had
told
her
that
she
must
be
the
lady
of
Riverrun
now
,
and
she
had
done
that
too
.
And
when
Lord
Hoster
promised
her
to
Brandon
Stark
,
she
had
thanked
him
for
making
her
such
a
splendid
match
.
I
gave
Brandon
my
favor
to
wear
,
and
never
comforted
Petyr
once
after
he
was
wounded
,
nor
bid
him
farewell
when
Father
sent
him
off
.
And
when
Brandon
was
murdered
and
Father
told
me
I
must
wed
his
brother
,
I
did
so
gladly
,
though
I
never
saw
Ned
’
s
face
until
our
wedding
day
.
I
gave
my
maidenhood
to
this
solemn
stranger
and
sent
him
off
to
his
war
and
his
king
and
the
woman
who
bore
him
his
bastard
,
because
I
always
did
my
duty
.
Her
steps
took
her
to
the
sept
,
a
seven
-
sided
sandstone
temple
set
amidst
her
mother
’
s
gardens
and
filled
with
rainbow
light
.
It
was
crowded
when
they
entered
;
Catelyn
was
not
alone
in
her
need
for
prayer
.
She
knelt
before
the
painted
marble
image
of
the
Warrior
and
lit
a
scented
candle
for
Edmure
and
another
for
Robb
off
beyond
the
hills
.
Keep
them
safe
and
help
them
to
victory
,
she
prayed
,
and
bring
peace
to
the
souls
of
the
slain
and
comfort
to
those
they
leave
behind
.
The
septon
entered
with
his
censer
and
crystal
while
she
was
at
her
prayers
,
so
Catelyn
lingered
for
the
celebration
.
She
did
not
know
this
septon
,
an
earnest
young
man
close
to
Edmure
’
s
age
.
He
performed
his
office
well
enough
,
and
his
voice
was
rich
and
pleasant
when
he
sang
the
praises
to
the
Seven
,
but
Catelyn
found
herself
yearning
for
the
thin
quavering
tones
of
Septon
Osmynd
,
long
dead
.
Osmynd
would
have
listened
patiently
to
the
tale
of
what
she
had
seen
and
felt
in
Renly
’
s
pavilion
,
and
he
might
have
known
what
it
meant
as
well
,
and
what
she
must
do
to
lay
to
rest
the
shadows
that
stalked
her
dreams
.
Osmynd
,
my
father
,
Uncle
Brynden
,
old
Maester
Kym
,
they
always
seemed
to
know
everything
,
but
now
there
is
only
me
,
and
it
seems
I
know
nothing
,
not
even
my
duty
.
How
can
I
do
my
duty
if
I
do
not
know
where
it
lies
?
Catelyn
’
s
knees
were
stiff
by
the
time
she
rose
,
though
she
felt
no
wiser
.
Perhaps
she
would
go
to
the
godswood
tonight
,
and
pray
to
Ned
’
s
gods
as
well
.
They
were
older
than
the
Seven
.
Outside
,
she
found
song
of
a
very
different
sort
.
Rymund
the
Rhymer
sat
by
the
brewhouse
amidst
a
circle
of
listeners
,
his
deep
voice
ringing
as
he
sang
of
Lord
Deremond
at
the
Bloody
Meadow
.
And
there
he
stood
with
sword
in
hand
,
