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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Someday
you
must
sing
for
me
.
"
"
I
.
.
.
please
,
I
have
no
gift
.
"
Brienne
pushed
back
from
the
table
.
"
Forgive
me
,
my
lady
.
Do
I
have
your
leave
to
go
?
"
Catelyn
nodded
.
The
tall
,
ungainly
girl
left
the
hall
with
long
strides
,
almost
unnoticed
amidst
the
revelry
.
May
the
gods
go
with
her
,
she
thought
as
she
returned
listlessly
to
her
supper
.
It
was
three
days
later
when
the
hammer
blow
that
Brienne
had
foretold
fell
,
and
five
days
before
they
heard
of
it
.
Catelyn
was
sitting
with
her
father
when
Edmure
’
s
messenger
arrived
.
The
man
’
s
armor
was
dinted
,
his
boots
dusty
,
and
he
had
a
ragged
hole
in
his
surcoat
,
but
the
look
on
his
face
as
he
knelt
was
enough
to
tell
her
that
the
news
was
good
.
"
Victory
,
my
lady
.
"
He
handed
her
Edmure
’
s
letter
.
Her
hand
trembled
as
she
broke
the
seal
.
Lord
Tywin
had
tried
to
force
a
crossing
at
a
dozen
different
fords
,
her
brother
wrote
,
but
every
thrust
had
been
thrown
back
.
Lord
Lefford
had
been
drowned
,
the
Crakehall
knight
called
Strongboar
taken
captive
,
Ser
Addam
Marbrand
thrice
forced
to
retreat
.
.
.
but
the
fiercest
battle
had
been
fought
at
Stone
Mill
,
where
Ser
Gregor
Clegane
had
led
the
assault
.
So
many
of
his
men
had
fallen
that
their
dead
horses
threatened
to
dam
the
flow
.
In
the
end
the
Mountain
and
a
handful
of
his
best
had
gained
the
west
bank
,
but
Edmure
had
thrown
his
reserve
at
them
,
and
they
had
shattered
and
reeled
away
bloody
and
beaten
.
Ser
Gregor
himself
had
lost
his
horse
and
staggered
back
across
the
Red
Fork
bleeding
from
a
dozen
wounds
while
a
rain
of
arrows
and
stones
fell
all
around
him
.
"
They
shall
not
cross
,
Cat
,
"
Edmure
scrawled
,
"
Lord
Tywin
is
marching
to
the
southeast
.
A
feint
perhaps
,
or
full
retreat
,
it
matters
not
.
They
shall
not
cross
.
"
Ser
Desmond
Grell
had
been
elated
.
"
Oh
,
if
only
I
might
have
been
with
him
,
"
the
old
knight
said
when
she
read
him
the
letter
.
"
Where
is
that
fool
Rymund
?
There
’
s
a
song
in
this
,
by
the
gods
,
and
one
that
even
Edmure
will
want
to
hear
.
The
mill
that
ground
the
Mountain
down
,
I
could
almost
make
the
words
myself
,
had
I
the
singer
’
s
gift
.
"
"
I
’
ll
hear
no
songs
until
the
fighting
’
s
done
,
"
Catelyn
said
,
perhaps
too
sharply
.
Yet
she
allowed
Ser
Desmond
to
spread
the
word
,
and
agreed
when
he
suggested
breaking
open
some
casks
in
honor
of
Stone
Mill
.
The
mood
within
Riverrun
had
been
strained
and
somber
;
they
would
all
be
better
for
a
little
drink
and
hope
.
That
night
the
castle
rang
to
the
sounds
of
celebration
.
"
Riverrun
!
"
the
smallfolk
shouted
,
and
"
Tully
!
Tully
!
"
They
’
d
come
frightened
and
helpless
,
and
her
brother
had
taken
them
in
when
most
lords
would
have
closed
their
gates
.
Their
voices
floated
in
through
the
high
windows
,
and
seeped
under
the
heavy
redwood
doors
.
Rymund
played
his
harp
,
accompanied
by
a
pair
of
drummers
and
a
youth
with
a
set
of
reed
pipes
