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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Haven
’
t
fucked
no
one
since
they
took
me
,
m
’
lord
.
Heke
’
s
me
true
name
.
I
was
in
service
to
the
Bastard
o
’
the
Dreadfort
till
the
Starks
give
him
an
arrow
in
the
back
for
a
wedding
gift
.
"
Theon
found
that
amusing
.
"
Who
did
he
marry
?
"
"
The
widow
o
’
Hornwood
,
m
’
lord
.
"
"
That
crone
?
Was
he
blind
?
She
has
teats
like
empty
wineskins
,
dry
and
withered
.
"
"
It
wasn
’
t
her
teats
he
wed
her
for
,
m
’
lord
.
"
The
ironmen
slammed
shut
the
tall
doors
at
the
foot
of
the
hall
.
From
the
high
seat
,
Bran
could
see
about
twenty
of
them
.
He
probably
left
some
guards
on
the
gates
and
the
armory
.
Even
so
,
there
couldn
’
t
be
more
than
thirty
.
Theon
raised
his
hands
for
quiet
.
"
You
all
know
me
—
"
"
Aye
,
we
know
you
for
a
sack
of
steaming
dung
!
"
shouted
Mikken
,
before
the
bald
man
drove
the
butt
of
his
spear
into
his
gut
,
then
smashed
him
across
the
face
with
the
shaft
.
The
smith
stumbled
to
his
knees
and
spat
out
a
tooth
.
"
Mikken
,
you
be
silent
.
"
Bran
tried
to
sound
stern
and
lordly
,
the
way
Robb
did
when
he
made
a
command
,
but
his
voice
betrayed
him
and
the
words
came
out
in
a
shrill
squeak
.
"
Listen
to
your
little
lordling
,
Mikken
,
"
said
Theon
.
"
He
has
more
sense
than
you
do
.
"
