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- Джордж Мартин
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There
was
a
time
when
Lord
Stannis
would
have
woken
him
,
no
matter
the
hour
,
to
have
him
there
to
give
his
counsel
.
"
I
should
have
been
told
,
"
Cressen
complained
.
"
I
should
have
been
woken
.
"
He
disentangled
his
fingers
from
Shireen
’
s
.
"
Pardons
,
my
lady
,
but
I
must
speak
with
your
lord
father
.
Pylos
,
give
me
your
arm
.
There
are
too
many
steps
in
this
castle
,
and
it
seems
to
me
they
add
a
few
every
night
,
just
to
vex
me
.
"
Shireen
and
Patchface
followed
them
out
,
but
the
child
soon
grew
restless
with
the
old
man
’
s
creeping
pace
and
dashed
ahead
,
the
fool
lurching
after
her
with
his
cowbells
clanging
madly
.
Castles
are
not
friendly
places
for
the
frail
,
Cressen
was
reminded
as
he
descended
the
turnpike
stairs
of
Sea
Dragon
Tower
.
Lord
Stannis
would
be
found
in
the
Chamber
of
the
Painted
Table
,
atop
the
Stone
Drum
,
Dragonstone
’
s
central
keep
,
so
named
for
the
way
its
ancient
walls
boomed
and
rumbled
during
storms
.
To
reach
him
they
must
cross
the
gallery
,
pass
through
the
middle
and
inner
walls
with
their
guardian
gargoyles
and
black
iron
gates
,
and
ascend
more
steps
than
Cressen
cared
to
contemplate
.
Young
men
climbed
steps
two
at
a
time
;
for
old
men
with
bad
hips
,
every
one
was
a
torment
.
But
Lord
Stannis
would
not
think
to
come
to
him
,
so
the
maester
resigned
himself
to
the
ordeal
.
He
had
Pylos
to
help
him
,
at
the
least
,
and
for
that
he
was
grateful
.
Shuffling
along
the
gallery
,
they
passed
before
a
row
of
tall
arched
windows
with
commanding
views
of
the
outer
bailey
,
the
curtain
wall
,
and
the
fishing
village
beyond
.
In
the
yard
,
archers
were
firing
at
practice
butts
to
the
call
of
"
Notch
,
draw
,
loose
.
"
Their
arrows
made
a
sound
like
a
flock
of
birds
taking
wing
.
Guardsmen
strode
the
wallwalks
,
peering
between
the
gargoyles
on
the
host
camped
without
.
The
morning
air
was
hazy
with
the
smoke
of
cookfires
,
as
three
thousand
men
sat
down
to
break
their
fasts
beneath
the
banners
of
their
lords
.
Past
the
sprawl
of
the
camp
,
the
anchorage
was
crowded
with
ships
.
No
craft
that
had
come
within
sight
of
Dragonstone
this
past
half
year
had
been
allowed
to
leave
again
.
Lord
Stannis
’
s
Fury
,
a
triple
-
decked
war
galley
of
three
hundred
oars
,
looked
almost
small
beside
some
of
the
big
-
bellied
carracks
and
cogs
that
surrounded
her
.
The
guardsmen
outside
the
Stone
Drum
knew
the
maesters
by
sight
,
and
passed
them
through
.
"
Wait
here
,
"
Cressen
told
Pylos
,
within
.
"
It
’
s
best
I
see
him
alone
.
"
"
It
is
a
long
climb
,
Maester
.
"
Cressen
smiled
.
"
You
think
I
have
forgotten
?
I
have
climbed
these
steps
so
often
I
know
each
one
by
name
.
"
Halfway
up
,
he
regretted
his
decision
.
He
had
stopped
to
catch
his
breath
and
ease
the
pain
in
his
hip
when
he
heard
the
scuff
of
boots
on
stone
,
and
came
face
-
to
-
face
with
Ser
Davos
Seaworth
,
descending
.
