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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Oh
,
I
think
they
will
.
It
’
s
your
gold
they
love
,
not
your
impish
wit
.
Have
no
fear
,
though
,
they
won
’
t
be
without
you
.
I
won
’
t
say
I
haven
’
t
thought
of
slitting
your
throat
from
time
to
time
,
but
Jaime
would
never
forgive
me
if
I
did
.
"
"
And
the
whore
?
"
He
would
not
call
her
by
name
.
If
I
can
convince
her
Shae
means
nothing
to
me
,
perhaps
.
.
.
"
She
’
ll
be
treated
gently
enough
,
so
long
as
no
harm
comes
to
my
sons
.
If
Joff
should
be
killed
,
however
,
or
if
Tommen
should
fall
into
the
hands
of
our
enemies
,
your
little
cunt
will
die
more
painfully
than
you
can
possibly
imagine
.
"
She
truly
believes
I
mean
to
kill
my
own
nephew
.
"
The
boys
are
safe
,
"
he
promised
her
wearily
.
"
Gods
be
good
,
Cersei
,
they
’
re
my
own
blood
!
What
sort
of
man
do
you
take
me
for
?
"
"
A
small
and
twisted
one
.
"
Tyrion
stared
at
the
dregs
on
the
bottom
of
his
wine
cup
.
What
would
Jaime
do
in
my
place
?
Kill
the
bitch
,
most
likely
,
and
worry
about
the
consequences
afterward
.
But
Tyrion
did
not
have
a
golden
sword
,
nor
the
skill
to
wield
one
.
He
loved
his
brother
’
s
reckless
wrath
,
but
it
was
their
lord
father
he
must
try
and
emulate
.
Stone
,
I
must
be
stone
,
I
must
be
Casterly
Rock
,
hard
and
unmovable
.
If
I
fail
this
test
,
I
had
as
lief
seek
out
the
nearest
grotesquerie
.
"
For
all
I
know
,
you
’
ve
killed
her
already
,
"
he
said
.
"
Would
you
like
to
see
her
?
I
thought
you
might
.
"
Cersei
crossed
the
room
and
threw
open
the
heavy
oaken
door
.
"
Bring
in
my
brother
’
s
whore
.
"
Ser
Osmund
’
s
brothers
Osney
and
Osfryd
were
peas
from
the
same
pod
,
tall
men
with
hooked
noses
,
dark
hair
,
and
cruel
smiles
.
She
hung
between
them
,
eyes
wide
and
white
in
her
dark
face
.
Blood
trickled
from
her
broken
lip
,
and
he
could
see
bruises
through
her
torn
clothing
.
Her
hands
were
bound
with
rope
,
and
they
’
d
gagged
her
so
she
could
not
speak
.
"
You
said
she
wouldn
’
t
be
hurt
.
"
