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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 708/853
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"
My
lady
,
is
there
aught
I
might
do
for
you
?
A
sleeping
draught
,
perhaps
?
"
"
Thank
you
,
Maester
,
but
no
.
I
will
not
sleep
away
my
grief
.
Bran
and
Rickon
deserve
better
from
me
.
Go
and
join
the
celebration
,
I
will
sit
with
my
father
for
a
time
.
"
"
As
you
will
,
my
lady
.
"
Vyman
bowed
and
left
her
.
Lord
Hoster
lay
on
his
back
,
mouth
open
,
his
breath
a
faint
whistling
sigh
.
One
hand
hung
over
the
edge
of
the
mattress
,
a
pale
frail
fleshless
thing
,
but
warm
when
she
touched
it
.
She
slid
her
fingers
through
his
and
closed
them
.
No
matter
how
tightly
I
hold
him
,
I
cannot
keep
him
here
,
she
thought
sadly
.
Let
him
go
.
Yet
her
fingers
would
not
seem
to
unbend
.
"
I
have
no
one
to
talk
with
,
Father
,
"
she
told
him
.
"
I
pray
,
but
the
gods
do
not
answer
.
"
Lightly
she
kissed
his
hand
.
The
skin
was
warm
,
blue
veins
branching
like
rivers
beneath
his
pale
translucent
skin
.
Outside
the
greater
rivers
flowed
,
the
Red
Fork
and
the
Tumblestone
,
and
they
would
flow
forever
,
but
not
so
the
rivers
in
her
father
’
s
hand
.
Too
soon
that
current
would
grow
still
.
"
Last
night
I
dreamed
of
that
time
Lysa
and
I
got
lost
while
riding
back
from
Seagard
.
Do
you
remember
?
That
strange
fog
came
up
and
we
fell
behind
the
rest
of
the
party
.
Everything
was
grey
,
and
I
could
not
see
a
foot
past
the
nose
of
my
horse
.
We
lost
the
road
.
The
branches
of
the
trees
were
like
long
skinny
arms
reaching
out
to
grab
us
as
we
passed
.
Lysa
started
to
cry
,
and
when
I
shouted
the
fog
seemed
to
swallow
the
sound
.
But
Petyr
knew
where
we
were
,
and
he
rode
back
and
found
us
.
.
.
"
"
But
there
’
s
no
one
to
find
me
now
,
is
there
?
This
time
I
have
to
find
our
own
way
,
and
it
is
hard
,
so
hard
.
"
"
I
keep
remembering
the
Stark
words
.
Winter
has
come
,
Father
.
For
me
.
For
me
.
Robb
must
fight
the
Greyjoys
now
as
well
as
the
Lannisters
,
and
for
what
?
For
a
gold
hat
and
an
iron
chair
?
Surely
the
land
has
bled
enough
.
I
want
my
girls
back
,
I
want
Robb
to
lay
down
his
sword
and
pick
some
homely
daughter
of
Walder
Frey
to
make
him
happy
and
give
him
sons
.
I
want
Bran
and
Rickon
back
,
I
want
.
.
.
"
Catelyn
hung
her
head
.
"
I
want
,
"
she
said
once
more
,
and
then
her
words
were
gone
.
After
a
time
the
candle
guttered
and
went
out
.
Moonlight
slanted
between
the
slats
of
the
shutters
,
laying
pale
silvery
bars
across
her
father
’
s
face
.
She
could
hear
the
soft
whisper
of
his
labored
breathing
,
the
endless
rush
of
waters
,
the
faint
chords
of
some
love
song
drifting
up
from
the
yard
,
so
sad
and
sweet
.
"
I
loved
a
maid
as
red
as
autumn
,
"
Rymund
sang
,
"
with
sunset
in
her
hair
.
"
