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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 723/853
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"
Yes
.
"
Theon
pushed
off
the
blankets
.
The
fire
had
burned
down
to
embers
.
"
Wex
,
hot
water
.
"
He
could
not
let
Asha
see
him
disheveled
and
soaked
with
sweat
.
Wolves
with
children
’
s
faces
.
.
.
He
shivered
.
"
Close
the
shutters
.
"
The
bedchamber
felt
as
cold
as
the
dream
forest
had
been
.
All
his
dreams
had
been
cold
of
late
,
and
each
more
hideous
than
the
one
before
.
Last
night
he
had
dreamed
himself
back
in
the
mill
again
,
on
his
knees
dressing
the
dead
.
Their
limbs
were
already
stiffening
,
so
they
seemed
to
resist
sullenly
as
he
fumbled
at
them
with
half
-
frozen
fingers
,
tugging
up
breeches
and
knotting
laces
,
yanking
fur
-
trimmed
boots
over
hard
unbending
feet
,
buckling
a
studded
leather
belt
around
a
waist
no
bigger
than
the
span
of
his
hands
.
"
This
was
never
what
I
wanted
,
"
he
told
them
as
he
worked
.
"
They
gave
me
no
choice
.
"
The
corpses
made
no
answer
,
but
only
grew
colder
and
heavier
.
The
night
before
,
it
had
been
the
miller
’
s
wife
.
Theon
had
forgotten
her
name
,
but
he
remembered
her
body
,
soft
pillowy
breasts
and
stretch
marks
on
her
belly
,
the
way
she
clawed
his
back
when
he
fucked
her
.
Last
night
in
his
dream
he
had
been
in
bed
with
her
once
again
,
but
this
time
she
had
teeth
above
and
below
,
and
she
tore
out
his
throat
even
as
she
was
gnawing
off
his
manhood
.
It
was
madness
.
He
’
d
seen
her
die
too
.
Gelmarr
had
cut
her
down
with
one
blow
of
his
axe
as
she
cried
to
Theon
for
mercy
.
Leave
me
,
woman
.
It
was
him
who
killed
you
,
not
me
.
And
he
’
s
dead
as
well
.
At
least
Gelmarr
did
not
haunt
Theon
’
s
sleep
.
The
dream
had
receded
by
the
time
Wex
returned
with
the
water
.
Theon
washed
the
sweat
and
sleep
from
his
body
and
took
his
own
good
time
dressing
.
Asha
had
let
him
wait
long
enough
;
now
it
was
her
turn
.
He
chose
a
satin
tunic
striped
black
and
gold
and
a
fine
leather
jerkin
with
silver
studs
.
.
.
and
only
then
remembered
that
his
wretched
sister
put
more
stock
in
blades
than
beauty
.
Cursing
,
he
tore
off
the
clothes
and
dressed
again
,
in
felted
black
wool
and
ringmail
.
Around
his
waist
he
buckled
sword
and
dagger
,
remembering
the
night
she
had
humiliated
him
at
his
own
father
’
s
table
.
Her
sweet
suckling
babe
,
yes
.
Well
,
I
have
a
knife
too
,
and
know
how
to
use
it
.
Last
of
all
,
he
donned
his
crown
,
a
band
of
cold
iron
slim
as
a
finger
,
set
with
heavy
chunks
of
black
diamond
and
nuggets
of
gold
.
It
was
misshapen
and
ugly
,
but
there
was
no
help
for
that
.
Mikken
lay
buried
in
the
lichyard
,
and
the
new
smith
was
capable
of
little
more
than
nails
and
horseshoes
.
Theon
consoled
himself
with
the
reminder
that
it
was
only
a
prince
’
s
crown
.
He
would
have
something
much
finer
when
he
was
crowned
king
.
Outside
his
door
,
Reek
waited
with
Urzen
and
Kromm
.
Theon
fell
in
with
them
.
These
days
,
he
took
guards
with
him
everywhere
he
went
,
even
to
the
privy
.
Winterfell
wanted
him
dead
.
The
very
night
they
had
returned
from
Acorn
Water
,
Gelmarr
the
Grim
had
tumbled
down
some
steps
and
broken
his
back
.
The
next
day
,
Aggar
turned
up
with
his
throat
slit
ear
to
ear
.
Gynir
Rednose
became
so
wary
that
he
shunned
wine
,
took
to
sleeping
in
byrnie
,
coif
,
and
helm
,
and
adopted
the
noisiest
dog
in
the
kennels
to
give
him
warning
should
anyone
try
to
steal
up
on
his
sleeping
place
.
All
the
same
,
one
morning
the
castle
woke
to
the
sound
of
the
little
dog
barking
wildly
.
They
found
the
pup
racing
around
the
well
,
and
Rednose
floating
in
it
,
drowned
.
He
could
not
let
the
killings
go
unpunished
.
Farlen
was
as
likely
a
suspect
as
any
,
so
Theon
sat
in
judgment
,
called
him
guilty
,
and
condemned
him
to
death
.
Even
that
went
sour
.
As
he
knelt
to
the
block
,
the
kennelmaster
said
,
"
M
’
lord
Eddard
always
did
his
own
killings
.
"
Theon
had
to
take
the
axe
himself
or
look
a
weakling
.
His
hands
were
sweating
,
so
the
shaft
twisted
in
his
grip
as
he
swung
and
the
first
blow
landed
between
Farlen
’
s
shoulders
.
It
took
three
more
cuts
to
hack
through
all
that
bone
and
muscle
and
sever
the
head
from
the
body
,
and
afterward
he
was
sick
,
remembering
all
the
times
they
’
d
sat
over
a
cup
of
mead
talking
of
hounds
and
hunting
.
I
had
no
choice
,
he
wanted
to
scream
at
the
corpse
.
The
ironborn
can
’
t
keep
secrets
,
they
had
to
die
,
and
someone
had
to
take
the
blame
for
it
.
He
only
wished
he
had
killed
him
cleaner
.
Ned
Stark
had
never
needed
more
than
a
single
blow
to
take
a
man
’
s
head
.
The
killings
stopped
after
Farlen
’
s
death
,
but
even
so
his
men
continued
sullen
and
anxious
.
"
They
fear
no
foe
in
open
battle
,
"
Black
Lorren
told
him
,
"
but
it
is
another
thing
to
dwell
among
enemies
,
never
knowing
if
the
washerwoman
means
to
kiss
you
or
kill
you
,
or
whether
the
serving
boy
is
filling
your
cup
with
ale
or
bale
.
We
would
do
well
to
leave
this
place
.
"
