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- Джордж Мартин
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The
river
,
Stannis
was
neck
-
deep
in
the
river
,
and
they
took
him
from
the
rear
.
Oh
,
to
be
a
knight
again
,
to
have
been
part
of
it
!
His
own
men
hardly
fought
,
they
say
.
Some
ran
but
more
bent
the
knee
and
went
over
,
shouting
for
Lord
Renly
!
What
must
Stannis
have
thought
when
he
heard
that
?
I
had
it
from
Osney
Kettleblack
who
had
it
from
Ser
Osmund
,
but
Ser
Balon
’
s
back
now
and
his
men
say
the
same
,
and
the
gold
cloaks
as
well
.
We
’
re
delivered
,
sweetling
!
They
came
up
the
roseroad
and
along
the
riverbank
,
through
all
the
fields
Stannis
had
burned
,
the
ashes
puffing
up
around
their
boots
and
turning
all
their
armor
grey
,
but
oh
!
the
banners
must
have
been
bright
,
the
golden
rose
and
golden
lion
and
all
the
others
,
the
Marbrand
tree
and
the
Rowan
,
Tarly
’
s
huntsman
and
Redwyne
’
s
grapes
and
Lady
Oakheart
’
s
leaf
.
All
the
westermen
,
all
the
power
of
Highgarden
and
Casterly
Rock
!
Lord
Tywin
himself
had
their
right
wing
on
the
north
side
of
the
river
,
with
Randyll
Tarly
commanding
the
center
and
Mace
Tyrell
the
left
,
but
the
vanguard
won
the
fight
.
They
plunged
through
Stannis
like
a
lance
through
a
pumpkin
,
every
man
of
them
howling
like
some
demon
in
steel
.
And
do
you
know
who
led
the
vanguard
?
Do
you
?
Do
you
?
Do
you
?
"
"
Robb
?
"
It
was
too
much
to
be
hoped
,
but
.
.
.
"
It
was
Lord
Renly
!
Lord
Renly
in
his
green
armor
,
with
the
fires
shimmering
off
his
golden
antlers
!
Lord
Renly
with
his
tall
spear
in
his
hand
!
They
say
he
killed
Ser
Guyard
Morrigen
himself
in
single
combat
,
and
a
dozen
other
great
knights
as
well
It
was
Renly
,
it
was
Renly
,
it
was
Renly
!
Oh
!
the
banners
,
darling
Sansa
!
Oh
!
to
be
a
knight
!
"
She
was
breaking
her
fast
on
a
bowl
of
cold
shrimp
-
and
-
persimmon
soup
when
Irri
brought
her
a
Qartheen
gown
,
an
airy
confection
of
ivory
samite
patterned
with
seed
pearls
.
"
Take
it
away
,
"
Dany
said
.
"
The
docks
are
no
place
for
lady
’
s
finery
.
"
If
the
Milk
Men
thought
her
such
a
savage
,
she
would
dress
the
part
for
them
.
When
she
went
to
the
stables
,
she
wore
faded
sandsilk
pants
and
woven
grass
sandals
.
Her
small
breasts
moved
freely
beneath
a
painted
Dothraki
vest
,
and
a
curved
dagger
hung
from
her
medallion
belt
.
Jhiqui
had
braided
her
hair
Dothraki
-
fashion
,
and
fastened
a
silver
bell
to
the
end
of
the
braid
.
"
I
have
won
no
victories
,
"
she
tried
telling
her
handmaid
when
the
bell
tinkled
softly
.
Jhiqui
disagreed
.
"
You
burned
the
maegi
in
their
house
of
dust
and
sent
their
souls
to
hell
.
"
That
was
Drogon
’
s
victory
,
not
mine
,
Dany
wanted
to
say
,
but
she
held
her
tongue
.
The
Dothraki
would
esteem
her
all
the
more
for
a
few
bells
in
her
hair
.
She
chimed
as
she
mounted
her
silver
mare
,
and
again
with
every
stride
,
but
neither
Ser
Jorah
nor
her
bloodriders
made
mention
of
it
.
To
guard
her
people
and
her
dragons
in
her
absence
,
she
chose
Rakharo
.
Jhogo
and
Aggo
would
ride
with
her
to
the
waterfront
.
They
left
the
marble
palaces
and
fragrant
gardens
behind
and
made
their
way
through
a
poorer
part
of
the
city
where
modest
brick
houses
turned
blind
walls
to
the
street
.
There
were
fewer
horses
and
camels
to
be
seen
,
and
a
dearth
of
palanquins
,
but
the
streets
teemed
with
children
,
beggars
,
and
skinny
dogs
the
color
of
sand
.
Pale
men
in
dusty
linen
skirts
stood
beneath
arched
doorways
to
watch
them
pass
.
They
know
who
I
am
,
and
they
do
not
love
me
.
Dany
could
tell
from
the
way
they
looked
at
her
.
