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- Джордж Мартин
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"
And
who
will
tell
him
so
?
"
Roose
Bolton
smiled
.
"
It
is
a
fine
thing
to
have
so
many
valiant
brothers
in
such
troubled
times
.
I
shall
think
on
all
you
’
ve
said
.
"
His
smile
was
dismissal
.
The
Freys
made
their
courtesies
and
shuffled
out
,
leaving
only
Qyburn
,
Steelshanks
Walton
,
and
Arya
.
Lord
Bolton
beckoned
her
closer
.
"
I
am
bled
sufficiently
.
Nan
,
you
may
remove
the
leeches
.
"
"
At
once
,
my
lord
.
"
It
was
best
never
to
make
Roose
Bolton
ask
twice
.
Arya
wanted
to
ask
him
what
Ser
Hosteen
had
meant
about
Winterfell
,
but
she
dared
not
.
I
’
ll
ask
Elmar
,
she
thought
.
Elmar
will
tell
me
.
The
leeches
wriggled
slowly
between
her
fingers
as
she
plucked
them
carefully
from
the
lord
’
s
body
,
their
pale
bodies
moist
to
the
touch
and
distended
with
blood
.
They
’
re
only
leeches
,
she
reminded
herself
.
If
I
closed
my
hand
,
they
’
d
squish
between
my
fingers
.
"
There
is
a
letter
from
your
lady
wife
.
"
Qyburn
pulled
a
roll
of
parchment
from
his
sleeve
.
Though
he
wore
maester
’
s
robes
,
there
was
no
chain
about
his
neck
;
it
was
whispered
that
he
had
lost
it
for
dabbling
in
necromancy
.
"
You
may
read
it
,
"
Bolton
said
.
The
Lady
Walda
wrote
from
the
Twins
almost
every
day
,
but
all
the
letters
were
the
same
.
"
I
pray
for
you
morn
,
noon
,
and
night
,
my
sweet
lord
,
"
she
wrote
,
"
and
count
the
days
until
you
share
my
bed
again
.
Return
to
me
soon
,
and
I
will
give
you
many
trueborn
sons
to
take
the
place
of
your
dear
Domeric
and
rule
the
Dreadfort
after
you
.
"
Arya
pictured
a
plump
pink
baby
in
a
cradle
,
covered
with
plump
pink
leeches
.
She
brought
Lord
Bolton
a
damp
washcloth
to
wipe
down
his
soft
hairless
body
.
"
I
will
send
a
letter
of
my
own
,
"
he
told
the
onetime
maester
.
"
To
the
Lady
Walda
?
"
"
To
Ser
Helman
Tallhart
.
"
