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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Robb
will
never
look
on
Winterfell
again
,
"
Theon
promised
.
"
He
will
break
himself
on
Moat
Cailin
,
as
every
southron
army
has
done
for
ten
thousand
years
.
We
hold
the
north
now
,
ser
.
"
"
You
hold
three
castles
,
"
replied
Ser
Rodrik
,
"
and
this
one
I
mean
to
take
back
,
Turncloak
.
"
Theon
ignored
that
.
"
Here
are
my
terms
.
You
have
until
evenfall
to
disperse
.
Those
who
swear
fealty
to
Balon
Greyjoy
as
their
king
and
to
myself
as
Prince
of
Winterfell
will
be
confirmed
in
their
rights
and
properties
and
suffer
no
harm
.
Those
who
defy
us
will
be
destroyed
.
"
Young
Cerwyn
was
incredulous
.
"
Are
you
mad
,
Greyjoy
?
"
Ser
Rodrik
shook
his
head
.
"
Only
vain
,
lad
.
Theon
has
always
had
too
lofty
an
opinion
of
himself
,
I
fear
.
"
The
old
man
jabbed
a
finger
at
him
.
"
Do
not
imagine
that
I
need
wait
for
Robb
to
fight
his
way
up
the
Neck
to
deal
with
the
likes
of
you
.
I
have
near
two
thousand
men
with
me
.
.
.
and
if
the
tales
be
true
,
you
have
no
more
than
fifty
.
"
Seventeen
,
in
truth
.
Theon
made
himself
smile
.
"
I
have
something
better
than
men
.
"
And
he
raised
a
fist
over
his
head
,
the
signal
Black
Lorren
had
been
told
to
watch
for
.
The
walls
of
Winterfell
were
behind
him
,
but
Ser
Rodrik
faced
them
squarely
and
could
not
fail
to
see
.
Theon
watched
his
face
.
When
his
chin
quivered
under
those
stiff
white
whiskers
,
he
knew
just
what
the
old
man
was
seeing
.
He
is
not
surprised
,
he
thought
with
sadness
,
but
the
fear
is
there
.
"
This
is
craven
,
"
Ser
Rodrik
said
.
"
To
use
a
child
so
.
.
.
this
is
despicable
.
"
"
Oh
,
I
know
,
"
said
Theon
.
