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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Most
like
?
"
His
snort
of
laughter
turned
into
a
wince
of
pain
.
There
would
be
a
scar
,
to
be
sure
.
Nor
was
it
likely
that
his
nose
would
be
growing
back
any
time
soon
.
It
was
not
as
if
his
face
had
ever
been
fit
to
look
at
.
"
Teach
me
,
not
to
,
play
with
,
axes
.
"
His
grin
felt
tight
.
"
Where
,
are
we
?
What
,
what
place
?
"
It
hurt
to
talk
,
but
Tyrion
had
been
too
long
in
silence
.
"
Ah
,
you
are
in
Maegor
’
s
Holdfast
,
my
lord
.
A
chamber
over
the
Queen
’
s
Ballroom
.
Her
Grace
wanted
you
kept
close
,
so
she
might
watch
over
you
herself
.
"
I
’
ll
wager
she
did
.
"
Return
me
,
"
Tyrion
commanded
.
"
Own
bed
.
Own
chambers
.
"
Where
I
will
have
my
own
men
about
me
,
and
my
own
maester
too
,
if
I
find
one
I
can
trust
.
"
Your
own
.
.
.
my
lord
,
that
would
not
be
possible
.
The
King
’
s
Hand
has
taken
up
residence
in
your
former
chambers
.
"
"
I
.
Am
.
King
’
s
Hand
.
"
He
was
growing
exhausted
by
the
effort
of
speaking
,
and
confused
by
what
he
was
hearing
.
Maester
Ballabar
looked
distressed
.
"
No
,
my
lord
,
I
.
.
.
you
were
wounded
,
near
death
.
Your
lord
father
has
taken
up
those
duties
now
.
Lord
Tywin
,
he
.
.
.
"
"
Here
?
"
"
Since
the
night
of
the
battle
.
Lord
Tywin
saved
us
all
.
The
smallfolk
say
it
was
King
Renly
’
s
ghost
,
but
wiser
men
know
better
.
It
was
your
father
and
Lord
Tyrell
,
with
the
Knight
of
Flowers
and
Lord
Littlefinger
.
They
rode
through
the
ashes
and
took
the
usurper
Stannis
in
the
rear
.
It
was
a
great
victory
,
and
now
Lord
Tywin
has
settled
into
the
Tower
of
the
Hand
to
help
His
Grace
set
the
realm
to
rights
,
gods
be
praised
.
"
"
Gods
be
praised
,
"
Tyrion
repeated
hollowly
.
His
bloody
father
and
bloody
Littlefinger
and
Renly
’
s
ghost
?
"
I
want
.
.
.
"
Who
do
I
want
?
He
could
not
tell
pink
Ballabar
to
fetch
him
Shae
.
Who
could
he
send
for
,
who
could
he
trust
?
Varys
?
Bronn
?
Ser
Jacelyn
?
"
.
.
.
my
squire
,
"
he
finished
.
"
Pod
.
Payne
.
"
It
was
Pod
on
the
bridge
of
boats
,
the
lad
saved
my
life
.
