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- Джордж Мартин
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He
shrugged
.
"
Why
not
me
?
I
am
master
of
coin
,
the
king
's
own
councillor
.
Selmy
and
Lord
Renly
rode
north
to
meet
Robert
,
and
Lord
Stannis
is
gone
to
Dragonstone
,
leaving
only
Maester
Pycelle
and
me
.
I
was
the
obvious
choice
.
I
was
ever
a
friend
to
your
sister
Lysa
,
Varys
knows
that
.
"
"
Does
Varys
know
about
...
"
"
Lord
Varys
knows
everything
...
except
why
you
are
here
.
"
He
lifted
an
eyebrow
.
"
Why
are
you
here
?
"
"
A
wife
is
allowed
to
yearn
for
her
husband
,
and
if
a
mother
needs
her
daughters
close
,
who
can
tell
her
no
?
"
Littlefinger
laughed
.
"
Oh
,
very
good
,
my
lady
,
but
please
do
n't
expect
me
to
believe
that
.
I
know
you
too
well
.
What
were
the
Tully
words
again
?
"
Her
throat
was
dry
.
"
Family
,
Duty
,
Honor
,
"
she
recited
stiffly
.
He
did
know
her
too
well
.
"
Family
,
Duty
,
Honor
,
"
he
echoed
.
"
All
of
which
required
you
to
remain
in
Winterfell
,
where
our
Hand
left
you
.
No
,
my
lady
,
something
has
happened
.
This
sudden
trip
of
yours
bespeaks
a
certain
urgency
.
I
beg
of
you
,
let
me
help
.
Old
sweet
friends
should
never
hesitate
to
rely
upon
each
other
.
"
There
was
a
soft
knock
on
the
door
.
"
Enter
,
"
Littlefinger
called
out
.
The
man
who
stepped
through
the
door
was
plump
,
perfumed
,
powdered
,
and
as
hairless
as
an
egg
.
He
wore
a
vest
of
woven
gold
thread
over
a
loose
gown
of
purple
silk
,
and
on
his
feet
were
pointed
slippers
of
soft
velvet
.
"
Lady
Stark
,
"
he
said
,
taking
her
hand
in
both
of
his
,
"
to
see
you
again
after
so
many
years
is
such
a
joy
.
"
His
flesh
was
soft
and
moist
,
and
his
breath
smelled
of
lilacs
.
"
Oh
,
your
poor
hands
.
Have
you
burned
yourself
,
sweet
lady
?
The
fingers
are
so
delicate
...
Our
good
Maester
Pycelle
makes
a
marvelous
salve
,
shall
I
send
for
a
jar
?
"
Catelyn
slid
her
fingers
from
his
grasp
.
"
I
thank
you
,
my
lord
,
but
my
own
Maester
Luwin
has
already
seen
to
my
hurts
.
"
