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- Джордж Мартин
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Eddard
Stark
rode
through
the
towering
bronze
doors
of
the
Red
Keep
sore
,
tired
,
hungry
,
and
irritable
.
He
was
still
ahorse
,
dreaming
of
a
long
hot
soak
,
a
roast
fowl
,
and
a
featherbed
,
when
the
king
's
steward
told
him
that
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
had
convened
an
urgent
meeting
of
the
small
council
.
The
honor
of
the
Hand
's
presence
was
requested
as
soon
as
it
was
convenient
.
"
It
will
be
convenient
on
the
morrow
,
"
Ned
snapped
as
he
dismounted
.
The
steward
bowed
very
low
.
"
I
shall
give
the
councillors
your
regrets
,
my
lord
.
"
"
No
,
damn
it
,
"
Ned
said
.
It
would
not
do
to
offend
the
council
before
he
had
even
begun
.
"
I
will
see
them
.
Pray
give
me
a
few
moments
to
change
into
something
more
presentable
.
"
"
Yes
,
my
lord
,
"
the
steward
said
.
"
We
have
given
you
Lord
Arryn
's
former
chambers
in
the
Tower
of
the
Hand
,
if
it
please
you
.
I
shall
have
your
things
taken
there
.
"
"
My
thanks
,
"
Ned
said
as
he
ripped
off
his
riding
gloves
and
tucked
them
into
his
belt
.
The
rest
of
his
household
was
coming
through
the
gate
behind
him
.
Ned
saw
Vayon
Poole
,
his
own
steward
,
and
called
out
.
"
It
seems
the
council
has
urgent
need
of
me
.
See
that
my
daughters
find
their
bedchambers
,
and
tell
Jory
to
keep
them
there
.
Arya
is
not
to
go
exploring
.
"
Poole
bowed
.
Ned
turned
back
to
the
royal
steward
.
"
My
wagons
are
still
straggling
through
the
city
.
I
shall
need
appropriate
garments
.
"
"
It
will
be
my
great
pleasure
,
"
the
steward
said
.
And
so
Ned
had
come
striding
into
the
council
chambers
,
bone-tired
and
dressed
in
borrowed
clothing
,
to
find
four
members
of
the
small
council
waiting
for
him
.
The
chamber
was
richly
furnished
.
Myrish
carpets
covered
the
floor
instead
of
rushes
,
and
in
one
corner
a
hundred
fabulous
beasts
cavorted
in
bright
paints
on
a
carved
screen
from
the
Summer
Isles
.
The
walls
were
hung
with
tapestries
from
Norvos
and
Qohor
and
Lys
,
and
a
pair
of
Valyrian
sphinxes
flanked
the
door
,
eyes
of
polished
garnet
smoldering
in
black
marble
faces
.
The
councillor
Ned
liked
least
,
the
eunuch
Varys
,
accosted
him
the
moment
he
entered
.
"
Lord
Stark
,
I
was
grievous
sad
to
hear
about
your
troubles
on
the
kingsroad
.
We
have
all
been
visiting
the
sept
to
light
candles
for
Prince
Joffrey
.
I
pray
for
his
recovery
.
"
His
hand
left
powder
stains
on
Ned
's
sleeve
,
and
he
smelled
as
foul
and
sweet
as
flowers
on
a
grave
.
"
Your
gods
have
heard
you
,
"
Ned
replied
,
cool
yet
polite
.
"
The
prince
grows
stronger
every
day
.
"
He
disentangled
himself
from
the
eunuch
's
grip
and
crossed
the
room
to
where
Lord
Renly
stood
by
the
screen
,
talking
quietly
with
a
short
man
who
could
only
be
Littlefinger
.
Renly
had
been
a
boy
of
eight
when
Robert
won
the
throne
,
but
he
had
grown
into
a
man
so
like
his
brother
that
Ned
found
it
disconcerting
.
Whenever
he
saw
him
,
it
was
as
if
the
years
had
slipped
away
and
Robert
stood
before
him
,
fresh
from
his
victory
on
the
Trident
.
