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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 190/751
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"
Speak
to
him
as
you
will
,
"
Lord
Renly
said
,
"
we
had
still
best
make
our
plans
.
"
"
Another
day
,
"
Ned
said
.
Perhaps
too
sharply
,
from
the
looks
they
gave
him
.
He
would
have
to
remember
that
he
was
no
longer
in
Winterfell
,
where
only
the
king
stood
higher
;
here
,
he
was
but
first
among
equals
.
"
Forgive
me
,
my
lords
,
"
he
said
in
a
softer
tone
.
"
I
am
tired
.
Let
us
call
a
halt
for
today
and
resume
when
we
are
fresher
.
"
He
did
not
ask
for
their
consent
,
but
stood
abruptly
,
nodded
at
them
all
,
and
made
for
the
door
.
Outside
,
wagons
and
riders
were
still
pouring
through
the
castle
gates
,
and
the
yard
was
a
chaos
of
mud
and
horseflesh
and
shouting
men
.
The
king
had
not
yet
arrived
,
he
was
told
.
Since
the
ugliness
on
the
Trident
,
the
Starks
and
their
household
had
ridden
well
ahead
of
the
main
column
,
the
better
to
separate
themselves
from
the
Lannisters
and
the
growing
tension
.
Robert
had
hardly
been
seen
;
the
talk
was
he
was
traveling
in
the
huge
wheelhouse
,
drunk
as
often
as
not
.
If
so
,
he
might
be
hours
behind
,
but
he
would
still
be
here
too
soon
for
Ned
's
liking
.
He
had
only
to
look
at
Sansa
's
face
to
feel
the
rage
twisting
inside
him
once
again
.
The
last
fortnight
of
their
journey
had
been
a
misery
.
Sansa
blamed
Arya
and
told
her
that
it
should
have
been
Nymeria
who
died
.
And
Arya
was
lost
after
she
heard
what
had
happened
to
her
butcher
's
boy
.
Sansa
cried
herself
to
sleep
,
Arya
brooded
silently
all
day
long
,
and
Eddard
Stark
dreamed
of
a
frozen
hell
reserved
for
the
Starks
of
Winterfell
.
He
crossed
the
outer
yard
,
passed
under
a
portcullis
into
the
inner
bailey
,
and
was
walking
toward
what
he
thought
was
the
Tower
of
the
Hand
when
Littlefinger
appeared
in
front
of
him
.
"
You
're
going
the
wrong
way
,
Stark
.
Come
with
me
.
"
Hesitantly
,
Ned
followed
.
Littlefinger
led
him
into
a
tower
,
down
a
stair
,
across
a
small
sunken
courtyard
,
and
along
a
deserted
corridor
where
empty
suits
of
armor
stood
sentinel
along
the
walls
.
They
were
relics
of
the
Targaryens
,
black
steel
with
dragon
scales
cresting
their
helms
,
now
dusty
and
forgotten
.
"
This
is
not
the
way
to
my
chambers
,
"
Ned
said
.
"
Did
I
say
it
was
?
I
'm
leading
you
to
the
dungeons
to
slit
your
throat
and
seal
your
corpse
up
behind
a
wall
,
"
Littlefinger
replied
,
his
voice
dripping
with
sarcasm
.
"
We
have
no
time
for
this
,
Stark
.
Your
wife
awaits
.
"
"
What
game
are
you
playing
,
Littlefinger
?
Catelyn
is
at
Winterfell
,
hundreds
of
leagues
from
here
.
"
"
Oh
?
"
Littlefinger
's
grey-green
eyes
glittered
with
amusement
.
"
Then
it
appears
someone
has
managed
an
astonishing
impersonation
.
For
the
last
time
,
come
.
Or
do
n't
come
,
and
I
'll
keep
her
for
myself
.
"
He
hurried
down
the
steps
.
Ned
followed
him
warily
,
wondering
if
this
day
would
ever
end
.
