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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 211/751
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Arya
had
loved
nothing
better
than
to
sit
at
her
father
's
table
and
listen
to
them
talk
.
She
had
loved
listening
to
the
men
on
the
benches
too
;
to
freeriders
tough
as
leather
,
courtly
knights
and
bold
young
squires
,
grizzled
old
men-at-arms
.
She
used
to
throw
snowballs
at
them
and
help
them
steal
pies
from
the
kitchen
.
Their
wives
gave
her
scones
and
she
invented
names
for
their
babies
and
played
monsters-and-maidens
and
hide-the-treasure
and
come-into-my-castle
with
their
children
.
Fat
Tom
used
to
call
her
"
Arya
Underfoot
,
"
because
he
said
that
was
where
she
always
was
.
She
'd
liked
that
a
lot
better
than
"
Arya
Horseface
.
"
Only
that
was
Winterfell
,
a
world
away
,
and
now
everything
was
changed
.
This
was
the
first
time
they
had
supped
with
the
men
since
arriving
in
King
's
Landing
.
Arya
hated
it
.
She
hated
the
sounds
of
their
voices
now
,
the
way
they
laughed
,
the
stories
they
told
.
They
'd
been
her
friends
,
she
'd
felt
safe
around
them
,
but
now
she
knew
that
was
a
lie
.
They
'd
let
the
queen
kill
Lady
,
that
was
horrible
enough
,
but
then
the
Hound
found
Mycah
.
Jeyne
Poole
had
told
Arya
that
he
'd
cut
him
up
in
so
many
pieces
that
they
'd
given
him
back
to
the
butcher
in
a
bag
,
and
at
first
the
poor
man
had
thought
it
was
a
pig
they
'd
slaughtered
.
And
no
one
had
raised
a
voice
or
drawn
a
blade
or
anything
,
not
Harwin
who
always
talked
so
bold
,
or
Alyn
who
was
going
to
be
a
knight
,
or
Jory
who
was
captain
of
the
guard
.
Not
even
her
father
.
"
He
was
my
friend
,
"
Arya
whispered
into
her
plate
,
so
low
that
no
one
could
hear
.
Her
ribs
sat
there
untouched
,
grown
cold
now
,
a
thin
film
of
grease
congealing
beneath
them
on
the
plate
.
Arya
looked
at
them
and
felt
ill
.
She
pushed
away
from
the
table
.
"
Pray
,
where
do
you
think
you
are
going
,
young
lady
?
"
Septa
Mordane
asked
.
"
I
'm
not
hungry
.
"
Arya
found
it
an
effort
to
remember
her
courtesies
.
"
May
I
be
excused
,
please
?
"
she
recited
stiffly
.
"
You
may
not
,
"
the
septa
said
.
"
You
have
scarcely
touched
your
food
.
You
will
sit
down
and
clean
your
plate
.
"
"
You
clean
it
!
"
Before
anyone
could
stop
her
,
Arya
bolted
for
the
door
as
the
men
laughed
and
Septa
Mordane
called
loudly
after
her
,
her
voice
rising
higher
and
higher
.
Fat
Tom
was
at
his
post
,
guarding
the
door
to
the
Tower
of
the
Hand
.
He
blinked
when
he
saw
Arya
rushing
toward
him
and
heard
the
septa
's
shouts
.
"
Here
now
,
little
one
,
hold
on
,
"
he
started
to
say
,
reaching
,
but
Arya
slid
between
his
legs
and
then
she
was
running
up
the
winding
tower
steps
,
her
feet
hammering
on
the
stone
while
Fat
Tom
huffed
and
puffed
behind
her
.
Her
bedchamber
was
the
only
place
that
Arya
liked
in
all
of
King
's
Landing
,
and
the
thing
she
liked
best
about
it
was
the
door
,
a
massive
slab
of
dark
oak
with
black
iron
bands
.
