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- Джордж Мартин
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He
put
Bran
into
bed
,
covered
him
with
blankets
,
and
blew
out
the
candle
.
For
a
time
Robb
sat
beside
him
in
the
dark
.
Bran
wanted
to
talk
to
him
,
but
he
did
not
know
what
to
say
.
"
We
'll
find
a
horse
for
you
,
I
promise
,
"
Robb
whispered
at
last
.
"
Are
they
ever
coming
back
?
"
Bran
asked
him
.
"
Yes
,
"
Robb
said
with
such
hope
in
his
voice
that
Bran
knew
he
was
hearing
his
brother
and
not
just
Robb
the
Lord
.
"
Mother
will
be
home
soon
.
Maybe
we
can
ride
out
to
meet
her
when
she
comes
.
Would
n't
that
surprise
her
,
to
see
you
ahorse
?
"
Even
in
the
dark
room
,
Bran
could
feel
his
brother
's
smile
.
"
And
afterward
,
we
'll
ride
north
to
see
the
Wall
.
We
wo
n't
even
tell
Jon
we
're
coming
,
we
'll
just
be
there
one
day
,
you
and
me
.
It
will
be
an
adventure
.
"
"
An
adventure
,
"
Bran
repeated
wistfully
.
He
heard
his
brother
sob
.
The
room
was
so
dark
he
could
not
see
the
tears
on
Robb
's
face
,
so
he
reached
out
and
found
his
hand
.
Their
fingers
twined
together
.
Lord
Arryn
's
death
was
a
great
sadness
for
all
of
us
,
my
lord
,
"
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
said
.
"
I
would
be
more
than
happy
to
tell
you
what
I
can
of
the
manner
of
his
passing
.
Do
be
seated
.
Would
you
care
for
refreshments
?
Some
dates
,
perhaps
?
I
have
some
very
fine
persimmons
as
well
.
Wine
no
longer
agrees
with
my
digestion
,
I
fear
,
but
I
can
offer
you
a
cup
of
iced
milk
,
sweetened
with
honey
.
I
find
it
most
refreshing
in
this
heat
.
"
There
was
no
denying
the
heat
;
Ned
could
feel
the
silk
tunic
clinging
to
his
chest
.
Thick
,
moist
air
covered
the
city
like
a
damp
woolen
blanket
,
and
the
riverside
had
grown
unruly
as
the
poor
fled
their
hot
,
airless
warrens
to
jostle
for
sleeping
places
near
the
water
,
where
the
only
breath
of
wind
was
to
be
found
.
"
That
would
be
most
kind
,
"
Ned
said
,
seating
himself
.
Pycelle
lifted
a
tiny
silver
bell
with
thumb
and
forefinger
and
tinkled
it
gently
.
A
slender
young
serving
girl
hurried
into
the
solar
.
"
Iced
milk
for
the
King
's
Hand
and
myself
,
if
you
would
be
so
kind
,
child
.
Well
sweetened
.
"
As
the
girl
went
to
fetch
their
drinks
,
the
Grand
Maester
knotted
his
fingers
together
and
rested
his
hands
on
his
stomach
.
"
The
smallfolk
say
that
the
last
year
of
summer
is
always
the
hottest
.
It
is
not
so
,
yet
ofttimes
it
feels
that
way
,
does
it
not
?
On
days
like
this
,
I
envy
you
northerners
your
summer
snows
.
"
The
heavy
jeweled
chain
around
the
old
man
's
neck
chinked
softly
as
he
shifted
in
his
seat
.
"
To
be
sure
,
King
Maekar
's
summer
was
hotter
than
this
one
,
and
near
as
long
.
There
were
fools
,
even
in
the
Citadel
,
who
took
that
to
mean
that
the
Great
Summer
had
come
at
last
,
the
summer
that
never
ends
,
but
in
the
seventh
year
it
broke
suddenly
,
and
we
had
a
short
autumn
and
a
terrible
long
winter
.
Still
,
the
heat
was
fierce
while
it
lasted
.
Oldtown
steamed
and
sweltered
by
day
and
came
alive
only
by
night
.
We
would
walk
in
the
gardens
by
the
river
and
argue
about
the
gods
.
I
remember
the
smells
of
those
nights
,
my
lord
--
perfume
and
sweat
,
melons
ripe
to
bursting
,
peaches
and
pomegranates
,
nightshade
and
moonbloom
.
I
was
a
young
man
then
,
still
forging
my
chain
.
The
heat
did
not
exhaust
me
as
it
does
now
.
"
Pycelle
's
eyes
were
so
heavily
lidded
he
looked
half-asleep
.
"
My
pardons
,
Lord
Eddard
.
You
did
not
come
to
hear
foolish
meanderings
of
a
summer
forgotten
before
your
father
was
born
.
Forgive
an
old
man
his
wanderings
,
if
you
would
.
Minds
are
like
swords
,
I
do
fear
.
The
old
ones
go
to
rust
.
Ah
,
and
here
is
our
milk
.
"
The
serving
girl
placed
the
tray
between
them
,
and
Pycelle
gave
her
a
smile
.
"
Sweet
child
.
"
He
lifted
a
cup
,
tasted
,
nodded
.
"
Thank
you
.
You
may
go
.
"
When
the
girl
had
taken
her
leave
,
Pycelle
peered
at
Ned
through
pale
,
rheumy
eyes
.
"
Now
where
were
we
?
Oh
,
yes
.
You
asked
about
Lord
Arryn
...
"
