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- Джордж Мартин
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"
What
did
you
tell
him
?
"
Ned
asked
.
The
boy
shoved
a
fresh
fall
of
black
hair
off
his
forehead
.
"
She
died
when
I
was
little
.
She
had
yellow
hair
,
and
sometimes
she
used
to
sing
to
me
,
I
remember
.
She
worked
in
an
alehouse
.
"
"
Did
Lord
Stannis
question
you
as
well
?
"
"
The
bald
one
?
No
,
not
him
.
He
never
said
no
word
,
just
glared
at
me
,
like
I
was
some
raper
who
done
for
his
daughter
.
"
"
Mind
your
filthy
tongue
,
"
the
master
said
.
"
This
is
the
King
's
own
Hand
.
"
The
boy
lowered
his
eyes
.
"
A
smart
boy
,
but
stubborn
.
That
helm
...
the
others
call
him
bullheaded
,
so
he
threw
it
in
their
teeth
.
"
Ned
touched
the
boy
's
head
,
fingering
the
thick
black
hair
.
"
Look
at
me
,
Gendry
.
"
The
apprentice
lifted
his
face
.
Ned
studied
the
shape
of
his
jaw
,
the
eyes
like
blue
ice
.
Yes
,
he
thought
,
I
see
it
.
"
Go
back
to
your
work
,
lad
.
I
'm
sorry
to
have
bothered
you
.
"
He
walked
back
to
the
house
with
the
master
.
"
Who
paid
the
boy
's
apprentice
fee
?
"
he
asked
lightly
.
Mott
looked
fretful
.
"
You
saw
the
boy
.
Such
a
strong
boy
.
Those
hands
of
his
,
those
hands
were
made
for
hammers
.
He
had
such
promise
,
I
took
him
on
without
a
fee
.
"
"
The
truth
now
,
"
Ned
urged
.
"
The
streets
are
full
of
strong
boys
.
The
day
you
take
on
an
apprentice
without
a
fee
will
be
the
day
the
Wall
comes
down
.
Who
paid
for
him
?
"
"
A
lord
,
"
the
master
said
reluctantly
.
"
He
gave
no
name
,
and
wore
no
sigil
on
his
coat
.
He
paid
in
gold
,
twice
the
customary
sum
,
and
said
he
was
paying
once
for
the
boy
,
and
once
for
my
silence
.
"
