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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 282/751
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Robar
lay
moaning
as
the
victor
made
his
circuit
of
the
field
.
Finally
they
called
for
a
litter
and
carried
him
off
to
his
tent
,
dazed
and
unmoving
.
Sansa
never
saw
it
.
Her
eyes
were
only
for
Ser
Loras
.
When
the
white
horse
stopped
in
front
of
her
,
she
thought
her
heart
would
burst
.
To
the
other
maidens
he
had
given
white
roses
,
but
the
one
he
plucked
for
her
was
red
.
"
Sweet
lady
,
"
he
said
,
"
no
victory
is
half
so
beautiful
as
you
.
"
Sansa
took
the
flower
timidly
,
struck
dumb
by
his
gallantry
.
His
hair
was
a
mass
of
lazy
brown
curls
,
his
eyes
like
liquid
gold
.
She
inhaled
the
sweet
fragrance
of
the
rose
and
sat
clutching
it
long
after
Ser
Loras
had
ridden
off
.
When
Sansa
finally
looked
up
,
a
man
was
standing
over
her
,
staring
.
He
was
short
,
with
a
pointed
beard
and
a
silver
streak
in
his
hair
,
almost
as
old
as
her
father
.
"
You
must
be
one
of
her
daughters
,
"
he
said
to
her
.
He
had
grey-green
eyes
that
did
not
smile
when
his
mouth
did
.
"
You
have
the
Tully
look
.
"
"
I
'm
Sansa
Stark
,
"
she
said
,
ill
at
ease
.
The
man
wore
a
heavy
cloak
with
a
fur
collar
,
fastened
with
a
silver
mockingbird
,
and
he
had
the
effortless
manner
of
a
high
lord
,
but
she
did
not
know
him
.
"
I
have
not
had
the
honor
,
my
lord
.
"
Septa
Mordane
quickly
took
a
hand
.
"
Sweet
child
,
this
is
Lord
Petyr
Baelish
,
of
the
king
's
small
council
.
"
"
Your
mother
was
my
queen
of
beauty
once
,
"
the
man
said
quietly
.
His
breath
smelled
of
mint
.
"
You
have
her
hair
.
"
His
fingers
brushed
against
her
cheek
as
he
stroked
one
auburn
lock
.
Quite
abruptly
he
turned
and
walked
away
.
By
then
,
the
moon
was
well
up
and
the
crowd
was
tired
,
so
the
king
decreed
that
the
last
three
matches
would
be
fought
the
next
morning
,
before
the
melee
.
While
the
commons
began
their
walk
home
,
talking
of
the
day
's
jousts
and
the
matches
to
come
on
the
morrow
,
the
court
moved
to
the
riverside
to
begin
the
feast
.
Six
monstrous
huge
aurochs
had
been
roasting
for
hours
,
turning
slowly
on
wooden
spits
while
kitchen
boys
basted
them
with
butter
and
herbs
until
the
meat
crackled
and
spit
.
Tables
and
benches
had
been
raised
outside
the
pavilions
,
piled
high
with
sweetgrass
and
strawberries
and
fresh-baked
bread
.
Sansa
and
Septa
Mordane
were
given
places
of
high
honor
,
to
the
left
of
the
raised
dais
where
the
king
himself
sat
beside
his
queen
.
When
Prince
Joffrey
seated
himself
to
her
right
,
she
felt
her
throat
tighten
.
He
had
not
spoken
a
word
to
her
since
the
awful
thing
had
happened
,
and
she
had
not
dared
to
speak
to
him
.
At
first
she
thought
she
hated
him
for
what
they
'd
done
to
Lady
,
but
after
Sansa
had
wept
her
eyes
dry
,
she
told
herself
that
it
had
not
been
Joffrey
's
doing
,
not
truly
.
The
queen
had
done
it
;
she
was
the
one
to
hate
,
her
and
Arya
.
Nothing
bad
would
have
happened
except
for
Arya
.
She
could
not
hate
Joffrey
tonight
.
He
was
too
beautiful
to
hate
.
He
wore
a
deep
blue
doublet
studded
with
a
double
row
of
golden
lion
's
heads
,
and
around
his
brow
a
slim
coronet
made
of
gold
and
sapphires
.
His
hair
was
as
bright
as
the
metal
.
Sansa
looked
at
him
and
trembled
,
afraid
that
he
might
ignore
her
or
,
worse
,
turn
hateful
again
and
send
her
weeping
from
the
table
.
Instead
Joffrey
smiled
and
kissed
her
hand
,
handsome
and
gallant
as
any
prince
in
the
songs
,
and
said
,
"
Ser
Loras
has
a
keen
eye
for
beauty
,
sweet
lady
.
"
