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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 289/751
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"
They
say
so
,
"
Ned
agreed
,
"
but
not
of
Robert
.
"
Other
men
might
reconsider
words
spoken
in
drunken
bravado
,
but
Robert
Baratheon
would
remember
and
,
remembering
,
would
never
back
down
.
The
king
's
pavilion
was
close
by
the
water
,
and
the
morning
mists
off
the
river
had
wreathed
it
in
wisps
of
grey
.
It
was
all
of
golden
silk
,
the
largest
and
grandest
structure
in
the
camp
.
Outside
the
entrance
,
Robert
's
warhammer
was
displayed
beside
an
immense
iron
shield
blazoned
with
the
crowned
stag
of
House
Baratheon
.
Ned
had
hoped
to
discover
the
king
still
abed
in
a
wine-soaked
sleep
,
but
luck
was
not
with
him
.
They
found
Robert
drinking
beer
from
a
polished
horn
and
roaring
his
displeasure
at
two
young
squires
who
were
trying
to
buckle
him
into
his
armor
.
"
Your
Grace
,
"
one
was
saying
,
almost
in
tears
,
"
it
's
made
too
small
,
it
wo
n't
go
.
"
He
fumbled
,
and
the
gorget
he
was
trying
to
fit
around
Robert
's
thick
neck
tumbled
to
the
ground
.
"
Seven
hells
!
"
Robert
swore
.
"
Do
I
have
to
do
it
myself
?
Piss
on
the
both
of
you
.
Pick
it
up
.
Do
n't
just
stand
there
gaping
,
Lancel
,
pick
it
up
!
"
The
lad
jumped
,
and
the
king
noticed
his
company
.
"
Look
at
these
oafs
,
Ned
.
My
wife
insisted
I
take
these
two
to
squire
for
me
,
and
they
're
worse
than
useless
.
Ca
n't
even
put
a
man
's
armor
on
him
properly
.
Squires
,
they
say
.
I
say
they
're
swineherds
dressed
up
in
silk
.
"
Ned
only
needed
a
glance
to
understand
the
difficulty
.
"
The
boys
are
not
at
fault
,
"
he
told
the
king
.
"
You
're
too
fat
for
your
armor
,
Robert
.
"
Robert
Baratheon
took
a
long
swallow
of
beer
,
tossed
the
empty
horn
onto
his
sleeping
furs
,
wiped
his
mouth
with
the
back
of
his
hand
,
and
said
darkly
,
"
Fat
?
Fat
,
is
it
?
Is
that
how
you
speak
to
your
king
?
"
He
let
go
his
laughter
,
sudden
as
a
storm
.
"
Ah
,
damn
you
,
Ned
,
why
are
you
always
right
?
"
The
squires
smiled
nervously
until
the
king
turned
on
them
.
"
You
.
Yes
,
both
of
you
.
You
heard
the
Hand
.
The
king
is
too
fat
for
his
armor
.
Go
find
Ser
Aron
Santagar
.
Tell
him
I
need
the
breastplate
stretcher
.
Now
!
What
are
you
waiting
for
?
"
The
boys
tripped
over
each
other
in
their
haste
to
be
quit
of
the
tent
.
Robert
managed
to
keep
a
stern
face
until
they
were
gone
.
Then
he
dropped
back
into
a
chair
,
shaking
with
laughter
.
Ser
Barristan
Selmy
chuckled
with
him
.
Even
Eddard
Stark
managed
a
smile
.
Always
,
though
,
the
graver
thoughts
crept
in
.
He
could
not
help
taking
note
of
the
two
squires
:
handsome
boys
,
fair
and
well
made
.
One
was
Sansa
's
age
,
with
long
golden
curls
;
the
other
perhaps
fifteen
,
sandy-haired
,
with
a
wisp
of
a
mustache
and
the
emerald-green
eyes
of
the
queen
.
