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- Джордж Мартин
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Robert
seemed
honestly
taken
aback
.
"
Why
,
all
of
them
,
damn
it
.
If
they
can
.
And
the
last
man
left
standing
...
"
"
...
will
be
you
,
"
Ned
finished
.
He
saw
at
once
that
Selmy
had
hit
the
mark
.
The
dangers
of
the
melee
were
only
a
savor
to
Robert
,
but
this
touched
on
his
pride
.
"
Ser
Barristan
is
right
.
There
's
not
a
man
in
the
Seven
Kingdoms
who
would
dare
risk
your
displeasure
by
hurting
you
.
"
The
king
rose
to
his
feet
,
his
face
flushed
.
"
Are
you
telling
me
those
prancing
cravens
will
let
me
win
?
"
"
For
a
certainty
,
"
Ned
said
,
and
Ser
Barristan
Selmy
bowed
his
head
in
silent
accord
.
For
a
moment
Robert
was
so
angry
he
could
not
speak
.
He
strode
across
the
tent
,
whirled
,
strode
back
,
his
face
dark
and
angry
.
He
snatched
up
his
breastplate
from
the
ground
and
threw
it
at
Barristan
Selmy
in
a
wordless
fury
.
Selmy
dodged
.
"
Get
out
,
"
the
king
said
then
,
coldly
.
"
Get
out
before
I
kill
you
.
"
Ser
Barristan
left
quickly
.
Ned
was
about
to
follow
when
the
king
called
out
again
.
"
Not
you
,
Ned
.
"
Ned
turned
back
.
Robert
took
up
his
horn
again
,
filled
it
with
beer
from
a
barrel
in
the
corner
,
and
thrust
it
at
Ned
.
"
Drink
,
"
he
said
brusquely
.
"
I
've
no
thirst
--
"
"
Drink
.
Your
king
commands
it
.
"
