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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 338/751
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"
We
learned
that
to
our
sorrow
,
Ser
Donnel
,
"
Catelyn
said
.
Sometimes
she
felt
as
though
her
heart
had
turned
to
stone
;
six
brave
men
had
died
to
bring
her
this
far
,
and
she
could
not
even
find
it
in
her
to
weep
for
them
.
Even
their
names
were
fading
.
"
The
clansmen
harried
us
day
and
night
.
We
lost
three
men
in
the
first
attack
,
and
two
more
in
the
second
,
and
Lannister
's
serving
man
died
of
a
fever
when
his
wounds
festered
.
When
we
heard
your
men
approaching
,
I
thought
us
doomed
for
certain
.
"
They
had
drawn
up
for
a
last
desperate
fight
,
blades
in
hand
and
backs
to
the
rock
.
The
dwarf
had
been
whetting
the
edge
of
his
axe
and
making
some
mordant
jest
when
Bronn
spotted
the
banner
the
riders
carried
before
them
,
the
moon-and-falcon
of
House
Arryn
,
sky-blue
and
white
.
Catelyn
had
never
seen
a
more
welcome
sight
.
"
The
clans
have
grown
bolder
since
Lord
Jon
died
,
"
Ser
Donnel
said
.
He
was
a
stocky
youth
of
twenty
years
,
earnest
and
homely
,
with
a
wide
nose
and
a
shock
of
thick
brown
hair
.
"
If
it
were
up
to
me
,
I
would
take
a
hundred
men
into
the
mountains
,
root
them
out
of
their
fastnesses
,
and
teach
them
some
sharp
lessons
,
but
your
sister
has
forbidden
it
.
She
would
not
even
permit
her
knights
to
fight
in
the
Hand
's
tourney
.
She
wants
all
our
swords
kept
close
to
home
,
to
defend
the
Vale
...
against
what
,
no
one
is
certain
.
Shadows
,
some
say
.
"
He
looked
at
her
anxiously
,
as
if
he
had
suddenly
remembered
who
she
was
.
"
I
hope
I
have
not
spoken
out
of
turn
,
my
lady
.
I
meant
no
offense
.
"
"
Frank
talk
does
not
offend
me
,
Ser
Donnel
.
"
Catelyn
knew
what
her
sister
feared
.
Not
shadows
,
Lannisters
,
she
thought
to
herself
,
glancing
back
to
where
the
dwarf
rode
beside
Bronn
.
The
two
of
them
had
grown
thick
as
thieves
since
Chiggen
had
died
.
The
little
man
was
more
cunning
than
she
liked
.
When
they
had
entered
the
mountains
,
he
had
been
her
captive
,
bound
and
helpless
.
What
was
he
now
?
Her
captive
still
,
yet
he
rode
along
with
a
dirk
through
his
belt
and
an
axe
strapped
to
his
saddle
,
wearing
the
shadowskin
cloak
he
'd
won
dicing
with
the
singer
and
the
chainmail
hauberk
he
'd
taken
off
Chiggen
's
corpse
.
Two
score
men
flanked
the
dwarf
and
the
rest
of
her
ragged
band
,
knights
and
men-at-arms
in
service
to
her
sister
Lysa
and
Jon
Arryn
's
young
son
,
and
yet
Tyrion
betrayed
no
hint
of
fear
.
Could
I
be
wrong
?
Catelyn
wondered
,
not
for
the
first
time
.
Could
he
be
innocent
after
all
,
of
Bran
and
Jon
Arryn
and
all
the
rest
?
And
if
he
was
,
what
did
that
make
her
?
Six
men
had
died
to
bring
him
here
.
Resolute
,
she
pushed
her
doubts
away
.
"
When
we
reach
your
keep
,
I
would
take
it
kindly
if
you
could
send
for
Maester
Colemon
at
once
.
Ser
Rodrik
is
feverish
from
his
wounds
.
"
More
than
once
she
had
feared
the
gallant
old
knight
would
not
survive
the
journey
.
Toward
the
end
he
could
scarcely
sit
his
horse
,
and
Bronn
had
urged
her
to
leave
him
to
his
fate
,
but
Catelyn
would
not
hear
of
it
.
They
had
tied
him
in
the
saddle
instead
,
and
she
had
commanded
Marillion
the
singer
to
watch
over
him
.
Ser
Donnel
hesitated
before
he
answered
.
"
The
Lady
Lysa
has
commanded
the
maester
to
remain
at
the
Eyrie
at
all
times
,
to
care
for
Lord
Robert
,
"
he
said
.
"
We
have
a
septon
at
the
gate
who
tends
to
our
wounded
.
He
can
see
to
your
man
's
hurts
.
"
Catelyn
had
more
faith
in
a
maester
's
learning
than
a
septon
's
prayers
.
She
was
about
to
say
as
much
when
she
saw
the
battlements
ahead
,
long
parapets
built
into
the
very
stone
of
the
mountains
on
either
side
of
them
.
Where
the
pass
shrank
to
a
narrow
defile
scarce
wide
enough
for
four
men
to
ride
abreast
,
twin
watchtowers
clung
to
the
rocky
slopes
,
joined
by
a
covered
bridge
of
weathered
grey
stone
that
arched
above
the
road
.
Silent
faces
watched
from
arrow
slits
in
tower
,
battlements
,
and
bridge
.
When
they
had
climbed
almost
to
the
top
,
a
knight
rode
out
to
meet
them
.
His
horse
and
his
armor
were
grey
,
but
his
cloak
was
the
rippling
blue-and-red
of
Riverrun
,
and
a
shiny
black
fish
,
wrought
in
gold
and
obsidian
,
pinned
its
folds
against
his
shoulder
.
"
Who
would
pass
the
Bloody
Gate
?
"
he
called
.
"
Ser
Donnel
Waynwood
,
with
the
Lady
Catelyn
Stark
and
her
companions
,
"
the
young
knight
answered
.
The
Knight
of
the
Gate
lifted
his
visor
.
"
I
thought
the
lady
looked
familiar
.
You
are
far
from
home
,
little
Cat
.
"
