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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 339/751
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"
And
you
,
Uncle
,
"
she
said
,
smiling
despite
all
she
had
been
through
.
Hearing
that
hoarse
,
smoky
voice
again
took
her
back
twenty
years
,
to
the
days
of
her
childhood
.
"
My
home
is
at
my
back
,
"
he
said
gruffly
.
"
Your
home
is
in
my
heart
,
"
Catelyn
told
him
.
"
Take
off
your
helm
.
I
would
look
on
your
face
again
.
"
"
The
years
have
not
improved
it
,
I
fear
,
"
Brynden
Tully
said
,
but
when
he
lifted
off
the
helm
,
Catelyn
saw
that
he
lied
.
His
features
were
lined
and
weathered
,
and
time
had
stolen
the
auburn
from
his
hair
and
left
him
only
grey
,
but
the
smile
was
the
same
,
and
the
bushy
eyebrows
fat
as
caterpillars
,
and
the
laughter
in
his
deep
blue
eyes
.
"
Did
Lysa
know
you
were
coming
?
"
"
There
was
no
time
to
send
word
ahead
,
"
Catelyn
told
him
.
The
others
were
coming
up
behind
her
.
"
I
fear
we
ride
before
the
storm
,
Uncle
.
"
"
May
we
enter
the
Vale
?
"
Ser
Donnel
asked
.
The
Waynwoods
were
ever
ones
for
ceremony
.
"
In
the
name
of
Robert
Arryn
,
Lord
of
the
Eyrie
,
Defender
of
the
Vale
,
True
Warden
of
the
East
,
I
bid
you
enter
freely
,
and
charge
you
to
keep
his
peace
,
"
Ser
Brynden
replied
.
"
Come
.
"
And
so
she
rode
behind
him
,
beneath
the
shadow
of
the
Bloody
Gate
where
a
dozen
armies
had
dashed
themselves
to
pieces
in
the
Age
of
Heroes
.
On
the
far
side
of
the
stoneworks
,
the
mountains
opened
up
suddenly
upon
a
vista
of
green
fields
,
blue
sky
,
and
snowcapped
mountains
that
took
her
breath
away
.
The
Vale
of
Arryn
bathed
in
the
morning
light
.
It
stretched
before
them
to
the
misty
cast
,
a
tranquil
land
of
rich
black
soil
,
wide
slow-moving
rivers
,
and
hundreds
of
small
lakes
that
shone
like
mirrors
in
the
sun
,
protected
on
all
sides
by
its
sheltering
peaks
.
Wheat
and
corn
and
barley
grew
high
in
its
fields
,
and
even
in
Highgarden
the
pumpkins
were
no
larger
nor
the
fruit
any
sweeter
than
here
.
They
stood
at
the
western
end
of
the
valley
,
where
the
high
road
crested
the
last
pass
and
began
its
winding
descent
to
the
bottomlands
two
miles
below
.
The
Vale
was
narrow
here
,
no
more
than
a
half
day
's
ride
across
,
and
the
northern
mountains
seemed
so
close
that
Catelyn
could
almost
reach
out
and
touch
them
.
Looming
over
them
all
was
the
jagged
peak
called
the
Giant
's
Lance
,
a
mountain
that
even
mountains
looked
up
to
,
its
head
lost
in
icy
mists
three
and
a
half
miles
above
the
valley
floor
.
Over
its
massive
western
shoulder
flowed
the
ghost
torrent
of
Alyssa
's
Tears
.
Even
from
this
distance
,
Catelyn
could
make
out
the
shining
silver
thread
,
bright
against
the
dark
stone
.
