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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Oh
,
much
gold
,
"
Tyrion
assured
him
.
"
The
purse
is
just
a
taste
,
my
friend
.
My
brother
wears
armor
of
solid
gold
plate
.
"
In
truth
,
Jaime
's
armor
was
gilded
steel
,
but
this
oaf
would
never
know
the
difference
.
Mord
fingered
his
strap
thoughtfully
,
but
in
the
end
,
he
relented
and
went
to
fetch
paper
and
ink
.
When
the
letter
was
written
,
the
gaoler
frowned
at
it
suspiciously
.
"
Now
deliver
my
message
,
"
Tyrion
urged
.
He
was
shivering
in
his
sleep
when
they
came
for
him
,
late
that
night
.
Mord
opened
the
door
but
kept
his
silence
.
Ser
Vardis
Egen
woke
Tyrion
with
the
point
of
his
boot
.
"
On
your
feet
,
Imp
.
My
lady
wants
to
see
you
.
"
Tyrion
rubbed
the
sleep
from
his
eyes
and
put
on
a
grimace
he
scarcely
felt
.
"
No
doubt
she
does
,
but
what
makes
you
think
I
wish
to
see
her
?
"
Ser
Vardis
frowned
.
Tyrion
remembered
him
well
from
the
years
he
had
spent
at
King
's
Landing
as
the
captain
of
the
Hand
's
household
guard
.
A
square
,
plain
face
,
silver
hair
,
a
heavy
build
,
and
no
humor
whatsoever
.
"
Your
wishes
are
not
my
concern
.
On
your
feet
,
or
I
'll
have
you
carried
.
"
Tyrion
clambered
awkwardly
to
his
feet
.
"
A
cold
night
,
"
he
said
casually
,
"
and
the
High
Hall
is
so
drafty
.
I
do
n't
wish
to
catch
a
chill
.
Mord
,
if
you
would
be
so
good
,
fetch
my
cloak
.
"
The
gaoler
squinted
at
him
,
face
dull
with
suspicion
.
"
My
cloak
,
"
Tyrion
repeated
.
"
The
shadowskin
you
took
from
me
for
safekeeping
.
You
recall
.
"
"
Get
him
the
damnable
cloak
,
"
Ser
Vardis
said
.
