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- Джордж Мартин
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Finally
the
laughter
dwindled
and
stopped
.
Ned
was
still
on
one
knee
,
his
eyes
upraised
.
"
Damn
it
,
Ned
,
"
the
king
complained
"
You
might
at
least
humor
me
with
a
smile
.
"
"
They
say
it
grows
so
cold
up
here
in
winter
that
a
man
's
laughter
freezes
in
his
throat
and
chokes
him
to
death
,
"
Ned
said
evenly
.
"
Perhaps
that
is
why
the
Starks
have
so
little
humor
.
"
"
Come
south
with
me
,
and
I
'll
teach
you
how
to
laugh
again
,
"
the
king
promised
.
"
You
helped
me
win
this
damnable
throne
,
now
help
me
hold
it
.
We
were
meant
to
rule
together
.
If
Lyanna
had
lived
,
we
should
have
been
brothers
,
bound
by
blood
as
well
as
affection
.
Well
,
it
is
not
too
late
.
I
have
a
son
.
You
have
a
daughter
.
My
Joff
and
your
Sansa
shall
join
our
houses
,
as
Lyanna
and
I
might
once
have
done
.
"
This
offer
did
surprise
him
.
"
Sansa
is
only
eleven
.
"
Robert
waved
an
impatient
hand
.
"
Old
enough
for
betrothal
.
The
marriage
can
wait
a
few
years
.
"
The
king
smiled
.
"
Now
stand
up
and
say
yes
,
curse
you
.
"
"
Nothing
would
give
me
greater
pleasure
,
Your
Grace
,
"
Ned
answered
.
He
hesitated
.
"
These
honors
are
all
so
unexpected
.
May
I
have
some
time
to
consider
?
I
need
to
tell
my
wife
...
"
"
Yes
,
yes
,
of
course
,
tell
Catelyn
,
sleep
on
it
if
you
must
.
"
The
king
reached
down
,
clasped
Ned
by
the
hand
,
and
pulled
him
roughly
to
his
feet
.
"
Just
do
n't
keep
me
waiting
too
long
.
I
am
not
the
most
patient
of
men
.
"
For
a
moment
Eddard
Stark
was
filled
with
a
terrible
sense
of
foreboding
.
This
was
his
place
,
here
in
the
north
.
He
looked
at
the
stone
figures
all
around
them
,
breathed
deep
in
the
chill
silence
of
the
crypt
.
He
could
feel
the
eyes
of
the
dead
.
They
were
all
listening
,
he
knew
.
And
winter
was
coming
.
There
were
times
--
not
many
,
but
a
few
--
when
Jon
Snow
was
glad
he
was
a
bastard
.
As
he
filled
his
wine
cup
once
more
from
a
passing
flagon
,
it
struck
him
that
this
might
be
one
of
them
.
