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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 439/751
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"
At
once
,
my
lord
.
"
"
Do
we
have
your
leave
to
take
our
vengeance
against
Ser
Gregor
,
then
?
"
Marq
Piper
asked
the
throne
.
"
Vengeance
?
"
Ned
said
.
"
I
thought
we
were
speaking
of
justice
.
Burning
Clegane
's
fields
and
slaughtering
his
people
will
not
restore
the
king
's
peace
,
only
your
injured
pride
.
"
He
glanced
away
before
the
young
knight
could
voice
his
outraged
protest
,
and
addressed
the
villagers
.
"
People
of
Sherrer
,
I
can
not
give
you
back
your
homes
or
your
crops
,
nor
can
I
restore
your
dead
to
life
.
But
perhaps
I
can
give
you
some
small
measure
of
justice
,
in
the
name
of
our
king
,
Robert
.
"
Every
eye
in
the
hall
was
fixed
on
him
,
waiting
.
Slowly
Ned
struggled
to
his
feet
,
pushing
himself
up
from
the
throne
with
the
strength
of
his
arms
,
his
shattered
leg
screaming
inside
its
cast
.
He
did
his
best
to
ignore
the
pain
;
it
was
no
moment
to
let
them
see
his
weakness
.
"
The
First
Men
believed
that
the
judge
who
called
for
death
should
wield
the
sword
,
and
in
the
north
we
hold
to
that
still
.
I
mislike
sending
another
to
do
my
killing
...
yet
it
seems
I
have
no
choice
.
"
He
gestured
at
his
broken
leg
.
"
Lord
Eddard
!
"
The
shout
came
from
the
west
side
of
the
hall
as
a
handsome
stripling
of
a
boy
strode
forth
boldly
.
Out
of
his
armor
,
Ser
Loras
Tyrell
looked
even
younger
than
his
sixteen
years
.
He
wore
pale
blue
silk
,
his
belt
a
linked
chain
of
golden
roses
,
the
sigil
of
his
House
.
"
I
beg
you
the
honor
of
acting
in
your
place
.
Give
this
task
to
me
,
my
lord
,
and
I
swear
I
shall
not
fail
you
.
"
Littlefinger
chuckled
.
"
Ser
Loras
,
if
we
send
you
off
alone
,
Ser
Gregor
will
send
us
back
your
head
with
a
plum
stuffed
in
that
pretty
mouth
of
yours
.
The
Mountain
is
not
the
sort
to
bend
his
neck
to
any
man
's
justice
.
"
"
I
do
not
fear
Gregor
Clegane
,
"
Ser
Loras
said
haughtily
.
Ned
eased
himself
slowly
back
onto
the
hard
iron
seat
of
Aegon
's
misshapen
throne
.
His
eyes
searched
the
faces
along
the
wall
.
"
Lord
Beric
,
"
he
called
out
.
"
Thoros
of
Myr
.
Ser
Gladden
.
Lord
Lothar
.
"
The
men
named
stepped
forward
one
by
one
.
"
Each
of
you
is
to
assemble
twenty
men
,
to
bring
my
word
to
Gregor
's
keep
.
Twenty
of
my
own
guards
shall
go
with
you
.
Lord
Beric
Dondarrion
,
you
shall
have
the
command
,
as
befits
your
rank
.
"
