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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 44/751
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He
settled
back
in
his
place
on
the
bench
among
the
younger
squires
and
drank
.
The
sweet
,
fruity
taste
of
summerwine
filled
his
mouth
and
brought
a
smile
to
his
lips
.
The
Great
Hall
of
Winterfell
was
hazy
with
smoke
and
heavy
with
the
smell
of
roasted
meat
and
fresh-baked
bread
.
Its
grey
stone
walls
were
draped
with
banners
.
White
,
gold
,
crimson
:
the
direwolf
of
Stark
,
Baratheon
's
crowned
stag
,
the
lion
of
Lannister
.
A
singer
was
playing
the
high
harp
and
reciting
a
ballad
,
but
down
at
this
end
of
the
hall
his
voice
could
scarcely
be
heard
above
the
roar
of
the
fire
,
the
clangor
of
pewter
plates
and
cups
,
and
the
low
mutter
of
a
hundred
drunken
conversations
.
It
was
the
fourth
hour
of
the
welcoming
feast
laid
for
the
king
.
Jon
's
brothers
and
sisters
had
been
seated
with
the
royal
children
,
beneath
the
raised
platform
where
Lord
and
Lady
Stark
hosted
the
king
and
queen
.
In
honor
of
the
occasion
,
his
lord
father
would
doubtless
permit
each
child
a
glass
of
wine
,
but
no
more
than
that
.
Down
here
on
the
benches
,
there
was
no
one
to
stop
Jon
drinking
as
much
as
he
had
a
thirst
for
.
And
he
was
finding
that
he
had
a
man
's
thirst
,
to
the
raucous
delight
of
the
youths
around
him
,
who
urged
him
on
every
time
he
drained
a
glass
.
They
were
fine
company
,
and
Jon
relished
the
stories
they
were
telling
,
tales
of
battle
and
bedding
and
the
hunt
.
He
was
certain
that
his
companions
were
more
entertaining
than
the
king
's
offspring
.
He
had
sated
his
curiosity
about
the
visitors
when
they
made
their
entrance
.
The
procession
had
passed
not
a
foot
from
the
place
he
had
been
given
on
the
bench
,
and
Jon
had
gotten
a
good
long
look
at
them
all
.
His
lord
father
had
come
first
,
escorting
the
queen
.
She
was
as
beautiful
as
men
said
.
A
jeweled
tiara
gleamed
amidst
her
long
golden
hair
,
its
emeralds
a
perfect
match
for
the
green
of
her
eyes
.
His
father
helped
her
up
the
steps
to
the
dais
and
led
her
to
her
seat
,
but
the
queen
never
so
much
as
looked
at
him
.
Even
at
fourteen
,
Jon
could
see
through
her
smile
.
Next
had
come
King
Robert
himself
,
with
Lady
Stark
on
his
arm
.
The
king
was
a
great
disappointment
to
Jon
.
His
father
had
talked
of
him
often
:
the
peerless
Robert
Baratheon
,
demon
of
the
Trident
,
the
fiercest
warrior
of
the
realm
,
a
giant
among
princes
.
Jon
saw
only
a
fat
man
,
red-faced
under
his
beard
,
sweating
through
his
silks
.
He
walked
like
a
man
half
in
his
cups
.
After
them
came
the
children
.
Little
Rickon
first
,
managing
the
long
walk
with
all
the
dignity
a
three-year-old
could
muster
.
Jon
had
to
urge
him
on
when
he
stopped
to
visit
.
Close
behind
came
Robb
,
in
grey
wool
trimmed
with
white
,
the
Stark
colors
.
He
had
the
Princess
Myrcella
on
his
arm
.
She
was
a
wisp
of
a
girl
,
not
quite
eight
,
her
hair
a
cascade
of
golden
curls
under
a
jeweled
net
.
Jon
noticed
the
shy
looks
she
gave
Robb
as
they
passed
between
the
tables
and
the
timid
way
she
smiled
at
him
.
He
decided
she
was
insipid
.
Robb
did
n't
even
have
the
sense
to
realize
how
stupid
she
was
;
he
was
grinning
like
a
fool
.
His
half
sisters
escorted
the
royal
princes
.
Arya
was
paired
with
plump
young
Tommen
,
whose
white-blond
hair
was
longer
than
hers
.
Sansa
,
two
years
older
,
drew
the
crown
prince
,
Joffrey
Baratheon
.
He
was
twelve
,
younger
than
Jon
or
Robb
,
but
taller
than
either
,
to
Jon
's
vast
dismay
.
Prince
Joffrey
had
his
sister
's
hair
and
his
mother
's
deep
green
eyes
.
A
thick
tangle
of
blond
curls
dripped
down
past
his
golden
choker
and
high
velvet
collar
.
Sansa
looked
radiant
as
she
walked
beside
him
,
but
Jon
did
not
like
Joffrey
's
pouty
lips
or
the
bored
,
disdainful
way
he
looked
at
Winterfell
's
Great
Hall
.
