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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 471/751
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Ned
smoothed
the
paper
out
across
his
knee
and
took
up
the
quill
.
"
At
your
command
,
Your
Grace
.
"
"
This
is
the
will
and
word
of
Robert
of
House
Baratheon
,
the
First
of
his
Name
,
King
of
the
Andals
and
all
the
rest
--
put
in
the
damn
titles
,
you
know
how
it
goes
.
I
do
hereby
command
Eddard
of
House
Stark
,
Lord
of
Winterfell
and
Hand
of
the
King
,
to
serve
as
Lord
Regent
and
Protector
of
the
Realm
upon
my
...
upon
my
death
...
to
rule
in
my
...
in
my
stead
,
until
my
son
Joffrey
does
come
of
age
...
"
"
Robert
...
"
Joffrey
is
not
your
son
,
he
wanted
to
say
,
but
the
words
would
not
come
.
The
agony
was
written
too
plainly
across
Robert
's
face
;
he
could
not
hurt
him
more
.
So
Ned
bent
his
head
and
wrote
,
but
where
the
king
had
said
"
my
son
Joffrey
,
"
he
scrawled
"
my
heir
"
instead
.
The
deceit
made
him
feel
soiled
.
The
lies
we
tell
for
love
,
he
thought
.
May
the
gods
forgive
me
.
"
What
else
would
you
have
me
say
?
"
"
Say
...
whatever
you
need
to
.
Protect
and
defend
,
gods
old
and
new
,
you
have
the
words
.
Write
.
I
'll
sign
it
.
You
give
it
to
the
council
when
I
'm
dead
.
"
"
Robert
,
"
Ned
said
in
a
voice
thick
with
grief
,
"
you
must
not
do
this
.
Do
n't
die
on
me
.
The
realm
needs
you
.
"
Robert
took
his
hand
,
fingers
squeezing
hard
.
"
You
are
...
such
a
bad
liar
,
Ned
Stark
,
"
he
said
through
his
pain
.
"
The
realm
...
the
realm
knows
...
what
a
wretched
king
I
've
been
.
Bad
as
Aerys
,
the
gods
spare
me
.
"
"
No
,
"
Ned
told
his
dying
friend
,
"
not
so
bad
as
Aerys
,
Your
Grace
.
Not
near
so
bad
as
Aerys
.
"
Robert
managed
a
weak
red
smile
.
"
At
the
least
,
they
will
say
...
this
last
thing
...
this
I
did
right
.
You
wo
n't
fail
me
.
You
'll
rule
now
.
You
'll
hate
it
,
worse
than
I
did
...
but
you
'll
do
well
.
Are
you
done
with
the
scribbling
?
"
"
Yes
,
Your
Grace
.
"
Ned
offered
Robert
the
paper
.
The
king
scrawled
his
signature
blindly
,
leaving
a
smear
of
blood
across
the
letter
.
"
The
seal
should
be
witnessed
.
"
"
Serve
the
boar
at
my
funeral
feast
,
"
Robert
rasped
.
"
Apple
in
its
mouth
,
skin
seared
crisp
.
Eat
the
bastard
.
Do
n't
care
if
you
choke
on
him
.
Promise
me
,
Ned
.
"
