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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 538/751
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Roose
Bolton
and
Robett
Glover
both
demanded
the
honor
of
battle
command
,
the
first
brusquely
,
the
second
with
a
smile
and
a
jest
.
Stout
,
grey-haired
Maege
Mormont
,
dressed
in
mail
like
a
man
,
told
Robb
bluntly
that
he
was
young
enough
to
be
her
grandson
,
and
had
no
business
giving
her
commands
...
but
as
it
happened
,
she
had
a
granddaughter
she
would
be
willing
to
have
him
marry
.
Soft-spoken
Lord
Cerwyn
had
actually
brought
his
daughter
with
him
,
a
plump
,
homely
maid
of
thirty
years
who
sat
at
her
father
's
left
hand
and
never
lifted
her
eyes
from
her
plate
.
Jovial
Lord
Hornwood
had
no
daughters
,
but
he
did
bring
gifts
,
a
horse
one
day
,
a
haunch
of
venison
the
next
,
a
silver-chased
hunting
horn
the
day
after
,
and
he
asked
nothing
in
return
...
nothing
but
a
certain
holdfast
taken
from
his
grandfather
,
and
hunting
rights
north
of
a
certain
ridge
,
and
leave
to
dam
the
White
Knife
,
if
it
please
the
lord
.
Robb
answered
each
of
them
with
cool
courtesy
,
much
as
Father
might
have
,
and
somehow
he
bent
them
to
his
will
.
And
when
Lord
Umber
,
who
was
called
the
Greatjon
by
his
men
and
stood
as
tall
as
Hodor
and
twice
as
wide
,
threatened
to
take
his
forces
home
if
he
was
placed
behind
the
Hornwoods
or
the
Cerwyns
in
the
order
of
march
,
Robb
told
him
he
was
welcome
to
do
so
.
"
And
when
we
are
done
with
the
Lannisters
,
"
he
promised
,
scratching
Grey
Wind
behind
the
ear
,
"
we
will
march
back
north
,
root
you
out
of
your
keep
,
and
hang
you
for
an
oathbreaker
.
"
Cursing
,
the
Greatjon
flung
a
flagon
of
ale
into
the
fire
and
bellowed
that
Robb
was
so
green
he
must
piss
grass
.
When
Hallis
Mollen
moved
to
restrain
him
,
he
knocked
him
to
the
floor
,
kicked
over
a
table
,
and
unsheathed
the
biggest
,
ugliest
greatsword
that
Bran
had
ever
seen
.
All
along
the
benches
,
his
sons
and
brothers
and
sworn
swords
leapt
to
their
feet
,
grabbing
for
their
steel
.
Yet
Robb
only
said
a
quiet
word
,
and
in
a
snarl
and
the
blink
of
an
eye
Lord
Umber
was
on
his
back
,
his
sword
spinning
on
the
floor
three
feet
away
and
his
hand
dripping
blood
where
Grey
Wind
had
bitten
off
two
fingers
.
"
My
lord
father
taught
me
that
it
was
death
to
bare
steel
against
your
liege
lord
,
"
Robb
said
,
"
but
doubtless
you
only
meant
to
cut
my
meat
.
"
Bran
's
bowels
went
to
water
as
the
Greatjon
struggled
to
rise
,
sucking
at
the
red
stumps
of
fingers
...
but
then
,
astonishingly
,
the
huge
man
laughed
.
"
Your
meat
,
"
he
roared
,
"
is
bloody
tough
.
"
And
somehow
after
that
the
Greatjon
became
Robb
's
right
hand
,
his
staunchest
champion
,
loudly
telling
all
and
sundry
that
the
boy
lord
was
a
Stark
after
all
,
and
they
'd
damn
well
better
bend
their
knees
if
they
did
n't
fancy
having
them
chewed
off
.
Yet
that
very
night
,
his
brother
came
to
Bran
's
bedchamber
pale
and
shaken
,
after
the
fires
had
burned
low
in
the
Great
Hall
.
"
I
thought
he
was
going
to
kill
me
,
"
Robb
confessed
.
"
Did
you
see
the
way
he
threw
down
Hal
,
like
he
was
no
bigger
than
Rickon
?
Gods
,
I
was
so
scared
.
And
the
Greatjon
's
not
the
worst
of
them
,
only
the
loudest
.
Lord
Roose
never
says
a
word
,
he
only
looks
at
me
,
and
all
I
can
think
of
is
that
room
they
have
in
the
Dreadfort
,
where
the
Boltons
hang
the
skins
of
their
enemies
.
"
"
That
's
just
one
of
Old
Nan
's
stories
,
"
Bran
said
.
A
note
of
doubt
crept
into
his
voice
.
"
Is
n't
it
?
"
"
I
do
n't
know
.
"
He
gave
a
weary
shake
of
his
head
.
"
Lord
Cerwyn
means
to
take
his
daughter
south
with
us
.
To
cook
for
him
,
he
says
.
Theon
is
certain
I
'll
find
the
girl
in
my
bedroll
one
night
.
I
wish
...
I
wish
Father
was
here
...
"
