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- Джордж Мартин
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"
I
do
.
"
She
knelt
on
the
cloak
,
so
as
not
to
spoil
her
gown
,
and
looked
up
at
her
prince
on
his
fearsome
black
throne
.
"
As
it
please
Your
Grace
,
I
ask
mercy
for
my
father
,
Lord
Eddard
Stark
,
who
was
the
Hand
of
the
King
.
"
She
had
practiced
the
words
a
hundred
times
.
The
queen
sighed
.
"
Sansa
,
you
disappoint
me
.
What
did
I
tell
you
about
traitor
's
blood
?
"
"
Your
father
has
committed
grave
and
terrible
crimes
,
my
lady
,
"
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
intoned
.
"
Ah
,
poor
sad
thing
,
"
sighed
Varys
.
"
She
is
only
a
babe
,
my
lords
,
she
does
not
know
what
she
asks
.
"
Sansa
had
eyes
only
for
Joffrey
.
He
must
listen
to
me
,
he
must
,
she
thought
.
The
king
shifted
on
his
seat
,
"
Let
her
speak
,
"
he
commanded
.
"
I
want
to
hear
what
she
says
.
"
"
Thank
you
,
Your
Grace
.
"
Sansa
smiled
,
a
shy
secret
smile
,
just
for
him
.
He
was
listening
.
She
knew
he
would
.
"
Treason
is
a
noxious
weed
,
"
Pycelle
declared
solemnly
.
"
It
must
be
torn
up
,
root
and
stem
and
seed
,
lest
new
traitors
sprout
from
every
roadside
.
"
"
Do
you
deny
your
father
's
crime
?
"
Lord
Baelish
asked
.
"
No
,
my
lords
.
"
Sansa
knew
better
than
that
.
"
I
know
he
must
be
punished
.
All
I
ask
is
mercy
.
I
know
my
lord
father
must
regret
what
he
did
.
He
was
King
Robert
's
friend
and
he
loved
him
,
you
all
know
he
loved
him
.
He
never
wanted
to
be
Hand
until
the
king
asked
him
.
They
must
have
lied
to
him
.
Lord
Renly
or
Lord
Stannis
or
...
or
somebody
,
they
must
have
lied
,
otherwise
...
"
