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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 584/751
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The
straw
on
the
floor
stank
of
urine
.
There
was
no
window
,
no
bed
,
not
even
a
slop
bucket
.
He
remembered
walls
of
pale
red
stone
festooned
with
patches
of
nitre
,
a
grey
door
of
splintered
wood
,
four
inches
thick
and
studded
with
iron
.
He
had
seen
them
,
briefly
,
a
quick
glimpse
as
they
shoved
him
inside
.
Once
the
door
had
slammed
shut
,
he
had
seen
no
more
.
The
dark
was
absolute
.
He
had
as
well
been
blind
.
Or
dead
.
Buried
with
his
king
.
"
Ah
,
Robert
,
"
he
murmured
as
his
groping
hand
touched
a
cold
stone
wall
,
his
leg
throbbing
with
every
motion
.
He
remembered
the
jest
the
king
had
shared
in
the
crypts
of
Winterfell
,
as
the
Kings
of
Winter
looked
on
with
cold
stone
eyes
.
The
king
eats
,
Robert
had
said
,
and
the
Hand
takes
the
shit
.
How
he
had
laughed
.
Yet
he
had
gotten
it
wrong
.
The
king
dies
,
Ned
Stark
thought
,
and
the
Hand
is
buried
.
The
dungeon
was
under
the
Red
Keep
,
deeper
than
he
dared
imagine
.
He
remembered
the
old
stories
about
Maegor
the
Cruel
,
who
murdered
all
the
masons
who
labored
on
his
castle
,
so
they
might
never
reveal
its
secrets
.
He
damned
them
all
:
Littlefinger
,
Janos
Slynt
and
his
gold
cloaks
,
the
queen
,
the
Kingslayer
,
Pycelle
and
Varys
and
Ser
Barristan
,
even
Lord
Renly
,
Robert
's
own
blood
,
who
had
run
when
he
was
needed
most
.
Yet
in
the
end
he
blamed
himself
.
"
Fool
,
"
he
cried
to
the
darkness
,
"
thrice-damned
blind
fool
.
"
Cersei
Lannister
's
face
seemed
to
float
before
him
in
the
darkness
.
Her
hair
was
full
of
sunlight
,
but
there
was
mockery
in
her
smile
.
"
When
you
play
the
game
of
thrones
,
you
win
or
you
die
,
"
she
whispered
.
Ned
had
played
and
lost
,
and
his
men
had
paid
the
price
of
his
folly
with
their
life
's
blood
.
When
he
thought
of
his
daughters
,
he
would
have
wept
gladly
,
but
the
tears
would
not
come
.
Even
now
,
he
was
a
Stark
of
Winterfell
,
and
his
grief
and
his
rage
froze
hard
inside
him
.
When
he
kept
very
still
,
his
leg
did
not
hurt
so
much
,
so
he
did
his
best
to
lie
unmoving
.
For
how
long
he
could
not
say
.
There
was
no
sun
and
no
moon
.
He
could
not
see
to
mark
the
walls
.
Ned
closed
his
eyes
and
opened
them
;
it
made
no
difference
.
He
slept
and
woke
and
slept
again
.
He
did
not
know
which
was
more
painful
,
the
waking
or
the
sleeping
.
When
he
slept
,
he
dreamed
:
dark
disturbing
dreams
of
blood
and
broken
promises
.
When
he
woke
,
there
was
nothing
to
do
but
think
,
and
his
waking
thoughts
were
worse
than
nightmares
.
The
thought
of
Cat
was
as
painful
as
a
bed
of
nettles
.
He
wondered
where
she
was
,
what
she
was
doing
.
He
wondered
whether
he
would
ever
see
her
again
.
Hours
turned
to
days
,
or
so
it
seemed
.
He
could
feel
a
dull
ache
in
his
shattered
leg
,
an
itch
beneath
the
plaster
.
When
he
touched
his
thigh
,
the
flesh
was
hot
to
his
fingers
.
The
only
sound
was
his
breathing
.
After
a
time
,
he
began
to
talk
aloud
,
just
to
hear
a
voice
.
He
made
plans
to
keep
himself
sane
,
built
castles
of
hope
in
the
dark
.
Robert
's
brothers
were
out
in
the
world
,
raising
armies
at
Dragonstone
and
Storm
's
End
.
Alyn
and
Harwin
would
return
to
King
's
Landing
with
the
rest
of
his
household
guard
once
they
had
dealt
with
Ser
Gregor
.
Catelyn
would
raise
the
north
when
the
word
reached
her
,
and
the
lords
of
river
and
mountain
and
Vale
would
join
her
.
