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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 633/751
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"
Trout
,
m
'
lord
,
"
said
his
groom
.
"
Bronn
caught
them
.
"
Trout
,
he
thought
.
Suckling
pig
.
Damn
my
father
.
He
stared
mournfully
at
the
bones
,
his
belly
rumbling
.
His
squire
,
a
boy
with
the
unfortunate
name
of
Podrick
Payne
,
swallowed
whatever
he
had
been
about
to
say
.
The
lad
was
a
distant
cousin
to
Ser
Ilyn
Payne
,
the
king
's
headsman
...
and
almost
as
quiet
,
although
not
for
want
of
a
tongue
.
Tyrion
had
made
him
stick
it
out
once
,
just
to
be
certain
.
"
Definitely
a
tongue
,
"
he
had
said
.
"
Someday
you
must
learn
to
use
it
.
"
At
the
moment
,
he
did
not
have
the
patience
to
try
and
coax
a
thought
out
of
the
lad
,
whom
he
suspected
had
been
inflicted
on
him
as
a
cruel
jape
.
Tyrion
turned
his
attention
back
to
the
girl
.
"
Is
this
her
?
"
he
asked
Bronn
.
She
rose
gracefully
and
looked
down
at
him
from
the
lofty
height
of
five
feet
or
more
.
"
It
is
,
m
'
lord
,
and
she
can
speak
for
herself
,
if
it
please
you
.
"
He
cocked
his
head
to
one
side
.
"
I
am
Tyrion
,
of
House
Lannister
.
Men
call
me
the
Imp
.
"
"
My
mother
named
me
Shae
.
Men
call
me
...
often
.
"
Bronn
laughed
,
and
Tyrion
had
to
smile
.
"
Into
the
tent
,
Shae
,
if
you
would
be
so
kind
.
"
He
lifted
the
flap
and
held
it
for
her
.
Inside
,
he
knelt
to
light
a
candle
.
The
life
of
a
soldier
was
not
without
certain
compensations
.
Wherever
you
have
a
camp
,
you
are
certain
to
have
camp
followers
.
At
the
end
of
the
day
's
march
,
Tyrion
had
sent
Bronn
back
to
find
him
a
likely
whore
.
"
I
would
prefer
one
who
is
reasonably
young
,
with
as
pretty
a
face
as
you
can
find
,
"
he
had
said
.
"
If
she
has
washed
sometime
this
year
,
I
shall
be
glad
.
If
she
has
n't
,
wash
her
.
Be
certain
that
you
tell
her
who
I
am
,
and
warn
her
of
what
I
am
.
"
