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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 72/751
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"
Fourteen
,
"
Robb
said
.
"
I
killed
a
man
at
twelve
.
You
can
be
sure
it
was
not
with
a
blunt
sword
.
"
Arya
could
see
Robb
bristle
.
His
pride
was
wounded
.
He
turned
on
Ser
Rodrik
.
"
Let
me
do
it
.
I
can
beat
him
.
"
"
Beat
him
with
a
tourney
blade
,
then
,
"
Ser
Rodrik
said
.
Joffrey
shrugged
.
"
Come
and
see
me
when
you
're
older
,
Stark
.
If
you
're
not
too
old
.
"
There
was
laughter
from
the
Lannister
men
.
Robb
's
curses
rang
through
the
yard
.
Arya
covered
her
mouth
in
shock
.
Theon
Greyjoy
seized
Robb
's
arm
to
keep
him
away
from
the
prince
.
Ser
Rodrik
tugged
at
his
whiskers
in
dismay
.
Joffrey
feigned
a
yawn
and
turned
to
his
younger
brother
.
"
Come
,
Tommen
,
"
he
said
.
"
The
hour
of
play
is
done
.
Leave
the
children
to
their
frolics
.
"
That
brought
more
laughter
from
the
Lannisters
,
more
curses
from
Robb
.
Ser
Rodrik
's
face
was
beet-red
with
fury
under
the
white
of
his
whiskers
.
Theon
kept
Robb
locked
in
an
iron
grip
until
the
princes
and
their
party
were
safely
away
.
Jon
watched
them
leave
,
and
Arya
watched
Jon
His
face
had
grown
as
still
as
the
pool
at
the
heart
of
the
godswood
.
Finally
he
climbed
down
off
the
window
.
"
The
show
is
done
,
"
he
said
.
He
bent
to
scratch
Ghost
behind
the
ears
.
The
white
wolf
rose
and
rubbed
against
him
.
"
You
had
best
run
back
to
your
room
,
little
sister
.
Septa
Mordane
will
surely
be
lurking
.
The
longer
you
hide
,
the
sterner
the
penance
.
You
'll
be
sewing
all
through
winter
.
When
the
spring
thaw
comes
,
they
will
find
your
body
with
a
needle
still
locked
tight
between
your
frozen
fingers
.
"
