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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 721/751
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Yet
he
saw
the
castle
clear
in
his
mind
's
eye
,
as
if
he
had
left
it
only
yesterday
;
the
towering
granite
walls
,
the
Great
Hall
with
its
smells
of
smoke
and
dog
and
roasting
meat
,
his
father
's
solar
,
the
turret
room
where
he
had
slept
.
Part
of
him
wanted
nothing
so
much
as
to
hear
Bran
laugh
again
,
to
sup
on
one
of
Gage
's
beef-and-bacon
pies
,
to
listen
to
Old
Nan
tell
her
tales
of
the
children
of
the
forest
and
Florian
the
Fool
.
But
he
had
not
left
the
Wall
for
that
;
he
had
left
because
he
was
after
all
his
father
's
son
,
and
Robb
's
brother
.
The
gift
of
a
sword
,
even
a
sword
as
fine
as
Longclaw
,
did
not
make
him
a
Mormont
.
Nor
was
he
Aemon
Targaryen
.
Three
times
the
old
man
had
chosen
,
and
three
times
he
had
chosen
honor
,
but
that
was
him
.
Even
now
,
Jon
could
not
decide
whether
the
maester
had
stayed
because
he
was
weak
and
craven
,
or
because
he
was
strong
and
true
.
Yet
he
understood
what
the
old
man
had
meant
,
about
the
pain
of
choosing
;
he
understood
that
all
too
well
.
Tyrion
Lannister
had
claimed
that
most
men
would
rather
deny
a
hard
truth
than
face
it
,
but
Jon
was
done
with
denials
.
He
was
who
he
was
;
Jon
Snow
,
bastard
and
oathbreaker
,
motherless
,
friendless
,
and
damned
.
For
the
rest
of
his
life
--
however
long
that
might
be
--
he
would
be
condemned
to
be
an
outsider
,
the
silent
man
standing
in
the
shadows
who
dares
not
speak
his
true
name
.
Wherever
he
might
go
throughout
the
Seven
Kingdoms
,
he
would
need
to
live
a
lie
,
lest
every
man
's
hand
be
raised
against
him
.
But
it
made
no
matter
,
so
long
as
he
lived
long
enough
to
take
his
place
by
his
brother
's
side
and
help
avenge
his
father
.
He
remembered
Robb
as
he
had
last
seen
him
,
standing
in
the
yard
with
snow
melting
in
his
auburn
hair
.
Jon
would
have
to
come
to
him
in
secret
,
disguised
.
He
tried
to
imagine
the
look
on
Robb
's
face
when
he
revealed
himself
.
His
brother
would
shake
his
head
and
smile
,
and
he
'd
say
...
he
'd
say
...
He
could
not
see
the
smile
.
Hard
as
he
tried
,
he
could
not
see
it
.
He
found
himself
thinking
of
the
deserter
his
father
had
beheaded
the
day
they
'd
found
the
direwolves
.
"
You
said
the
words
,
"
Lord
Eddard
had
told
him
.
"
You
took
a
vow
,
before
your
brothers
,
before
the
old
gods
and
the
new
.
"
Desmond
and
Fat
Tom
had
dragged
the
man
to
the
stump
.
Bran
's
eyes
had
been
wide
as
saucers
,
and
Jon
had
to
remind
him
to
keep
his
pony
in
hand
.
He
remembered
the
look
on
Father
's
face
when
Theon
Greyjoy
brought
forth
Ice
,
the
spray
of
blood
on
the
snow
,
the
way
Theon
had
kicked
the
head
when
it
came
rolling
at
his
feet
.
He
wondered
what
Lord
Eddard
might
have
done
if
the
deserter
had
been
his
brother
Benjen
instead
of
that
ragged
stranger
.
Would
it
have
been
any
different
?
It
must
,
surely
,
surely
...
and
Robb
would
welcome
him
,
for
a
certainty
.
He
had
to
,
or
else
...
It
did
not
bear
thinking
about
.
Pain
throbbed
,
deep
in
his
fingers
,
as
he
clutched
the
reins
.
Jon
put
his
heels
into
his
horse
and
broke
into
a
gallop
,
racing
down
the
kingsroad
,
as
if
to
outrun
his
doubts
.
Jon
was
not
afraid
of
death
,
but
he
did
not
want
to
die
like
that
,
trussed
and
bound
and
beheaded
like
a
common
brigand
.
If
he
must
perish
,
let
it
be
with
a
sword
in
his
hand
,
fighting
his
father
's
killers
.
He
was
no
true
Stark
,
had
never
been
one
...
but
he
could
die
like
one
.
Let
them
say
that
Eddard
Stark
had
fathered
four
sons
,
not
three
.
Ghost
kept
pace
with
them
for
almost
half
a
mile
,
red
tongue
lolling
from
his
mouth
.
Man
and
horse
alike
lowered
their
heads
as
he
asked
the
mare
for
more
speed
.
The
wolf
slowed
,
stopped
,
watching
,
his
eyes
glowing
red
in
the
moonlight
.
He
vanished
behind
,
but
Jon
knew
he
would
follow
,
at
his
own
pace
.
