Игра престолов

Jon

           Ithadbeencarvedintothelikenessofasnarlingwolf’shead,withchipsofgarnetsetintotheeyes.Thegripwasvirginleather,softandblack,asyetunstainedbysweatorblood.ThebladeitselfwasagoodhalffootlongerthanthoseJonwasusedto,taperedtothrustaswellasslash,withthreefullersdeeplyincisedinthemetal.WhereIcewasatruetwo-handedgreatsword,thiswasahand-and-a-halfer,sometimesnameda"bastardsword."Yetthewolfswordactuallyseemedlighterthanthebladeshehadwieldedbefore.WhenJonturneditsideways,hecouldseetheripplesinthedarksteelwherethemetalhadbeenfoldedbackonitselfagainandagain."ThisisValyriansteel,mylord,"hesaidwonderingly.HisfatherhadlethimhandleIceoftenenough;heknewthelook,thefeel.

           "Itis,"theOldBeartoldhim."Itwasmyfather’ssword,andhisfather’sbeforehim.TheMormontshavecarrieditforfivecenturies.IwieldeditinmydayandpasseditontomysonwhenItooktheblack."

           Heisgivingmehisson’ssword.Joncouldscarcelybelieveit.Thebladewasexquisitelybalanced.Theedgesglimmeredfaintlyastheykissedthelight."Yourson"

           "MysonbroughtdishonortoHouseMormont,butatleasthehadthegracetoleavetheswordbehindwhenhefled.Mysisterreturnedittomykeeping,buttheverysightofitremindedmeofJorah’sshame,soIputitasideandthoughtnomoreofituntilwefounditintheashesofmybedchamber.

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