Битва королей

Tyrion

           

           "MYLORD!TAKEMYHAND!MYLORDTYRION!"

           Thereonthedeckofthenextship,acrossawideninggulfofblackwater,stoodSerMandonMoore,ahandextended.Yellowandgreenfireshoneagainstthewhiteofhisarmor,andhislobsteredgauntletwasstickywithblood,butTyrionreachedforitallthesame,wishinghisarmswerelonger.Itwasonlyattheverylast,astheirfingersbrushedacrossthegap,thatsomethingniggledathim...SerMandonwasholdingouthislefthand,why...

           Wasthatwhyhereeledbackward,ordidheseetheswordafterall?Hewouldneverknow.Thepointslashedjustbeneathhiseyes,andhefeltitscoldhardtouchandthenablazeofpain.Hisheadspunaroundasifhe’dbeenslapped.Theshockofthecoldwaterwasasecondslapmorejoltingthanthefirst.Heflailedforsomethingtograbonto,knowingthatoncehewentdownhewasnotliketocomebackup.Somehowhishandfoundthesplinteredendofabrokenoar.Clutchingittightasadesperatelover,heshinniedupfootbyfoot.Hiseyeswerefullofwater,hismouthwasfullofblood,andhisheadthrobbedhorribly.Godsgivemestrengthtoreachthedeck...Therewasnothingelse,onlytheoar,thewater,thedeck.

           Finallyherolledoverthesideandlaybreathlessandexhausted,flatonhisback.Ballsofgreenandorangeflamecrackledoverhead,leavingstreaksbetweenthestars.HehadamomenttothinkhowprettyitwasbeforeSerMandonblockedouttheview

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