Битва королей

Tyrion

           "Mylord,youmustbestill,"themanmurmured."Youaregrievoushurt.Youwilldoyourselfgreatinjury.Areyouthirsty?"

           Hemanagedanawkwardnod.Themaesterinsertedacurvedcopperfunnelthroughthefeedingholeoverhismouthandpouredaslowtrickledownhisthroat.Tyrionswallowed,scarcelytasting.Toolateherealizedtheliquidwasmilkofthepoppy.Bythetimethemaesterremovedthefunnelfromhismouth,hewasalreadyspiralingbacktosleep.

           Thistimehedreamedhewasatafeast,avictoryfeastinsomegreathall.Hehadahighseatonthedais,andmenwereliftingtheirgobletsandhailinghimashero.Marillionwasthere,thesingerwho’djourneyedwiththemthroughtheMountainsoftheMoon.HeplayedhiswoodharpandsangoftheImp’sdaringdeeds.Evenhisfatherwassmilingwithapproval.Whenthesongwasover,Jaimerosefromhisplace,commandedTyriontokneel,andtouchedhimfirstononeshoulderandthenontheotherwithhisgoldensword,andheroseupaknight.Shaewaswaitingtoembracehim.Shetookhimbythehand,laughingandteasing,callinghimhergiantofLannister.

           Hewokeindarknesstoacoldemptyroom.Thedraperieshadbeendrawnagain.Somethingfeltwrong,turnedaround,thoughhecouldnothavesaidwhat.Hewasaloneoncemore.Pushingbacktheblankets,hetriedtosit,butthepainwastoomuchandhesoonsubsided,breathingraggedly.Hisfacewastheleastpartofit.

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