2017年06月30日

resent us for selling


She would lose her maidenhood tonight, he had no doubt. That noseless bastard would have her for a certainty Elevit,

and some of the others would likely take a turn. The Dornishman bound them back to back atop Brienne’s plow horse while the other Mummers were stripping Cleos Frey

to his skin to divvy up his possessions. Rorge won the bloodstained surcoat with its proud Lannister and Frey quarterings. The arrows had punched holes through lions Elevit


and towers alike. “I hope you’re pleased, wench,” Jaime whispered at Brienne. He coughed, and spat out a mouthful of blood. “If you’d armed me, we’d never have

been taken.” She made no answer. There’s a pig-stubborn bitch, he thought. But brave, yes. He could not take that from her. “When we make camp for the night, you’

ll be raped, and more than once,” he warned her. “You’d be wise not to resist. If you fight them, you’ll lose more than a few teeth.” He felt Brienne’s back

stiffen against his. “Is that what you would do, if you were a woman?” If I were a woman I’d be Cersei. “If I were a woman, I’d make them kill me. But I’m not.

” Jaime kicked their horse to a trot.” Urswyck! A word!” The cadaverous sellsword in the ragged leather cloak reined up a moment, then fell in beside him. “What YOOX HK

would you have of me, ser? And mind your tongue, or I’ll chastise you again.” “Gold,” said Jaime. “You do like gold?” Urswyck studied him through reddened

eyes. “It has its uses, I do confess.” Jaime gave Urswyck a knowing smile. “All the gold in Casterly Rock. Why let the goat enjoy it? Why not take us to King’s

Landing, and collect my ransom for yourself ? Hers as well, if you like. Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle, a maiden told me once.” The wench squirmed at that, but

said nothing. “Do you take me for a turncloak?” “Certainly. What else?” For half a heartbeat Urswyck considered the proposition. “King’s Landing is a long

way, and your father is there. Lord Tywin may Harrenhal to Lord Bolton.” He’s cleverer than he looks. Jaime had been been looking forward to

hanging the wretch while his pockets bulged with gold. “Leave me to deal with my father. I’ll get you a royal pardon for any crimes you have committed. I’ll get

you a knighthood.” “Ser Urswyck,” the man said, savoring the sound. “How proud my dear wife would be to hear it. If only I hadn’t killed her.” He sighed. “And

what of brave Lord Vargo?” “Shall I sing you a verse of ‘The Rains of Castamere’? The goat won’t be quite so brave when my father gets hold of him.” “And how

will he do that? Are your father’s arms so long that they can reach over the walls of Harrenhal and pluck us out?” “If need be.” King Harren’s monstrous folly

had fallen before, and it could fall again. “


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