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gave her a hard smile

Le 8 août 2017, 06:46 dans Humeurs 0

He took his own good time about it, though, or else the Knight of Flowers proved hard to find. Several hours had passed by the time they arrived, the slim handsome youth and the big ugly maid. Jaime was sitting alone in the round room, leafing idly through the White Book. “Lord Commander,” Ser Loras said, “you wished to see the Maid of Tarth?”  “I did.” Jaime waved them closer with his left hand. “You have talked with her, I take it?”  “As you commanded, my lord.”  “And?”  The lad tensed. Brienne shook her head. “When Lord Bolton learns that your father paid him with false coin...”  “Oh, he knows. Lannisters lie, remember? It makes no matter, this girl serves his purpose just as well. Who is going to say that she isn’t Arya Stark? Everyone the girl was close to is dead except for her sister, who has disappeared.”  “Why would you tell me all this, if it’s true? You are betraying your father’s secrets.”  The Hand’s secrets, he thought. I no longer have a father. “l pay my debts like every good little lion. I did promise Lady Stark her daughters... and one of them is still alive. My brother may know where she is, but if so he isn’t saying. Cersei is convinced that Sansa helped him murder Joffrey.”  The wench’s mouth got stubborn. “I will not believe that gentle girl a poisoner. Lady Catelyn said that she had a loving heart. It was your brother. There was a trial, Ser Loras said.”  “Two trials, actually. Words and swords both failed him. A bloody mess. Did you watch from your window?”  “My cell faces the sea. I heard the shouting, though.”  “Prince Oberyn of Dorne is dead, Ser Gregor Clegane lies dying, and Tyrion stands condemned before the eyes of gods and men. They’re keeping him in a black cell till they kill him.”  Brienne looked at him. “You do not believe he did it.”  Jaime . “See, wench? We know each other too well. Tyrion’s wanted to be me since he took his first step, but he’d never follow me in kingslaying. Sansa Stark killed Joffrey. My brother’s kept silent to protect her. He gets these fits of gallantry from time to time. The last one cost him a nose. This time it will mean his head.”  “No,” Brienne said. “It was not my lady’s daughter. It could not have been her.”  “There’s the stubborn stupid wench that I remember.”  She reddened. “My name is...”  “Brienne of Tarth.” Jaime sighed. “I have a gift for you.” He reached down under the Lord Commander’s chair and brought it out, wrapped in folds of crimson velvet.  Brienne approached as if the bundle was like to bite her, reached out a huge freckled hand, and flipped back a fold of cloth. Rubies glimmered in the light. She picked the treasure up gingerly, curled her fingers around the leather grip, and slowly slid the sword free of its scabbard. Blood and black the ripples shone. A finger of reflected light ran red along the edge. “Is this Valyrian steel? I have never seen such colors.”  “Nor I. There was a time that I would have given my right hand to wield a sword like that. Now it appears I have, so the blade is wasted on me. Take it.” Before she could think to refuse, he went on. “

cloak trimmed with white fur

Le 18 juillet 2017, 09:31 dans Humeurs 0

she asked.  “Brothers, half-brothers, good brothers, and nephews. Raymund and I shared a mother. Lord Lucias Vypren is my halfsister Lythene’s husband, and Ser Damon is their son. My half-brother Ser Hosteen I believe you know. And this is Ser Leslyn Haigh and his sons, Ser Harys and Ser Donnel.”  “Well met, sers. Is Ser Perwyn about? He helped escort me to Storm’s End and back, when Robb sent me to speak with Lord Renly. I was looking forward to seeing him again.”  “Perwyn is away,” Lame Lothar said. “I shall give him your regards. I know he will regret having missed you.”  “Surely he will return in time for Lady Roslin’s wedding?” “He had hoped to,” said Lame Lothar, “but with this rain... you saw how the rivers ran, my lady.”  “I did indeed,” said Catelyn. “I wonder if you would be so good as to direct me best dealsto your maester?”  “Are you unwell, my lady?” asked Ser Hosteen, a powerful man with a square strong jaw.  “A woman’s complaint. Nothing to concern you, ser.”  Lothar, ever gracious, escorted her from the hall, up some steps, and across a covered bridge to another stair. “You should find Maester Brenett in the turret on the top, my lady.”  Catelyn half expected that the maester would be yet another son of Walder Frey’s, but Brenett did not have the look. He was a great fat man, bald and double-chinned and none too clean, to judge from the raven droppings that stained the sleeves of his robes, yet he seemed amiable enough. When she told him of Edmure’s concerns about Lady Roslin’s fertility, he chuckled. “Your lord brother need have no fear, Lady Catelyn. She’s small, I’ll grant you, and narrow in the hips, but her mother was the same, and Lady Bethany gave Lord Walder a child every year.”  “How many lived past infancy?” she asked bluntly.  “Five.” He ticked them off on fingers plump as sausages. “Ser Perwyn Profertil hk. Ser Benfrey. Maester Willamen, who took his vows last year and now serves Lord Hunter in the Vale. Olyvar, who squired for your son. And Lady Roslin, the youngest. Four boys to one girl. Lord Edmure will have more sons than he knows what to do with.”  “I am sure that will please him.”

So the girl was like to be fertile as well as fair of face. That should put Edmure’s mind at ease. Lord Walder had left her brother no cause for complaint, so far as she could see.  Catelyn did not return to her own room after leaving the maester; instead she went to Robb. She found Robin Flint and Ser Wendel Manderly with him, along with the Greatjon and his son, who was still called the Smalljon though he threatened to overtop his father. They were all damp. Another man, still wetter, stood before the fire in a pale pink . “Lord Bolton,” she said.  “Lady Catelyn,” he replied, his voice faint, “it is a pleasure to look on you again, even in such trying times.” 

“You are kind to say so.” Catelyn could feel gloom in the room. Even the Greatjon seemed somber and subdued. She looked at their grim faces and said, “What’s happened?”  “Lannisters on the Trident,” said Ser Wendel unhappily. “My brother is taken again.”  “And Lord Bolton has brought us further word of Winterfell,” Robb added. “Ser Rodrik was not the only good man to die. Cley Cerwyn and Leobald Tallhart were slain as well.”  “Cley Cerwyn was only a boy,” she said, saddened Profertil hk. “Is this true, then? All dead, and Winterfell gone?”  Bolton’s pale eyes met her own. “The ironmen burned both castle and winter town. Some of your people were taken back to the Dreadfort by my son, Ramsay.”  “Your bastard was accused of grievous crimes,” Catelyn reminded him sharply. “Of murder, rape, and worse.

moved through the garden

Le 28 juin 2017, 06:32 dans Humeurs 0

“I can’t think how to do the glass roof over the gardens.”  Littlefinger stroked his chin, where his beard had been before Lysa had asked him to shave it off. “The glass was locked in frames, no? Twigs are your answer. Peel them and cross them and use bark to tie them together into frames. I’ll show you.” He , gathering up twigs and sticks and shaking the snow from them. When he had enough, he stepped over both walls with a single long stride and squatted on his heels in the middle of the yard. Sansa came closer to watch what he was doing Hong Kong & Shenzhen Educational Tour. His hands were deft and sure, and before long he had a crisscrossing latticework of twigs, very like the one that roofed the glass gardens of Winterfell. “We will need to imagine the glass, to be sure,” he said when he gave it to her.  “This is just right,” she said.  He touched her face. “And so is that.”  Sansa did not understand. “And so is what?”  “Your smile, my lady. Shall I make another for you?”  “If you would.”  “Nothing could please me more.”  She raised the walls of the glass gardens while Littlefinger roofed them over, and when they were done with that he helped her extend the walls and build the guardshall. When she used sticks for the covered bridges, they stood, just as he had said they would. The First Keep was simple enough, an old round drum tower, but Sansa was stymied again when it came to putting the gargoyles around the top. Again he had the answer. “It’s been snowing on your castle, my lady,” he pointed out school finder hong kong.

“What do the gargoyles look like when they’re covered with snow?”  Sansa closed her eyes to see them in memory. “They’re just white lumps.”  “Well, then. Gargoyles are hard, but white lumps should be easy.” And they were.  The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they’d raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.”

  “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.”  She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.  His face grew serious. “Yes, I played you false in that... and in one other thing as well.”  Sansa’s stomach was aflutter. “What other thing?”  “I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more.” He stepped closer. “This.”  Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers

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