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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 to 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. 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. “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 dr bk laser

he ripped apart a loaf of bread

Le 21 juin 2017, 06:15 dans Humeurs 0

Jon had his lie all ready. “The Lord Commander sent me to the Halfhand for seasoning, so he took me on his ranging.”  Styr the Magnar frowned at that. “Ranging, you call it LAN Centre Setup... why would crows come ranging up the Skirling Pass?”  “The villages were deserted,” Jon said, truthfully. “It was as if all the free folk had vanished.”  “Vanished, aye,” said Mance Rayder. “And not just the free folk. Who told you where we were, Jon Snow?”  Tormund snorted. “It were Craster, or I’m a blushing maid. I told you, Mance, that creature needs to be shorter by a head.”  The king gave the older man an irritated look. “Tormund, someday try thinking before you speak. I know it was Craster. I asked Jon to see if he would tell it true.”  “Har.” Tormund spat. “Well, I stepped in that!” He grinned at Jon. “See, lad, that’s why he’s king and I’m not. I can outdrink, outfight, and outsing him, and my member’s thrice the size o’ his, but Mance has cunning. He was raised a crow, you know, and the crow’s a tricksy bird.”  “I would speak with the lad alone, my Lord of Bones,” Mance Rayder said to Rattleshirt. “Leave us, all of you.”  “What, me as well?” said Tormund.  “No, you especially,” said Mance.  “I eat in no hall where I’m not welcome.” Tormund got to his feet. “Me and the hens are leaving dermes.” He snatched another chicken off the brazier, shoved it into a pocket sewn in the lining of his cloak, said “Har,” and left licking his fingers. The others followed him out, all but the woman Dalla.  “Sit, if you like,” Rayder said when they were gone. “Are you hungry? Tormund left us two birds at least.”  “I would be pleased to eat, Your Grace. And thank you.”  “Your Grace?” The king smiled. “That’s not a style one often hears from the lips of free folk. I’m Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?”  “Gladly,” said Jon.  The king poured himself as Dalla cut the well-crisped hens apart and brought them each a half. Jon peeled off his gloves and ate with his fingers, sucking every morsel of meat off the bones.  “Tormund spoke truly,” said Mance Rayder as . “The black crow is a tricksy bird, that’s so... but I was a crow when you were no bigger than the babe in Dalla’s belly, Jon Snow. So take care not to play tricksy with me.”  “As you say, Your - Mance.”  The king laughed. “Your Mance! Why not? I promised you a tale before, of how I knew you. Have you puzzled it out yet?”  Jon shook his head. “Did Rattleshirt send word ahead?”  “By wing? We have no trained ravens. No, I knew your face. I’ve seen it before. Twice.”  It made no sense at first, but as Jon turned it over in his mind, dawn broke. “When you were a brother of the Watch...”  “Very good! Yes, that was the first time. You were just a boy, and I was all in black, one of a dozen riding escort to old Lord Commander Qorgyle when he came down to see your father at Winterfell. I was walking the wall around the yard when I came on you and your brother Robb. It had snowed the night before, and the two of you had built a great mountain above the gate and were waiting for someone likely to pass underneath.”  “I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wallwalk, yes... “You swore not to Datingtell.” 

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