tormund: переводы

→She broke off as Roose Bolton rose to his feet, pale eyes shining in the torchlight. “My friends,” he began, and a hush swept through the hall, so profound that Theon could hear the wind plucking at the boards over the windows. “Stannis and his knights have left Deepwood Motte, flying the banner of his new red god. The clans of the northern hills come with him on their shaggy runtish horses. If the weather holds, they could be on us in a fortnight. And Crowfood Umber marches down the kingsroad, whilst the Karstarks approach from the east. They mean to join with Lord Stannis here and take this castle from us.”

→The mute flipped the dagger, caught it, then flung it end over end at the sheepskin map that adorned Lord Wyman’s wall. It struck quivering. Then he grinned.

→Robett Glover said, “Wex. Show him.”

→“Where is the boy?” Somehow Davos knew he would not like the answer. “Where is it you want me to go, my lord?”

→“Ships,” Lord Wyman agreed, “but my crews are rivermen, or fisherfolk who have never sailed beyond the Bite. For this I must have a man who’s sailed in darker waters and knows how to slip past dangers, unseen and unmolested.”

→Iron Emmett’s fledglings cheered their lord commander at the start, but the relentless speed of Rattleshirt’s attack soon beat them down to silence. He cannot keep this up for long, Jon told himself as he stopped another blow. The impact made him grunt. Even dulled, the greatsword cracked his

→Rattleshirt took a step backwards and met the charge with a two-handed slash. If Jon had not interposed his shield, it might have staved his breast-plate in and broken half his ribs. The force of the blow staggered him for a moment and sent a solid jolt up his arm. He hits harder than I would have thought. His quickness was another unpleasant surprise. They circled round each other, trading blow for blow. The Lord of Bones gave as good as he was getting. By rights the two-handed greatsword should have been a deal more cumbersome than Jon’s longsword, but the wildling wielded it with blinding speed.

→Jon rushed him hard.

→“Emmett, find some armor for him. I want him in steel, not old bones.” Once clad in mail and plate, the Lord of Bones seemed to stand a little straighter. He seemed taller too, his shoulders thicker and more powerful than Jon would have thought. It’s the armor, not the man, he told himself. Even Sam could appear almost formidable, clad head to heel in Donal Noye’s steel. The wildling waved away the shield Horse offered him. Instead he asked for a two-handed sword. “There’s a sweet sound,” he said, slashing at the air. “Flap closer, Snow. I mean to make your feathers fly.”

→“No.” The wildling grinned at him through a mouth of brown and broken teeth. “He burned the man he had to burn, for all the world to see. We all do what we have to do, Snow. Even kings.”

→“Stannis burned the wrong man.”

→The dwarfs from Joffrey’s wedding. It was their show that had started all the trouble that night. How strange, to encounter them again half a world away. Though perhaps not so strange as that. If they had half the wits of their pig, they would have fled King’s Landing the night Joff died, before Cersei could assign them some share of blame in her son’s death. “Let her down, ser,” he told Ser Jorah Mormont. “She won’t do us any harm.”

→“The dog,” she sobbed. “Oppo always rode the pig.”

→“I bought them on the Long Bridge.”

→Mormont spread some fish roe across a slice of flatbread and took a bite. “Are you expecting someone?”

→The other dwarf felt his stare. When he raised his head and saw Tyrion, the spoon slipped from his hand.