“Saltpans is just across the water,” said Septon Meribald, pointing north across the bay. “The brothers will ferry us over on the morning tide, though I fear what we shall find there. Let us enjoy a good hot meal before we face that. The brothers always have a bone to spare for Dog.” Dog barked and wagged his tail.
The tide was going out now, and swiftly. The water that separated the island from the shore was receding5, leaving behind a broad expanse of glistening6 brown mudflats dotted by tidal pools that glittered like golden coins in the afternoon sun. Brienne scratched the back of her neck, where an insect had bitten her. She had pinned her hair up, and the sun had warmed her skin.
“Why do they call it the Quiet Isle8?” asked Podrick.
“Those who dwell here are penitents9, who seek to atone10 for their sins through contemplation, prayer, and silence. Only the Elder Brother and his proctors are permitted to speak, and the proctors only for one day of every seven.”
“The silent sisters never speak,” said Podrick. “I heard they don’t have any tongues.”
Septon Meribald smiled. “Mothers have been cowing their daughters with that tale since I was your age. There was no truth to it then and there is none now. A vow11 of silence is an act of contrition12, a sacrifice by which we prove our devotion to the Seven Above. For a mute to take a vow of silence would be akin13 to a legless man giving up the dance.” He led his donkey down the slope, beckoning14 them to follow. “If you would sleep beneath a roof tonight, you must climb off your horses and cross the mud with me. The path of faith, we call it. Only the faithful may cross safely. The wicked are swallowed by the quicksands, or drowned when the tide comes rushing in. None of you are wicked, I hope? Even so, I would be careful where I set my feet. Walk only where I walk, and you shall reach the other side.”
The path of faith was a crooked16 one, Brienne could not help but note. Though the island seemed to rise to the northeast of where they left the shore, Septon Meribald did not make directly for it. Instead, he started due east, toward the deeper waters of the bay, which shimmered18 blue and silver in the distance. The soft brown mud squished up between his toes. As he walked he paused from time to time, to probe ahead with his quarterstaff. Dog stayed near his heels, sniffing19 at every rock, shell, and clump21 of seaweed. For once he did not bound ahead or stray.
Brienne followed, taking care to keep close to the line of prints left by the dog, the donkey, and the holy man. Then came Podrick, and last of all Ser Hyle. A hundred yards out, Meribald turned abruptly22 toward the south, so his back was almost to the septry. He proceeded in that direction for another hundred yards, leading them between two shallow tidal pools. Dog stuck his nose in one and yelped23 when a crab2 pinched it with his claw. A brief but furious struggle ensued before the dog came trotting24 back, wet and mud-spattered, with the crab between his jaws26.
“Isn’t that where we want to go?” Ser Hyle called out from behind them, pointing at the septry. “We seem to be walking every way but toward it.”
“Faith,” urged Septon Meribald. “Believe, persist, and follow, and we shall find the peace we seek.”
The flats shimmered wetly all about them, mottled in half a hundred hues27. The mud was such a dark brown it appeared almost black, but there were swathes of golden sand as well, upthrust rocks both grey and red, and tangles28 of black and green seaweed. Storks stalked through the tidal pools and left their footprints all around them, and crabs scuttled29 across the surface of shallow waters. The air smelled of brine and rot, and the ground sucked at their feet and let them go only reluctantly, with a pop and a squelchy30 sigh. Septon Meribald turned and turned again and yet again. His footprints filled up with water as soon as he moved on. By the time the ground grew firmer and began to rise beneath the feet, they had walked at least a mile and a half.
Three men were waiting for them as they clambered up the broken stones that ringed the isle’s shoreline. They were clad in the brown-and-dun robes of brothers, with wide bell sleeves and pointed31 cowls. Two had wound lengths of wool about the lower halves of their faces as well, so all that could be seen of them were their eyes. The third brother was the one to speak. “Septon Meribald,” he called. “It has been nigh upon a year. You are welcome. Your companions as well.”
Dog wagged his tail, and Meribald shook mud from his feet. “Might we beg your hospitality for a night?”
“Yes, of course. There’s to be fish stew32 this evening. Will you require the ferry in the morning?”
“If it is not too much to ask.” Meribald turned to his fellow travelers. “Brother Narbert is a proctor of the order, so he is allowed to speak one day of every seven. Brother, these good folk helped me on my way. Ser Hyle Hunt is a gallant33 from the Reach. The lad is Podrick Payne, late of the westerland. And this is Lady Brienne, known as the Maid of Tarth.”
Brother Narbert drew up short. “A woman.”
“Yes, brother.” Brienne unpinned her hair and shook it out. “Do you have no women here?”
“Not at present,” said Narbert. “Those women who do visit come to us sick or hurt, or heavy with child. The Seven have blessed our Elder Brother with healing hands. He has restored many a man to health that even the maesters could not cure, and many a woman too.”
“I am not sick or hurt or heavy with child.”
“Lady Brienne is a warrior34 maid,” confided35 Septon Meribald, “hunting for the Hound.”
“Aye?” Narbert seemed taken aback. “To what end?”
Brienne touched Oathkeeper’s hilt. “His,” she said.
The proctor studied her. “You are . . . brawny36 for a woman, it is true, but . . . mayhaps I should take you up to Elder Brother. He will have seen you crossing the mud. Come.”
Narbert led them along a pebbled37 path and through a grove38 of apple trees to a whitewashed39 stable with a peaked thatch40 roof. “You may leave your animals here. Brother Gillam will see that they are fed and watered.”
The stable was more than three-quarters empty. At one end were half a dozen mules41, being tended by a bandy-legged little brother whom Brienne took for Gillam. Way down at the far end, well away from the other animals, a huge black stallion trumpeted42 at the sound of their voices and kicked at the door of his stall.
Ser Hyle gave the big horse an admiring look as he was handing his reins43 to Brother Gillam. “A handsome beast.”
Brother Narbert sighed. “The Seven send us blessings44, and the Seven send us trials. Handsome he may be, but Driftwood was surely whelped in hell. When we sought to harness him to a plow45 he kicked Brother Rawney and broke his shinbone in two places. We had hoped gelding might improve the beast’s ill temper, but . . . Brother Gillam, will you show them?”
Brother Gillam lowered his cowl. Underneath46 he had a mop of blond hair, a tonsured48 scalp, and a bloodstained bandage where he should have had an ear.
Podrick gasped49. “The horse bit off your ear?”
Gillam nodded, and covered his head again.
“Forgive me, brother,” said Ser Hyle, “but I might take the other ear, if you approached me with a pair of shears50.”
The jest did not sit well with Brother Narbert. “You are a knight51, ser. Driftwood is a beast of burden. The Smith gave men horses to help them in their labors52.” He turned away. “If you will. Elder Brother will no doubt be waiting.”
The slope was steeper than it had looked from across the mudflats. To ease it, the brothers had erected53 a flight of wooden steps that wandered back and forth54 across the hillside and amongst the buildings. After a long day in the saddle Brienne was glad for a chance to stretch her legs.
They passed a dozen brothers of the order on their way up; cowled men in dun-and-brown who gave them curious looks as they went by, but spoke55 no word of greeting. One was leading a pair of milk cows toward a low barn roofed in sod; another worked a butter churn. On the upper slopes they saw three boys driving sheep, and higher still they passed a lichyard where a brother bigger than Brienne was struggling to dig a grave. From the way he moved, it was plain to see that he was lame56. As he flung a spadeful of the stony57 soil over one shoulder, some chanced to spatter against their feet. “Be more watchful58 there,” chided Brother Narbert. “Septon Meribald might have gotten a mouthful of dirt.” The gravedigger lowered his head. When Dog went to sniff20 him he dropped his spade and scratched his ear.
“A novice,” explained Narbert.
“Who is the grave for?” asked Ser Hyle, as they resumed their climb up the wooden steps.
“Brother Clement59, may the Father judge him justly.”
“Was he old?” asked Podrick Payne.
“If you consider eight-and-forty old, aye, but it was not the years that killed him. He died of wounds he got at Saltpans. He had taken some of our mead60 to the market there, on the day the outlaws61 descended62 on the town.”
“The Hound?” said Brienne.
“Another, just as brutal63. He cut poor Clement’s tongue out when he would not speak. Since he had taken a vow of silence, the raider said he had no need of it. The Elder Brother will know more. He keeps the worst of the tidings from outside to himself, so as not to disturb the tranquillity64 of the septry. Many of our brothers came here to escape the horrors of the world, not to dwell upon them. Brother Clement was not the only wounded man amongst us. Some wounds do not show.” Brother Narbert gestured to their right. “There lies our summer arbor65. The grapes are small and tart17, but make a drinkable wine. We brew66 our own ale as well, and our mead and cider are far famed.”
“The war has never come here?” Brienne said.
“Not this war, praise the Seven. Our prayers protect us.”
“And your tides,” suggested Meribald. Dog barked agreement.
The brow of the hill was crowned by a low wall of unmortared stone, encircling a cluster of large buildings; the windmill, its sails creaking as they turned, the cloisters67 where the brothers slept and the common hall where they took their meals, a wooden sept for prayer and meditation68. The sept had windows of leaded glass, wide doors carved with likenesses of the Mother and the Father, and a seven-sided steeple with a walk on top. Behind it was a vegetable garden where some older brothers were pulling weeds. Brother Narbert led the visitors around a chestnut69 tree to a wooden door set in the side of the hill.
“A cave with a door?” Ser Hyle said, surprised.
Septon Meribald smiled. “It is called the Hermit’s Hole. The first holy man to find his way here lived therein, and worked such wonders that others came to join him. That was two thousand years ago, they say. The door came somewhat later.”
Perhaps two thousand years ago the Hermit’s Hole had been a damp, dark place, floored with dirt and echoing to the sounds of dripping water, but no longer. The cave that Brienne and her companions entered had been turned into a warm, snug70 sanctum. Woolen71 carpets covered the ground, tapestries72 the walls. Tall beeswax candles gave more than ample light. The furnishings were strange but simple; a long table, a settle, a chest, several tall cases full of books, and chairs. All were made from driftwood, oddly shaped pieces cunningly joined together and polished till they shone a deep gold in the candlelight.
The Elder Brother was not what Brienne had expected. He could hardly be called elder, for a start; whereas the brothers weeding in the garden had had the stooped shoulders and bent73 backs of old men, he stood straight and tall, and moved with the vigor74 of a man in the prime of his years. Nor did he have the gentle, kindly75 face she expected of a healer. His head was large and square, his eyes shrewd, his nose veined and red. Though he wore a tonsure47, his scalp was as stubbly as his heavy jaw25.
He looks more like a man made to break bones than to heal one, thought the Maid of Tarth, as the Elder Brother strode across the room to embrace Septon Meribald and pat Dog. “It is always a glad day when our friends Meribald and Dog honor us with another visit,” he announced, before turning to his other guests. “And new faces are always welcome. We see so few of them.”
Meribald performed the customary courtesies before seating himself upon the settle. Unlike Septon Narbert, the Elder Brother did not seem dismayed by Brienne’s sex, but his smile did flicker76 and fade when the septon told him why she and Ser Hyle had come. “I see,” was all he said, before he turned away with, “You must be thirsty. Please, have some of our sweet cider to wash the dust of travel from your throats.” He poured for them himself. The cups were carved from driftwood too, no two the same. When Brienne complimented them, he said, “My lady is too kind. All we do is cut and polish the wood. We are blessed here. Where the river meets the bay, the currents and the tides wrestle77 one against the other, and many strange and wondrous78 things are pushed toward us, to wash up on our shores. Driftwood is the least of it. We have found silver cups and iron pots, sacks of wool and bolts of silk, rusted79 helms and shining swords . . . aye, and rubies80.”
That interested Ser Hyle. “Rhaegar’s rubies?”
“It may be. Who can say? The battle was long leagues from here, but the river is tireless and patient. Six have been found. We are all waiting for the seventh.”
“Better rubies than bones.” Septon Meribald was rubbing his foot, the mud flaking81 off beneath his finger. “Not all the river’s gifts are pleasant. The good brothers collect the dead as well. Drowned cows, drowned deer, dead pigs swollen82 up to half the size of horses. Aye, and corpses83.”
“Too many corpses, these days.” The Elder Brother sighed. “Our gravedigger knows no rest. Rivermen, westermen, northmen, all wash up here. Knights84 and knaves85 alike. We bury them side by side, Stark86 and Lannister, Blackwood and Bracken, Frey and Darry. That is the duty the river asks of us in return for all its gifts, and we do it as best we can. Sometimes we find a woman, though . . . or worse, a little child. Those are the cruelest gifts.” He turned to Septon Meribald. “I hope that you have time to absolve87 us of our sins. Since the raiders slew88 old Septon Bennet, we have had no one to hear confession89.”
“I shall make time,” said Meribald, “though I hope you have some better sins than the last time I came through.” Dog barked. “You see? Even Dog was bored.”
Podrick Payne was puzzled. “I thought no one could talk. Well, not no one. The brothers. The other brothers, not you.”
“We are allowed to break silence when confessing,” said the Elder Brother. “It is hard to speak of sin with signs and nods.”
“Did they burn the sept at Saltpans?” asked Hyle Hunt.
The smile vanished. “They burned everything at Saltpans, save the castle. Only that was made of stone . . . though it had as well been made of suet for all the good it did the town. It fell to me to treat some of the survivors90. The fisherfolk brought them across the bay to me after the flames had gone out and they deemed it safe to land. One poor woman had been raped91 a dozen times, and her breasts . . . my lady, you wear man’s mail, so I shall not spare you these horrors . . . her breasts had been torn and chewed and eaten, as if by some . . . cruel beast. I did what I could for her, though that was little enough. As she lay dying, her worst curses were not for the men who had raped her, nor the monster who devoured92 her living flesh, but for Ser Quincy Cox, who barred his gates when the outlaws entered the town and sat safe behind stone walls as his people screamed and died.”
“Ser Quincy is an old man,” said Septon Meribald gently. “His sons and good-sons are far away or dead, his grandsons are still boys, and he has two daughters. What could he have done, one man against so many?”
He could have tried, Brienne thought. He could have died. Old or young, a true knight is sworn to protect those who are weaker than himself, or die in the attempt.
“True words, and wise,” the Elder Brother said to Septon Meribald. “When you cross to Saltpans, no doubt Ser Quincy will ask you for forgiveness. I am glad that you are here to give it. I could not.” He put aside the driftwood cup, and stood. “The supper bell will sound soon. My friends, will you come with me to the sept, to pray for the souls of the good folk of Saltpans before we sit down to break bread and share some meat and mead?”
“Gladly,” said Meribald. Dog barked.
Their supper in the septry was as strange a meal as Brienne had ever eaten, though not at all unpleasant. The food was plain, but very good; there were loaves of crusty bread still warm from the ovens, crocks of fresh-churned butter, honey from the septry’s hives, and a thick stew of crabs, mussels, and at least three different kinds of fish. Septon Meribald and Ser Hyle drank the mead the brothers made, and pronounced it excellent, whilst she and Podrick contented93 themselves with more sweet cider. Nor was the meal a somber94 one. Meribald pronounced a prayer before the food was served, and whilst the brothers ate at four long trestle tables, one of their number played for them on the high harp95, filling the hall with soft sweet sounds. When the Elder Brother excused the musician to take his own meal, Brother Narbert and another proctor took turns reading from The Seven-Pointed Star.
By the time the readings were completed, the last of the food had been cleared away by the novices96 whose task it was to serve. Most were boys near Podrick’s age, or younger, but there were grown men as well, amongst them the big gravedigger they had encountered on the hill, who walked with the awkward lurching gait of one half-crippled. As the hall emptied, the Elder Brother asked Narbert to show Podrick and Ser Hyle to their pallets in the cloisters. “You will not mind sharing a cell, I hope? It is not large, but you will find it comfortable.”
“I want to stay with ser,” said Podrick. “I mean, my lady.”
“What you and Lady Brienne may do elsewhere is between you and the Seven,” said Brother Narbert, “but on the Quiet Isle, men and women do not sleep beneath the same roof unless they are wed15.”
“We have some modest cottages set aside for the women who visit us, be they noble ladies or common village girls,” said the Elder Brother. “They are not oft used, but we keep them clean and dry. Lady Brienne, would you allow me to show you the way?”
“Yes, thank you. Podrick, go with Ser Hyle. We are guests of the holy brothers here. Beneath their roof, their rules.”
The women’s cottages were on the east side of the isle, looking out over a broad expanse of mud and the distant waters of the Bay of Crabs. It was colder here than on the sheltered side, and wilder. The hill was steeper, and the path meandered97 back and forth through weeds and briars, wind-carved rocks, and twisted, thorny98 trees that clung tenaciously99 to the stony hillside. The Elder Brother brought a lantern to light their way down. At one turn he paused. “On a clear night you could see the fires of Saltpans from here. Across the bay, just there.” He pointed.
“There’s nothing,” Brienne said.
“Only the castle remains100. Even the fisherfolk are gone, the fortunate few who were out on the water when the raiders came. They watched their houses burn and listened to screams and cries float across the harbor, too fearful to land their boats. When at last they came ashore101, it was to bury friends and kin7. What is there for them at Saltpans now but bones and bitter memories? They have moved to Maidenpool or other towns.” He gestured with the lantern, and they resumed their descent. “Saltpans was never an important port, but ships did call there from time to time. That was what the raiders wanted, a galley102 or a cog to carry them across the narrow sea. When none was at hand, they took their rage and desperation out upon the townsfolk. I wonder, my lady . . . what do you hope to find there?”
“A girl,” she told him. “A highborn maid of three-and-ten, with a fair face and auburn hair.”
“Sansa Stark.” The name was softly said. “You believe this poor child is with the Hound?”
“The Dornishman said that she was on her way to Riverrun. Timeon. He was a sellsword, one of the Brave Companions, a killer103 and a raper104 and a liar105, but I do not think he lied about this. He said that the Hound stole her and carried her away.”
“I see.” The path turned, and there were the cottages ahead of them. The Elder Brother had called them modest. That they were. They looked like beehives made of stone, low and rounded, windowless. “This one,” he said, indicating the nearest cottage, the only one with smoke rising from the smokehole in the center of its roof. Brienne had to duck when entering to keep from banging her head against the lintel. Inside she found a dirt floor, a straw pallet, furs and blankets to keep her warm, a basin of water, a flagon of cider, some bread and cheese, a small fire, and two low chairs. The Elder Brother sat in one, and put the lantern down. “May I stay a while? I feel that we should talk.”
“If you wish.” Brienne undid106 her swordbelt and hung it from the second chair, then sat cross-legged on the pallet.
“Your Dornishman did not lie,” the Elder Brother began, “but I fear you did not understand him. You are chasing the wrong wolf, my lady. Eddard Stark had two daughters. It was the other one that Sandor Clegane made off with, the younger one.”
“Arya Stark?” Brienne stared open-mouthed, astonished. “You know this? Lady Sansa’s sister is alive?”
“Then,” said the Elder Brother. “Now . . . I do not know. She may have been amongst the children slain107 at Saltpans.”
The words were a knife in her belly108. No, Brienne thought. No, that would be too cruel. “May have been . . . meaning that you are not certain . . . ?”
“I am certain that the child was with Sandor Clegane at the inn beside the crossroads, the one old Masha Heddle used to keep, before the lions hanged her. I am certain they were on their way to Saltpans. Beyond that . . . no. I do not know where she is, or even if she lives. There is one thing I do know, however. The man you hunt is dead.”
That was another shock. “How did he die?”
“By the sword, as he had lived.”
“You know this for a certainty?”
“I buried him myself. I can tell you where his grave lies, if you wish. I covered him with stones to keep the carrion109 eaters from digging up his flesh, and set his helm atop the cairn to mark his final resting place. That was a grievous error. Some other wayfarer110 found my marker and claimed it for himself. The man who raped and killed at Saltpans was not Sandor Clegane, though he may be as dangerous. The riverlands are full of such scavengers. I will not call them wolves. Wolves are nobler than that . . . and so are dogs, I think.
“I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey’s sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented111 soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying112 his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me dder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble113 as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for . . . and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear.”
“You sound as if you pity him,” said Brienne.
“I did. You would have pitied him as well, if you had seen him at the end. I came upon him by the Trident, drawn114 by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms. You may have seen a big black stallion in our stables. That was his warhorse, Stranger. A blasphemous115 name. We prefer to call him Driftwood, as he was found beside the river. I fear he has his former master’s nature.”
The horse. She had seen the stallion, had heard it kicking, but she had not understood. Destriers were trained to kick and bite. In war they were a weapon, like the men who rode them. Like the Hound. “It is true, then,” she said dully. “Sandor Clegane is dead.”
“He is at rest.” The Elder Brother paused. “You are young, child. I have counted four-and-forty name days . . . which makes me more than twice your age, I think. Would it surprise you to learn that I was once a knight?”
“No. You look more like a knight than you do a holy man.” It was written in his chest and shoulders, and across that thick square jaw. “Why would you give up knighthood?”
“I never chose it. My father was a knight, and his before him. So were my brothers, every one. I was trained for battle since the day they deemed me old enough to hold a wooden sword. I saw my share of them, and did not disgrace myself. I had women too, and there I did disgrace myself, for some I took by force. There was a girl I wished to marry, the younger daughter of a petty lord, but I was my father’s thirdborn son and had neither land nor wealth to offer her . . . only a sword, a horse, a shield. All in all, I was a sad man. When I was not fighting, I was drunk. My life was writ116 in red, in blood and wine.”
“When did it change?” asked Brienne.
“When I died in the Battle of the Trident. I fought for Prince Rhaegar, though he never knew my name. I could not tell you why, save that the lord I served served a lord who served a lord who had decided117 to support the dragon rather than the stag. Had he decided elsewise, I might have been on the other side of the river. The battle was a bloody118 thing. The singers would have us believe it was all Rhaegar and Robert struggling in the stream for a woman both of them claimed to love, but I assure you, other men were fighting too, and I was one. I took an arrow through the thigh119 and another through the foot, and my horse was killed from under me, yet I fought on. I can still remember how desperate I was to find another horse, for I had no coin to buy one, and without a horse I would no longer be a knight. That was all that I was thinking of, if truth be told. I never saw the blow that felled me. I heard hooves behind my back and thought, a horse! but before I could turn something slammed into my head and knocked me back into the river, where by rights I should have drowned.
“Instead I woke here, upon the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother told me I had washed up on the tide, naked as my name day. I can only think that someone found me in the shallows, stripped me of my armor, boots, and breeches, and pushed me back out into the deeper water. The river did the rest. We are all born naked, so I suppose it was only fitting that I come into my second life the same way. I spent the next ten years in silence.”
“I see.” Brienne did not know why he was telling her all of this, or what else she ought to say.
“Do you?” He leaned forward, his big hands on his knees. “If so, give up this quest of yours. The Hound is dead, and in any case he never had your Sansa Stark. As for this beast who wears his helm, he will be found and hanged. The wars are ending, and these outlaws cannot survive the peace. Randyll Tarly is hunting them from Maidenpool and Walder Frey from the Twins, and there is a new young lord in Darry, a pious120 man who will surely set his lands to rights. Go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days. You have a noble father who must surely love you. Consider his grief if you should never return. Perhaps they will bring your sword and shield to him, after you have fallen. Perhaps he will even hang them in his hall and look on them with pride . . . but if you were to ask him, I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield.”
“A daughter.” Brienne’s eyes filled with tears. “He deserves that. A daughter who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. He deserves a son too, a strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. Galladon drowned when I was four and he was eight, though, and Alysanne and Arianne died still in the cradle. I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter.” All of it came pouring out of Brienne then, like black blood from a wound; the betrayals and betrothals, Red Ronnet and his rose, Lord Renly dancing with her, the wager121 for her maidenhead, the bitter tears she shed the night her king wed Margaery Tyrell, the mêlée at Bitterbridge, the rainbow cloak that she had been so proud of, the shadow in the king’s pavilion, Renly dying in her arms, Riverrun and Lady Catelyn, the voyage down the Trident, dueling122 Jaime in the woods, the Bloody Mummers, Jaime crying “Sapphires,” Jaime in the tub at Harrenhal with steam rising from his body, the taste of Vargo Hoat’s blood when she bit down on his ear, the bear pit, Jaime leaping down onto the sand, the long ride to King’s Landing, Sansa Stark, the vow she’d sworn to Jaime, the vow she’d sworn to Lady Catelyn, Oathkeeper, Duskendale, Maidenpool, Nimble Dick and Crackclaw and the Whispers, the men she’d killed . . .
“I have to find her,” she finished. “There are others looking, all wanting to capture her and sell her to the queen. I have to find her first. I promised Jaime. Oathkeeper, he named the sword. I have to try to save her . . . or die in the attempt.”
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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storks
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| n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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6
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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7
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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8
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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9
penitents
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| n.后悔者( penitent的名词复数 )；忏悔者 | |
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10
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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11
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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12
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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14
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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15
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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16
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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17
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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18
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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20
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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21
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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22
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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23
yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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25
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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26
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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27
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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28
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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29
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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30
squelchy
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| adj.嘎吱声的 | |
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31
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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32
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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33
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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34
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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35
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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36
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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37
pebbled
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| 用卵石铺（pebble的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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38
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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39
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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41
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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42
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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44
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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45
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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46
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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47
tonsure
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| n.削发；v.剃 | |
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48
tonsured
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| v.剃( tonsure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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50
shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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51
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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52
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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53
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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54
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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55
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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56
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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57
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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58
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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59
clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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60
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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61
outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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62
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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63
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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64
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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65
arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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66
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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67
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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69
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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70
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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71
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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72
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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74
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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75
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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76
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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77
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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78
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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79
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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81
flaking
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| 刨成片，压成片； 盘网 | |
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82
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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83
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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84
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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85
knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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86
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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87
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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88
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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89
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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90
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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91
raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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92
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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93
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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94
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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95
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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96
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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97
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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99
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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100
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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101
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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102
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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103
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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104
raper
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| [法] 强奸犯 | |
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105
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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106
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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107
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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108
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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109
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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110
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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111
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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112
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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113
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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114
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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115
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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116
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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117
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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118
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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119
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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120
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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121
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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122
dueling
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| n. 决斗, 抗争(=duelling) 动词duel的现在分词形式 | |
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