Through the high narrow windows of the Red Keep’s cavernous throne room, the light of sunsetspilled across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of dragons had oncehung. Now the stone was covered with hunting tapestries¹, vivid with greens and browns and blues,and yet still it seemed to Ned Stark² that the only color in the hall was the red of blood.

He sat high upon the immense ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror³, an ironwork monstrosity ofspikes and jagged edges and grotesquely⁴ twisted metal. It was, as Robert had warned him, a hellishlyuncomfortable chair, and never more so than now, with his shattered leg throbbing⁵ more sharplyevery minute. The metal beneath him had grown harder by the hour, and the fanged⁶ steel behind madeit impossible to lean back. A king should never sit easy, Aegon the Conqueror had said, when hecommanded his armorers to forge a great seat from the swords laid down by his enemies. DamnAegon for his arrogance⁷, Ned thought sullenly⁹, and damn Robert and his hunting as well.

“You are quite certain these were more than brigands¹¹?” Varys asked softly from the council tablebeneath the throne. Grand Maester Pycelle stirred uneasily beside him, while Littlefinger toyed with apen. They were the only councillors in attendance. A white hart had been sighted in the kingswood,and Lord Renly and Ser Barristan had joined the king to hunt it, along with Prince Joffrey, SandorClegane, Balon Swann, and half the court. So Ned must needs sit the Iron Throne in his absence.

At least he could sit. Save the council, the rest must stand respectfully, or kneel. The petitionersclustered near the tall doors, the

分享到：