Several tis, servants placed new decanters of wine on the table, but I didn't touch them. Once, soone tried to take my cup, but I waved them away and made sure to rember their face. They might not be a murderer, but extra information never hurts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tywin call Jai over and whisper sothing in his ear.
Cersei noticed as well and looked displeased. Apparently, she didn't appreciate all this mysterious activity happening behind her back.
Margery returned, looking refreshed. Her ladies giggled openly, glancing at both and her. I kissed the girl again, pulled out a chair, and helped her sit at the table.
A new bard ca forward — Galyeon of Cuy, a bald, black-bearded man with a powerful chest and a thunderous voice, performing the song "Battle of the Blackwater."
The song turned out to be long. The author claid it had seventy-seven verses. But to , and to most of the guests, it felt much longer.
People paid little attention to who was singing and, more importantly, what exactly they were singing. Lords, common knights, and their ladies were simply getting drunk and stuffing themselves.
Grand Maester Pycelle dozed off and didn't even stir when dancers from the Sumr Islands perford a fiery and very revealing dance.
Only a few remained clear-headed — aside from the guards and security — Tywin, Kevan, Cersei and Jai Lannister, Olenna Tyrell, Varys, Margery, and . I, of course, understand why I didn't drink. But the girl either followed my example or simply wasn't in the habit of getting drunk.
Tyrion got thoroughly drunk. Twice he left to either relieve himself or empty his stomach, but each ti he returned in better shape than before. In this, he was hardly unique — so guests already looked frankly deranged by this point.
Sansa didn't drink at first, but then, whether out of grief or out of joy, she took to her glass with enthusiasm. At the sa ti, she looked indifferent and even bored. Of course, I'm no expert at reading emotions from people's faces, but she didn't seem excited or worried. That ant she most likely knew nothing about any planned escape or poisoning.
They served pork seasoned with cinnamon, cloves, sugar, and almond milk — a dish that both Margaery and I enjoyed. We happily began eating from the sa plate, joking and flirting with each other.
The new singer, Alaric of Eysen — the fourth in line — clearly hoping to earn Lord Tywin's respect, sang "The Reines of Castare." I liked the song, and it was perford and listened to with great pleasure throughout Westeros. It told of Lord Reyne, whose coat of arms featured a lion, and who refused to submit to another lion — his suzerain, Tywin Lannister. Tywin started a war and, without saying a word, exterminated the entire Reyne family from their stronghold, Castare.
And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low,
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that Lord of Castare,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear.
"Your Majesty," Lord Tywin said with imperturbable calm after listening to the song about himself. "They're bringing the pie!"
Well, here cos the climax. It was at this mont that Joffrey was poisoned — either with the wine or with this very pie.
Several people carried in the huge pie, which floated majestically, like a ship on the waves, through the sea of people.
I took a long knife from the table, and Margaery and I stepped down from the platform.
Together, we carefully cut open the top. The pie opened, and dozens of snow-white doves burst out into freedom, circling fearfully around the hall.
The guests roared with delight, the musicians struck up a cheerful tune, and Margaery and I began slicing the pie and handing out pieces. After sending about twenty slices to the most influential guests and relatives, Margaery and I took a few for ourselves. I watched as our piece was sent first to Ser Josib's table. It seems that all the food and drink he consud did not agree with him. However, the fat man persevered and even appeared to be happy.
While Margaery and I were dancing, Ser Josib had already tried the pie and nothing had happened to him.
Then we returned to the table. I no longer felt like eating. I stifled a yawn and caught Margaery's eye — she also looked a little tired.
The master of ceremonies must have realized the guests were growing weary and gave a signal — the remaining bards began performing one after another without pause.
Graybeard, Brobby of Tyrosh, and Langi of Lys finished within about an hour. I liked the last one best.
As soon as the final chords faded, Tywin leaned toward us and said quietly,
"Now, Your Majesties, you must na the best bard."
"Perhaps it would be better to let the audience choose?" I suggested, and Margaery nodded in agreent.
The herald began calling out the singers' nas. Alaric of Eysen received the loudest applause, whistles, and cheers. He was very lucky in many ways— he perford at exactly the right mont, when the guests were very drunk, in high spirits, and still capable of thinking. Moreover, the doves that flew out of the pie were associated with his songs.
And to be honest, I didn't care who won. All this ti, I was paying more attention to the people — their actions and facial expressions — than to the music.
The proud and flushed Alaric was led to the royal table and awarded a golden harp.
Out of respect for the guests, we remained seated for about half an hour, enjoying each other's company for the most part.
"Friends, relatives, and honored guests, it seems to that it is ti to escort the newlyweds to their bridal chamber!" Tywin Lannister rose and raised his cup. "Let's drink to them!"
The crowd roared in response. Hundreds of glasses and cups were emptied in an instant. People were probably thinking that now the most interesting part would begin — the well-known wedding custom in which the won grab the groom, undress him, and drag him to the bridal chamber, while the n do the sa to the bride. At the sa ti, everyone gropes the unfortunate newlyweds, laughs, and makes vulgar jokes, often far beyond propriety.
(End of Chapter)
Good day. This is a new book, and your support is very important to it at this early stage. Please donate your power stones, add to the collection, and write reviews. It will be a huge help!
User Comments
0 comments from readers