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【读你所爱，滋润你的心灵；顺便掌握英语，打开你的第三只眼】
“你要发誓，”她在一间满是血腥和玫瑰味道的房子里哭着说。“你向我发誓，Ned。”高烧已经耗尽了她的力气，她的声音微弱得像是耳语一般。然而当Ned对她发完誓以后，妹妹眼睛里的恐惧消失了。Ned还记得她那一刻脸上的笑容。还记得当她最终放弃对生命的挣扎时，她的手指是那样紧紧地扣住Ned的手，玫瑰花瓣从她的手心里滑落出来，花瓣已经干枯成为黑色。
“Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black.”
【本节导读】
在美剧《权力的游戏》中，Jon Snow的身世一直是一个谜。即便是许多熟读《冰与火之歌》的粉丝们也难以在书中找到有关Jon Snow 为何最终居然是Targaryn家族血脉，是龙母哥哥的真正答案。但是作者George Martin 与香港武打小说的作者古龙不同，古龙常常会先编造一个故事，酒醒了以后再慢慢地为这个故事去编理由。George Martin 则在他看似散乱庞杂的故事情节中又早早地埋藏了另外一段故事，这就是为什么他的粉丝能够从他的故事中完整地拼凑出了故事之前的故事。
我在前面讲述Stark家族背景的时候，曾经说到，虽然Eddard Stark 的父亲将女儿Lyanna许配给了Robert Baratheon, 但是在后来的一场武术大会上，Targaryen 王朝的大王子Rhaegar对Lyanna一见钟情，并将象征美丽女王的玫瑰花献给了Lyanna, 而不是按传统献给自己的妻子Elia 公主。Brandon只是后来听说Rhaegar劫持了自己的未婚妻，没有人知道是否也有可能Rhaegar和Lyanna是私奔呢？
在这一节里，Ned回忆了Lyanna临死前的情景。Lyanna手中紧紧握着的玫瑰花，也许正代表着她与Rhaegar王子的爱情（Rhaegar王子与她的一见钟情就是以玫瑰花为象征的）。Lyanna临终让Ned发了一个誓，Ned一生都没有透露（或者说，这本书以后再也没有提起）。只是当他回到Winterfell的时候，他带着一个私生子（Jon Snow）。坊间都传闻这个孩子是Eddard Stark自己的私生子。即使是他的妻子Catelyn再三追问， Ned也没有提及任何Jon Snow的身世，他的妻子为此永远不能原谅他。
Ned 给他的妹妹发过一个誓言，这个誓言也许就是永不透露这个孩子的身世。也许只有Eddard Stark 才知道他是谁的孩子，也许只有Eddard才知道妹妹真正爱过的人是谁，这人也许不是Robert Baratheon。
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【刘博士英语突破学习法】：阅读——跟读——听读。
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【刘博士译文】
《冰与火之歌》
Eddard (昵称Ned)
来宾们从城堡的大门口鱼贯而入，他们那金色、银色和闪光的钢铁盔甲汇合在一起如同河流一般。来的客人足足有三百多人，包括了一大队的旗手、骑士、忠诚剑士以及自由人骑手等。在他们的头顶上，十几面金色的旗帜在北风中飘扬，旗帜上刻画着Baratheon家族那头戴王冠的雄鹿图案。
Ned 可以认得出许多骑手来。一名骑士那金色的头发明亮得如同纯金打造一般，他一定就是Jaime Lannister爵士了；另一名骑士的脸上有着可怕的烧伤痕迹，他肯定就是Sandor Clegane了。在他身边的高个儿男孩只可能是王太子，而他们身后的那个小个子肯定就是侏儒Tyrion Lannister了。
然而，骑在队列最前面，身旁有两名穿着皇家近卫队（Kingsguard）标识的雪白披风骑士保护着的彪形大汉，现在在Ned看来却几乎像是陌生人一般…直到他从战马上一跃而下，然后一边用他那几乎能把骨头都挤碎的劲给了Ned一个大大的拥抱，一边用那熟悉的大嗓门喊道，“Ned！唉，不过能看到你那张冷冰冰的脸我还是很高兴的。”国王从上到下打量着Ned，然后大笑着说。“你一点都没变呀。”
Ned真希望能对Robert说同样的话。十五年一转眼就已经过去。当他们一同骑马奔上战场去夺取天下的时候，风暴角（Storm’s End）的领主Robert脸上的胡须可是剃得整整齐齐，他那时眼神清亮，一身都是肌肉，绝是年轻少女崇拜的对象。他身高六尺半，比其他人高出一大截来；当他穿上盔甲，戴上他们家族那巨大的鹿角头盔时，他是一个名副其实的巨人。他也有着巨人的力量，他的随身武器是一把狼牙铁战锤，战锤沉得连Ned都几乎举不起来。在那些日子里，他身上散发出来的是皮革和血腥一般的香味。
而现在他身上散发出来的香味真的是香水的味道，他的腰围和他的身高已经不相上下了。Ned最后一次见到国王的时候还是在九年前Balon Greyjoy叛乱的时候，那时他们两个家族高举着雄鹿徽章的旗帜和巨狼徽章的旗帜，联手挫败了钢铁岛（Iron Islands）领主想要自立为王的企图。在Greyjoy家族的城堡被攻陷的那个晚上，Robert和Ned最后一次肩并肩地站在一起，Robert接受了叛军领主的投降，而Ned则将领主的儿子Theon作为人质和被监护人带回Winterfell。从那时到现在，国王至少增加了50公斤（八石）的重量。现在，他的下巴上长满了粗黑如铁丝的胡须，以掩盖住他的双下巴和松弛的下颚，但是没有什么东西能够掩盖住他的便便大腹还有眼睛下面的黑眼眶的。
然而，Robert现在不仅是Ned的朋友，他也是Ned的国王，所以Ned只能回答：“陛下，Winterfell城悉听尊便。”
这个时候，其他的一行人也都下了马。马夫们也纷纷走了出来将他们的坐骑牵走。Robert的王后Cersei Lannister带着她年幼的孩子们步行走了进来。他们是乘坐大轮车来的，那是一辆巨大的双层轿车，由油亮的橡木和镀金的金属做成，并由四十匹强壮的驮物马拉着。因为大轮车太宽了，根本无法穿过城堡的大门，她们只好步行进来。Ned单膝跪在雪地里，亲吻了一下女王的戒指，而Robert则紧紧拥抱着凯特琳，就像是拥抱一个失散多年的妹妹一样。在这以后，双方父母又把孩子们领了出来一一介绍认识，并由双方的家长夸赞一番。
问候的礼节刚一结束，国王就对东道主Ned说：“Eddard，带我去你家的地下墓室，我想去祭奠一下。”
冲着这一点，Ned也爱他的兄弟Robert，Robert这么多年来仍然记得自己的妹妹。Ned叫人去拿一盏灯笼来。他们无需再说别的。王后开始抗议起来。他们从一大早就开始赶路，现在每个人都又累又冷，他们当然应该先休息一下再说。祭奠死人的事情可以先等一等呀。王后刚说了这些话，Robert就看着她一言不发。女王的孪生兄弟Jaime悄悄地拉着她的胳膊，女王于是不再说话了。
Ned和他这个几乎已经认不出来的国王一同走下了地下墓室。墓室的石阶盘旋而狭窄。Ned提着灯笼走在前面。Robert一边下着台阶一边抱怨着，“我都差点以为我们永远都到不了Winterfell了。在南方的时候，当人们说起我的七个王国时，大家常常忘了，你的地盘可是有其他六个王国加起来那么大的。”
“我想您的旅途一定还顺利吧，陛下？”
Robert哼了一声,“到处都是沼泽、森林和荒野，过了关口以北，几乎连一家像样的客栈都没有。我从来没有见过这么巨大的地方空空如也。你的子民都跑哪去了？”
“有可能他们太害羞了，不敢出来，”Ned开着玩笑。他能感觉有刺骨的寒意从石阶下扑面而来，那是来自大地深处的寒冷气息。“北方可是很少能见到国王的。”
Robert又哼了一声，“更有可能啊，他们都躲到雪地下面去了。这个季节居然都有雪，Ned！”国王一边下着石阶，一边用手扶着墙让自己走稳。
“夏末这个时候下雪是很平常的事，”Ned说。“我希望这里的雪没有给你添麻烦吧。这时候的雪通常都是小雪。”
“让你的小雪见异族（见鬼）去吧，”Robert骂道，“那到了冬天这地方会变成什么样呢？我一想到这儿就打哆嗦。”
“冬天的确很艰苦，”Ned承认道。“但是Stark家族的人会挺过去的。我们一直都是这样挺过来的。”
“你得到南方来，”Robert对他说，“趁着夏天还没有溜走之前，你得好好品味一下南方夏天的味道。在高空花园（Highgarden）城堡那里，田野里到处都是金色的玫瑰，你一眼都望不到边的。水果也熟透了，你一放进嘴里就会爆开来， 像西瓜、桃子、李子，你肯定没有尝过那么甜的东西。我给你带了一些来，你尝了就知道了。即便是在风暴角（Storm’s End，国王的老家），那里还有海风吹着，但是天气还是热的不行，你几乎都不想动弹。Ned，你真该去看看那些城镇的，到处都是鲜花，市场上满都是吃的，那里的夏季红酒又便宜又好喝，你光是闻着空气都会醉的。人人都又胖又有钱，天天都醉醺醺的。”Robert 一边大笑着一边把他那便便大腹拍得作响。“还有啊，Ned，还有那些姑娘们！”Robert激动地说着，他的眼睛放出了光来。“我不骗你，在大热天里呀女人们什么礼节都不顾了。她们在河里裸泳，就在我城堡底下的河里游泳。即使是在大街上，天气热得呀，你根本没法穿毛衣服或是皮衣服，所以他们上街都穿着那种短短的薄衣服。有钱人呢可以穿丝绸，没钱呢就穿棉布衫。不过当他们热得出汗，衣服都粘在身上的时候就完全没有区别了，看上去就跟没穿一样。”国王高兴地哈哈大笑。
Robert Baratheon一直是一个口味庞杂的人，也是一个知道如何享乐的人。但是这种说法是无法用在Eddard Stark身上的。不过，Ned还是一眼就注意到了这些享乐让国王所付出的代价。当他们走到石阶底下的时候，Robert已经开始气喘吁吁了。等他们走进了漆黑的地下墓室时，他的脸在灯笼光的映照下显得通红。
“陛下请，”Ned一边说，一边将灯笼在身前划了一个大大的半圆。四周的影子游移闪动着。跳动的火光照在脚下的石头上，又从一长排的花岗石柱子上一闪而过。那些石柱子两个一排，一直延伸到黑暗之中。在每侧的两个柱子中间，死者的雕像靠墙坐在石头宝座上，他们背靠着埋葬他们遗体的石棺。“她在最里头的地方，和父亲还有布兰登在一块。”
Ned走在两排柱子之间在前面带路，罗伯特一声不吭地跟着，不时地被地下的寒气冻得打颤。地下墓室里一年四季都是这样寒冷。他们走在Stark家族祖先的墓室之中，他们落在石头上的脚步声反射回来，在头顶上空回荡着。Winterfell已故的那些领主们目视着他们走过。领主们的肖像被刻在石头上，而这些石头就是他们石棺的封石。他们就这样坐成一长排，他们那什么也看不见的眼睛凝视着无边的黑暗，在他们的脚边都刻有一只蜷伏着的巨狼。当活人从他们身旁走过时，那飘忽不定的影子让这些石像看起来似乎被惊动了一般。
按照古老的习俗，在每一位曾是Winterfell领主的逝者雕像的膝盖上都会摆上一把长长的铁剑，据说这样才能把他们那充满仇恨的灵魂给镇在地下墓室里。那些最古老的铁剑早已锈得丝毫不剩，石头上原来摆剑的地方只剩下了一些红色的锈迹。Ned常常想，这是否就意味着那些鬼魂现在可以在城堡里自由地游荡了呢。他可不希望是这样。Winterfell最早的领主们就如同他们所统治的土地一样的冷酷。在龙族（Dragonlords，如Targaryen家族）从海峡对面来到这里之前的几个世纪里，他们从不屈服效忠于任何人。他们称自己为北方之王（Kings in the North）。
Ned终于停了下来，他举起了油灯。墓室还在他们前方的黑暗里继续延伸着，只是从这里开始，石棺都是空着的，也没有被封上。那漆黑的石棺洞穴还在等待着将死的人，等待着Ned和他的子孙们的到来。Ned不去想这些事。“就在这里，”他告诉国王。
Robert默默地点点头，他单膝跪下，低下了头。
这里并排着有三座石棺。Ned的父亲Rickard Stark领主的雕像有着一张长而严肃的脸。雕刻这座石雕的工匠显然是很了熟悉他的。他带着一种沉默的庄严端坐在那里，他的手指紧紧握着膝盖上的剑。然而在现实世界中，所有的剑都没能救他的命。在他两侧的两个略小的石棺里躺着他的孩子们。
Brandon死的时候只有二十岁。他是被疯子国王Aerys Targaryen二世下令给勒死的。而原本在几天以后，Brandon就要迎娶Riverrun城堡的Catelyn Tully了。Brandon的父亲则被逼着目睹了儿子的死刑。Brandon原本是真正的继承人，他是长子，他生来就是要统领Winterfell的。
Lyanna那时才16岁，但却已经出落成一个可爱无比的少女。Ned全心全意地爱着自己的妹妹，而Robert则更爱她，她本应该是Robert的新娘。
“她比雕像要漂亮多了，”国王沉默了许多后说道。他的目光停留在Lyanna的脸庞上，仿佛他能用意志让她复生一样。最后，Robert站起身来，他那沉重的身体使他站起来的姿势有些难看。“唉，去他的，Ned，你非得把她埋在这种地方吗？”他的嗓音因为记忆中的悲伤而嘶哑。“她不该被埋在这种黑黢黢的地方的……”
“她是Winterfell城Stark家族的人，”Ned平静地说到，“这里就是她的地方。”
“她应该被葬在某处山上的一棵果树下面的，头顶上能有太阳有云彩，还有雨水可以把她冲洗得干干净净。”
“她临死的时候我就在她身边，”Ned提醒着国王。“她想要回家，想和Brandon和父亲葬在一起。”Ned的耳边还时常能听到Lyanna说的话，“你要发誓，”她在一间满是血腥和玫瑰味道的房子里恸哭着。“你向我发誓，Ned。”高烧已经耗尽了她的力气，她的声音微弱得像是耳语一般。然而当Ned对她发完誓以后，妹妹的眼睛里的恐惧消失了。Ned还记得她那一刻脸上的笑容。还记得当她最终放弃对生命的挣扎时，她的手指是那样紧紧地扣住Ned的手，玫瑰花瓣从她的手心里滑落出来，花瓣已经干枯成为黑色。那以后的一切，他都记不得了。当其他人找到Ned的时候，发现他仍然抱着她的尸体，一言不发，满是悲痛。小个子的沼泽人Howard Reed把Lyanna的手指从Ned的手上分开来，但是Ned一点印象也没有了。“我只要一有空，就会给她带花下来，”他说。“Lyanna她……她喜欢花。”
国王抚摸着Lyanna雕像的脸颊，他的手指轻柔地在粗糙的石头上划过，仿佛那是Lyanna真人一般。“我发过誓的，我要杀了Rhaegar为她报仇。”
“你已经做到了，”Ned提醒他。
“我才杀了他一次而已，”Robert愤愤地说。
【刘博士音频】
刘博士英语音频 A Song of Ice and Fire 010 Eddard.mp318:45
【英语原文】
Chapter 4 Eddard
The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.
Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.
Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. “Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours.” The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. “You have not changed at all.”
Would that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm’s End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden’s fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He’d had a giant’s strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.
Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy’s fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord’s surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.
Yet Robert was Ned’s king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, “Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.”
By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert’s queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen’s ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides.
No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.”
Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.
They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. “I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined.”
“I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?”
Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?”
“Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.”
Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended.
“Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.”
“The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.”
“The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”
“You need to come south,” Robert told him. “You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth-melons, peaches, fireplums, you’ve never tasted such sweetness. You’ll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm’s End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the surnmerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich.” He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. “And the girls, Ned!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it’s too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it’s all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked.” The king laughed happily.
Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.
“Your Grace,” Ned said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. “She is down at the end, with Father and Brandon.”
He led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by.
By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.
Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that. “Here,” he told his king.
Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.
There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchers on either side were his children.
Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.
Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.
“She was more beautiful than that,” the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna’s face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. “Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?” His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. “She deserved more than darkness . . .”
“She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Ned said quietly. “This is her place.”
“She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.”
“I was with her when she died,” Ned reminded the king. “She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father.” He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. “I bring her flowers when I can,” he said. “Lyanna was . . . fond of flowers.”
The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. “I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”
“You did,” Ned reminded him.
“Only once,” Robert said bitterly.
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