Ⅱ 列王的纷争 Chapter67 提利昂
TYRION
他梦见开裂的石天花板，闻到鲜血、粪便和烧焦血肉的味道，空中弥漫着辛辣的烟雾，人们在四周呻吟呜咽，时时发出痛苦尖叫。他想动，却发现自己居然尿了床。浓雾熏得他直掉眼泪。我在哭？一定不能让父亲看到。他是堂堂凯岩城的兰尼斯特。狮子，我是一头雄狮，生亦为狮，死亦为狮。但他痛得好厉害，虚弱到呻吟的力气都没有，只能闭起眼睛躺在自己排出的污物里等待。附近有人粗着嗓子反复诅咒诸神。听着这些亵渎的话语，他疑惑自己死期已临。就这样过了一会儿，房间渐渐消失。
He dreamed of a cracked stone ceiling and the smells of blood and shit and burnt flesh. The air was full of acrid smoke. Men were groaning and whimpering all around him, and from time to time a scream would pierce the air, thick with pain. When he tried to move, he found that he had fouled his own bedding. The smoke in the air made his eyes water. Am I crying? He must not let his father see. He was a Lannister of Casterly Rock. A lion, I must be a lion, live a lion, die a lion. He hurt so much, though. Too weak to groan, he lay in his own filth and shut his eyes. Nearby someone was cursing the gods in a heavy, monotonous voice. He listened to the blasphemies and wondered if he was dying. After a time the room faded.
之后，他发觉自己身在城外，走在一个没有色彩的世界。乌鸦展开宽阔的黑翅膀，在灰色的天空中飞翔，随着他的移动，它们如片片狂暴的乌云，升腾而起，暂别腐肉盛宴。白蛆在黑的腐肉中钻来钻去。灰色的狼，灰色的静默姐妹，协力为死者脱去血肉。比武场中尸横遍地。太阳如炽热的白硬币，照耀着灰色河流上焦黑的沉船残骸。缕缕黑烟和纯白灰烬从火葬堆中升起。我的杰作，提利昂·兰尼斯特心想，他们死于我的号令。
He found himself outside the city, walking through a world without color. Ravens soared through a grey sky on wide black wings, while carrion crows rose from their feasts in furious clouds wherever he set his steps. White maggots burrowed through black corruption. The wolves were grey, and so were the silent sisters; together they stripped the flesh from the fallen. There were corpses strewn all over the tourney fields. The sun was a hot white penny, shining down upon the grey river as it rushed around the charred bones of sunken ships. From the pyres of the dead rose black columns of smoke and white-hot ashes. My work, thought Tyrion Lannister. They died at my command.
这个世界起初无声，但过了一会儿，死者们开始说话，轻柔而可怖。他们抽泣呻吟，他们祈死厌生，他们哭喊求助，他们渴望母亲。提利昂没见过自己的母亲，他想要雪伊，但她不在这个世界。于是他在憧憧灰影中独行，满腹思绪……
At first there was no sound in the world, but after a time he began to hear the voices of the dead, soft and terrible. They wept and moaned, they begged for an end to pain, they cried for help and wanted their mothers. Tyrion had never known his mother. He wanted Shae, but she was not there. He walked alone amidst grey shadows, trying to remember …
静默姐妹们把死者的铠甲和衣服扒下来。杀戮抹去了衣甲上所有鲜亮色泽，只余或白或灰的单调装饰，以及凝结的黑血。他看着裸尸被托起手脚，抛进火葬堆中，与同伴们汇合。武装和衣料则被扔到一辆由两匹高大黑马牵拉的白木马车内。
The silent sisters were stripping the dead men of their armor and clothes. All the bright dyes had leached out from the surcoats of the slain; they were garbed in shades of white and grey, and their blood was black and crusty. He watched their naked bodies lifted by arm and leg, to be carried swinging to the pyres to join their fellows. Metal and cloth were thrown in the back of a white wooden wagon, pulled by two tall black horses.
好多死人，好多，好多。他们的身体了无生气，他们的脸庞呆滞、僵硬、肿胀、骇人，面目全非。修女们脱下的衣服上绣有漆黑的心，灰暗的狮，枯萎的花，以及苍白如幽灵的鹿。铠甲伤痕累累，千疮百孔，衣衫撕裂毁坏，褴褛不堪。我为何要杀他们？从前是知道的，现今却说不上来。
So many dead, so very many. Their corpses hung limply, their faces slack or stiff or swollen with gas, unrecognizable, hardly human. The garments the sisters took from them were decorated with black hearts, grey lions, dead flowers, and pale ghostly stags. Their armor was all dented and gashed, the chainmail riven, broken, slashed. Why did I kill them all? He had known once, but somehow he had forgotten.
他向其中一位修女打听，却赫然发现自己没有嘴，平整的皮肤覆盖牙齿，一点缝隙也无。他吓坏了，没有嘴巴怎么活？于是他开始奔跑，奔向不远处的城市。只要进城，远离这些死人，就安全了。他没有死，虽然嘴巴消失，但依旧是个活人。不，不，我是一头雄狮，雄狮，生龙活虎的雄狮。他好不容易跑到城下，城门却对他紧闭。
He would have asked one of the silent sisters, but when he tried to speak he found he had no mouth. Smooth seamless skin covered his teeth. The discovery terrified him. How could he live without a mouth? He began to run. The city was not far. He would be safe inside the city, away from all these dead. He did not belong with the dead. He had no mouth, but he was still a living man. No, a lion, a lion, and alive. But when he reached the city walls, the gates were shut against him.
当他再次醒来，天已黑暗。起初完全混沌，但过了一会儿，床的轮廓在周围模糊浮现。床幔虽已放下，但他可以看出雕花床柱，以及头顶的天鹅绒顶篷。身下是柔顺的羽床，头后是鹅毛枕。我自己的床，我睡在自己的羽床上，这是我自己的卧室。
It was dark when he woke again. At first he could see nothing, but after a time the vague outlines of a bed appeared around him. The drapes were drawn, but he could see the shape of carved bedposts, and the droop of the velvet canopy over his head. Under him was the yielding softness of a featherbed, and the pillow beneath his head was goose down. My own bed, I am in my own bed, in my own bedchamber.
床幔内很暖和，又有一大堆毛皮和毯子盖着。汗水。我在发烧，他晕乎乎地想。如此虚脱，连抬手的动作，都惹起袭向全身的疼痛，于是他放弃了努力。头好大，像床那么大，重得无法离开枕头。而整个身体都丧失了知觉。我怎么到这儿来的？他努力回忆。战斗的片断零零星星地在脑中闪现。河边的战斗，献上护手的骑士，废船构成的桥……
It was warm inside the drapes, under the great heap of furs and blankets that covered him. He was sweating. Fever, he thought groggily. He felt so weak, and the pain stabbed through him when he struggled to lift his hand. He gave up the effort. His head felt enormous, as big as the bed, too heavy to raise from the pillow. His body he could scarcely feel at all. How did I come here? He tried to remember. The battle came back in fits and flashes. The fight along the river, the knight who’d offered up his gauntlet, the bridge of ships …
曼登爵士。他仿佛又看到那双木讷的眼睛，那只伸出的手，还有映在釉彩白甲上的绿火。恐惧如冰冷的激流，贯穿全身，他再度尿了床。如果有嘴，想必自己会狂呼乱叫。不，不，这是梦，他心想，脑袋砰砰直响。救我，谁来救我。詹姆，雪伊，圣母，谁来救我……泰莎……
Ser Mandon. He saw the dead empty eyes, the reaching hand, the green fire shining against the white enamel plate. Fear swept over him in a cold rush; beneath the sheets he could feel his bladder letting go. He would have cried out, if he’d had a mouth. No, that was the dream, he thought, his head pounding. Help me, someone help me. Jaime, Shae, Mother, someone … Tysha …
没人听见。没人过来。他在屎尿和黑暗中再度独眠。这一次，他梦见姐姐站在床前，旁边是一如既往板着脸孔的父亲大人。好一个梦啊，泰温公爵想必远在千里之外的西境，与罗柏·史塔克作战罢。还有其他人来来去去。瓦里斯低头观看，叹了口气，小指头则拿他开玩笑。该死，你这背信弃义的混蛋，提利昂恶狠狠地想，我们送你到苦桥，你却一去不回。有时他听见他们互相交谈，却不懂他们的语言，只有声音在耳边嗡嗡作响，好似被厚毛毡捂住一样。
No one heard. No one came. Alone in the dark, he fell back into piss-scented sleep. He dreamed his sister was standing over his bed, with their lord father beside her, frowning. It had to be a dream, since Lord Tywin was a thousand leagues away, fighting Robb Stark in the west. Others came and went as well. Varys looked down on him and sighed, but Littlefinger made a quip. Bloody treacherous bastard, Tyrion thought venomously, we sent you to Bitterbridge and you never came back. Sometimes he could hear them talking to one another, but he did not understand the words. Their voices buzzed in his ears like wasps muffled in thick felt.
他想知道战役赢了没有。我们一定赢了，否则我的头早被挂在枪上。既然我还活着，我们一定赢了。他不知哪件事更令他高兴：胜利，还是恢复了些许思考的能力。太棒了，不管多慢，他的头脑正在恢复。这是他惟一的武器。
He wanted to ask if they’d won the battle. We must have, else I’d be a head on a spike somewhere. If I live, we won. He did not know what pleased him more: the victory, or the fact he had been able to reason it out. His wits were coming back to him, however slowly. That was good. His wits were all he had.
下次醒来，床幔已被拉开，波德瑞克·派恩拿着蜡烛站在旁边。他看见提利昂睁开双眼，拔腿就跑。不，别走，救我，救救我，他想大喊，但用尽全力也出不了声，只发出一下闷哼。我没有嘴。他抬手摸脸，每个动作都痛苦而笨拙。他的手指在原本该是血肉、嘴唇和牙齿的地方找到一块硬梆梆的东西。亚麻布。他的下半边脸被紧紧包扎，凝结的膏药面具上只留呼吸和进食的孔。
The next time he woke, the draperies had been pulled back, and Podrick Payne stood over him with a candle. When he saw Tyrion open his eyes he ran off. No, don’t go, help me, help, he tried to call, but the best he could do was a muffled moan. I have no mouth. He raised a hand to his face, his every movement pained and fumbling. His fingers found stiff cloth where they should have found flesh, lips, teeth. Linen. The lower half of his face was bandaged tightly, a mask of hardened plaster with holes for breathing and feeding.
不久，波德再次出现，跟了一个陌生人，一个戴项链、穿长袍的学士。“大人，您千万别动，”来人喃喃道，“您伤得很重，贸然行动对身体不利。渴吗？”
A short while later Pod reappeared. This time a stranger was with him, a maester chained and robed. “My lord, you must be still,” the man murmured. “You are grievous hurt. You will do yourself great injury. Are you thirsty?”
他好容易笨拙地点点头，学士便将一个弯曲的铜漏斗通过进食孔插入他口中，缓缓灌入一些液体。提利昂别无选择，便吞咽下去，当意识到这是罂粟花奶时，已经太迟。学士将漏斗从嘴边移开，他回到梦中。
He managed an awkward nod. The maester inserted a curved copper funnel through the feeding hole over his mouth and poured a slow trickle down his throat. Tyrion swallowed, scarcely tasting. Too late he realized the liquid was milk of the poppy. By the time the maester removed the funnel from his mouth, he was already spiraling back to sleep.
这次他梦见自己参加盛宴，在大厅里举行的庆功宴。他坐在高台上，人们举起酒杯向他欢呼，向英雄致敬。随他穿越明月山脉的歌手马瑞里安弹奏木竖琴，歌颂小恶魔的英勇事迹，连父亲也露出嘉许的微笑。歌曲唱完后，詹姆离开座位，令提利昂跪下，然后用金剑在他双肩各一轻触，起身时，他成了骑士，雪伊等着拥他入怀。她拉起他的手，笑闹逗趣，称他为她的兰尼斯特巨人……
This time he dreamed he was at a feast, a victory feast in some great hall. He had a high seat on the dais, and men were lifting their goblets and hailing him as hero. Marillion was there, the singer who’d journeyed with them through the Mountains of the Moon. He played his woodharp and sang of the Imp’s daring deeds. Even his father was smiling with approval. When the song was over, Jaime rose from his place, commanded Tyrion to kneel, and touched him first on one shoulder and then on the other with his golden sword, and he rose up a knight. Shae was waiting to embrace him. She took him by the hand, laughing and teasing, calling him her giant of Lannister.
他又在黑暗中醒来，面对空旷寒冷的房间。床幔再度放下。有些事不大对劲，发生了什么变化，但他说不出所以然。他孤身一人，推开毯子，想坐起来，但疼痛实在太厉害，很快就得停止行动，一边急促地喘气。脸上的疼最轻微，整个右半身则剧痛无比，而每次举手，胸口便一阵刺痛。我到底怎么了？他努力去想，战斗的场景如梦幻一般。我似乎没受重伤啊……曼登爵士……
He woke in darkness to a cold empty room. The draperies had been drawn again. Something felt wrong, turned around, though he could not have said what. He was alone once more. Pushing back the blankets, he tried to sit, but the pain was too much and he soon subsided, breathing raggedly. His face was the least part of it. His right side was one huge ache, and a stab of pain went through his chest whenever he lifted his arm. What’s happened to me? Even the battle seemed half a dream when he tried to think back on it. I was hurt more badly than I knew. Ser Mandon …
记忆令他惊恐，但提利昂牢牢抓住它，面对它，审视它。他想杀我，不错，这不是梦。他想把我劈成两半，若不是波德……波德，波德在哪儿？
The memory frightened him, but Tyrion made himself hold it, turn it in his head, stare at it hard. He tried to kill me, no mistake. That part was not a dream. He would have cut me in half if Pod had not … Pod, where’s Pod?
他咬牙抓住床幔，使劲一拽。幔帐脱离顶篷，跌落下来，一半压在身上，一边落到草席。稍一用力便令他头晕眼花，房间在周围旋转，光秃的墙和黑暗的阴影，一扇窄窗。他还看到属于自己的一只箱子，一堆乱七八糟的衣服和伤痕累累的铠甲。这不是我的卧室，他意识到，甚至不在首相塔里。有人给他换了地方！他愤怒地喊叫，发出的却是含糊的呻吟。他们把我移到这儿——等死！他一边想，一边放弃挣扎，再次合眼。房间潮湿阴冷，他却浑身发烫。
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the bed hangings and yanked. The drapes ripped free of the canopy overhead and tumbled down, half on the rushes and half on him. Even that small effort had dizzied him. The room whirled around him, all bare walls and dark shadows, with a single narrow window. He saw a chest he’d owned, an untidy pile of his clothing, his battered armor. This is not my bedchamber, he realized. Not even the Tower of the Hand. Someone had moved him. His shout of anger came out as a muffled moan. They have moved me here to die, he thought as he gave up the struggle and closed his eyes once more. The room was dank and cold, and he was burning.
这次他梦到一个美妙的地方，一个坐落在落日之海滨的舒适小屋。墙壁有些歪斜，布满裂纹，地板则是压实的泥土，但他却很温暖，哪怕他们总是忘记加柴，总是让火熄灭。她爱拿这个取笑我，他记得，我想不到添柴，因为那向来是仆人的任务。“我们没有仆人，”她提醒他，然后我说，“你有我呢，我就是你的仆人，”她接着道，“哼！懒仆人！在凯岩城，你们怎么处置懒仆人呀，大人？”他告诉她，“谁懒惰就亲吻谁，”她咯咯直笑，“才不会呢。他们会挨揍，我敢打赌，”但他坚持，“不，我们亲吻他，就像这样。”他示范给她看。“先吻手指头，一根根挨着吻，然后吻手腕，对，再到手肘内侧，接着吻他们好玩的耳朵，我们的仆人都有好玩的耳朵。别笑！然后我们吻他们的脸蛋，吻他们的鼻子，上面有个小痣，这儿，嗯，就像这个，然后再吻他们可爱的额头，头发，嘴唇，他们的……唔，唔……嘴……嗯……”
He dreamed of a better place, a snug little cottage by the sunset sea. The walls were lopsided and cracked and the floor had been made of packed earth, but he had always been warm there, even when they let the fire go out. She used to tease me about that, he remembered. I never thought to feed the fire, that had always been a servant’s task. “We have no servants,” she would remind me, and I would say, “You have me, I’m your servant,” and she would say, “A lazy servant. What do they do with lazy servants in Casterly Rock, my lord?” and he would tell her, “They kiss them.” That would always make her giggle. “They do not neither. They beat them, I bet,” she would say, but he would insist, “No, they kiss them, just like this.” He would show her how. “They kiss their fingers first, every one, and they kiss their wrists, yes, and inside their elbows. Then they kiss their funny ears, all our servants have funny ears. Stop laughing! And they kiss their cheeks and they kiss their noses with the little bump in them, there, so, like that, and they kiss their sweet brows and their hair and their lips, their … mmmm … mouths … so …”
他们会亲吻几个小时，然后懒洋洋地靠在床上，一整天一整天，什么也不做，听大海的波涛，抚摸彼此的身体。她的身体是他的奇迹，而她似乎也从他的身体中找到乐趣。她常为他唱歌。我爱上一位美如夏日的姑娘，阳光照在她的秀发。“我爱你，提利昂，”夜里入睡前，她在他耳边低语，“我爱你的嘴唇。我爱你的声音，我爱你对我说的话，我爱你给我的温柔。我爱你的脸。”
They would kiss for hours, and spend whole days doing no more than lolling in bed, listening to the waves, and touching each other. Her body was a wonder to him, and she seemed to find delight in his. Sometimes she would sing to him. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair. “I love you, Tyrion,” she would whisper before they went to sleep at night. “I love your lips. I love your voice, and the words you say to me, and how you treat me gentle. I love your face.”
“我的脸？”
“My face?”
“是的，是的。我还爱你的手，爱它们的抚摸。你的命根子，我爱你的命根子，爱它在我体内的感觉。”
“Yes. Yes. I love your hands, and how you touch me. Your cock, I love your cock, I love how it feels when it’s in me.”
“它也爱你，我的夫人。”
“It loves you too, my lady.”
“我爱说你的名字。提利昂·兰尼斯特。它跟我很配。我指的不是兰尼斯特，而是另外一半。提利昂和泰莎。泰莎和提利昂。提利昂。我的提利昂大人……”
“I love to say your name. Tyrion Lannister. It goes with mine. Not the Lannister, t’other part. Tyrion and Tysha. Tysha and Tyrion. Tyrion. My lord Tyrion …”
谎言，他心想，全是假的，全是为了钱，她是个妓女，詹姆找的妓女，詹姆送的礼物，我的谎言夫人。她的面容渐渐隐去，融化在泪水里，即便如此，他仍能听见她遥远微弱的声音，呼唤着他的名字。“……大人，您听得见吗？大人？提利昂？大人？大人？”
Lies, he thought, all feigned, all for gold, she was a whore, Jaime’s whore, Jaime’s gift, my lady of the lie. Her face seemed to fade away, dissolving behind a veil of tears, but even after she was gone he could still hear the faint, far-off sound of her voice, calling his name. “… my lord, can you hear me? My lord? Tyrion? My lord? My lord?”
他挣脱罂粟花奶引起的混沌睡眠，看到头顶有一张柔软粉红的脸。他又回到了那间潮湿阴冷的房间，四周是扯下的床幔，这张脸不是她，太圆，且带着一缕棕色胡须。“您渴吗，大人？我给您准备了奶，可口的奶。您别动，不，安静下来，您需要休息。”他潮湿粉红的手一边拿着铜漏斗，一边拿着瓶子。
Through a haze of poppied sleep, he saw a soft pink face leaning over him. He was back in the dank room with the torn bed hangings, and the face was wrong, not hers, too round, with a brown fringe of beard. “Do you thirst, my lord? I have your milk, your good milk. You must not fight, no, don’t try to move, you need your rest.” He had the copper funnel in one damp pink hand and a flask in the other.
那人俯身时，提利昂乘机抓住他那由许多金属组成的链子，拼命拉扯。学士惊得松手，罂粟花奶全洒在毯子上。提利昂扭转颈链，直到感觉金属环陷进肥胖的肉脖子。“再也、不要，”他嘶哑地说，嘶哑得不知自己是否真的说出了口，但他一定是说了，因为学士哽咽着答道，“放手，求求您，大人……您得喝下去，否则伤口疼痛……颈链，别，放手吧，不……”
As the man leaned close, Tyrion’s fingers slid underneath his chain of many metals, grabbed, pulled. The maester dropped the flask, spilling milk of the poppy all over the blanket. Tyrion twisted until he could feel the links digging into the flesh of the man’s fat neck. “No. More,” he croaked, so hoarse he was not certain he had even spoken. But he must have, for the maester choked out a reply. “Unhand, please, my lord … need your milk, the pain … the chain, don’t, unhand, no …”
提利昂放手时，那张粉脸已经变紫。学士向后退缩，用力喘气，涨红的脖子现出链条勒出的深深白痕，眼神更是惨白惊慌。提利昂举手，示意除去硬邦邦的面具。他一次又一次地做手势。
The pink face was beginning to purple when Tyrion let go. The maester reeled back, sucking in air. His reddened throat showed deep white gouges where the links had pressed. His eyes were white too. Tyrion raised a hand to his face and made a ripping motion over the hardened mask. And again. And again.
“您……您想除掉绷带，是吗？”学士终于道，“可我不……这……这很不明智，大人。您尚未痊愈，太后会……”
“You … you want the bandages off, is that it?” the maester said at last. “But I’m not to … that would be … be most unwise, my lord. You are not yet healed, the queen would …”
提起姐姐，提利昂怒火冲天。那么，你也是她的人？他指指学士，然后捏手成拳。挤压，窒息，一个誓言！除非这呆瓜照他吩咐做。
The mention of his sister made Tyrion growl. Are you one of hers, then? He pointed a finger at the maester, then coiled his hand into a fist. Crushing, choking, a promise, unless the fool did as he was bid.
谢天谢地，他明白了。“我……我会执行大人的命令，一定，一定，但……这不明智，您的伤……”
Thankfully, he understood. “I … I will do as my lord commands, to be sure, but … this is unwise, your wounds …”
“快、做，”这次他的声音大了一点。
“Do. It.” Louder that time.
那人鞠了一躬，离开房间，随即又带着一把有纤细锯齿的细长小刀、一盆水、一堆软布和几个瓶子返回。提利昂努力向上蠕动几寸，靠在枕头上半坐着。学士一边让他保持绝对静止，一边将刀尖伸到他下巴底，稳稳地锯面具。轻轻一划，瑟曦就永远摆脱了我，他心想。刀刃割破僵硬的麻布，正在咽喉上方。
Bowing, the man left the room, only to return a few moments later, bearing a long knife with a slender sawtooth blade, a basin of water, a pile of soft cloths, and several flasks. By then Tyrion had managed to squirm backward a few inches, so he was half sitting against his pillow. The maester bade him be very still as he slid the tip of the knife in under his chin, beneath the mask. A slip of the hand here, and Cersei will be free of me, he thought. He could feel the blade sawing through the stiffened linen, only inches above his throat.
所幸这个粉红柔弱的人不属于姐姐手下比较勇敢的傀儡。没过多久，他的脸颊感觉到凉气。疼痛依旧，但他尽力不理会。学士扔掉带膏药的硬绷带。“别动，让我为您清洗伤口。”他的触碰轻细，水则温柔。伤口，提利昂想起来，那记突然在眼底掠过的银光。“可能有一点刺痛，”学士一边警告，一边用酒精润湿一块有捣碎草药味道的软布，擦拭提利昂的脸。岂止是一点刺痛，软布所经之处如火烫一般，尤其是鼻子，好似被一根燃烧的拨火棍戳刺拧转。他紧抓床单，深深吸气，好容易没有尖叫。学士啧啧称奇，活像只老母鸡。“留着面具比较明智，至少等肌肉长好，大人。不过，现在伤口总算还干净，很好，很好。我们在地窖找到您时，您躺在一堆死人和快死的人中间，伤口又脏又臭，一根肋骨断了，您肯定感觉得到，不知是战锤砸的，还是摔伤造成，很难说。您胳膊中了一箭，就在肩手交接的地方，伤口有坏死的迹象，我一度担心得给您截肢呢！但我们先用沸酒和蛆来治疗，它似乎愈合得很干净……”
Fortunately this soft pink man was not one of his sister’s braver creatures. After a moment he felt cool air on his cheeks. There was pain as well, but he did his best to ignore that. The maester discarded the bandages, still crusty with potion. “Be still now, I must wash out the wound.” His touch was gentle, the water warm and soothing. The wound, Tyrion thought, remembering a sudden flash of bright silver that seemed to pass just below his eyes. “This is like to sting some,” the maester warned as he wet a cloth with wine that smelled of crushed herbs. It did more than sting. It traced a line of fire all the way across Tyrion’s face, and twisted a burning poker up his nose. His fingers clawed the bedclothes and he sucked in his breath, but somehow he managed not to scream. The maester was clucking like an old hen. “It would have been wiser to leave the mask in place until the flesh had knit, my lord. Still, it looks clean, good, good. When we found you down in that cellar among the dead and dying, your wounds were filthy. One of your ribs was broken, doubtless you can feel it, the blow of some mace perhaps, or a fall, it’s hard to say. And you took an arrow in the arm, there where it joins the shoulder. It showed signs of mortification, and for a time I feared you might lose the limb, but we treated it with boiling wine and maggots, and now it seems to be healing clean …”
“名字，”提利昂喘着粗气抬头，“名字！”
“Name,” Tyrion breathed up at him. “Name.”
学士眨眨眼。“啊？您是提利昂·兰尼斯特，大人。您是太后的弟弟。您可记得那场战役？有时头部受伤会——”
The maester blinked. “Why, you are Tyrion Lannister, my lord. Brother to the queen. Do you remember the battle? Sometimes with head wounds—”
“你的名字。”他喉咙干燥，舌头似乎忘了如何吐词。
“Your name.” His throat was raw, and his tongue had forgotten how to shape the words.
“我是巴拉拔学士。”
“I am Maester Ballabar.”
“巴拉拔，”提利昂重复，“给我、镜子。”
“Ballabar,” Tyrion repeated. “Bring me. Looking glass.”
“大人，”学士说，“我建议……这恐怕，呃，不大明智……因为……您的伤……”
“My lord,” the maester said, “I would not counsel … that might be, ah, unwise, as it were … your wound …”
“拿来，”他坚持。嘴唇僵硬疼痛，仿佛挨了一记老拳。“还有喝的，酒，不要罂粟花奶。”
“Bring it,” he had to say. His mouth was stiff and sore, as if a punch had split his lip. “And drink. Wine. No poppy.”
学士红着脸站起来，急急忙忙跑出去，带回一壶淡黄的葡萄酒，以及一面镶金框的小银镜。他坐在床沿，倒了半杯，送到提利昂肿胀的唇边。没有滋味，丝丝液体凉爽地流进腹中。“再来，”杯子空了之后他说。巴拉拔学士又倒一杯。待第二杯喝完，提利昂·兰尼斯特觉得自己坚强到足以面对自己的脸了。
The maester rose flush-faced and hurried off. He came back with a flagon of pale amber wine and a small silvered looking glass in an ornate golden frame. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he poured half a cup of wine and held it to Tyrion’s swollen lips. The trickle went down cool, though he could hardly taste it. “More,” he said when the cup was empty. Maester Ballabar poured again. By the end of the second cup, Tyrion Lannister felt strong enough to face his face.
他举起镜子，不知该笑还是该哭。那道剑伤，弯曲而绵长，从左眼下一路划到右侧下巴。四分之三的鼻子不见了，嘴唇也少了一块，撕裂的皮肉被羊肠线缝到一起，粗糙的线脚横在半愈合的红色肌肤上。“漂亮，”他嘶哑地说，一面将镜子撂到一边。
He turned over the glass, and did not know whether he ought to laugh or cry. The gash was long and crooked, starting a hair under his left eye and ending on the right side of his jaw. Three-quarters of his nose was gone, and a chunk of his lip. Someone had sewn the torn flesh together with catgut, and their clumsy stitches were still in place across the seam of raw, red, half-healed flesh. “Pretty,” he croaked, flinging the glass aside.
他全记起来了。船桥，曼登·穆尔爵士，左手，剑光。如果我没退缩，那一击会削掉半截脑袋。詹姆常说曼登爵士是御林铁卫中最危险的角色，因为这家伙面无表情，谁也猜不透他心中的打算。我永不该信任他们中的任何一个。他知道马林爵士、柏洛斯爵士、还有后来的奥斯蒙爵士都是姐姐的人，但一直假装以为其他人尚未完全丧失荣誉心。瑟曦一定买通了他，以确保我上战场一去不回。难道不是吗？否则我和曼登爵士无冤无仇，他干嘛来害我？提利昂摸着自己的脸，用粗短的手指拨弄伤疤。亲爱的姐姐，又送给我一份礼物。
He remembered now. The bridge of boats, Ser Mandon Moore, a hand, a sword coming at his face. If I had not pulled back, that cut would have taken off the top of my head. Jaime had always said that Ser Mandon was the most dangerous of the Kingsguard, because his dead empty eyes gave no hint to his intentions. I should never have trusted any of them. He’d known that Ser Meryn and Ser Boros were his sister’s, and Ser Osmund later, but he had let himself believe that the others were not wholly lost to honor. Cersei must have paid him to see that I never came back from the battle. Why else? I never did Ser Mandon any harm that I know of. Tyrion touched his face, plucking at the proud flesh with blunt thick fingers. Another gift from my sweet sister.
学士站在床边摆手，活像一只要起飞的鹅。“大人，别，别乱动，那儿可能会留下一道疤……”
The maester stood beside the bed like a goose about to take flight. “My lord, there, there will most like be a scar …”
“可能？”他不屑的嘲笑伴随着痛苦的抽搐。当然会有一道疤，鼻子也不可能长回来。罢了，他从没让人看顺眼过。“这是我的——教训——不要——再玩——斧头。”嘴唇的伤口很紧，“我们——在哪儿？这是——什么地方？”讲话牵起疼痛，但提利昂沉默得已经太久。
“Most like?” His snort of laughter turned into a wince of pain. There would be a scar, to be sure. Nor was it likely that his nose would be growing back anytime soon. It was not as if his face had ever been fit to look at. “Teach me, not to, play with, axes.” His grin felt tight. “Where, are we? What, what place?” It hurt to talk, but Tyrion had been too long in silence.
“啊，大人，您在梅葛楼，这是太后的舞厅底下的房间。太后陛下特地将你就近安置，才好时时照顾您。”
“Ah, you are in Maegor’s Holdfast, my lord. A chamber over the Queen’s Ballroom. Her Grace wanted you kept close, so she might watch over you herself.”
她当然会，我敢打赌！“送我回去，”提利昂命令，“我要自己的床，自己的房间。”我要自己的人，自己的学士，如果……还找得到可信赖的人的话。
I’ll wager she did. “Return me,” Tyrion commanded. “Own bed. Own chambers.” Where I will have my own men about me, and my own maester too, if I find one I can trust.
“您自己的……大人，这不可能。那是首相的房间。”
“Your own … my lord, that would not be possible. The King’s Hand has taken up residence in your former chambers.”
“我——就是——首相。”努力说话令他疲惫，听到的东西更是困惑。
“I. Am. King’s Hand.” He was growing exhausted by the effort of speaking, and confused by what he was hearing.
巴拉拔学士苦着脸道：“不，大人，我……您先前受了重伤，濒临死亡，您父亲大人已接过重任。泰温大人，他……”
Maester Ballabar looked distressed. “No, my lord, I … you were wounded, near death. Your lord father has taken up those duties now. Lord Tywin, he …”
“在这里？”
“Here?”
“那晚，他拯救了我们大家。百姓们以为蓝礼国王的鬼魂显灵，但聪明人都知道是你父亲和提利尔大人的功劳，还有百花骑士和小指头大人。他们奔袭千里，穿越灰烬，从后掩杀篡夺者史坦尼斯。那是一场伟大的胜利，如今泰温大人搬进了首相塔，辅佐国王陛下拨乱反正，真是诸神保佑。”
“Since the night of the battle. Lord Tywin saved us all. The smallfolk say it was King Renly’s ghost, but wiser men know better. It was your father and Lord Tyrell, with the Knight of Flowers and Lord Littlefinger. They rode through the ashes and took the usurper Stannis in the rear. It was a great victory, and now Lord Tywin has settled into the Tower of the Hand to help His Grace set the realm to rights, gods be praised.”
“诸神保佑，”提利昂空洞地重复。该死的父亲，该死的小指头，该死的蓝礼的鬼魂！“去找……”去找谁？总不能叫这粉红脸的巴拉拔把雪伊带来吧。他该找谁？他还能信任谁？瓦里斯？波隆？杰斯林爵士？“……我的侍从，”他把话说完，“波德、派恩。”在那座船桥上，是波德这孩子救了我的命。
“Gods be praised,” Tyrion repeated hollowly. His bloody father and bloody Littlefinger and Renly’s ghost? “I want …” Who do I want? He could not tell pink Ballabar to fetch him Shae. Who could he send for, who could he trust? Varys? Bronn? Ser Jacelyn? “… my squire,” he finished. “Pod. Payne.” It was Pod on the bridge of boats, the lad saved my life.
“男孩？那个古怪的男孩？”
“The boy? The odd boy?”
“怪男孩——波德瑞克——派恩——你走——叫他来。”
“Odd boy. Podrick. Payne. You go. Send him.”
“遵命，大人。”巴拉拔学士点点头，匆忙离开。提利昂一边等待一边感觉力气从体内一点点渗漏而出。不知自己究竟在这儿睡了多久。瑟曦要我一睡不醒，我偏不顺从。
“As you will, my lord.” Maester Ballabar bobbed his head and hurried out. Tyrion could feel the strength seeping out of him as he waited. He wondered how long he had been here, asleep. Cersei would have me sleep forever, but I won’t be so obliging.
波德瑞克·派恩走进卧室，胆怯得像只老鼠。“大人？”他蹑手蹑脚地靠近床边。这孩子，在战场上多么英勇，这会儿怎反而战战兢兢？提利昂不明白，“我打算留在您身边，但学士要我走开。”
Podrick Payne entered the bedchamber timid as a mouse. “My lord?” He crept close to the bed. How can a boy so bold in battle be so frightened in a sickroom? Tyrion wondered. “I meant to stay by you, but the maester sent me away.”
“让他走——听我说——讲话很辛苦——我要安眠酒——安眠酒——不是罂粟花奶——去找法兰肯——法兰肯——不是巴拉拔——监视他调制——然后带来。”波德偷偷瞥了他的脸，立即移开视线。唉，这不能怪他。“我还要——”提利昂续道，“自己的——护卫——波隆——波隆在哪儿？”
“Send him away. Hear me. Talk’s hard. Need dreamwine. Dreamwine, not milk of the poppy. Go to Frenken. Frenken, not Ballabar. Watch him make it. Bring it here.” Pod stole a glance at Tyrion’s face, and just as quickly averted his eyes. Well, I cannot blame him for that. “I want,” Tyrion went on, “mine own. Guard. Bronn. Where’s Bronn?”
“他当了骑士。”
“They made him a knight.”
连皱眉都疼，“找到他——带他来。”
Even frowning hurt. “Find him. Bring him.”
“遵命，大人。我去找波隆。”
“As you say. My lord. Bronn.”
提利昂扣住孩子的手腕，“曼登爵士呢？”
Tyrion seized the lad’s wrist. “Ser Mandon?”
男孩打个哆嗦，“不——不是我要杀他，他——他——他——死——”
The boy flinched. “I n-never meant to k-k-k-k-”
“他死了？你确定？他死了？”
“Dead? You’re, certain? Dead?”
他怯怯地蹭着脚，“淹死了。”
He shuffled his feet, sheepish. “Drowned.”
“很好——什么也别说——关于他——关于我——关于这事——什么也别说。”
“Good. Say nothing. Of him. Of me. Any of it. Nothing.”
侍从离开时，提利昂已经彻底筋疲力尽，于是他躺回去，闭上眼睛。不知是否会再梦见泰莎，不知她还爱不爱我的脸，他苦涩地想。
By the time his squire left, the last of Tyrion’s strength was gone as well. He lay back and closed his eyes. Perhaps he would dream of Tysha again. I wonder how she’d like my face now, he thought bitterly.