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Ser Gregor himself had lost his horse and staggered back across the Red Fork
格雷果爵士失去了战马，身带十几处伤，
bleeding from a dozen wounds while a rain of arrows and stones fell all around him.
狼狈地逃过红叉河，我军则用箭雨和飞石欢送。
"They shall not cross, Cat," Edmure scrawled,
“他们过不了河，凯特，”艾德慕潦草地写道，
"Lord Tywin is marching to the southeast.
“泰温公爵退往东南，
A feint perhaps, or full retreat, it matters not.
大概想虚晃一枪后杀回来，又或是真的撤退。这都没关系，
They shall not cross."
他们永远过不了河。”
Ser Desmond Grell had been elated.
戴斯蒙·格瑞尔爵士兴高采烈。
"Oh, if only I might have been with him," the old knight said when she read him the letter.
“噢，只可惜我没去，”她边读老骑士边感叹，
"Where is that fool Rymund?
“雷蒙德那傻瓜在哪里？
There's a song in this, by the gods, and one that even Edmure will want to hear.
该让他为这场战斗好好谱首曲子，诸神在上，我想这次连艾德慕也乐意倾听。
The mill that ground the Mountain down, I could almost make the words myself, had I the singer's gift."
《碾碎魔山的磨坊》，这名字怎么样？我真该自己来填词呢！”
"I'll hear no songs until the fighting's done," Catelyn said, perhaps too sharply.
“战斗结束前，我不想听任何歌曲，”凯特琳尖刻地说，
Yet she allowed Ser Desmond to spread the word, and agreed when he suggested breaking open some casks in honor of Stone Mill.
但她允许戴斯蒙爵士将胜利的消息传出去，并同意他的提议——大开酒桶为石磨坊的荣耀干杯。
The mood within Riverrun had been strained and somber;
这段时间，奔流城的气氛一直紧张压抑，
they would all be better for a little drink and hope.
给人们一点希望和饮料是再好不过的事。
That night the castle rang to the sounds of celebration.
当晚，城堡洋溢着欢庆的笑语。
"Riverrun!" the smallfolk shouted, and "Tully! Tully!"
“奔流城万岁！”平民们高呼，“徒利万岁！万岁！”
They'd come frightened and helpless, and her brother had taken them in when most lords would have closed their gates.
他们来时既恐惧又无助，是弟弟收容了他们——虽然世上绝大多数领主都会将他们拒之门外。
Their voices floated in through the high windows, and seeped under the heavy redwood doors.
他们为他齐声欢呼，声音流过高耸的大窗户，渗出厚重的红木门。
Rymund played his harp, accompanied by a pair of drummers and a youth with a set of reed pipes.
雷蒙德弹奏竖琴，身边伴着两位鼓手和一个吹簧管的小伙子。
Catelyn listened to girlish laughter, and the excited chatter of the green boys her brother had left her for a garrison. Good sounds...
凯特琳听着弟弟留给她作守备队的这些青涩少年羞赧地笑语，兴奋地叽叽喳喳。这些声音很可爱……
and yet they did not touch her.
却不能触及她的心房。
She could not share their happiness.
她无法分享他们的快乐。
In her father's solar she found a heavy leatherbound book of maps and opened it to the riverlands.
在父亲的书房，她找出一本厚重的、皮面精装的地图册，翻到河间地的部分。
Her eyes found the path of the Red Fork and traced it by flickering candlelight.
在摇曳的烛光下，她的眼睛顺着红叉河道来回巡视。
Marching to the southeast, she thought.
他退往东南，她想。
By now they had likely reached the headwaters of the Blackwater Rush, she decided.
现在大概到了黑水河源头附近，她估计。
She closed the book even more uneasy than before.
合上书本时，她只觉更加不安。
The gods had granted them victory after victory.
诸神把一场又一场的胜利赐给我们：
At Stone Mill, at Oxcross, in the Battle of the Camps, at the Whispering Wood...
在石磨坊，在牛津，在奔流城外，在呓语森林……
But if we are winning, why am I so afraid?
既然我们不断胜利，为何我还心怀恐惧？
