Royce's body lay facedown in the snow, one arm outflung. The thick sable¹ cloak had been slashed² in a dozen places. 罗伊斯的尸体面朝下倒卧在雪地里，一只手臂朝外伸出，厚重的貂皮披风被砍得惨不忍睹。

Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy. 见他命丧于此，才发现他原来有多年轻，不过是个大孩子罢了。

He found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end splintered and twisted like a tree struck by lightning. 他在几尺外找到断剑的残骸，剑身像遭雷击的树顶支离破碎。

Will knelt, looked around warily³, and snatched it up. The broken sword would be his proof. 威尔弯下腰，小心翼翼地环顾四周之后才把剑捡起来。

Gared would know what to make of it, and if not him, then surely that old bear Mormont or Maester Aemon. 他要拿这柄断剑当证物，盖瑞会知道该怎么做。就算他不知道，“熊老”莫尔蒙或伊蒙学士也一定有办法。

Would Gared still be waiting with the horses? He had to hurry. 盖瑞还守着马匹等他回去么？最好加快脚步。

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him. 威尔起身。威玛·罗伊斯爵士站在他面前。

His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard⁴ from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. 他的华裳尽碎，容貌全毁，断剑的裂片反映出他左眼瞳孔的一片茫然。

The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw. 他的右眼却是张开的，瞳孔中烧着蓝火，看着活人。

The broken sword fell from nerveless fingers. Will closed his eyes to pray. 断剑从威尔无力的手中落下，他闭眼默祷。

Long, elegant hands brushed his cheek, then tightened⁵ around his throat. 优雅修长的双手拂过他的两颊，掐住他的咽喉。

They were gloved in the finest moleskin and sticky with blood, yet the touch was icy cold. 这双手虽然包裹在最上等的鼹鼠皮手套里，且满是黏稠血块，却冰冷无比。