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- Джордж Мартин
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The
red
woman
walked
round
the
fire
three
times
,
praying
once
in
the
speech
of
Asshai
,
once
in
High
Valyrian
,
and
once
in
the
Common
Tongue
.
Davos
understood
only
the
last
.
"
R
’
hllor
,
come
to
us
in
our
darkness
,
"
she
called
.
"
Lord
of
Light
,
we
offer
you
these
false
gods
,
these
seven
who
are
one
,
and
him
the
enemy
.
Take
them
and
cast
your
light
upon
us
,
for
the
night
is
dark
and
full
of
terrors
.
"
Queen
Selyse
echoed
the
words
.
Beside
her
,
Stannis
watched
impassively
,
his
jaw
hard
as
stone
under
the
blue
-
black
shadow
of
his
tight
-
cropped
beard
.
He
had
dressed
more
richly
than
was
his
wont
,
as
if
for
the
sept
.
Dragonstone
’
s
sept
had
been
where
Aegon
the
Conqueror
knelt
to
pray
the
night
before
he
sailed
.
That
had
not
saved
it
from
the
queen
’
s
men
.
They
had
overturned
the
altars
,
pulled
down
the
statues
,
and
smashed
the
stained
glass
with
warhammers
.
Septon
Barre
could
only
curse
them
,
but
Ser
Hubard
Rambton
led
his
three
sons
to
the
sept
to
defend
their
gods
.
The
Rambtons
had
slain
four
of
the
queen
’
s
men
before
the
others
overwhelmed
them
.
Afterward
Guncer
Sunglass
,
mildest
and
most
pious
of
lords
,
told
Stannis
he
could
no
longer
support
his
claim
.
Now
he
shared
a
sweltering
cell
with
the
septon
and
Ser
Hubard
’
s
two
surviving
sons
.
The
other
lords
had
not
been
slow
to
take
the
lesson
.
The
gods
had
never
meant
much
to
Davos
the
smuggler
,
though
like
most
men
he
had
been
known
to
make
offerings
to
the
Warrior
before
battle
,
to
the
Smith
when
he
launched
a
ship
,
and
to
the
Mother
whenever
his
wife
grew
great
with
child
.
He
felt
ill
as
he
watched
them
burn
,
and
not
only
from
the
smoke
.
Maester
Cressen
would
have
stopped
this
.
The
old
man
had
challenged
the
Lord
of
Light
and
been
struck
down
for
his
impiety
,
or
so
the
gossips
told
each
other
.
Davos
knew
the
truth
.
He
had
seen
the
maester
slip
something
into
the
wine
cup
.
Poison
.
What
else
could
it
be
?
He
drank
a
cup
of
death
to
free
Stannis
from
Melisandre
,
but
somehow
her
god
shielded
her
.
He
would
gladly
have
killed
the
red
woman
for
that
,
yet
what
chance
would
he
have
where
a
maester
of
the
Citadel
had
failed
?
He
was
only
a
smuggler
raised
high
,
Davos
of
Flea
Bottom
,
the
Onion
Knight
.
The
burning
gods
cast
a
pretty
light
,
wreathed
in
their
robes
of
shifting
flame
,
red
and
orange
and
yellow
.
Septon
Barre
had
once
told
Davos
how
they
’
d
been
carved
from
the
masts
of
the
ships
that
had
carried
the
first
Targaryens
from
Valyria
.
Over
the
centuries
,
they
had
been
painted
and
repainted
,
gilded
,
silvered
,
jeweled
.
"
Their
beauty
will
make
them
more
pleasing
to
R
’
hllor
,
"
Melisandre
said
when
she
told
Stannis
to
pull
them
down
and
drag
them
out
the
castle
gates
.
The
Maiden
lay
athwart
the
Warrior
,
her
arms
widespread
as
if
to
embrace
him
.
The
Mother
seemed
almost
to
shudder
as
the
flames
came
licking
up
her
face
.
A
longsword
had
been
thrust
through
her
heart
,
and
its
leather
grip
was
alive
with
flame
.
The
Father
was
on
the
bottom
,
the
first
to
fall
.
Davos
watched
the
hand
of
the
Stranger
writhe
and
curl
as
the
fingers
blackened
and
fell
away
one
by
one
,
reduced
to
so
much
glowing
charcoal
.
Nearby
,
Lord
Celtigar
coughed
fitfully
and
covered
his
wrinkled
face
with
a
square
of
linen
embroidered
in
red
crabs
.
The
Myrmen
swapped
jokes
as
they
enjoyed
the
warmth
of
the
fire
,
but
young
Lord
Bar
Emmon
had
turned
a
splotchy
grey
,
and
Lord
Velaryon
was
watching
the
king
rather
than
the
conflagration
.
Davos
would
have
given
much
to
know
what
he
was
thinking
,
but
one
such
as
Velaryon
would
never
confide
in
him
.
The
Lord
of
the
Tides
was
of
the
blood
of
ancient
Valyria
,
and
his
House
had
thrice
provided
brides
for
Targaryen
princes
;
Davos
Seaworth
stank
of
fish
and
onions
.
It
was
the
same
with
the
other
lordlings
.
He
could
trust
none
of
them
,
nor
would
they
ever
include
him
in
their
private
councils
.
They
scorned
his
sons
as
well
.
My
grandsons
will
joust
with
theirs
,
though
,
and
one
day
their
blood
may
wed
with
mine
.
In
time
my
little
black
ship
will
fly
as
high
as
Velaryon
’
s
seahorse
or
Celtigar
’
s
red
crabs
.
That
is
,
if
Stannis
won
his
throne
.
If
he
lost
.
.
.
