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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 116/751
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Tyrion
had
a
morbid
fascination
with
dragons
.
When
he
had
first
come
to
King
's
Landing
for
his
sister
's
wedding
to
Robert
Baratheon
,
he
had
made
it
a
point
to
seek
out
the
dragon
skulls
that
had
hung
on
the
walls
of
Targaryen
's
throne
room
.
King
Robert
had
replaced
them
with
banners
and
tapestries
,
but
Tyrion
had
persisted
until
he
found
the
skulls
in
the
dank
cellar
where
they
had
been
stored
.
He
had
expected
to
find
them
impressive
,
perhaps
even
frightening
.
He
had
not
thought
to
find
them
beautiful
.
Yet
they
were
.
As
black
as
onyx
,
polished
smooth
,
so
the
bone
seemed
to
shimmer
in
the
light
of
his
torch
.
They
liked
the
fire
,
he
sensed
.
He
'd
thrust
the
torch
into
the
mouth
of
one
of
the
larger
skulls
and
made
the
shadows
leap
and
dance
on
the
wall
behind
him
.
The
teeth
were
long
,
curving
knives
of
black
diamond
.
The
flame
of
the
torch
was
nothing
to
them
;
they
had
bathed
in
the
heat
of
far
greater
fires
.
When
he
had
moved
away
,
Tyrion
could
have
sworn
that
the
beast
's
empty
eye
sockets
had
watched
him
go
.
There
were
nineteen
skulls
.
The
oldest
was
more
than
three
thousand
years
old
;
the
youngest
a
mere
century
and
a
half
.
The
most
recent
were
also
the
smallest
;
a
matched
pair
no
bigger
than
mastiff
's
skulls
,
and
oddly
misshapen
,
all
that
remained
of
the
last
two
hatchlings
born
on
Dragonstone
.
They
were
the
last
of
the
Targaryen
dragons
,
perhaps
the
last
dragons
anywhere
,
and
they
had
not
lived
very
long
.
From
there
the
skulls
ranged
upward
in
size
to
the
three
great
monsters
of
song
and
story
,
the
dragons
that
Aegon
Targaryen
and
his
sisters
had
unleashed
on
the
Seven
Kingdoms
of
old
.
The
singers
had
given
them
the
names
of
gods
:
Balerion
,
Meraxes
,
Vhaghar
.
Tyrion
had
stood
between
their
gaping
jaws
,
wordless
and
awed
.
You
could
have
ridden
a
horse
down
Vhaghar
's
gullet
,
although
you
would
not
have
ridden
it
out
again
.
Meraxes
was
even
bigger
.
And
the
greatest
of
them
,
Balerion
,
the
Black
Dread
,
could
have
swallowed
an
aurochs
whole
,
or
even
one
of
the
hairy
mammoths
said
to
roam
the
cold
wastes
beyond
the
Port
of
Ibben
.
Tyrion
stood
in
that
dank
cellar
for
a
long
time
,
staring
at
Balerion
's
huge
,
empty-eyed
skull
until
his
torch
burned
low
,
trying
to
grasp
the
size
of
the
living
animal
,
to
imagine
how
it
must
have
looked
when
it
spread
its
great
black
wings
and
swept
across
the
skies
,
breathing
fire
.
His
own
remote
ancestor
,
King
Loren
of
the
Rock
,
had
tried
to
stand
against
the
fire
when
he
joined
with
King
Mern
of
the
Reach
to
oppose
the
Targaryen
conquest
.
That
was
close
on
three
hundred
years
ago
,
when
the
Seven
Kingdoms
were
kingdoms
,
and
not
mere
provinces
of
a
greater
realm
.
Between
them
,
the
Two
Kings
had
six
hundred
banners
flying
,
five
thousand
mounted
knights
,
and
ten
times
as
many
freeriders
and
men-at-arms
.
Aegon
Dragonlord
had
perhaps
a
fifth
that
number
,
the
chroniclers
said
,
and
most
of
those
were
conscripts
from
the
ranks
of
the
last
king
he
had
slain
,
their
loyalties
uncertain
.
The
hosts
met
on
the
broad
plains
of
the
Reach
,
amidst
golden
fields
of
wheat
ripe
for
harvest
.
When
the
Two
Kings
charged
,
the
Targaryen
army
shivered
and
shattered
and
began
to
run
.
For
a
few
moments
,
the
chroniclers
wrote
,
the
conquest
was
at
an
end
...
but
only
for
those
few
moments
,
before
Aegon
Targaryen
and
his
sisters
joined
the
battle
.
It
was
the
only
time
that
Vhaghar
,
Meraxes
,
and
Balerion
were
all
unleashed
at
once
.
The
singers
called
it
the
Field
of
Fire
.
Near
four
thousand
men
had
burned
that
day
,
among
them
King
Mern
of
the
Reach
.
King
Loren
had
escaped
,
and
lived
long
enough
to
surrender
,
pledge
his
fealty
to
the
Targaryens
,
and
beget
a
son
,
for
which
Tyrion
was
duly
grateful
.
