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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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They
had
wandered
since
then
,
from
Braavos
to
Myr
,
from
Myr
to
Tyrosh
,
and
on
to
Qohor
and
Volantis
and
Lys
,
never
staying
long
in
any
one
place
.
Her
brother
would
not
allow
it
.
The
Usurper
's
hired
knives
were
close
behind
them
,
he
insisted
,
though
Dany
had
never
seen
one
.
At
first
the
magisters
and
archons
and
merchant
princes
were
pleased
to
welcome
the
last
Targaryens
to
their
homes
and
tables
,
but
as
the
years
passed
and
the
Usurper
continued
to
sit
upon
the
Iron
Throne
,
doors
closed
and
their
lives
grew
meaner
.
Years
past
they
had
been
forced
to
sell
their
last
few
treasures
,
and
now
even
the
coin
they
had
gotten
from
Mother
's
crown
had
gone
.
In
the
alleys
and
wine
sinks
of
Pentos
,
they
called
her
brother
"
the
beggar
king
.
"
Dany
did
not
want
to
know
what
they
called
her
.
"
We
will
have
it
all
back
someday
,
sweet
sister
,
"
he
would
promise
her
.
Sometimes
his
hands
shook
when
he
talked
about
it
.
"
The
jewels
and
the
silks
,
Dragonstone
and
King
's
Landing
,
the
Iron
Throne
and
the
SevenKingdoms
,
all
they
have
taken
from
us
,
we
will
have
it
back
.
"
Viserys
lived
for
that
day
.
All
that
Daenerys
wanted
back
was
the
big
house
with
the
red
door
,
the
lemon
tree
outside
her
window
,
the
childhood
she
had
never
known
.
There
came
a
soft
knock
on
her
door
.
"
Come
,
"
Dany
said
,
turning
away
from
the
window
.
Illyrio
's
servants
entered
,
bowed
,
and
set
about
their
business
.
They
were
slaves
,
a
gift
from
one
of
the
magister
's
many
Dothraki
friends
.
There
was
no
slavery
in
the
free
city
of
Pentos
.
Nonetheless
,
they
were
slaves
.
The
old
woman
,
small
and
grey
as
a
mouse
,
never
said
a
word
,
but
the
girl
made
up
for
it
.
She
was
Illyrio
's
favorite
,
a
fair-haired
,
blue-eyed
wench
of
sixteen
who
chattered
constantly
as
she
worked
.
They
filled
her
bath
with
hot
water
brought
up
from
the
kitchen
and
scented
it
with
fragrant
oils
.
The
girl
pulled
the
rough
cotton
tunic
over
Dany
's
head
and
helped
her
into
the
tub
.
The
water
was
scalding
hot
,
but
Daenerys
did
not
flinch
or
cry
out
.
She
liked
the
heat
.
It
made
her
feel
clean
.
Besides
,
her
brother
had
often
told
her
that
it
was
never
too
hot
for
a
Targaryen
.
"
Ours
is
the
house
of
the
dragon
,
"
he
would
say
.
"
The
fire
is
in
our
blood
.
"
The
old
woman
washed
her
long
,
silver-pale
hair
and
gently
combed
out
the
snags
,
all
in
silence
.
The
girl
scrubbed
her
back
and
her
feet
and
told
her
how
lucky
she
was
.
"
Drogo
is
so
rich
that
even
his
slaves
wear
golden
collars
.
A
hundred
thousand
men
ride
in
his
khalasar
,
and
his
palace
in
Vaes
Dothrak
has
two
hundred
rooms
and
doors
of
solid
silver
.
"
There
was
more
like
that
,
so
much
more
,
what
a
handsome
man
the
khal
was
,
so
tall
and
fierce
,
fearless
in
battle
,
the
best
rider
ever
to
mount
a
horse
,
a
demon
archer
.
Daenerys
said
nothing
.
She
had
always
assumed
that
she
would
wed
Viserys
when
she
came
of
age
.
For
centuries
the
Targaryens
had
married
brother
to
sister
,
since
Aegon
the
Conqueror
had
taken
his
sisters
to
bride
.
The
line
must
be
kept
pure
,
Viserys
had
told
her
a
thousand
times
;
theirs
was
the
kingsblood
,
the
golden
blood
of
old
Valyria
,
the
blood
of
the
dragon
.
Dragons
did
not
mate
with
the
beasts
of
the
field
,
and
Targaryens
did
not
mingle
their
blood
with
that
of
lesser
men
.
Yet
now
Viserys
schemed
to
sell
her
to
a
stranger
,
a
barbarian
.
When
she
was
clean
,
the
slaves
helped
her
from
the
water
and
toweled
her
dry
.
The
girl
brushed
her
hair
until
it
shone
like
molten
silver
,
while
the
old
woman
anointed
her
with
the
spiceflower
perfume
of
the
Dothraki
plains
,
a
dab
on
each
wrist
,
behind
her
ears
,
on
the
tips
of
her
breasts
,
and
one
last
one
,
cool
on
her
lips
,
down
there
between
her
legs
.
They
dressed
her
in
the
wisps
that
Magister
Illyrio
had
sent
up
,
and
then
the
gown
,
a
deep
plum
silk
to
bring
out
the
violet
in
her
eyes
.
The
girl
slid
the
gilded
sandals
onto
her
feet
,
while
the
old
woman
fixed
the
tiara
in
her
hair
,
and
slid
golden
bracelets
crusted
with
amethysts
around
her
wrists
.
Last
of
all
came
the
collar
,
a
heavy
golden
torc
emblazoned
with
ancient
Valyrian
glyphs
.
"
Now
you
look
all
a
princess
,
"
the
girl
said
breathlessly
when
they
were
done
.
Dany
glanced
at
her
image
in
the
silvered
looking
glass
that
Illyrio
had
so
thoughtfully
provided
.
A
princess
,
she
thought
,
but
she
remembered
what
the
girl
had
said
,
how
Khal
Drogo
was
so
rich
even
his
slaves
wore
golden
collars
.
She
felt
a
sudden
chill
,
and
gooseflesh
pimpled
her
bare
arms
.
