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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 463/751
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"
Is
that
wise
?
"
she
asked
.
"
He
has
no
gold
to
pay
soldiers
.
What
if
he
's
betrayed
?
"
Caravan
guards
were
seldom
troubled
much
by
thoughts
of
honor
,
and
the
Usurper
in
King
's
Landing
would
pay
well
for
her
brother
's
head
.
"
You
ought
to
have
gone
with
him
,
to
keep
him
safe
.
You
are
his
sworn
sword
.
"
"
We
are
in
Vaes
Dothrak
,
"
he
reminded
her
.
"
No
one
may
carry
a
blade
here
or
shed
a
man
's
blood
.
"
"
Yet
men
die
,
"
she
said
.
"
Jhogo
told
me
.
Some
of
the
traders
have
eunuchs
with
them
,
huge
men
who
strangle
thieves
with
wisps
of
silk
.
That
way
no
blood
is
shed
and
the
gods
are
not
angered
.
"
"
Then
let
us
hope
your
brother
will
be
wise
enough
not
to
steal
anything
.
"
Ser
Jorah
wiped
the
grease
off
his
mouth
with
the
back
of
his
hand
and
leaned
close
over
the
table
.
"
He
had
planned
to
take
your
dragon
's
eggs
,
until
I
warned
him
that
I
'd
cut
off
his
hand
if
he
so
much
as
touched
them
.
"
For
a
moment
Dany
was
so
shocked
she
had
no
words
.
"
My
eggs
...
but
they
're
mine
,
Magister
Illyrio
gave
them
to
me
,
a
bride
gift
,
why
would
Viserys
want
...
they
're
only
stones
...
"
"
The
same
could
be
said
of
rubies
and
diamonds
and
fire
opals
,
Princess
...
and
dragon
's
eggs
are
rarer
by
far
.
Those
traders
he
's
been
drinking
with
would
sell
their
own
manhoods
for
even
one
of
those
stones
,
and
with
all
three
Viserys
could
buy
as
many
sellswords
as
he
might
need
.
"
Dany
had
not
known
,
had
not
even
suspected
.
"
Then
...
he
should
have
them
.
He
does
not
need
to
steal
them
.
He
had
only
to
ask
.
He
is
my
brother
...
and
my
true
king
.
"
"
He
is
your
brother
,
"
Ser
Jorah
acknowledged
.
"
You
do
not
understand
,
ser
,
"
she
said
.
"
My
mother
died
giving
me
birth
,
and
my
father
and
my
brother
Rhaegar
even
before
that
.
I
would
never
have
known
so
much
as
their
names
if
Viserys
had
not
been
there
to
tell
me
.
He
was
the
only
one
left
.
The
only
one
.
He
is
all
I
have
.
"
"
Once
,
"
said
Ser
Jorah
.
"
No
longer
,
Khaleesi
.
You
belong
to
the
Dothraki
now
.
In
your
womb
rides
the
stallion
who
mounts
the
world
.
"
He
held
out
his
cup
,
and
a
slave
filled
it
with
fermented
mare
's
milk
,
sour-smelling
and
thick
with
clots
.
