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- Джордж Мартин
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"
That
one
means
you
no
good
,
Princess
,
"
Mormont
said
.
"
The
Dothraki
say
a
man
and
his
bloodriders
share
one
life
,
and
Qotho
sees
it
ending
.
A
dead
man
is
beyond
fear
.
"
"
No
one
has
died
,
"
Dany
said
.
"
Ser
Jorah
,
I
may
have
need
of
your
blade
.
Best
go
don
your
armor
.
"
She
was
more
frightened
than
she
dared
admit
,
even
to
herself
.
The
knight
bowed
.
"
As
you
say
.
"
He
strode
from
the
tent
.
Dany
turned
back
to
Mirri
Maz
Duur
.
The
woman
's
eyes
were
wary
.
"
So
you
have
saved
me
once
more
.
"
"
And
now
you
must
save
him
,
"
Dany
said
.
"
Please
...
"
"
You
do
not
ask
a
slave
,
"
Mirri
replied
sharply
,
"
you
tell
her
.
"
She
went
to
Drogo
burning
on
his
mat
,
and
gazed
long
at
his
wound
.
"
Ask
or
tell
,
it
makes
no
matter
.
He
is
beyond
a
healer
's
skills
.
"
The
khal
's
eyes
were
closed
.
She
opened
one
with
her
fingers
.
"
He
has
been
dulling
the
hurt
with
milk
of
the
poppy
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
Dany
admitted
.
"
I
made
him
a
poultice
of
firepod
and
sting-me-not
and
bound
it
in
a
lambskin
.
"
"
It
burned
,
he
said
.
He
tore
it
off
.
The
herbwomen
made
him
a
new
one
,
wet
and
soothing
.
"
"
It
burned
,
yes
.
There
is
great
healing
magic
in
fire
,
even
your
hairless
men
know
that
.
"
