冰与火之歌双语阅读009：龙母-一个没有童年的公主

【读你所爱，呵护你的心灵；掌握英语，打开你的第三只眼】

“Danny所说的家只是他们在Illyrio的大宅子里他们住的房间而已。虽然这算不上是真正意义上的家，可这就是他们所拥有的一切了。但是她的哥哥肯定是不想听到这些的。那里不是他的家。就连那座有着一扇红门的大房子也不是他的家。他的手指使劲地掐着Danny的手臂，他要Danny回答他的话。“我不知道”，Danny最后说道，她已经泣不成声，她的眼睛里满是泪水。

…Danny露出了微笑，她挺直了胸膛。”

“Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know.” she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

…Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.”

【本节导读】

在这一节中，Danny 被第一次打扮成像一个公主的样子，去见一个她从未见过的游牧族群的族长Khal Drogo。她的哥哥希望能用她换取族长的一支军队，来夺回本属于他的Westero 帝国。

这一年，Daenerys(Danny)公主只有十三岁，她没有自己的童年，也没有做过一天公主。

不多说了。这一节较长，我们直接进入原文。

如果喜欢，请把它转给和你一样喜欢美剧的朋友吧。有一种学习英语的方法，叫做“读你所爱，顺便提高你的英语”。

如果你只是对中文阅读感兴趣，阅读中文也一定会有所收获的。请直接跳过【刘博士英语突破学习法】的内容。

【刘博士英语突破学习法】：阅读——跟读——听读。

1） 如果你的英语学习重点是阅读突破，那么在理解中文译文内容后，请转向英语文本的阅读，你会发现英语没有想象的那么难。请在合适的时候转向直接阅读英语原文。英语阅读突破是一个自然的过程。当你习惯了无需中文辅助的英语阅读时，你就会自己知道你是否取得了阅读的突破。

2） 如果你的英语突破重点还包括口语和听力。请在熟读英语原文以后，开始跟着音频跟读和听读，直到可以完整的跟读和听读理解为止。

3） 以口语为突破的学习者，请跟读音频练习，直到你无需文本资料也可以自然流利跟读为止。

4） 以听力为突破的学习者，请看着文本资料听读音频，直到你无需文本也可以自然听懂为止。

【刘博士译文】

门外传来了轻轻的敲门声。“进来吧，”Danny说着，一边从窗口转过身来。Ilyrio的仆人们走了进来，鞠了个躬，然后开始干起活来。他们都是奴隶，他们是绅士的众多Dothrak族的某个朋友送给绅士的礼物。自由城Pentos是没有奴隶制度的。尽管如此，他们还是奴隶。其中那位老妇人个子矮小，头发灰白，看上去像只老鼠一般。她从不说话，不过另一个年轻女孩则是说个不停。年轻女孩深得Illyrio的宠爱，她是一个金发碧眼的16岁少女，喜欢一边干活一边唠叨个没完。

他们用从厨房提来热水倒在浴盆里，然后又在浴盆里洒了些芳香精油。年轻女孩把Danny的粗布外套从头上脱去，扶着她走进浴盆。浴盆里的水滚烫，可是Danny没有退缩，也没有烫得叫出声来。她喜欢这种滚烫。她觉得这样才能把自己洗得干净。而且，她的哥哥也经常告诉她，Targaryen家族的人是从来不怕烫的。他总是说。“我们是龙的家族，我们的血液里流淌的都是火焰。”

老妇人一声不吭地清洗着她那长长的浅银色的头发，并用梳子轻轻地将她头发里的结都梳理顺了。年轻女孩一边搓着她的后背和脚，一边告诉Danny她是多么走运。“Drogo可有钱啦，就连他的奴隶们脖子上都戴着金项圈。他的部落有十万骑兵呢，他在Vaes Dothrak的宫殿里呀有两百间房子，房子的门都是用纯银做的。”女孩说的可远不止这些，她还说起，族长（Khal）是一个可英俊的男人啦，又高大又凶猛，打起仗来无所畏惧，他是当今最好的骑手，神射手。Daenerys什么也没说。她一直都以为，自己长大后肯定是嫁给Viserys的。

自从征服者Aegon（Aegon the Conqueror）娶了他的妹妹为妻，几个世纪以来，Targaryen家族一直都是在兄弟姐妹之间近亲结婚。Viserys不止一千遍告诉Danny，他们必须要保证血统的纯净。他们的血统是皇室血统，是古老的Valyria人的黄金血统，是龙的血脉。龙是不会与野地里的动物交配的，Targaryen家族的血统也不能混进次等人的血。可现在，Viserys却计谋将她卖给一个陌生人，一个野蛮人。

当她洗净以后，奴隶们扶着她从水里出来，然后用毛巾将她擦干。年轻女孩梳着她的头发，直到头发闪闪发光，就像是一团熔化了的银子一般。老妇人则用Dothrak平原上的芳香花制成的香油涂抹在她身上，她在Danny的手腕上、耳朵后面、胸前各点了一滴。最后一滴，（此处半句省略）。随后，他们给Danny穿上Illyrio绅士为她送来的一件薄如蝉翼的底衫，最后给她穿上礼服，礼服那紫梅色的丝绸把她眼睛里的紫罗兰色衬托得格外明显。年轻女孩又把一双镀金的鞋子穿在她的脚上，老妇人则在她的头上固定好头饰，并把镶有紫水晶的金手镯戴在她的手腕上。最后戴上的是一个项圈，那是一个沉甸甸的金项圈，上面还刻有古老的Valyrian文字图案。

“现在你看起来完全就是一个公主。”当他们收拾停当时，年轻女孩惊叹不已地说道。细心周到的Illyrio绅士还拿来了一面镀银的梳妆镜。Danny从镜子里瞥了一眼自己的样子。她心里想，的确是一位公主。但她又记起来年轻女孩说过的话，Drogo族长是那么有钱，连他的奴隶们都会戴着金项圈的。Danny突然感到一阵寒意，她那露着的胳膊上起了一层鸡皮疙瘩。

她的哥哥在门厅里的阴凉处等着她，他坐在一个水池边，他的手在水里轻轻滑动着。看见Danny出现，他站了起来，用挑剔的眼光上下打量着她。“站着别动，”他说，“再转过身去。好，不错。你看上去……”

“高贵之极，”Illyrio绅士一边说着，一边从一道拱门里走了进来。对于他这样一个身型巨大的人来说，他的步伐可以说优雅的不可思议。当他走动的时候，他肚子上那一圈圈的肥肉在他那火焰色的真丝长袍下不断抖动着。他的每根手指上都能看到有宝石在闪闪发光，他的仆人还把他那分了叉的黄胡须给上了油，胡须金光闪闪的就像是真的金子一样。“愿光明之主在这最幸运的一天赐福于你，Daenerys公主，”绅士一边说着一边拿起了Danny的手。他低头鞠了个躬，透过他那金色的胡须，可以隐约瞥见他嘴里参差不齐的黄牙。“她真是一个尤物，陛下，一个尤物”，绅士对Danny的哥哥说道。“Drogo肯定会神不守舍的。”

“她太瘦了，”Viserys说道。他的头发和Danny一样是金中带银的颜色，头发整齐地梳到脑后，并用一枚龙骨饰针别在一起。这个发型突出了他脸上那坚硬而削瘦的线条，使他看起来非常严厉。他把一只手放在Illyrio借给他的那把剑的剑柄上，然后说道：“你肯定Drogo族长会喜欢年龄这么小的女人吗？”

“她可是有皇室血统的。她也已经成人，配得上族长了，”Illyrio回答说。他已经不止一次这么说了。“你看看她。她那一头金中带银的头发，还有那双紫色的眼睛……她肯定是古老的Valyria人的血脉，毫无疑问，毫无疑问……出身又高贵，又是老国王的女儿，又是新国王的妹妹，她没法不让我们的Drogo族长着迷的。”当Illyrio松开Daenerys的手时，她发现自己全身在发抖。

“我猜也是如此，”她的哥哥将信将疑地说，“那些野蛮人的口味是很奇怪的，比如喜欢男孩子、马、羊……”

Illyrio说道：“最好不要向Drogo族长提这些事情”。

她哥哥那淡紫色的眼睛里闪过一道愤怒，“你当我是个傻瓜吗？”

绅士微微鞠了一躬。“我当你是国王。只是国王往往缺乏普通人的那种谨慎。如果我有所冒犯的话，请接受我的道歉。”绅士然后转过身去，他拍了拍手招呼他的抬轿子手进来。

当他们坐上Illyrio那雕刻精美的八抬大轿出发时，Pentos城的街道已经是一片漆黑。两名仆人走在最前面照路，他们提着装饰精美的油灯灯笼，灯笼的四壁镶嵌着浅蓝色的玻璃片。十几个强壮的轿夫把轿杆扛到肩膀上。在布帘遮着的轿子里面又温暖而拥挤。Danny能够闻到Illyrio那浓重的香水下面他身上发出来的臭味。

她的哥哥斜躺在她身边的枕垫上，根本没有注意到这些气味。他的思绪早已越过了狭长海。“我们用不着他的整个族人，”Viserys一边说着，一边把玩着他借来的那把剑的剑柄，不过Danny知道他对于挥剑厮杀从未有过热情。“一万人马，那就足够了，有了这一万名Dothrak的轻骑兵，我就可以横扫七国。整个疆域也会揭竿而起迎接他们真正的国王的。Tyrell家族、Redwyne家族、Darry家族、Greyjoy家族，他们并不比我更拥戴那个篡位者。而Dorn王国的人更是满腔愤怒，巴不得为Ellia 公主和她的孩子们报仇。老百姓也会站在我们这一边的。他们会欢呼着迎接他们的国王归来”。Viserys焦急地看着Illyrio。“他们会这样的，是不是？”

“他们是你的子民，他们也很拥戴你，”Illyrio 绅士和蔼可亲地说道。“在整个疆域，各个地方的男人们都会偷偷地举杯祝你健康，而妇女们则制作好了龙旗并把它们藏起来，等待着你从海峡对岸回来的那天再把它们挂起来。”绅士耸了耸他那巨大的肩膀。“至少我的线人是这么告诉我的。”

Danny没有线人，她不知道在狭长海对面人们都在做什么或在想什么，但她不相信Illyrio的甜言蜜语的，她也不相信Illyrio所作的一切。可是，她的哥哥却激动地点着头，“我会亲手杀掉那个篡位者的，”这个从未杀过任何人的Viserys发着誓，“因为他杀了我的哥哥Rhaegar。我还要杀掉那个姓Lannister的家伙，那个弑君者，我要报这个杀父之仇。”

“那是最合适不过了，”Illyrio绅士说道。Danny看见他那厚厚的嘴唇上隐约有一丝狡黠的笑意，但是她的哥哥没有注意到。Viserys点了点头，然后拨开窗帘，凝视着那无边的夜色。Danny知道，他又在脑海中想像着自己在三江河（Trident）之战中决斗的情景了。

Drogo族长的有九层塔的大宅子就坐落在海湾的水边，它那高耸的砖墙上爬满了浅灰色的常春藤。Illyrio告诉他们，这座大宅子是Pentos城的富绅们共同给送给族长的礼物。自由城邦对于马背上征战的贵族们总是很慷慨的。“这倒不是因为我们害怕这些野蛮人，”Illyrio会面带微笑地向他们解释，“光明之主会保佑我们的城墙抵挡住百万Dothrak大军的，至少红衣牧师们是这样向我们保证的。不过如果花这么一点钱就可以买到他们的友谊的话，干嘛要冒这个险呢？”

他们的大轿子在大门口被拦住了，一名宅子的卫兵粗鲁地将轿子的布帘拉开。这名卫兵有着Dothrak人的黄铜色皮肤和深色的杏仁眼睛，但是他的脸上一根胡须也没有，他的头上还戴着一顶“纯洁勇士”（unsullied）标志的用青铜做成的尖塔帽。卫兵冷冷地打量着他们。Illyrio绅士用他那生硬的Dothrak语向他吼叫着什么，卫兵也用同样的声音回答他，然后挥挥手让他们进了大门。

Danny注意到,她哥哥的手紧紧抓着那把他借来的剑的剑柄。他看起来和Danny心里感到的一样害怕。“无礼的阉人，”当轿子猛地动了起来继续向大宅子进发时，Viserys低声说到。

Illyrio的话语像是抹了蜜一般。“今天晚上会有许多重要人物出席宴会。那样身份的人通常都是有敌人的。族长必须要保证他的客人安全，陛下你就是重点保护的对象。不用说，篡位者会出高价钱来要你的人头的。”

“哦，对呀，”Viserys阴沉着脸说道。“他肯定已经这么干了，Illyrio，这一点我向你保证。他雇佣的杀手一路上都跟着我们呢。我是最后一个龙族血脉，只要我还活着，他就睡不了安稳觉的。”

大轿子慢慢停了下来。轿子的帘布被掀开了，一个奴隶伸出手来扶着Daenerys 下了轿子。Danny注意到，他的项圈只是普通的铜项圈而已。接着她的哥哥也下了轿子，他的一只手仍旧紧紧地握着他的剑柄。最后，Illyrio是由两个身强力壮的人使劲扶着才从轿子上走了下来。

在大房子里面，到处弥漫着香料的味道、一点香（Pinchfire）植物的芬芳，以及甜柠檬和肉桂的香味。他们被人领着穿过门厅，门厅的墙壁上是一幅用彩色玻璃做成的拼图壁画，壁画描绘的是Valyria末日之灾（Doom of Valyria）的场景。大厅四壁的墙上，火把在用乌铁做成的灯架上燃烧着。在一个雕刻着枝叶缠绕的石头拱门下面，一名太监高声吟唱着来客的姓名。“Targaryen家族的Viserys，（他是）他们家族的第三代传人，”太监的声音尖利而甜美，“他是Andal人、Rhoynar人的和第一代人类（the First Men）的王，他是七国之主和疆域的保护者。他的妹妹是风暴之子Daenerys，是龙石岛的公主。还有尊贵的东道主Illyrio Mopatis，（他是）自由城Pentos的绅士。”

他们从太监身边走过，走进了一个有着许多廊柱的庭院，院子里长满了浅白色的常春藤。月光把常春藤的叶子染成了骨头一般的暗色和银白的亮色，宾客们就在这明暗交错的枝叶间穿行着。许多来宾都是Dothrak的骑兵首领，他们身材高大，皮肤是红棕色的，他们那长长的胡须上都系着金属环，他们那乌黑的头发都梳成了辫子，抹了油，还系着铃铛。不过，客人当中也有来自Pentos城、Myr城以及Tyrosh城的雇佣军首领，一位红衣牧师甚至比Illyrio还要胖，还有来自Ibben港的全身毛发都很浓的人，以及来自夏季岛（Summer Isles）的皮肤黑得像乌木一样的贵族们。Daenerys充满好奇地看着这些人…突然间，她感到了一阵恐惧，她意识到自己是这里唯一的女性。

Illyrio小声对他们说道，“那三个人是Drogo的血盟兄弟，就在那儿。”他又说到，“柱子旁边的那个人是Moro族长和他的儿子Rhogoro。那个绿胡子的人是Tyrosh城执政官的兄弟，他身后的那个人是Jorah Mormont爵士。”

这个爵士的家族名字引起了Daenery的注意。“他是一名受封骑士？”

“一点不假。”Illyrio透过他的大胡子笑着。“他是牧师长用七种神油亲自册封的骑士。”

“他在这儿做什么呢？”Danny脱口而出。

“篡位者想要他的脑袋，”Illyrio告诉他们，“其实就是一些小小的冒犯而已。他把一些逮着的偷猎者卖给了Tyrosh的奴隶贩子，而没有把他们送到黑夜守护营去。这真是荒谬的法律。一个人应该有权力决定处置自己的动产的。”

“我倒想在晚宴结束以后跟这个Jorah爵士聊一聊，”Danny的哥哥说。Danny充满好奇地看着这个骑士。他是一个年长的人，有四十多岁了，已经开始秃顶，不过看上去依旧强壮有形。他没有穿丝绸和棉质的礼服，而是穿着羊毛和皮革外套。他的贴身外套是深绿色的，上面绣着的形状似乎是一只用两条后腿站立的黑熊。

Danny还在看着这个来自她从未谋面的故乡的陌生人时，Illyrio绅士把他那潮湿的手搭在了Danny光着的肩膀上，“我可爱的公主，你看那边，”他低语道，“那个人就是族长。”

Danny想逃走躲起来，但是她的哥哥正盯着她呢。如果她让哥哥不高兴的话，她知道她会把龙给吵醒的。她忐忑不安地转过身来，看着那个Viserys希望在今晚结束前会向她求婚的那个男人。

Danny心里想，那个年轻女奴说得不算太离谱。Drogo族长比屋子里个子最高的人都要高出一个头来，然而，他的脚步却异乎寻常得轻盈，动作优雅得就像Illyrio家里私家动物园中的美洲豹一般。族长比Danny想的要年轻，还不到三十岁。他的皮肤是黝亮的紫铜色，他那浓浓的胡子上系着黄金和青铜做的圆环。

“我得先去向他请个安，”Illyrio说,“在这儿等着我，我会带他过来找你们的。”

Illyrio颤颤巍巍地向族长走去。Danny的哥哥猛地抓住Danny的手臂，他的手指掐得那么使劲，Danny疼得要叫出来。“你看见他的辫子了吗，我的乖妹妹？”

Drogo的辫子抹着浓浓的香油，漆黑如午夜。辫子上挂着许多的小铃铛，Drogo 走动时，铃铛就轻轻地叮咚作响。他的辫子长长地垂过他的腰带，甚至低过他的臀部，辫子尖一直碰到他的大腿根。

“你看见那辫子有多长吗？”Viserys说,“如果Dothrak人在战斗中输了，他们就会剪掉他们的辫子表示耻辱，这样全世界都会知道他们的羞耻。Drogo族长从未输过一场战斗。他简直就是龙族的征服者Aegon王转世，而你会当他的王后。”

Danny看着Drogo 族长。他的面容坚硬而残忍，他的眼睛如黑玛瑙一般冰冷又深邃。如果Danny惹恼了她哥哥这只巨龙，她的哥哥也许有时会打伤她，但他的哥哥远没有这个人那样让她害怕。“我不想当他的王后，”Danny听到自己用微弱的声音在说，“求你了，求你了，Viserys，我不想这样，我想要回家。”

“回家？”Viserys压低嗓音，但是Danny能够听出他语调里的怒火。“我们怎么回家，我的乖妹妹？他们把我们的家给夺走了！”他把Danny拉到一处其他人看不见的黑暗角落，他的手指尖深深嵌入她的皮肤。“我们怎么回家？”他重复道。Viserys所说的家是指王城（King’s Landing），龙石岛（Dragonstone），以及他们所失去的整个帝国。

Danny所说的家只是他们在Illyrio的大宅子里他们住的房间而已。虽然这算不上是真正意义上的家，可这是他们所拥有的一切了。但是她的哥哥肯定是不想听到这些的。那里不是他的家。就连那座有着一扇红门的大房子也不是他的家。他的手指使劲地掐着Danny的手臂，他要Danny回答他的话。“我不知道”，Danny最后说到，她已经泣不成声，她的眼睛里满是泪水。

“我知道，”Viserys厉声说道，“我们要靠一支军队才能回家，我的乖妹妹。我们要靠Drogo族长的军队，只有这样我们才能回家。如果这样的代价是你必须和他结婚的话，你就得这么做。”Danny微笑着看着他的妹妹。“我会…（此处省略几十个字），如果这就是我得到他军队的代价的话。你应该感到庆幸的，你现在面对的只是Drogo 一个人。时间长了，你没准儿还会学着喜欢上他呢。现在擦干你的眼睛。Illyrio带他过来了，不能让他看到你哭的样子。”

Danny转过身来，的确，Illyrio绅士正满脸堆笑，亦步亦趋地陪着Drogo 族长朝着他们的方向走过来。Danny用手背擦去了那些尚未流完的眼泪。

“微笑，”Viserys紧张地低声说道，他的手又不知不觉地落在了他的剑柄上。“站直了。要让他看到你有女人样。我的天哪，你的胸本来就够小的了。”

Danny露出了微笑，她挺直了胸膛。

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 tore 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.

Her brother was waiting in the cool of the entry hall, seated on the edge of the pool, his hand trailing in the water. He rose when she appeared and looked her over critically. “Stand there,” he told her. “Turn around. Yes. Good. You look . . .”

“Regal,” Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold. “May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys,” the magister said as he took her hand. He bowed his head, showing a thin glimpse of crooked yellow teeth through the gold of his beard. “She is a vision, Your Grace, a vision,” he told her brother. “Drogo will be enraptured.”

“She’s too skinny,” Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe look that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face. He rested his hand on the hilt of the sword that Illyrio had lent him, and said, “Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?”

“She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal, “ Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. That silvergold hair, those purple eyes . . . she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt . . . and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

“I suppose,” her brother said doubtfully. “The savages have queer tastes. Boys, horses, sheep . . .”

“Best not suggest this to Khal Drogo,” Illyrio said.

Anger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?”

The magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense.” He turned away and clapped his hands for his bearers.

The streets of Pentos were pitch-dark when they set out in Illyrio’s elaborately carved palanquin. Two servants went ahead to light their way, carrying ornate oil lanterns with panes of pale blue glass, while a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders. It was warm and close inside behind the curtains. Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Her brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away across the narrow sea. “We won’t need his whole khalasar, “ Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

“They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. “I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

The nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick walls overgrown with pale ivy. It had been given to the khal by the magisters of Pentos, Illyrio told them. The Free Cities were always generous with the horselords. “It is not that we fear these barbarians,” Illyrio would explain with a smile. “The Lord of Light would hold our city walls against a million Dothraki, or so the red priests promise . . . yet why take chances, when their friendship comes so cheap?”

Their palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the house guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face was hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over coldly. Magister Illyrio growled something to him in the rough Dothraki tongue; the guardsman replied in the same voice and waved them through the gates.

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. “Insolent eunuch,” Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.

Magister Illyrio’s words were honey. “Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Such men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.”

“Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

The palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze. Her brother followed, one hand still clenched hard around his sword hilt. It took two strong men to get Magister Illyrio back on his feet.

Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls. Beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. “Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name,” he called in a high, sweet voice, “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos.”

They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them. Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells. Yet among them moved bravos and sellswords from Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh, a red priest even fatter than Illyrio, hairy men from the Port of Ibben, and lords from the Summer Isles with skin as black as ebony. Daenerys looked at them all in wonder . . . and realized, with a sudden start of fear, that she was the only woman there.

Illyrio whispered to them. “Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”

The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”

“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.”

“What is he doing here?” she blurted.

“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”

“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder. “Over there, sweet princess,” he whispered, “there is the khal himself.”

Dany wanted to run and hide, but her brother was looking at her, and if she displeased him she knew she would wake the dragon. Anxiously, she turned and looked at the man Viserys hoped would ask to wed her before the night was done.

The slave girl had not been far wrong, she thought. Khal Drogo was a head taller than the tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in Illyrio’s menagerie. He was younger than she’d thought, no more than thirty. His skin was the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.

“I must go and make my submissions,” Magister Illyrio said. “Wait here. I shall bring him to you.”

Her brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers squeezing so hard that they hurt. “Do you see his braid, sweet sister?”

Drogo’s braid was black as midnight and heavy with scented oil, hung with tiny bells that rang softly as he moved. It swung well past his belt, below even his buttocks, the end of it brushing against the back of his thighs.

“You see how long it is?” Viserys said. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

“Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I do,” he said sharply. “We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”

Dany turned and saw that it was true. Magister Illyrio, all smiles and bows, was escorting Khal Drogo over to where they stood. She brushed away unfallen tears with the back of her hand.

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.”

Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.