Her brother held the gown up for her inspection1.
“This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress2 the fabric3.”
Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through
her fingers like water. Shecould not remember ever wearing anything so soft.
It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. “Is itreally mine?”
“A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling.
Her brother was in a high mood tonight.
“The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well,
and jewels of allsorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess.”
A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she
had never reallyknown. “Why does he give us so much?” she asked.
“What does he want from us?” For nigh on half ayear, they had lived in
the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered4 by his servants.
Dany wasthirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come
without their price, here in the free city ofPentos.
“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands
and a feverishlook in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not
forget my friends when I come into mythrone.”
Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer5 in spices, gemstones, dragonbone,
and other, lesssavory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said,
and even beyond, in VaesDothrak and the fabled6 lands beside the Jade7 Sea. It was
also said that he’d never had a friend hewouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price.
Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard thesethings, but she knew better
than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His angerwas a terrible
thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”
Her brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you.
Be sure youwash off the stink8 of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses,
tonight he looks for a differentsort of mount.” He studied her critically.
“You still slouch. Straighten yourself.” He pushed back hershoulders with his hands.
“Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushedlightly
over her budding breasts and tightened9 on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight.
If you do, itwill go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”
His fingers twisted her, the pinchcruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic10.
“Do you?” he repeated.
“No,” Dany said meekly11.
Her brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection.
“When they write thehistory of my reign12, sweet sister, they will say
that it began tonight.”
When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully
on the waters of the bay.
The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes13 outlined against
the setting sun. Dany couldhear the singing of the red priests as they lit their
night fires and the shouts of ragged14 children playinggames beyond the
walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them,
barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and
no feast to attend at KhalDrogo’s manse.
Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills
and flowered plainsand great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst
magnificent blue-grey mountains,and armored knights15 rode to battle beneath the
banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that landRhaesh Andahli, the land of the
Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the SunsetKingdoms. Her
brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayerwith
him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken
from us bytreachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon,
oh, no. The dragonremembers.”
haesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros
and the SunsetKingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it.
The words were like a prayerwith him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear.
“Ours by blood right, taken from us bytreachery, but ours still, ours forever.
You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragonremembers.”
And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land
herbrother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of,
Casterly Rockand the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn,
Dorne and the Isle17 of Faces,
they were just words toher. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled
King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies ofthe Usurper18, but Daenerys
had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.