冰与火之歌·卷五·魔龙的狂舞（上）

角落有故事

?


        The Night’s Watch was sworn to take no side in the quarrels and conflicts of the realm. Nonetheless, Jon Snow could not help but feel a certain satisfaction. He read on.


… more northmen coming in as word spreads of our victory. Fisherfolk, freeriders, hillmen, crofters from the deep of the wolfswood and villagers who fled their homes along the stony shore to escape the ironmen, survivors from the battle outside the gates of Winterfell, men once sworn to the Hornwoods, the Cerwyns, and the Tallharts. We are five thousand strong as I write, our numbers swelling every day. And word has come to us that Roose Bolton moves toward Winterfell with all his power, there to wed his bastard to your half sister. He must not be allowed to restore the castle to its former strength. We march against him. Arnolf Karstark and Mors Umber will join us. I will save your sister if I can, and find a better match for her than Ramsay Snow. You and your brothers must hold the Wall until I can return.


?


It was signed, in a different hand,


Done in the Light of Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.


?


        The moment Jon set the letter aside, the parchment curled up again, as if eager to protect its secrets. He was not at all sure how he felt about what he had just read. Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. “The castle is a shell,” he said, “not Winterfell, but the ghost of Winterfell.” It was painful just to think of it, much less say the words aloud. And still?…


        He wondered how many men old Crowfood would bring to the fray, and how many swords Arnolf Karstark would be able to conjure up. Half the Umbers would be across the field with Whoresbane, fighting beneath the flayed man of the Dreadfort, and the greater part of the strength of both houses had gone south with Robb, never to return. Even ruined, Winterfell itself would confer a considerable advantage on whoever held it. Robert Baratheon would have seen that at once and moved swiftly to secure the castle, with the forced marches and midnight rides for which he had been famous. Would his brother be as bold?

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        Not likely. Stannis was a deliberate commander, and his host was a half-digested stew of clansmen, southron knights, king’s men and queen’s men, salted with a few northern lords. He should move on Winterfell swiftly, or not at all, Jon thought. It was not his place to advise the king, but?…


        He glanced at the letter again. I will save your sister if I can. A surprisingly tender sentiment from Stannis, though undercut by that final, brutal if I can and the addendum and find a better match for her than Ramsay Snow. But what if Arya was not there to be saved? What if Lady Melisandre’s flames had told it true? Could his sister truly have escaped such captors? How would she do that? Arya was always quick and clever, but in the end she’s just a little girl, and Roose Bolton is not the sort who would be careless with a prize of such great worth.


        What if Bolton never had his sister? This wedding could well be just some ruse to lure Stannis into a trap. Eddard Stark had never had any reason to complain of the Lord of the Dreadfort, so far as Jon knew, but even so he had never trusted him, with his whispery voice and his pale, pale eyes.


        A grey girl on a dying horse, fleeing from her marriage. On the strength of those words he had loosed Mance Rayder and six spearwives on the north. “Young ones, and pretty,” Mance had said. The unburnt king supplied some names, and Dolorous Edd had done the rest, smuggling them from Mole’s Town. It seemed like madness now. He might have done better to strike down Mance the moment he revealed himself. Jon had a certain grudging admiration for the late King-Beyond-the-Wall, but the man was an oathbreaker and a turncloak. He had even less trust in Melisandre. Yet somehow here he was, pinning his hopes on them. All to save my sister. But the men of the Night’s Watch have no sisters.


        When Jon had been a boy at Winterfell, his hero had been the Young Dragon, the boy king who had conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen. Despite his bastard birth, or perhaps because of it, Jon Snow had dreamed of leading men to glory just as King Daeron had, of growing up to be a conqueror. Now he was a man grown and the Wall was his, yet all he had were doubts. He could not even seem to conquer those.

角落有故事

36丹妮莉丝（六）


The stench of the camp was so appalling it was all that Dany could do not to gag.


营地的恶臭是如此剧烈，丹尼得强忍住作呕的冲动。


Ser Barristan wrinkled up his nose, and said, “Your Grace should not be here, breathing these black humors.”


巴利斯坦爵士皱了皱鼻子说。“陛下不该来这儿，呼吸这些乌烟瘴气。”


“I am the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?” Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick.


“我是龙血之后，”丹尼提醒他。“你见过拉肚子的龙么？”韦塞里斯过去常称坦格利安们不受困扰普通人的瘟疫侵扰，而至今为止的情况证明那是真的。她记得寒冷饥饿与恐惧的感觉，但从没有生过病。


“Even so,” the old knight said, “I would feel better if Your Grace would return to the city.” The many-colored brick walls of Meereen were half a mile back. “The bloody flux has been the bane of every army since the Dawn Age. Let us distribute the food, Your Grace.”


“即使这样，”老骑士说，“我觉得陛下您还是回城里的话好些。”弥林多色的墙砖已远在身后一里。“自黎明时代开始，痢疾便已成了每个军队的祸根。我们还是分发食物吧，陛下。”


“On the morrow. I am here now. I want to see.” She put her heels into her silver. The others trotted after her. Jhogo rode before her, Aggo and Rakharo just behind, long Dothraki whips in hand to keep away the sick and dying. Ser Barristan was at her right, mounted on a dapple grey. To her left was Symon Stripeback of the Free Brothers and Marselen of the Mother’s Men. Three score soldiers followed close behind the captains, to protect the food wagons. Mounted men all, Dothraki and Brazen Beasts and freedmen, they were united only by their distaste for this duty.


“早上再说，现在我在这里，我就要看。”她双脚一夹她的小银马，其他人便策马随行。乔戈在她前方骑行，阿戈和拉卡洛在后，手执长长的多斯拉克鞭保持病患和将死之人勿近。巴利斯坦爵士骑在一匹斑灰马上走在她右侧。她左边则是自由兄弟会的条纹背赛蒙和龙母卫士的马赛莱恩。60名士兵紧跟在他们的团长身后，保护着粮车。这些骑马的人——多斯拉克人、青铜兽和自由民，他们聚集在一起仅仅因为他们对这项职责的厌恶。

角落有故事

The Astapori stumbled after them in a ghastly procession that grew longer with every yard they crossed. Some spoke tongues she did not understand. Others were beyond speaking. Many lifted their hands to Dany, or knelt as her silver went by. “Mother,” they called to her, in the dialects of Astapor, Lys, and Old Volantis, in guttural Dothraki and the liquid syllables of Qarth, even in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Mother, please … mother, help my sister, she is sick … give me food for my little ones … please, my old father … help him … help her … help me …”


阿斯塔波人则排着每走一码就变得更长的病怏怏的队伍跌跌撞撞的跟在后面，说着她不懂的语言。其他人则没开口。许多人举起手伸向丹尼，或者在她的小银马路过时跪下。“母亲，”他们这样叫她，能听见阿斯塔波、里斯、古瓦蓝提斯语，还有多斯拉克语的喉音，魁斯的流音，甚至还有维斯特洛伊通用语。“母亲，求求你……母亲，帮帮我的姐姐，她病的很重……给我的小孩点吃的吧……求求你，还有我的老父亲……帮帮他吧……帮帮我吧……”


I have no more help to give, Dany thought, despairing. The Astapori had no place to go. Thousands remained outside Meereen’s thick walls— men and women and children, old men and little girls and newborn babes. Many were sick, most were starved, and all were doomed to die. Daenerys dare not open her gates to let them in. She had tried to do what she could for them. She had sent them healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barber-surgeons, but some of those had sickened as well, and none of their arts had slowed the galloping progression of the flux that had come on the pale mare. Separating the healthy from the sick had proved impractical as well. Her Stalwart Shields had tried, pulling husbands away from wives and children from their mothers, even as the Astapori wept and kicked and pelted them with stones. A few days later, the sick were dead and the healthy ones were sick. Dividing the one from the other had accomplished nothing.


我再也无法帮忙了，丹妮绝望地想。阿斯塔波人无处可去，数千人滞留在弥林厚厚的城墙外——男人女人小孩老人小姑娘还有新生儿。许多人都病了，多数人都在挨饿，而所有人都注定死亡。丹妮莉丝不敢打开她的城门让他们进来。她为他们已经尽她所能及之力。她派出医者，蓝贤者还有法术歌手以及庸医，但他们中的一些也生病了，而他们的技艺一点没放缓苍白母马带来的痢疾疾驰的脚步。将病患与尚未感染的人分开也被证实不可行。她的坚实护盾尝试过，即使阿斯塔波人哭泣着又踢又扔石子，他们还是将丈夫从妻子身边，孩子从母亲身边拉开。几天后，病的人死了，而健康的人则病了。将人与人分开一点用也没有。

角落有故事

Even feeding them had grown difficult. Every day she sent them what she could, but every day there were more of them and less food to give them. It was growing harder to find drivers willing to deliver the food as well. Too many of the men they had sent into the camp had been stricken by the flux themselves. Others had been attacked on the way back to the city. Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.”


即使喂饱他们也变得艰难。每天她都送给他们她能给的，但每天他们都变得更多，而能给的食物却变得更少。找到愿意运输食物的司机也变得困难。送进营地的很多人回来后都被腹泻打倒了。其他人则在回程路上被攻击。昨天一辆马车翻了，她的两个士兵死亡。所以今天，女王决心自己去分发食物。她的每个谏者都激烈的反对，从雷兹纳克到剃顶之人，还有巴利斯坦爵士，但丹妮莉丝没动摇。“我不会背弃他们，”她固执地说。“女王需知道她的人民遭受的苦难。”


Suffering was the only thing they did not lack. “There is scarcely a horse or mule left, though many rode from Astapor,” Marselen reported to her. “They’ve eaten every one, Your Grace, along with every rat and scavenger dog that they could catch. Now some have begun to eat their own dead.”


他们唯一不缺的便是受苦。“虽然他们是从阿斯塔波骑过来的，但骡马几乎不剩了，”马赛莱恩这样汇报给她。“他们吃掉了每一头，陛下，还有他们能捕捉到的每只老鼠、鬣狗。现在他们开始吃起他们自己死掉的人了。”


“Man must not eat the flesh of man,” said Aggo.


“人不该吃同类的肉体，”阿戈说。


“It is known,” agreed Rahkaro. “They will be cursed.”


“人人都知道，”拉卡洛同意。“他们将受到诅咒。”


“They’re past cursing,” said Symon Stripeback.


“他们受的比受诅咒糟糕多了，”条纹背赛蒙说。


Little children with swollen stomachs trailed after them, too weak or scared to beg. Gaunt men with sunken eyes squatted amidst sand and stones, shitting out their lives in stinking streams of brown and red. Many shat where they slept now, too feeble to crawl to the ditches she’d commanded them to dig. Two women fought over a charred bone. Nearby a boy of ten stood eating a rat. He ate one-handed, the other clutching a sharpened stick lest anyone try to wrest away his prize. Unburied dead lay everywhere. Dany saw one man sprawled in the dirt under a black cloak, but as she rode past his cloak dissolved into a thousand flies. Skeletal women sat upon the ground clutching dying infants. Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. “Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …”

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胀肚子的小孩尾随他们，已经瘦弱恐惧到无法乞讨。眼睛下陷的憔悴男人蜷伏在沙石中，生命随着腹泻出的棕红之物流泻。很多人衰弱到无法爬到她命令他们挖的沟渠那里，就在睡觉的地方排泄。两个人为一根焦黑的骨头大打出手。附近的一个十岁男孩站着吃老鼠。他用一只手吃，另一只手抓着一根削尖的棍子以防任何人试图抢走他的奖品。未埋葬的死尸到处都是。丹妮看到一个人在一张黑色的斗篷下仰倒在地，而当她骑过他的斗篷时，那斗篷一下分散成数千只苍蝇。瘦骨嶙峋的女人紧抓着将死的婴孩坐在地上。他们的眼睛跟随着她。那些还有气力的人叫出声。“母亲……求求您，母亲……祝福您，母亲……”


Bless me, Dany thought bitterly. Your city is gone to ash and bone, your people are dying all around you. I have no shelter for you, no medicine, no hope. Only stale bread and wormy meat, hard cheese, a little milk. Bless me, bless me.


What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?


“Too many dead,” Aggo said. “They should be burned.”


“Who will burn them?” asked Ser Barristan. “The bloody flux is everywhere. A hundred die each night.”


“It is not good to touch the dead,” said Jhogo.


“This is known,” Aggo and Rakharo said, together.


“That may be so,” said Dany, “but this thing must be done, all the same.” She thought a moment. “The Unsullied have no fear of corpses. I shall speak to Grey Worm.”


“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan, “the Unsullied are your best fighters. We dare not loose this plague amongst them. Let the Astapori bury their own dead.”


“They are too feeble,” said Symon Stripeback.


Dany said, “More food might make them stronger.”


Symon shook his head. “Food should not be wasted on the dying, Your Worship. We do not have enough to feed the living.”


He was not wrong, she knew, but that did not make the words any easier to hear. “This is far enough,” the queen decided. “We’ll feed them here.” She raised a hand. Behind her the wagons bumped to a halt, and her riders spread out around them, to keep the Astapori from rushing at the food. No sooner had they stopped than the press began to thicken around them, as more and more of the afflicted came limping and shambling toward the wagons. The riders cut them off. “Wait your turn,” they shouted. “No pushing. Back. Stay back. Bread for everyone. Wait your turn.”

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Dany could only sit and watch. “Ser,” she said to Barristan Selmy, “is there no more we can do? You have provisions.”


“Provisions for Your Grace’s soldiers. We may well need to withstand a long siege. The Stormcrows and the Second Sons can harry the Yunkishmen, but they cannot hope to turn them. If Your Grace would allow me to assemble an army …”


“If there must be a battle, I would sooner fight it from behind the walls of Meereen. Let the Yunkai’i try and storm my battlements.” The queen surveyed the scene around her. “If we were to share our food equally …”


“… the Astapori would eat through their portion in days, and we would have that much less for the siege.”


Dany gazed across the camp, to the many-colored brick walls of Meereen. The air was thick with flies and cries. “The gods have sent this pestilence to humble me. So many dead … I will not have them eating corpses.” She beckoned Aggo closer. “Ride to the gates and bring me Grey Worm and fifty of his Unsullied.”


“Khaleesi. The blood of your blood obeys.” Aggo touched his horse with his heels and galloped off.


Ser Barristan watched with ill-concealed apprehension. “You should not linger here overlong, Your Grace. The Astapori are being fed, as you commanded. There’s no more we can do for the poor wretches. We should repair back to the city.”


“Go if you wish, ser. I will not detain you. I will not detain any of you.” Dany vaulted down from the horse. “I cannot heal them, but I can show them that their Mother cares.”


Jhogo sucked in his breath. “Khaleesi, no.” The bell in his braid rang softly as he dismounted. “You must not get any closer. Do not let them touch you! Do not!”


Dany walked right past him. There was an old man on the ground a few feet away, moaning and staring up at the grey belly of the clouds. She knelt beside him, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and pushed back his dirty grey hair to feel his brow. “His flesh is on fire. I need water to bathe him. Seawater will serve. Marselen, will you fetch some for me? I need oil as well, for the pyre. Who will help me burn the dead?”

角落有故事

By the time Aggo returned with Grey Worm and fifty of the Unsullied loping behind his horse, Dany had shamed all of them into helping her. Symon Stripeback and his men were pulling the living from the dead and stacking up the corpses, while Jhogo and Rakharo and their Dothraki helped those who could still walk toward the shore to bathe and wash their clothes. Aggo stared at them as if they had all gone mad, but Grey Worm knelt beside the queen and said, “This one would be of help.”


Before midday a dozen fires were burning. Columns of greasy black smoke rose up to stain a merciless blue sky. Dany’s riding clothes were stained and sooty as she stepped back from the pyres. “Worship,” Grey Worm said, “this one and his brothers beg your leave to bathe in the salt sea when our work here is done, that we might be purified according to the laws of our great goddess.”


The queen had not known that the eunuchs had a goddess of their own. “Who is this goddess? One of the gods of Ghis?”


Grey Worm looked troubled. “The goddess is called by many names. She is the Lady of Spears, the Bride of Battle, the Mother of Hosts, but her true name belongs only to these poor ones who have burned their manhoods upon her altar. We may not speak of her to others. This one begs your forgiveness.”


“As you wish. Yes, you may bathe if that is your desire. Thank you for your help.”


“These ones live to serve you.”


When Daenerys returned to her pyramid, sore of limb and sick of heart, she found Missandei reading some old scroll whilst Irri and Jhiqui argued about Rakharo. “You are too skinny for him,” Jhiqui was saying. “You are almost a boy. Rakharo does not bed with boys. This is known.” Irri bristled back. “It is known that you are almost a cow. Rakharo does not bed with cows.”


“Rakharo is blood of my blood. His life belongs to me, not you,” Dany told the two of them. Rakharo had grown almost half a foot during his time away from Meereen and returned with arms and legs thick with muscle and four bells in his hair. He towered over Aggo and Jhogo now, as her handmaids had both noticed. “Now be quiet. I need to bathe.” She had never felt more soiled. “Jhiqui, help me from these clothes, then take them away and burn them. Irri, tell Qezza to find me something light and cool to wear. The day was very hot.”

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A cool wind was blowing on her terrace. Dany sighed with pleasure as she slipped into the waters of her pool. At her command, Missandei stripped off her clothes and climbed in after her. “This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night,” the little scribe said as she was washing Dany’s back.


Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. “No one was scratching,” said Jhiqui. “Scratching … how could they scratch?”


“With their hands,” said Missandei. “The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city.”


“This would take them many years,” said Irri. “The walls are very thick. This is known.”


“It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.


“I dream of them as well.” Dany took Missandei’s hand. “The camp is a good half-mile from the city, my sweetling. No one was scratching at the walls.”


“Your Grace knows best,” said Missandei. “Shall I wash your hair? It is almost time. Reznak mo Reznak and the Green Grace are coming to discuss—”


“—the wedding preparations.” Dany sat up with a splash. “I had almost forgotten.” Perhaps I wanted to forget. “And after them, I am to dine with Hizdahr.” She sighed. “Irri, bring the green tokar, the silk one fringed with Myrish lace.”


“That one is being repaired, Khaleesi. The lace was torn. The blue tokar has been cleaned.”


“Blue, then. They will be just as pleased.”


She was only half-wrong. The priestess and the seneschal were happy to see her garbed in a tokar, a proper Meereenese lady for once, but what they really wanted was to strip her bare. Daenerys heard them out, incredulous. When they were done, she said, “I have no wish to give offense, but I will not present myself naked to Hizdahr’s mother and sisters.”


“But,” said Reznak mo Reznak, blinking, “but you must, Your Worship. Before a marriage it is traditional for the women of the man’s house to examine the bride’s womb and, ah … her female parts. To ascertain that they are well formed and, ah …”


“… fertile,” finished Galazza Galare. “An ancient ritual, Your Radiance. Three Graces shall be present to witness the examination and say the proper prayers.”

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“Yes,” said Reznak, “and afterward there is a special cake. A women’s cake, baked only for betrothals. Men are not allowed to taste it. I am told it is delicious. Magical.”


And if my womb is withered and my female parts accursed, is there a special cake for that as well? “Hizdahr zo Loraq may inspect my women’s parts after we are wed.” Khal Drogo found no fault with them, why should he? “Let his mother and his sisters examine one another and share the special cake. I shall not be eating it. Nor shall I wash the noble Hizdahr’s noble feet.”


“Magnificence, you do not understand,” protested Reznak. “The washing of the feet is hallowed by tradition. It signifies that you shall be your husband’s handmaid. The wedding garb is fraught with meaning too. The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls.”


The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. “All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk.”


“The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear.”


“Why would I want a hundred children?” Dany turned to the Green Grace. “If we should wed by Westerosi rites …”


“The gods of Ghis would deem it no true union.” Galazza Galare’s face was hidden behind a veil of green silk. Only her eyes showed, green and wise and sad. “In the eyes of the city you would be the noble Hizdahr’s concubine, not his lawful wedded wife. Your children would be bastards. Your Worship must marry Hizdahr in the Temple of the Graces, with all the nobility of Meereen on hand to bear witness to your union.”


Get the heads of all the noble houses out of their pyramids on some pretext, Daario had said. The dragon’s words are fire and blood. Dany pushed the thought aside. It was not worthy of her. “As you wish,” she sighed. “I shall marry Hizdahr in the Temple of the Graces wrapped in a white tokar fringed with baby pearls. Is there anything else?”


“One more small matter, Your Worship,” said Reznak. “To celebrate your nuptials, it would be most fitting if you would allow the fighting pits to open once again. It would be your wedding gift to Hizdahr and to your loving people, a sign that you had embraced the ancient ways and customs of Meereen.”