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Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo his braid. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. MARTIN You will drink, Dany said, cold as ice.
The stallion's blood looked black in the flickering orange glare of the torches that ringed the high chalk walls of the pit. Does it matter? If you bed enough women, some will give you presents, and His Grace has never been shy on that count. I don't care whose stories they are, Bran told her, I hate them. No, Dany said meekly.