10 de setembre de 2012

A Dance with Dragons: Per què són bons els capítols d'en Tyrion?


 Perquè en Tyrion és bo, i a sobre té una llengua...

 Exemple 1:

 "This city smells like an old whore," Tyrion announced. "Like some sagging slattern between who has drenched her privy parts in perfume to drown the stench between her legs. Not that I am complaining. With whores, the young ones smell much better, but the old ones know more tricks."
 "You would know more of that than I do."
"Ah, of course. That brothel where we met, did you take it for a sept? Was that young virgin sister squirming in your lap?"

 D'acord, aquestes coses són les que diu a la gent que se l'emporta captiu per portar-lo a alguna dona (en aquest cas la seva germana) que es vol venjar d'alguna cosa.

 Però llavors hi ha les coses que diu a la gent que realment li cau bé i a qui vol ajudar, com ja va fer amb en Jon fa temps, i ara (abans que el detinguessin) amb l'Aegon:

 "It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne... assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort."
"She will. She must."
"Must?" Tyrion made a tsking sound. "That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, aggreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish."
"She'll be willing." Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. "You don't know her." He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a thump.
The dwarf shrugged. "I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless bur for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad... a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please... and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?'"

 D'això se'n diu un bon discurs!!!