GOT: Khal — Chapter 108 - You Killed Civilians? I Can't Abide This

Barristan Selmy stood at the prow, white hair streaming back in the sea wind. His plate armor caught the early morning light in dull gleams. Left hand resting on his sword hilt, right hand gripping a mooring line, he stood without moving.

Wind filled the canvas. The fully-laden ship leaned into it, prow splitting the gray-black swells like a blunt blade. Seawater sprayed up and broke over the deck, salt-sting mixing with the wet smell of timber.

More than 140 ships stretched out in three loose columns, bow to stern, trailing back for miles.

A third of them were cargo ships. Their holds were crammed with salted meat, hardtack, dried cheese, and barrels of fresh water.

This was a long voyage, and Dragonstone was no easy prize. Every preparation had to be made. The army's nearest resupply was Pentos, on the far side of the Narrow Sea.

Before they sailed, Drogo had Vogad Tamade write a letter and pass it to his brother, Xece Tamade. Xece would travel with Nimitz's fleet as far as the Narrow Sea, then take a small boat to Pentos and deliver the letter to Magister Illyrio.

Barristan didn't know what the letter said. He could guess — provisions, shipyards, have everything ready.

"How much farther?" he asked.

Nimitz stared ahead, the sea wind forcing his eyes to slits. "Two more days' sailing. We attack at night. Catch them off guard."

The sea wind tousled Jorah Mormont's hair. He reached up and pushed it back.

"Night is just as dangerous for us. Dragonstone is surrounded by water on all sides. There's only one main landing beach, and it's riddled with hidden reefs. The rest is sheer cliff, dozens of feet high. At night you can't read the waves. Ships hit the rocks, and half your men are dead before they set foot on shore."

Nimitz turned and looked at him.

"You're right. Night works against us." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried over the sound of the waves. "But it works even more against the garrison."

"A fleet this size can't hide. The island has watchtowers, sentries. The moment we draw close, they'll know we're coming — but they won't know when we'll strike."

"Approach in daylight and they'll see every ship, count every soldier, and have their bows and crossbows already set in the crenels waiting for us."

"At night, all they can do is listen. Wind. Waves. Their own heartbeats. By the time they hear our ships hit the docks, we'll already be standing at the foot of their walls."

Barristan gave a slight nod, voice steady. "Nimitz is right. After House Targaryen lost its dragons, they mounted trebuchets all over Dragonstone. One stone can smash clean through a ship's deck. But fighting at night, the garrison's archers and trebuchets are blind. If we can make landfall, the battle is already half won."

The day the fleet neared Dragonstone, the sky was gray as a worn-out rag.

Barristan stood at his ship's prow and watched the scattered fishing boats on the water. The fishermen were hauling their nets in, fish still flashing silver in the mesh.

They spotted the dark mass of ships on the horizon. They threw themselves at their oars and ran.

Nimitz stood at the flagship's prow. He raised his hand.

Three shallow-draft swift ships peeled out from the fleet's flanks. 24 long oars bit the water in unison, rhythm tight, speed ferocious.

The fishermen barely managed a few strokes before the swift ships were on them.

Archers rose from the decks. Bowstrings sang. Flaming arrows traced orange-red arcs through the air, punching through canvas awnings, driving into fishermen's backs.

Some leaped into the sea and dove, trying to put distance between themselves and the boats. The Unsullied rowed the fishermen's own vessels after them, and when a man surfaced for air, a spear drove through him. Those who didn't surface stayed at the bottom.

The three swift ships made a full circuit, confirmed there was no more movement on the water, burned what remained of the fishing boats, and turned back to rejoin the fleet.

Barristan watched every moment of it. His face went the color of iron.

He strode toward the flagship.

He boarded without slowing. His boots hammered the deck. Two guards moved to stop him. He shoved them both aside.

His white beard was wild in the sea wind. His eyes burned.

He grabbed Nimitz by the front of his collar and wrenched the Astapori half a step forward.

"Have you gone mad? Those were fishermen. Not soldiers."

"This is war." Nimitz didn't struggle. He only looked at Barristan with cold, flat eyes. "I am eliminating a threat, Selmy. Those fishermen return to shore, and they'll tell the garrison everything about our fleet."

"They were fishermen." Barristan's voice cracked the air like a whip, spittle landing on Nimitz's face. "Not soldiers. You killed unarmed civilians."

"Unarmed?" Nimitz gave a cold laugh. "They had boats. Oars. Fishing spears. Give them tonight, and they'll row up to our cargo ships in the dark and put our grain to the torch."

Barristan's chest was heaving. His hands shook with rage. But he didn't let go.

"You will destroy the Targaryen name. What will they say in King's Landing? 'The Dragon Queen's army massacred unarmed fishermen'? They'll paint Daenerys as a tyrant worse than the Mad King. Every lord who was wavering will run straight to the Lannisters. She is going back to sit the Iron Throne — not to burn the realm to cinders!"

Nimitz shoved his hands away and straightened his collar.

"You think the smallfolk of Westeros will welcome us? To them, Daenerys Targaryen is the Mad King's daughter. The barbarian Horse Lord's whore. A stranger come back with an army of foreign invaders."

Barristan had no answer for that. He could best any man alive with a sword. In argument, he always lost.

Nimitz went on, his tone easing slightly, though the cold beneath it didn't shift an inch. "I don't care about reputation. I care about whether we can take Dragonstone and plant our banner on it."

He glanced over at Jorah Mormont. "Ser Jorah. What do you say?"

Jorah was quiet for a long time, long enough that Barristan thought he'd chosen to say nothing at all. Out on the water, the wreckage of the last fishing boat was going under, bubbles rising to the surface in a slow, steady stream.

"You had better pray those fishermen really were a threat," Jorah said. "Because if they weren't, the Khaleesi will collect that debt from you herself."

Nimitz turned away, putting his back to them both.

"If you want to file a complaint, wait until Dragonstone is taken and write a long letter to Meereen. But here, on this ship, I give the orders."

Barristan stared at Nimitz's back. His lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers tightened on his sword hilt, then slowly released.

Jorah had already walked back to the rail, his eyes fixed on Dragonstone in the distance.

The old knight drew a long breath and swallowed everything that had risen to his throat.

Not now. This was not the time to break apart from the inside. He turned and walked down the flagship's gangway, boots striking the deck, one step, then another, steady and deliberate, all the way down.

➤ Next: Dragonstone Has No Innocents?