GOT: Khal — Chapter 115 - My Dragons Have Put On Plate Armor

When Drogo broke the seal, the three dragons were sprawled across the pyramid's top terrace, basking in the sun.

He leaned against the stone railing and started reading at an even pace. Then his eyes moved faster. His brow pulled tighter.

By the time he finished, the letter was crumpled in his fist. He slammed it down on the stone table.

"That old fool! I sent him as military overseer to watch Nimiz, to make sure he didn't rebel. So what does he do? He arrests my commanding officer!"

The three dragons startled and raised their heads. Drogon flicked his tail, a low rumble rolling from his throat.

Daenerys was sitting in the wicker chair beside him, feeding Rhaego grapes. She heard the noise, handed Rhaego to Irri, wiped her hands, and walked over.

"What happened?"

"See for yourself."

She picked up the letter and read it from start to finish. She read slowly, her brow furrowing, but when she reached the reasons Barristan had given for arresting Nimiz and Jorah, the corner of her mouth shifted slightly.

"Nimiz massacred civilians. Barristan did the right thing." She set the letter back on the stone table.

"Nimiz was clearing out threats in the surrounding area," Drogo said. "Barristan released everyone on the island, Stannis Baratheon's soldiers included. That puts us at a disadvantage."

He gripped the stone railing. "By the time these two letters reached me, Dragonstone has almost certainly already been surrounded. Barristan has a head full of knightly honor. He is not built for field command."

"He is earning us goodwill." Daenerys met his gaze without flinching. "We need the people's support, not more corpses. Barristan released the islanders. What will the people of Westeros say? They will spread word that the Father of Dragons does not kill civilians. That is worth more than slaying ten thousand soldiers."

Slaughter only bred fiercer resistance. Drogo knew that. "But arresting the commanding officer was out of line."

His gaze drifted to the harbor, where mast after mast crowded the water below. "It is time to march west."

Drogo summoned thirty thousand-commanders right away and ordered each to muster their forces for inspection.

His followers were not professional soldiers. Some thousand-commanders still had their men out in the fields beyond the city, grazing horses, and even with the order passed down, the troops couldn't be pulled together quickly.

Taking advantage of the gap, Drogo went to the harbor first to check on the ships and supplies.

The Minister of Maritime Affairs, Groleo, led the party at the front, showing the way.

Missandei followed behind Daenerys as always. Scarlett had come too, walking to Drogo's left, her steps considerably slower than before. She wore a loose gauze dress, the fabric straining at the waist where her belly had begun to show, and as she walked, one hand rested instinctively at the small of her back.

The three dragons soared freely above the harbor.

Drogon swept past the top of a ship's mast; the wind from his wings snapped the sail outward with a crack.

Rhaegal skimmed the water's surface, his belly scales nearly grazing the crests of the waves.

Viserion perched on a dock piling with wings folded, tilting his head to watch the workers haul cargo. He puffed a small breath of smoke every now and then, and each time, the laborers carrying sacks stumbled back several steps, nearly dropping their loads into the sea.

The harbor churned with activity. Workers stripped to the waist hauled wooden crates, grain sacks, and wine barrels across swaying gangplanks and onto the waiting ships. The planks groaned under the weight. Some men called out work chants; others cursed and shouted at the men ahead to move faster. Ship decks were stacked high with cargo, part of it covered in canvas, the exposed corners lashed tight with hemp rope. Several overseers stood on the dock with wooden clipboards, marking a tally and calling out with each entry.

Groleo reported: "Khal, food and water are seventy percent loaded. The warhorses are waiting for the final batch to board. Two more days and everything will be in position."

He spoke the Common Tongue with a thick Pentoshi accent. Originally from Pentos, hired by Magister Illyrio, he had spent decades at sea and knew seamanship better than most men knew their own names. Drogo had recruited him directly and appointed him Minister of Maritime Affairs. Groleo was deeply grateful and dared not be careless in his duties.

Drogo nodded.

"Khal, one more matter," Groleo said. "Dragons eat too. At their current rate of consumption, the meat supply for the three of them must be stocked separately. One dragon eats one sheep per meal, and the sheep we have on hand will last five days at most."

Drogo watched a thin wisp of smoke curl from Viserion's nostrils. "There are fish in the sea. Let them hunt for themselves."

He kept moving, boots striking the dock planks in a steady rhythm, the sound swallowed whole by the waves.

He was about to ask Groleo about loading the warhorses when a familiar voice rang out behind him.

"Khal Drogo. I have finally found you."

Drogo turned. Hassan, the governor of Henan Province, was running toward him breathlessly, his son Haggo trailing behind. The old man's robe hem was caked with mud, his forehead slick with sweat. He was bent double with his hands braced on his knees, gasping as though he might not survive the next breath.

"What are you doing here?" Drogo asked.

Hassan was too winded to speak. Haggo answered for him. "Henan Province has been invaded by another khalasar."

Drogo glanced at him, unconcerned. "Pono leads fifteen thousand-commanders there, grazing horses for the entire khalasar. He will handle whatever khalasar comes his way. Why the panic?"

Hassan finally caught his breath. "It was Commander Pono himself who sent us to ask for reinforcements."

Drogo's brow tightened slightly. Fifteen thousand mounted warriors. Enough to defeat any one khalasar, or several at once. Pono was asking for reinforcements?

Something was wrong.

"Every khalasar on the Dothraki Sea has united." Hassan wiped his forehead, his voice still labored. "A man named Hora brought them together. They elected a khal named Mongo to lead them all."

"So Hora actually pulled it off." Drogo's tone gave nothing away, neither admiration nor mockery. "The warriors on that side have far fewer armored troops than those in Meereen. With all the khalasars united, that is indeed real pressure."

He turned and headed for the smithy.

Meereen was already hot as a steamer. Inside the smithy, it was enough to bake a man dry.

The furnaces ran the length of the room in a single row, coals burning fierce red, waves of heat rolling over them one after another until every breath scorched the throat.

Drogo let out a sharp whistle. Drogon dropped from the sky. The ground shook on impact, and a shower of dust cascaded down from the smithy's door lintel.

Two men carried out the plate armor, the breastplate broad and domed like an inverted iron cauldron.

Four blacksmiths worked bare-chested, their sweat evaporating the instant it formed. They hoisted the breastplate and maneuvered it over Drogon's body, the metal plates scraping against his scales with a fine, thin hiss.

The breastplate settled into its slot. The clasps locked. CLANG.

Drogon's chest heaved. His muscles resisted on instinct. His tail swept around a corner and struck the stone wall, breaking a chunk loose. The blacksmiths all froze.

"Continue," Drogo said.

The neck guard went on next, fastened segment by segment from throat to shoulder blades.

Drogon raised his head.

The armor's seams let out a fine ringing as the links pulled taut. He spread his wings fully, held for a beat, then beat them down hard and launched into the sky. Sand and gravel scattered across the ground. Every furnace flame in the smithy dipped in unison.

The plate armor had been custom-fitted for each of the three dragons separately. One by one, Rhaegal and Viserion were armored as well.

Drogo raised his head and watched the three dragons soaring through the sky above him.

"I had planned to break the khalasars of the Dothraki Sea one by one." He pulled his gaze from the sky. The corner of his mouth shifted. "This is better. Saves me the trouble of hunting them down one at a time. Finish them all in one stroke, clean and final."

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