GOT: Khal — Chapter 122 - Euron's Hunt

Dragonstone. The Chamber of the Painted Table.

The massive Valyrian map table dominated more than half the room, its surface carved with the mountains and rivers of Westeros.

For three hundred years, Targaryen conquerors and princes had plotted their campaigns around this table. Now the men standing before it were a band of defeated commanders, pointing fingers at each other.

Nimiz and Jorah Mormont had just been let out of their stone cells. Their clothes still reeked of damp and mildew.

Nimiz walked to the great map table, braced both hands on its edge, and looked across at the white-haired old knight opposite him.

"Barristan Selmy." His voice was low, but the resentment in it couldn't be contained. "You said lords loyal to House Targaryen would come to pledge their swords. Months have passed. We haven't seen a single one."

The food during his imprisonment had been adequate. The sleep had not. Dark circles hung heavy beneath his eyes.

Jorah Mormont stood between the two men, slightly to the left, his beard unkempt. "There are lords whose hearts lean toward House Targaryen. But not toward Khal Drogo."

He left it there. The meaning was plain enough. Those old-guard nobles would never welcome a Dothraki horse-lord leading savages to invade Westeros. They would never see the Dragon Queen as their savior.

To most lords, Daenerys was nothing more than the Mad King's daughter, bringing a horde of outsiders back to take what wasn't hers.

Barristan Selmy's white hair was neatly combed, his plate armor polished to a shine. Behind him stood the three Belwas brothers.

"I released you to help defend this island," he said. "Not to listen to your complaints."

"Defend the island?" Nimiz jabbed a finger against the tabletop. "With what? You threw away every ship we brought from Slaver's Bay, over a hundred of them, and only now do you think to let us out. This defeat is yours to own."

Barristan's brow tightened. He said nothing.

Nimiz pressed on. "You released all of Stannis's remnants. The moment they walked out the gate, they sold our position, our troop strength, our anchorage — everything — to King's Landing. Did you have no idea what those men would do once you freed them?"

Barristan still said nothing. Beside him, the provisional affairs officer Xuece Tamad let his eyes move once around the room, his face expressionless.

The naval battle had come on the 13th day after Barristan released the island's inhabitants.

Tywin Lannister had not come himself. He sent Euron Greyjoy of the Iron Islands to serve as naval commander and take Dragonstone.

Barristan knew nothing of naval warfare.

Euron's fleet hit like wolves loosed into a sheepfold: fire, boarding, rams. Every move lethal. When it was over, more than half of the 140 ships lay at the bottom of the sea. The few survivors had been towed away as prizes.

From that day forward, Euron Greyjoy's fleet had locked down the waters off Dragonstone.

70-plus iron ships formed a half-moon cordon, patrolling day and night. Not even a seagull could fly out.

Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, had landed with an army, guided by the former castellan of Dragonstone himself: Rolland Storm, the bastard Stannis Baratheon had appointed, the very man Barristan had personally freed.

The only thing that could pass for good news was this: the garrison's casualties had been so severe that fewer mouths meant the food might last a little longer.

Barristan drew a slow breath. His voice dropped.

"Letting those people go was my decision. I don't regret it, even now. Queen Daenerys is returning to sit the Iron Throne. Not to be a Queen of Scorched Earth."

Jorah asked, "How many soldiers do we have left?"

"Sixteen hundred and nineteen Unsullied. Nineteen hundred and twenty-six regular soldiers."

Nimiz laughed, short and cold. "A Kingsguard knight with no idea how to command troops. You've nearly burned through all of Drogo's army."

He eyed Barristan sideways, his voice barbed. "Or is this the bitter ploy? Are you a spy Joffrey sent from the Iron Throne?"

Strong Belwas stepped forward, his voice a low rumble. "Want Belwas to cut out his tongue?"

Barristan raised a hand to stop him and held Nimiz's gaze.

"They've been hammering these walls for days. You could hear it from your cell. I promise you their casualties are several times ours."

Xuece Tamad was quick to add: "Yes. Even their commander, Loras Tyrell himself, was badly wounded."

Barristan had to admit it. "I misjudged the situation. From what I can tell, all Seven Kingdoms are now united in one purpose: drive Khal Drogo out of Westeros."

His voice dropped further. "Queen Daenerys should not have married him. A savage foreign horse-lord has done nothing but harden the will of the Seven Kingdoms to resist."

He glanced at Jorah. "A few days ago, Lyanna Mormont came to urge your surrender. You were in the dungeons at the time. The North, it seems, now stands with the Lannisters."

Jorah's head snapped up. His lips trembled. He said nothing.

Nimiz's gaze cut into Barristan like a blade. "That is a capital crime."

He flicked a look at Belwas, who had started to open his mouth. "Belwas. Don't forget who you serve. It was Khal Drogo who put you at Whitebeard's side."

Belwas's mouth opened halfway, then closed.

Nimiz turned back to Barristan and spoke each word deliberately. "It was Khal Drogo who gave Daenerys everything she has."

Jorah asked the question that mattered most. "Where is Khal Drogo now?"

Xuece Tamad answered. "The last message received said the Khal had taken thirty of his senior captains into the Dothraki Sea to face Khal Moro's khalasar alliance in a decisive battle. Nothing since. No ravens in. No ravens out."

Silence fell over the room. Only the moan of sea wind through the cracks in the stone.

Then the world outside exploded.

Stone dust sifted down from the walls.

On the sea, all 70-plus of Euron Greyjoy's iron ships pressed forward at once.

Catapults at the prows hurled blazing fireballs trailing black smoke. They smashed into the battlements like hammers.

A wave of longships had already beached. Ironborn leaped into waist-deep surf, raised round shields and short axes, and charged the walls howling.

On the ramparts, the Unsullied locked shields into a dense wall, spears driving through the gaps to skewer the first Ironborn to reach the siege ladders.

The cliffside stairway was fighting too.

Euron's elite had climbed from the base of the cliff only to be bottled up in the narrow path by the defenders. The Unsullied shield wall sealed the stairs shut. Ironborn axes sparked off shields and couldn't move them an inch.

One Ironborn tried to edge around along the rock face, lost his footing, and plummeted screaming into the sea. The splash rose higher than a man.

Euron stood at the prow. He licked his lips. Then, slowly, he raised his iron axe and pointed it forward.

A third wave of ships carved through the waves and drove straight for the shore.