GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 127 - You Must Do Something for the Family, After All

The Iron Throne Room.

Euron Greyjoy stood in the center of the hall, soaked through, sea salt crusted white in his beard and hair.

His battered leather coat was scorched in patches. His left hand was wrapped in a filthy bandage, faintly seeping blood.

But he stood with his spine straight, and there was still a trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Joffrey Baratheon was sprawled sideways on the throne of swords, one hand propping his chin, the other pinching a candied fruit between his fingers. He took a savage bite. Juice ran down his chin and wrist. He flicked the pit away without looking, and it rolled in a lazy circle to a stop at Euron's feet.

He raised his hand and wiped it twice on Margaery Tyrell's skirt without a second thought. The smile on Margaery's face didn't shift by a hair. She simply moved half a step to the side, so small you'd almost miss it.

"So," Joffrey drawled, "where is my Iron Fleet?"

Euron glanced down at the pit, then looked up. "Sunk, Your Grace. Burned by the dragons."

Joffrey sat upright, his voice climbing. "You sank all my ships?" He slammed his palm on the armrest. The blades scraped with a sound like a knife on bone.

"Your ships?" Euron repeated, his tone edged with contempt. "I brought those ships myself. They were never yours. My fleet received no help while it burned."

"You would do well to remember who you are speaking to." Cersei Lannister descended the steps, her golden gown trailing across the stone floor. "You came with a fleet to propose marriage. You promised a grand gift — the most powerful fleet in the Seven Kingdoms, and the head of the man who rides dragons. And the result? The fleet is gone. The dragons are alive. And you came crawling back with your tail between your legs. You call this a gift?"

Euron turned to look at her. His gaze settled on Cersei for a few seconds, unhurried, the way a man studies a painting. "You are still beautiful, Cersei. More beautiful than the last time I saw you."

Cersei's expression didn't move. Her eyes went colder.

"Euron. You failed." Tywin Lannister's voice came from across the room. The Old Lion didn't raise it, didn't sharpen it. That stillness was more oppressive than anything Cersei had said.

Euron turned toward him and spread his uninjured hand. "Have you ever seen a dragon? I have. Two of them, breathing fire from the sky, burning my ships one after another. The fact that I'm standing here talking to you at all means I'm a lucky man."

"Lucky." Jaime Lannister's left hand rested on his sword pommel. "Your talent for running is considerable, I'll grant you that. You took a fleet into battle, and your flagship was the first to turn around. My men watched it happen. They saw your ship raise full sail and run."

The smile on Euron's face pulled back, just slightly. "Kingslayer. You sit in your stone house in King's Landing, drinking wine, eating roast beef. It's easy to talk. When you've seen a dragon diving out of the sky with your own eyes, come back and tell me what running means."

"Enough." Joffrey's voice cut across the room, sharp and petulant. "I don't want to hear you argue. I want to hear him." He pointed at Euron. "You said you would marry my mother. Your fleet is gone. What exactly do you have to offer her now?"

When Euron had first arrived with his ships to seek the match, loudly declaring he intended to become Joffrey's stepfather, Joffrey had raged and screamed for his head. It was Tywin who had talked him down. Use the ironborn first. If he loses, kill him. If he wins, kill him anyway.

Euron looked at Joffrey. A flicker of impatience crossed his eyes, then a smile settled over it like a lid.

"A fleet can be rebuilt. A dragon, once dead, stays dead. I lost this time, but now I know how that Dothraki horse lord fights. Next time, "

"Next time?" Tyrion Lannister stepped out of the shadows, his gait unsteady, clearly well into his cups.

He stopped in front of Euron and looked up at the man, who stood 2 full heads taller than him.

"You want a next time?" The anger in his voice was barely leashed. As Master of Coin, he spent every waking hour worrying about money, and right now he had very good reason to. "Do you have any idea what this little outing of yours cost us? The ships you brought were yours. Everything else — the armor, the weapons, the bows, the grain, every last supply — came from us. You lost it all in a single battle. And now you're standing here talking about next time."

Euron looked down at him. The two held each other's gaze for a moment.

"Little demon. I've heard of you. You're clever, cleverer than me, I'll admit it. So tell me: who else do you have who can fight a man with dragons? Those knights you keep?" He swept a glance around the hall. "They've never even seen one."

Tywin said, "How many men do you have left?"

Euron licked his cracked lips. "My flagship got out. Seven or eight ships followed me back. Less than 300 men."

"300." Cersei's laugh was cold and short. "You left with several thousand."

"So what do you intend to do with me?" Euron asked. There was no plea in his voice. If anything, there was a kind of loose, baiting ease to it. "Kill me? Take my head? His Grace does enjoy taking heads, I know. But what does my head get you? One fewer captain who knows how to fight dragons. Kill me, and your enemies don't lose a single soldier. You don't gain a single ship."

Joffrey tilted his head and studied him for a few seconds. Then he laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made everyone in the room go still. "You're right. I won't kill you. You're still useful." He settled back against the throne. "Go rebuild those ships. Once they're ready, I'll reconsider whether to give you my mother."

Cersei's head snapped toward Joffrey. Her lips moved. No sound came out. Her face had gone the color of ash.

"Your Grace is wise." Euron bent at the waist in a bow so theatrical it was almost a performance. As he dipped, his eyes swept across Cersei's face, then Tywin's, then came to rest on Tyrion.

Tyrion felt the look like a hand on the back of his neck. He covered it with a yawn, his body swaying, nearly losing his footing.

Euron straightened, turned, and walked toward the doors, his soaked boots squelching and grinding against the stone with every step.

"Euron."

Tywin's voice, from behind him.

Euron stopped. He didn't turn around.

"Next time," Tywin said, "before you run, ask yourself whether you'll still be able to stand in front of me when you get back."

2 seconds of silence. Then Euron walked out without looking back. The iron doors swung shut behind him with a heavy, muffled boom.

The hall was quiet.

"We should have killed him." Cersei's voice was low, but each word landed clean as a blade.

"Killed him?" Tyrion steadied himself against a pillar. "He was right. Kill him, and who fights for us? You?"

Cersei shot him a look. She didn't answer.

Across the room, a man moved to Varys's side and pressed a sealed report into his hand. Varys unfolded it. His expression shifted.

"Khal Drogo intends to march on King's Landing with 3 dragons." His voice was barely above a murmur, but the tension in it was unmistakable, rare, for Varys.

Tywin crossed the room and took the paper from him. He scanned it. "Believing he means to attack King's Landing would be foolish. His real target is the Crackclaw Peninsula. Control Rosby, and he cuts the Kingsroad to the west. From there he can threaten the Goldroad as well."

Tyrion tilted his head, thinking it over. "I've read that in Essos, when the Free Cities are faced with a Dothraki horde, the standard approach is to pay them off. Give them enough gold and they turn around and go home."

Tywin turned and looked directly at him. "Then you will go and meet with Khal Drogo."

The wine cleared from Tyrion's head almost instantly. "I was speaking generally. The man has an army at our doorstep. You can't just throw coin at him and expect him to ride back to the grass."

"You must do something for the family." Tywin's voice was even, unhurried.

Cersei stood to the side. The corner of her mouth curved upward, slow and deliberate. Her green eyes settled on Tyrion's face, bright with satisfaction, sharp with malice.

➤ Next: Hand of the King