GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 128 - Hand of the King

"Dragons are not invincible."

Varys's voice carried through the Small Council chamber.

"The Green Dragon Rhaegal was wounded and cannot fly for months. It was brought down by a simple net. What injured it were ordinary arrows and curved blades."

Joffrey sat at the head of the long table. He had been attending Small Council meetings more and more frequently of late, in that respect, at least, he was better than his 'father' Robert.

But everyone present knew he wasn't here to govern. He simply didn't want Tywin making all the decisions for him.

Nine out of ten suggestions he made were garbage. The tenth was garbage that had been left out in the sun.

"Rhaegal?" Joffrey frowned.

"Named after Prince Rhaegar," Varys said. "Precisely so."

Cersei sat at Joffrey's right hand. At those words, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "No wonder Euron said only two dragons attacked his fleet. One was gravely wounded, after all."

Tywin sat at the far end of the table, his left hand resting on the surface, his voice steady and without a ripple. "What truly wins wars is the army."

Varys drew a slip of paper from his sleeve and read aloud. "Khal Drogo has unified the entire Dothraki Sea, Lhazar, and Slaver's Bay. The warriors coming to invade Westeros number over a hundred thousand."

Someone at the table drew a sharp breath. Mace Tyrell's face went a shade paler, his thick hand drifting unconsciously toward his wine cup.

Tywin remained perfectly calm.

"Highgarden has fifty thousand troops," he said. His gaze moved to Oberyn Martell. "Dorne has sixty thousand. Those two combined make a hundred and ten thousand. How does he intend to deal with the other five kingdoms? Westeros is not some savage grassland like the Dothraki Sea."

Varys shook his head gently. "There are not five kingdoms, my lord."

Tywin's gaze sharpened.

"Brynden the Blackfish has retaken Riverrun," Varys said. "Walder Frey is swamped and cannot spare the attention. Roose Bolton's situation is no easier — he is locked in a standoff with Stannis in the North and must split his forces to hold his lines, terrified that the wildlings will stab him from behind."

He swept his eyes over the blank faces around the table. "Forgive me, my lords. The new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow, has let several thousand wildlings through the Wall. Among them are over two hundred giants, and a vast number of mammoths."

Joffrey slammed his palm on the table. "That damned bastard! Every last Stark is insufferable! I want all their heads taken off and mounted on spears!"

Tyrion glanced up at Joffrey, then quickly dropped his gaze. He had no desire to draw Tywin's attention right now. None at all.

Varys continued as though he hadn't heard the outburst, his tone flat and unhurried. "Lord Petyr Baelish has married Lysa Tully, but clearly, he cannot command the knights of the Vale."

Oberyn was leaning back in his chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, his wine cup swaying lazily in his hand.

He hadn't left King's Landing since Joffrey's wedding. Tywin had kept him here and arranged a seat for him on the Small Council.

"I have visited many cities in Essos and seen the Dothraki," Oberyn said, his tone easy and unhurried. "They grow up on horseback. Their mounted archers can shoot a rabbit at full gallop. Our knights wear heavy armor and cannot catch them." He turned the cup slowly in his fingers. "But the Dothraki consider wearing armor a disgrace. No protection means no matter how fast they ride, it counts for nothing."

"Your Highness," Varys said, "how many years ago did you visit Essos? Since Khal Drogo married Daenerys Targaryen in Pentos, things have changed. He has been reforming ever since. Their warriors wear armor now."

The carelessness on Oberyn's face receded. "Then we absolutely cannot meet them in open field."

Tywin asked directly: "When can Dorne's army be assembled?"

"Sixty thousand men cannot be gathered in a single day." Oberyn took a sip of wine, watching Tywin over the rim of the cup. "Besides, the Dornish have long memories. What you sent the Mountain to do all those years ago — we have not forgotten."

The temperature in the chamber dropped.

Cersei's expression shifted. She started to speak. Tywin raised a hand and stopped her.

"The past is the past. Right now we face a common enemy."

Oberyn smiled, said nothing, and set his cup on the table.

Jaime Lannister had been standing behind the table the entire time, his golden false hand hanging at his side, his real hand resting on his sword hilt.

"Rather than argue, we should be thinking about how to stop them." His voice had a soldier's bluntness. "Intelligence says Drogo's fleet has already landed at Massey's Hook. Give me three thousand men and I'll hold them on the beach."

Joffrey looked at him and laughed. The sound was sharp and contemptuous.

"You?" His eyes moved to Jaime's false hand and stayed there. "Uncle, you only have one hand. What battle are you going to fight?" He let the pause stretch. "You couldn't even beat Robb Stark. You lost plenty of engagements in the North, as I recall."

Jaime's face looked like he'd been slapped. He clenched his jaw. The muscle at his cheekbone jumped once.

Tyrion raised his head from the other end of the table. He looked at Jaime. Then at Joffrey. Then he lowered his head and went back to turning his wine cup in his hands.

Tywin tapped two fingers on the map spread across the table, then lifted his gaze to Oberyn.

"Oberyn."

Oberyn raised his eyes.

"Massey's Hook is yours." No room for negotiation in Tywin's voice. "Take your Dornish forces. Hit them before they can establish a foothold and push them back into the sea."

Oberyn didn't answer immediately. He looked at Tywin, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. After a moment, he nodded slowly.

"Very well," he said. "I'll go."

He rose from his chair, adjusted his belt, and walked toward the door. At the threshold, he turned back once.

"When I reach Massey's Hook, if I find your intelligence is wrong, or that you're using my Dornishmen as a shield, I will decide for myself how to fight."

He pushed the door open and walked out.

The moment it closed, Mace Tyrell let out a long, slow breath, as if he had only just remembered how to breathe. He reached up and wiped his damp forehead, then ventured carefully: "Then... our Highgarden forces...?"

Tywin looked at him. "They march with me to Crackclaw Point. We cannot let them gain a foothold on land."

Tyrion said nothing. Not a single word, which was entirely unlike him. He pressed his back further into his chair. Today he only wanted to be invisible.

But Tywin turned his head and looked at him anyway. He picked up the Hand of the King's brooch, turned it once in his palm, and pushed it across the table toward Tyrion.

Every eye at the table followed it.

Joffrey's face went red. "Hand of the King? I never—"

"Your Grace." Tywin's tone was patient and final. "You need someone to go and deal with that savage on your behalf. Someone with a brain, a tongue, and the Lannister name. Tyrion is the most suitable." He held Tyrion's gaze. "And to negotiate with a barbarian horse lord, a Hand of the King lends the proper weight."

Tyrion stared at the brooch. He reached out and picked it up.

He smiled. There was bitterness in it, and mockery too.

"Father is truly generous," he said. "First push me out as a target, then give me a title so I can die with some dignity."

Tywin stood and walked toward the door. "This meeting is over. I have an army to lead."

Cersei rose next. She crossed to Tyrion and leaned down, her face wearing that smile she never quite managed to hide.

"Congratulations, little brother. Hand of the King. You've always wanted it."

Tyrion looked up at her. Then he tucked the brooch inside his coat.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I've always wanted this."

He pushed back his chair and walked toward the door, talking as he went. "If the negotiation succeeds, the credit belongs to the Lannisters. If it fails, the one who dies is me."

He stopped.

"I hope I make it back," he murmured.

Then he walked out.

➤ Next: I Have Heard the Cry of a Dragon