GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 144 - Stark and Targaryen

The morning sun came through the narrow windows of Storm's End in long, gray-tinged shafts that fell across the stone floor.

Drogo held Sansa's hand as they came down the stairs, one step at a time.

She moved slowly.

Each step looked like it cost her something, her body tilting toward him, leaning into his arm for support.

He'd tried to be gentle last night. But there's a saying, the younger brother is broad of substance. For the eldest daughter of House Stark, gentleness only goes so far.

The dining hall sat on the western side of the castle, a long rectangular stone room with a table running its full length, covered in deep blue cloth. Freshly baked black bread, sliced beef and bacon pie, skewers of honey-drizzled roast chicken, a plate of wild boar sausages, three or four honey-roasted apples with caramelized cinnamon-and-clove glaze still glistening on the skins. In the corner, lemon cakes cut into small squares and dusted with powdered sugar, a plate of golden Arbor wine, several pitchers of chilled autumn ale. Dornish grape leaves stuffed with lamb and pine nuts were scattered across a platter, giving off a warm, foreign smell of spice.

"Khal Drogo." Barristan Selmy gave a slight bow.

He wore silver-white armor, standing with his back perfectly straight, as if the years had simply declined to touch him.

Drogo glanced at him. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"How did the dungeon suit you?" The words carried a dry edge.

Barristan had imprisoned Drogo's naval commander while serving as overseer. His punishment had been the same length of confinement. When it ended, he'd come straight to Storm's End and resumed his post as the Queen's Kingsguard.

Barristan held his gaze without flinching.

"It didn't suit me at all," he said. "I heard of your victories while I was inside. I was glad. A just leader rewards and punishes with clarity. You did that."

Drogo said nothing.

He led Sansa to the long table, pulled out a chair for her, and sat down beside her.

His gaze moved over the faces at the table. Daenerys Targaryen sat across from him, her silver-gold hair braided and draped over one shoulder, her expression calm and unreadable. Beside her sat Scarlett, her belly round and heavy, the hem of her dress riding up with the swell of it. She looked tired, but her eyes were soft. She glanced toward Drogo and Sansa and gave a small nod.

Further down sat Missandei, quiet and still, hands folded on her lap, head slightly bowed.

"Sansa Stark." He spoke in the Common Tongue. "From this day forward, she is my third concubine."

"She is the daughter of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. The granddaughter of House Tully of Riverrun. Trueborn blood of Winterfell. Her ancestors ruled the North for thousands of years, and her name is still honored by countless bannermen."

Sansa kept her head down. Her red hair fell across her face, and no one could read her expression.

Drogo introduced each woman in turn.

"This is Daenerys Targaryen." He gestured toward the silver-haired woman. "My queen. The sole rightful heir to the Iron Throne. The Unburnt. Mother of Dragons."

"This is Scarlett, a singer from Volantis. You will call her Second Sister."

Scarlett nodded at Sansa. The smile she offered wasn't warm exactly, but it was genuine.

"This is Missandei." He looked last at the quietly seated woman with dark skin. "From Astapor in Slaver's Bay. Born a slave. She speaks sixteen languages. You will call her Third Sister."

Sansa nodded to each of them in turn.

Missandei smiled gently. "Welcome, Sansa," she said.

Daenerys lifted her cup of warm honey water and took a slow sip, her gaze settling on Sansa's face over the rim.

"Your father, Eddard Stark, was directly involved in my brother Rhaegar's death."

Sansa's fingers tightened.

Daenerys set the cup down. It made a quiet sound against the wood.

"Robert Baratheon could not have taken the Iron Throne without House Stark's considerable help."

Drogo watched it happen. Daenerys was putting Sansa in her place, drawing the line clearly.

Sansa raised her head. "It was because the Mad King murdered my grandfather and my uncle." Her voice had an edge to it.

"He betrayed House Targaryen." Daenerys's tone went cold.

"I was a Kingsguard." Barristan's voice cut in. "I was there."

Every head at the table turned toward him.

"Your Grace. Allow me to say a few words."

Daenerys looked at him and said nothing. That was permission enough.

Barristan drew a slow breath.

"Your father, King Aerys, the one people called the Mad King, in his later years, his mind was no longer sound."

Sansa looked up at the white-haired old man.

"It began after the Tourney at Harrenhal." Barristan's voice was low and measured, like a man turning the pages of a book left too long in the dust. "Prince Rhaegar won the tournament. He took a crown of winter roses and laid it in Lyanna Stark's lap. Many people saw it."

"Then word spread that Lyanna Stark had been taken by Prince Rhaegar."

"Brandon Stark was on his way to Riverrun for his wedding when he heard. He turned around and rode straight for King's Landing."

Barristan's blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were watching it happen again somewhere behind them.

"He rode into the Red Keep and demanded that Prince Rhaegar release her. The King, your father, had him arrested for treason."

"Lord Rickard Stark — Brandon's father, and Eddard Stark's father — learned his eldest son had been taken. He rode south from Winterfell to King's Landing and demanded a trial by combat. That was his right under the law."

"The King agreed."

Barristan's voice dropped.

"Lord Rickard put on his full armor and walked into the hall ready to face his opponent. But the champion the King sent was not a man."

He looked directly into Daenerys's eyes.

"Wildfire."

"Lord Rickard was bound to a pyre. The King declared that fire was the champion of House Targaryen, and that the way for Rickard to prove his innocence was to survive the flames."

Sansa's breathing had gone shallow.

"Brandon Stark was bound to a specially made device. A leather strap around his neck, connected to a mechanism fixed to the wall behind him. A sword was placed in front of him, just beyond the reach of his outstretched arm."

A tremor had entered Barristan's voice now, faint but there.

"The King told Brandon: you can save your father. Walk forward. Take the sword. Cut the strap. Brandon fought with everything he had. The more he stretched, the tighter the strap pulled. The tighter it pulled, the harder he fought."

"Lord Rickard screamed in the fire. His armor turned red-hot. The fat of his body burned. Brandon watched his father die — watched him burn alive, while he tore himself apart trying to reach that sword, strangling himself in the process."

He looked at Daenerys.

"Your Grace. Your father, King Aerys, sat on the Iron Throne that day and laughed for a long time."

Daenerys's fingers rested on the tabletop and did not move.

Something shifted in her eyes. Like she was watching a stain spread across something she had always believed was clean.

Sansa's eyes were down. Two tears fell without a sound, dropping onto the blue fabric of her skirt, soaking into two dark circles.

The silence stretched.

When Daenerys finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

"Sansa Stark."

Sansa looked up. Her eyes were red. The tear tracks were still on her face.

Daenerys looked at her, and the sharp edge that had been in her gaze was gone. Her voice had softened.

"Welcome... to Storm's End. The old debts between Stark and Targaryen, let them stay in the past. From now on, we are family."

She said nothing more after that. She did not raise the old grievances again.

Sansa wiped her face and looked down at the hand still holding hers. Rough. Warm. It had not let go.

➤ Next: Stole the Little Demon's Wife