GOT: The Great — Chapter 221 - The Sharp Tongue of Jaime Lannister

Drogo landed on the ruins of the godswood.

Three bloodriders emerged from behind the rubble. Cohollo walked in front, Qotho and Haggo a step behind.

"Why did you come back to Storm's End?" Drogo swung down from the dragon's back.

Cohollo stepped forward. "Bloodriders belong at the khal's side."

Qotho cut in, "Jako is fighting in the Reach. He sent us to escort your valuable prisoner to Storm's End and keep him locked up. He didn't have time to deal with him himself."

Cohollo added, "The khaleesi wanted to burn your prisoner alive. We refused. Everything waits for your word."

You brought Jaime Lannister in front of her, no wonder. Drogo said, "Is the prisoner in one piece? I'm not ready for him to die yet."

"He eats well. Sleeps well. There's a lad named Podrick Payne waiting on him."

"Payne serves the Lannisters." Drogo turned toward Storm's End and kept walking. "Go on."

"The moment he arrived, the khaleesi demanded to see him." Cohollo fell in behind Drogo. "She said this man killed her father."

"Then she charged straight into the dungeon. We hauled her out and locked the door."

"Lady Sansa has her own grievance with him," Qotho said, "but she's keeping her head. That cow beside her — what's her name? Brienne. She was talking her down, saying Jaime is a man who keeps his oaths."

Drogo walked through the gates of Storm's End. The garrison on the walls spotted him, and the iron portcullis ground upward, rusted chains shrieking on the winch.

Daenerys was in the great hall. She sat in a high-backed chair, taller than she was, the old Baratheon stag chair.

Missandei stood beside her, holding a cup of water.

Daenerys's silver hair was pulled into a thick braid, fastened at the end with a small silver clasp worked in the shape of a dragon. Her face was a shade paler than the last time Drogo had seen her.

He walked over and pressed his hand down on top of Missandei's head, pushing her toward the floor. "Help me with the fire."

Missandei went down into a crouch, muffled sounds coming from her throat.

Some time later, Drogo shuddered. He straightened up, lifted his hand off Missandei's head, and turned to face Daenerys.

"I heard you wanted to burn my prisoner alive."

Daenerys tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her voice was unhurried.

"I wasn't going to burn anyone. I only went in to look at him. To see what the man who killed my father looks like."

"He is the lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin's son, and Tywin is Hand of the King. Alive, he can open the gates of King's Landing for us. If he can't manage that, burning him then will be soon enough."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Drogo said. "Pack your things. We're going to Dragonstone."

"Yes." She paused. "It was Ser Barristan Selmy who talked me around. I did want to burn him."

Barristan's voice came from somewhere in the hall. "It was only counsel. Nothing more."

Cold crawled down Drogo's spine. Sweat prickled on his skin. "When Missandei was — just now, with the fire — you were here?"

Missandei's face went red. She lowered her head and touched the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I was not present." Barristan's expression did not change at all. "I served the Kingsguard for decades. I know what to look at and what not to look at."

Drogo let out a long breath.

Servants moved through the room in steady loops, stuffing clothes and scrolls into chests. Daenerys came in from outside with a letter folded between her fingers.

She saw Drogo leaning back in a chair and Sansa sitting in his lap. Her step caught for just a moment. Then she set the letter on the table.

"From the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

Sansa glanced at the letter and recognized the handwriting. "My brother."

Drogo and Sansa put their heads together over the parchment. Neither of them spoke. Their eyes moved slowly down the page.

Daenerys watched them for a moment, then gave up waiting. "There's not much. Three things: grain, men, and the dead are coming."

She hadn't been long at Dragonstone before Drogo had mercenaries deliver a wight down from the Wall. She had seen with her own eyes what those things were. So the letter didn't give her a moment's doubt.

Jon had sent the same letter to every great lord in Westeros. He hadn't left out Drogo, even though Drogo held Storm's End.

The Night's Watch takes no sides. No faction, no faith. Only grain.

"He wants grain." Drogo set the letter back on the table.

"We should help them," Sansa said.

Daenerys glanced at her. "You want to help your bastard brother."

Drogo thought: also your great-nephew.

Sansa pushed back. "He is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The Wall he guards protects the entire North. It protects all Seven Kingdoms."

Brienne had been standing behind Sansa without moving. Now she stepped half forward. "The Night's Watch has been the shield of the Seven Kingdoms since the Age of Heroes. Whoever sits the Iron Throne should send what aid they can to the Wall."

Drogo nodded. "5 ships of grain. We're not rich either." He looked over at Woodford, standing in the doorway. "Write to Jon. Tell him the ships will leave from Tarth and sail straight to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

"Yes, Khal. I'll go write it now." Woodford Tamade turned and walked out.

The servants carried the last of the chests out to the wagons, and the party set off.

Drogo didn't ride. Drogon flew somewhere above the clouds, and now and then a black shape slipped through a gap in the overcast, its shadow sliding across the grass alongside the wagon train.

Daenerys rode in the first wagon with Missandei beside her. Barristan rode ahead of them on horseback.

Sansa and Brienne rode in the second.

The bloodriders and Drogo led the column.

Jaime Lannister was locked in the third wagon. Canvas canopy, iron chains at the four corners, and every stone in the road sent a jolt through the boards.

Podrick Payne sat at the back of the wagon with his legs dangling off the edge.

At Wendwater Bridge the caravan moved onto ships.

The gangplank went down on the dock. Servants carried chests aboard. The Unsullied stood in two columns on either side, spears planted on the ground.

When Jaime was brought out of the wagon, the chains on his wrists caught the afternoon sun.

His gold hair was dirty and tangled, his jaw thick with beard he'd grown since his capture. But his back was straight when he walked. He reached the gangplank and stopped.

Daenerys stood at the ship's prow.

She looked down at Jaime on the dock. Jaime looked up at her.

"I see your violet eyes," Jaime said, "and I think of Aerys Targaryen."

Barristan's face went hard. He clenched his fists and started forward.

Daenerys put a hand out to stop him. "He was your white-cloak brother once. Let him speak. I want to hear about my father."

Barristan ground his teeth. He stepped back, chest rising and falling. "All those years serving beside him. He's stained my white cloak just by association."

Jaime looked at Barristan Selmy and smiled. "The king was alone in the throne room, pacing. His gnarled, blood-crusted hands wouldn't stop wringing."

"The fool was always cutting himself on the Iron Throne's barbs and blades. I walked in quietly, gold armor, sword drawn."

"Aerys saw the blood on the blade and asked if it was Lord Tywin's."

He shifted his voice into something thin and frantic, mimicking the Mad King. "'I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head — bring me his head now, or I'll burn you with him. Burn you all with the traitors. Rossart says the enemy is in the city, he'll give them a proper welcome. Tell me! Whose blood is that? Whose?!'"

Jaime paused. "'Rossart's,' I said."

Daenerys's fingers tightened on the rail.

"Those violet eyes went wide. That royal mouth fell open. He soiled himself, turned, and ran for the Iron Throne." Jaime took a step forward, chains dragging across the gangplank with a slow rattle.

"Beneath the hollow eye sockets of a hundred stone dragons on the walls above, I hauled the last dragonking down the steps. Heard him squeal like a pig. Smelled the shit and piss. And then I opened his throat with my sword."

"So simple." Jaime's voice was almost reflective. "I think about that moment, still. A king shouldn't die so cravenly. Rossart was a worthless pyromancer, but at least he tried to fight back. Strange, isn't it, no one ever asks who killed Rossart. Ah, but why would they? Lowborn. Hand for two weeks. Just another one of the Mad King's mad ideas."

Daenerys came down from the prow. Her boots landed on the gangplank, one step, then the next. Her violet eyes stayed on Jaime's green ones and did not blink.

Drogo dropped off the ship and put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back a step. She pulled against him. He held.

"He doesn't want to be our leverage against Tywin. He's trying to make you kill him."

Daenerys said nothing. Her breathing was rough, her shoulders trembling faintly under his hand.

Brienne moved first. One punch to the back of Jaime's neck.

His head snapped forward. The chains jerked taut with a crack. His knees folded and he went down sideways onto the gangplank, chains scraping a pale line across the wood.

Drogo rolled his right hand out. "Get him on the ship. Lock him in the hold."

The Unsullied stepped forward, lifted Jaime off the gangplank, and dragged him below.

➤ Next: Melisandre's Awakening