GOT: The Great — Chapter 222 - Melisandre's Awakening
The fleet sailed down the Wendwater and into Blackwater Bay.
Thirteen transport ships in a single column. The current was with them, but the wind wasn't, so the sails had been furled and only the bare masts stood against the sky.
Drogon flew above the clouds. Rhaegal and Viserion flanked the fleet on either side, wings spread wide, their wingtips nearly brushing the water.
They crossed and banked above the ships in slow, overlapping circles. Their shadows swept across the decks.
No enemies along the coast.
King's Landing's fleet had retreated to the upper reaches of the Blackwater Rush. Not even patrol ships.
This stretch of water had been Drogo's territory for some time now. From Storm's End to Dragonstone, Nimiz had held the bay for months.
Even so, Drogo kept all three dragons on escort the entire way. In Westeros, the people who let their guard down didn't survive their first winter.
Two days later, in the afternoon, Dragonstone's black-stone coastline surfaced from the sea mist. A crowd had already gathered on the dock. Drogo stood at the bow and spotted the tall figure in the red robe from far off.
The ship came in. Daenerys Targaryen was already on the pier.
She hadn't waited for his orders. She was directing the Unsullied on the dock, telling servants where to carry the chests, assigning Jaime Lannister a windowless stone chamber, giving Podrick Payne the cell beside it, and getting the grain from Storm's End counted and put into storage.
Drogo walked down the gangplank. On the dock, Melisandre and Jonina Beeyon stood side by side, waiting.
Melisandre wore her red robe, the hem pressed flat against her calves by the sea wind.
The great ruby at her throat caught the afternoon light and burned. Her red-copper hair lay over her shoulders. Her face was smooth and ageless and told you nothing.
Jonina stood beside her. She had a full head of height on Melisandre and two shoulders' worth of width. Her arms were folded across her chest. The thick braid hung down her back.
Two red priests standing together. One looked like she'd walked out of a fire. The other looked like she hauled cargo for a living.
"Khal." Melisandre dipped her head.
"Khal." Jonina dipped hers too, but her voice was ten times louder.
Drogo nodded at them both, then walked toward the far end of the dock. Daenerys was still directing the last of the chests and had no attention to spare for him.
Good. He needed this window to settle the Relic Raiders.
Two warships were moored at the far end of the dock.
Fresh hulls, the planks not yet grayed from seawater. A row of iron rings ran along the gunwales, two shields hanging from each one.
The sails were already up. Black canvas, and painted across them the Relic Raiders' emblem: a skull wreathed in a blazing red heart.
Jonina had designed it herself. When she finished, she stood back and stared at it for a long moment, then said that was how you went to sea in style.
Crow's Eye was already aboard.
He stood on the deck on two wooden crutches, the tops wrapped in leather padding, wedged under both armpits.
His right hand was still bandaged. Both ankles too. But he no longer needed the foot braces.
"Jonina Beeyon!" His voice came down from the deck. "How much longer are you going to drag this out."
Jonina didn't look at him. She stood in front of Drogo and folded her arms tighter.
"I got the prophecy right. Let me stay with you. My magic is stronger than Melisandre's, and I can fight. Two Kingsguard at once, I could handle that."
"When you're in danger, I can protect you." She pushed her sleeve up and showed him her bicep. "Melisandre followed Stannis. Stannis died, and she was useless."
"That's because Stannis was too weak," Drogo said.
Jonina's lips moved. Nothing came out.
"You're going to Valyria. I need Valyrian steel. And I need someone strong enough to keep Crow's Eye in line." Drogo glanced toward the dock.
The Mountain stood at the edge of it, both hands resting on the haft of his two-handed warhammer, the head planted on the stone. Drogo waved him over.
The Mountain came and held out the warhammer. The haft was as long as a grown man's forearm. The head was a solid block of iron. Drogo took it by the haft and raised it in front of Jonina.
"I thought about it for a long time. Only this weapon suits you."
Jonina took it with one hand. Her right hand closed around the haft. She lifted it straight overhead.
Then she snapped her wrist. The warhammer arced over her head in a half-circle and came down at her feet, hitting the flagstones with a heavy, flat CRACK.
Her strength was not a step behind the Mountain's.
"If Crow's Eye tries anything clever," she said, swinging the warhammer up onto her shoulder, "I'll break every bone in his body."
She glanced at Melisandre.
"I never thought I'd lose to you."
Melisandre smiled, just slightly. "We both serve R'hllor. It's simply that seeking Valyrian steel is a task better suited to you."
Jonina didn't answer. She turned, shouldered the warhammer, and walked toward the ships.
She stepped onto the gangplank. It bowed under her weight, then snapped back.
She crossed the deck, walked past Crow's Eye without a glance, went to the base of the mast, and stood the warhammer against the gunwale.
Both warships pulled in their gangplanks. The mooring lines came free from the posts. The sails filled with the north wind. The hulls turned slowly and bit into the gray water of Blackwater Bay.
The two warships shrank, and then they were gone.
Drogo turned. Melisandre was still behind him.
"Let's go," he said.
They climbed to the top floor of the Stone Drum Tower.
Melisandre stood at the map table. Her finger started at Oldtown and moved north along the coastline, past Casterly Rock, past the Iron Islands.
"The world is blinded by false gods." Her finger stopped on the Stone Shore. "Only you sought out the true god. You are master of Dragonstone, this place of smoke and salt. You have three dragons. You were reborn in fire. You are the true prince that was promised."
The ruby at her throat pulsed with a slow, deep light.
"You know who the real enemy is. The god of darkness. The soul of black ice. The god of night and terror."
"I have never met anyone with such clarity of purpose."
As she spoke, she slipped the red robe off her shoulders.
It slid down and pooled on the stone floor. She had nothing on underneath.
She walked up to Drogo and sank down in front of him.
Drogo looked down at her.
Her fingers were quick and sure. The belt came undone without a sound.
She tilted her head up. Her red-copper hair fell back from her shoulders.
"Oh. So big."
Her skill was beyond anything Drogo had encountered.
He pulled her to her feet and carried her to the window, turning her to face Blackwater Bay. The sea wind came pouring through. Winter wind, cold enough to cut, scraping across the skin like a blade.
But against her warmth, it wasn't cold at all.
Blackwater Bay lay spread out below them. Gray sea, gray sky. Waves broke against the rocks in a steady, rolling hush.
Melisandre's hands found the windowsill. The wind lifted her red-copper hair and wrapped it around his fingers. Loose, then tangled. Tangled, then loose again.
The sun cast their shadows down onto the floor. One shape, overlapping.
➤ Next: Six Queensguard