GOT: The Great — Chapter 223 - Six Queensguard
After three times, even Drogo was starting to struggle.
Rhaegal's life-bond warmed and sustained him, his body far stronger than any ordinary man's, but the woman sprawled across his chest, fingers still tracing slow circles on his belly, wasn't breathing the least bit unevenly.
They lay on the windowsill.
Outside, the sky over Blackwater Bay had gone completely dark. No moon over the sea. Only waves breaking against the rocks.
Melisandre pressed her face to his shoulder, copper-red hair spilling loose across Drogo's arm.
Her fingers moved from his belly to his chest and stopped over his heart. Her fingertip pressed lightly there.
The ruby at her throat glowed faint red, like she held a still-smoldering coal inside it.
"I know you Dothraki like doing it under the open sky."
She swung her leg over his waist and sat up. Her copper-red hair slid off her shoulders, the ends brushing across his chest.
"Come. I want more."
Drogo put his hands on her waist.
---
The next morning, by the time Drogo came down from the Painted Table chamber, the sun had already cleared the tip of the Stone Drum Tower.
Daenerys Targaryen was already waiting for him outside.
She had changed into a new robe, black, the collar embroidered in silver thread with a three-headed dragon. One head faced forward, the other two faced left and right, each holding a pearl in its mouth.
Her silver hair was braided and coiled atop her head, pinned with the dragon-shaped silver clasp.
Barristan Selmy stood beside her, white beard neatly combed, longsword at his hip.
Five people stood in front of them.
Strong Belwas was at the far left, his bald head catching the morning light, the newly healed scar on his chin not yet fully faded. Batista stood beside him, shoulders filling half the doorframe. The Rock Johnson stood next to Batista with no war hammer in hand, fingers laced together over his belly, looking faintly uncomfortable standing empty-handed.
Missandro and Missander stood at the far right.
Daenerys spoke. "My sun and stars."
"My father had seven Kingsguard. My brother Rhaegar had his sworn shields. Ser Barristan is the last living white knight of my father's guard."
"He protected me all the way from Essos back to Westeros. Now he will serve as captain of my Queensguard."
Barristan stepped forward and knelt on one knee, longsword laid flat across his knee. "By the Warrior's name, I vow to serve Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I will protect her, obey her, and give my life for her if it comes to that. Until death."
Daenerys placed her hand on his head. "Rise, Ser Barristan. Captain of the Queensguard."
Barristan rose and withdrew to stand behind her.
Daenerys walked to Belwas. He towered a full two heads above her, but when she looked up at him, Belwas was the one who lowered his head. When he knelt, his knee hit the stone floor with a dull, heavy thud.
"Strong Belwas, by the Warrior's name, I name you to my Queensguard."
"By the Warrior's name." Belwas's voice was a low rumble. "I vow. Whoever touches the little queen dies."
Daenerys moved to Batista, then to The Rock Johnson.
Finally she came to Missandro and Missander.
"You followed me from Astapor to Meereen, and from Meereen to Westeros. You are not slaves I bought. You are my family. By the Warrior's name, I name you to my Queensguard."
Barristan counted from left to right. Belwas, Batista, Johnson, Missandro, Missander, plus himself. He went through the names silently, then turned to Daenerys.
"Six. One short."
There was still Jaime Lannister sitting in a cell somewhere, but Drogo only stood to the side and said nothing, from beginning to end.
"We'll find the right person in time," Daenerys answered.
Drogo was already turning back toward the Painted Table chamber when something caught the corner of his eye. Xece Tammad slipped out through the side door of the Stone Drum Tower.
Fast pace. Head down. Both hands tucked into his sleeves.
Drogo watched his silhouette disappear into the alley between the Stone Drum Tower and the armory.
---
Half a day later, Vodva Tammad came up the steps.
He walked into the Painted Table chamber gripping 3 sheets of parchment, each rolled into a tight tube and tied with twine stripped from raven leg-rings.
"Khal, 3 ravens intercepted. The content is much the same across all three — the fleet in Blackwater Bay is meant to menace King's Landing, not the main attack. Not coming from this direction."
Drogo took the parchment and unrolled them. Three different hands, but the content matched well enough.
"Varys has informants planted around me." Drogo slapped the sheets onto the Painted Table. "Xece Tammad is one. Who are the other two."
"I don't know." Vodva's voice was flat and heavy.
Drogo had leaked the story long ago, the fleet blockading Blackwater Bay wasn't the main thrust. Then he'd brought his Khaleesi across, and today she had named five Queensguard. The bait had done its work. The informants had taken the hook.
Vodva gathered the letters and rolled them back up. "I'll send them all out now."
"I want them believing I won't strike at Blackwater Bay. Then I'm going to hit them right there." Drogo looked at Vodva. "Let the informants keep sending. Every letter comes to me first before you decide whether to release it."
Vodva pressed a hand to his chest. "Yes, Khal." He turned and walked out.
Not long after, Nimitz pushed open the door.
"Khal, there's a problem." He walked to the Painted Table, finger moving east from the Sea of Dorne and stopping on an island. "Tyrosh. The supply convoy we assembled for the assault on King's Landing passed right through those waters."
Drogo studied the map. Tyrosh was an island city-state on the western coast of Essos. The Stepstones sat right beside it.
"The Dornish fleet came out of the Stepstones and hit them." Nimitz's voice was tight. "Burned a third of our ships. Captured another third."
"Only a third made it to Tarth and Dragonstone, and that was with Tyroshi help. When the Tyroshi saw the Dornish fleet coming, they sent warships out to engage them and forced a retreat — that's what saved the last of the supply convoy. The Dornish didn't linger after. They went straight back to the Stepstones."
Nimitz pulled his hand from the map. "Our grain ships. The military supplies and reinforcements coming out of Meereen. Every last one of them has to pass through the Stepstones."
Drogo braced both hands on the edge of the Painted Table and looked down at the southernmost point on the map of Westeros.
The Stepstones. On the map, just a scatter of broken islands stretching from the Sea of Dorne to the Disputed Lands.
Ships from Slaver's Bay had to hug the coast of the Disputed Lands and push through the Stepstones first. If the Dornish fleet dug in there, his supply lines were finished.
Doran Martell. Bedridden for years. The world had written him off as a cripple. But he had been quietly working toward a Targaryen restoration the entire time.
Except Daenerys had married Drogo, a Dothraki horselord. And Viserys had long since been made a eunuch. Dorne had no reason left to keep honoring that pact in secret.
"I'm taking the Stepstones."
"We came a long way," Nimitz said. "Splitting off a fleet to hit the Stepstones before we've even moved on King's Landing — isn't that too big a risk?"
"The Stepstones have always been a pirate nest. Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh fight over the territory constantly. Legend says it was once a land bridge connecting the two continents, until the green seers shattered it into islands with magic."
Drogo knew how it had gone for Daemon Targaryen, rode a dragon, fought in the Stepstones for years, ground those people down before they finally bent.
"Men can hide in caves. You'll never root them out. But ships?" He looked at the map. "Can ships hide in caves?"
I don't need to subdue them. I just need to keep them from leaving port.
➤ Next: The Archon of Tyrosh's Reckoning