GOT: The Great — Chapter 226 - The Horse King Who Fears the Sea
Only Drogo and the three city-state leaders remained in the palace.
The Grand Master sat at one end of the long table. The envoys from Myr and Pentos flanked him on either side.
The Grand Master of Tyrosh spoke first.
"Khal Drogo, this battle needs a single commander. Tyrosh, Myr, Pentos — combine our ships without unified command and those forty-six vessels will each fight their own war."
He knocked three rings against the tabletop. "You will be that commander."
The envoy from Myr stroked the stubble on his chin. "Myr has no objection. You have dragons. On open water, one dragon is worth ten warships."
The envoy from Pentos pinched the gold chain at his throat and gave a single nod.
Drogo glanced at them both.
I know nothing about naval warfare. Let alone this kind of medieval naval warfare.
In every memory the Horse King left me, the words "naval battle" simply did not exist.
The Dothraki feared the sea, and the original Horse King was no different, the sight of open water made him scowl. That was precisely why he had relied so heavily on Nimiz to command his navy.
But he didn't need to know the sea. He had dragons.
On the Dothraki Sea, he had used a dragon to burn Moro's khalasar alliance. In the Reach, he had used a dragon to tear apart Jaime Lannister's shield wall.
Grasslands or open water, a dragon was the same. It flew in the sky.
Scout the enemy's position, movements, and intentions. Everything after that was just deciding where to pour the fire.
"Before we move out, I'll go see where they are." Drogo stood. "How their ships are arranged, how many there are." He looked at the three of them. "Get your fleets in order and wait for me to return."
He walked out of the palace, climbed onto Drogon's back, and pulled the reins up.
Drogon spread his wings, pushed off the ground, and flew south.
The Stepstones rose out of the sea mist.
From above, the scattered islands looked like a giant had grabbed a fistful of stones and flung them across the water.
Drogo dropped altitude. Drogon's wings skimmed along the underside of the cloud layer as they passed through.
The sea wind howled in his ears.
He found the Dornish fleet.
The warships were anchored south of Bloodstone Island, arranged in two arcs with their rams pointing outward. The ships were spread apart from one another.
Drogo understood immediately why. Dragonflame sprays wide, ships packed together could lose several in a single blast. Spread them out, and the dragon had to take them one at a time.
The Black Dragon had given him an eagle's eyes. Even from altitude he could make out the bolt throwers mounted on each hull.
Every ship carried them, fixed to the bow, mounted along the sides. The mounts could rotate. Whatever direction the dragon came from, the bolt throwers could swing around to track it.
They were staggered at different elevations too, offset at varying angles. No matter which direction the dragon dove from, there would always be a set of bolt throwers that could draw a bead on it.
And the ships sat close to shore. The land could be hiding more bolt throwers, archers, or something else entirely.
Drogo burned the Dornish formation into his memory, then pulled the reins and turned back.
By the time he returned to Tyrosh, the 46 warships had already formed two lines outside the harbor.
He had Drogon circle once over the fleet, then brought him down onto the deck of the flagship. The three commanders were already waiting at the bow.
Drogo spread the sea chart across the deck, pinned the four corners with sword scabbards, and pressed his finger onto the position where the Dornish ships sat at anchor.
I have to wait until the sea battle locks into a grinding stalemate. Until the Dornish are too busy to watch the sky.
Then I move.
"The fleet goes in first." Drogo said. "Tyrosh's 22 ships press straight into their front and break the formation apart. Myr's 16 ships seal the west and block their retreat route back to Dorne. Pentos's 8 ships are fast — circle behind the island and seal off the southern escape route toward the Disputed Lands."
The three commanders exchanged a glance.
This kind of fighting they knew. Wedge formation driving in. Flanks wrapping around. Retreat routes cut off.
With dragons, there was no need to fight for the weather gauge. No need to worry about whether the enemy's rams were heavier than yours. Force the enemy ships together, and then wait for fire to rain down from the sky.
"No prisoners. Not a single ship left to the Dornish."
The fleet weighed anchor.
46 warships formed a wedge and advanced toward the Stepstones.
Tyrosh's 22 ships held the front, narrow-hulled and long, bows carved with sea beasts, flags embroidered with the purple dye flower. Myr's 16 ships took the left, wide-bodied, deep-drafted, flags bearing the gear. Pentos's 8 ships held the right, sharp-prowed, swift, flags bearing a setting sun.
Oars bit into the water. The flags on the masts cracked and snapped in the sea wind.
Drogo rode Drogon at the head of the fleet. Rhaegal and Viserion flanked him on either side. The shadows of three dragons stretched across the surface of the sea, and from behind they looked like three black blades cutting ahead of the fleet.
On the water, the Dornish had already prepared to receive them.
The two arcs tightened. Bolt thrower muzzles swung around in unison. Shore-mounted bolt throwers adjusted their angles, and iron spears jutted out from behind the reef rocks.
Tyrosh's 22 ships charged in first.
Oars struck the water together. Speed built. Rams aimed at the densest section of the Dornish line.
The bow-mounted bolt throwers fired first. Iron spears trailed ropes across the water and bit into the sides of Dornish ships. The Dornish returned fire. Iron spears flew back and tore into Tyrosh sails.
The sails split open. No ship slowed down.
The gap between the two forces closed. Closer. Close enough to see the faces of soldiers on the opposite deck.
Rams slammed together. Hulls shuddered.
Tyrosh soldiers leapt across the sides. Swords crashed against Dornish shields. The sea filled with battle cries and the ring of iron.
Drogo waited in the sky.
When the ships of both sides were completely tangled, decks packed with men, nowhere to aim, the bolt throwers went silent.
He tugged the reins. Drogon dove. Rhaegal and Viserion plunged down with him.
Drogon leveled off 30 feet above the water, neck stretching forward, and poured dragonflame across the deck of a Dornish command ship.
The mast burned away. The sails shriveled into charred rags. The bolt thrower crews were swallowed by fire before they could swing their muzzles around.
Rhaegal cut in from the east, flame pouring down onto a Dornish ship locked in a ram against a Myr warship.
Viserion swept around from the south and cut off the last 2 Dornish ships trying to flee through the channel behind the island.
The sea was all fire.
When the battle ended, 41 enemy ships had sunk in the Stepstones.
Not all of them were Dornish. The shredded canvas bore all manner of markings, among them the insignia of the Summer Isles.
Pirate ships. They had come out hoping to profit from the chaos, and were burned along with everything else.
On Grey Gallows Island, Drogo was leaning against Drogon's flank to rest when the Grand Master of Tyrosh came hurrying over.
The Grand Master walked up, smiled, and congratulated him on the victory. Then his tone shifted and his brow creased.
"You burned those pirates' ships too. You've made serious enemies of them. They won't let this go."
Drogo leaned against the dragon's wing. He didn't bother lifting his eyes. "Those pirates raided my supply ships running from Slaver's Bay to Dragonstone more than once. Even with naval escorts, they always found a gap to strike. I dealt with them while I was at it."
The Grand Master rubbed his hands together, a wry smile pressed onto his face. "But after a blow like this, they'll come looking for revenge. Our Tyroshi merchant ships won't know a day's peace..."
Drogo knew the pirates' treasures were hidden on the islands. Burning their ships only kept them off the water for a while. Their wealth was intact. They would build new ships before long.
He straightened and looked at the Grand Master. "I understand your concern. I promise — once I sit the Iron Throne, I will send troops to sweep every last one of these island pirates clean."
The Grand Master opened his mouth, took in the look on Drogo's face, and thought better of it. "Alright. Let's hope you remember those words." He nodded and stepped back.
Over the following 2 weeks, Drogo rode Drogon on aerial reconnaissance every day.
He circled over Grey Gallows Island, Bloodstone Island, Maggot Island, Salt Cliffs Island, and every other island in the chain. Any stray enemy ship he spotted, he went straight down and burned. Any fleet gathered together, he turned back and summoned the combined fleet.
He swept the waters around the Stepstones clean.
Every ship in sight sank to the bottom of the sea.
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