GOT: The Great — Chapter 227 - Capture an Other

Drogo dropped off the dragon's back, boots hitting black volcanic rock.

The Stepstones route was open. Supplies would get through. But his right eyelid had been twitching nonstop.

All the way from Tyrosh to Dragonstone. Two full days of sailing.

Daenerys stood waiting for him on the steps of the Stone Drum Tower.

The sea breeze lifted her silver hair, the little dragon-shaped clasps at the ends chiming softly.

She wore a deep blue wool gown with a silver chain at her waist. Barristan Selmy and her household guards stood at her back.

"Tyrion Lannister is on the island. He's been waiting ten days."

Drogo's feet stopped.

What does the little devil want now? Not to sue for peace, surely. He's not that foolish. Anyone with half a brain knows I won't stop until I have the Iron Throne.

"He waited ten days for me, and he's not even at the dock." Drogo swept a glance over the empty pier.

"He's staying at the Sea Dragon Tower," Daenerys said. "I believe he has something important to discuss with you."

Drogo thought it over. Tyrion was the kind of man you could never predict.

In the series he'd killed Tywin, helped Daenerys cross the Narrow Sea, then ended up serving Bran. But this life had already moved in different directions. Jaime was still in his custody. Tywin was still breathing. Joffrey Baratheon still sat the Iron Throne.

He'd go find Tyrion. See what the dwarf was scheming.

Ransoming Jaime? There'd have to be a price.

The stone steps of the Sea Dragon Tower were narrow and steep. He reached Tyrion's door and was about to push it open when he heard Shae's voice through the wood, soft and clinging.

"My giant, oh, my giant..."

It climbed higher. More urgent.

He listened a moment, then pushed the door open.

Shae had Tyrion lifted completely off the ground. His short legs were clamped around her waist, both arms hooked around her neck, face buried in her chest. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her back to the door, the curve of her hips laid out plain in the candlelight.

Both of them utterly absorbed. Neither noticed the extra person in the doorway.

Drogo gave the position an eight out of ten.

Creative. Demanding. Shae looked slight, but she was stronger than she appeared.

He cleared his throat. "Mister Giant."

Tyrion's eyes opened over Shae's shoulder.

He slid down, bare feet slapping the stone floor with a crisp crack.

Shae turned. One hand over her left breast, the other between her legs.

"Ah. The Khal." Tyrion's voice had gone a little rough, but he recovered fast. His equipment was still at half-mast. "You've returned."

"Sorry to ruin the evening, Giant." Drogo's expression sat somewhere between a smile and not. "Duty calls. Can we talk?"

"Talk, yes, certainly." Tyrion bent and retrieved his trousers from the floor, worked one leg in, then the other.

"You caught me off guard, Khal. I received no notice you were coming back to Dragonstone."

"I ride my dragon wherever I want."

"Fair enough." Tyrion tugged at his waistband. "One of the advantages."

"You two didn't seem finished," Drogo said, glancing toward Shae.

She held his gaze without flinching.

"Your eyes haven't moved off my woman since you walked in, Khal." Tyrion hauled his trousers up in one yank, waistband riding above his navel. "Absolutely not. You already took Sansa. Shae is my greatest love. Completely off limits."

Not Cao Cao, Drogo thought, and gave a quiet snort.

He pulled his eyes away from Shae and got back to the point. "So why are you here?"

Tyrion put both hands on his legs and walked him out the door, pulling it shut behind them.

"I am here to offer you my service. Anyone with eyes can see you're about to win. Why would I stand on the losing side?"

"Even if you killed Tywin, I wouldn't believe you'd serve me."

The corner of Tyrion's mouth moved.

"I have thought about killing my father. But you're right that I'm also proud of being a Lannister. I am one, and I know it."

They walked out of the Sea Dragon Tower and out to the cliff's edge. Waves broke against the rocks below, rolling and churning. The sea stretched away in all directions, flat and gray, the horizon pressed down by a shelf of heavy cloud. It was going to rain.

Tyrion crouched, picked up a stone, and threw it out to sea.

"I am here to serve you." He turned to face Drogo. "I will persuade Joffrey Baratheon to surrender. You won't need to assault King's Landing. No more men die on either side."

"Persuade Joffrey Baratheon to surrender." Drogo looked down at him. The dwarf stood straight, chin up, the tendons in his neck pulled taut. "How?"

The squat little man couldn't get Cersei to bend in the series, but he'd manage Joffrey?

Drogo found it hard to believe. But not impossible. Joffrey would want to keep the Stormlands. Or there was Jaime to consider.

A scenario played out in his head: accept the surrender, let Joffrey hand over his forces, then put him in a cell. Let everyone assume he'd honor his word and make Joffrey Lord of the Stormlands. Then don't. The look on their faces.

Tyrion's next words cut through the daydream.

"We've all received ravens from the Wall. You sent five ships of grain in response — on behalf of the people of the Seven Kingdoms, I thank you. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is an old friend of mine."

"My father, Joffrey, and Cersei don't understand how serious the threat from the north truly is. If you ride your dragon beyond the Wall and bring back an Other, I can guarantee I'll persuade them to surrender. We face the dead together."

Drogo hit him.

The slap sent Tyrion airborne. He tumbled twice across the gravel before he stopped.

He lay face-down on the broken rock, a split opening at the corner of his mouth, blood dripping onto the ground. His trousers had torn through at the knee. The skin beneath was raw.

Drogo walked over and crouched down. He stared at Tyrion's startled, rattled face.

Then he noticed something.

His right eyelid had stopped twitching.

2 full days from Tyrosh to Dragonstone, and it had been hammering the whole way, steady as a war drum. He'd thought it was a storm coming. An ambush, maybe.

The real danger had been one sentence from this dwarf.

"You want me to ride beyond the fucking Wall and bring back an Other?"

Tyrion turned his head and spat blood onto the gravel. It pulled at the split in his lip. His voice was rough, but there was no give in it. "It's the only way to make Joffrey and my father surrender."

"I'll storm King's Landing myself. I don't need their surrender." Drogo's voice dropped low. "My khalasar is waiting to sack that city."

"Then all you'll get is a smoking ruin." Tyrion pushed himself up on both arms, working painfully upright, and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "My dear sister has packed King's Landing full of wildfire. She's said it plainly: she burns with the city or she doesn't burn at all."

Drogo stared at him and said nothing.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.

"Then I'll enjoy the fireworks." He turned and walked away.

"Daenerys Targaryen will not be the Queen of Ashes!" Tyrion screamed at his back, voice cracking apart. "And we got Tommen out long ago! Even if you take King's Landing, the heir to the Iron Throne is still Tommen! The people of Westeros will fight for him regardless!"

Drogo didn't look back.

➤ Next: Are You All So Eager to Deliver a Dragon to the Night King?