Chapter 247 - Let the Enemies Die First

Two dragons circled above King's Landing, their wings cutting through the clouds.

Daenerys rode Rhaegal close alongside Drogon and shouted across the gap at Drogo:

"They need help!" The wind tore her voice apart, but Drogo could read her lips well enough.

She pointed down at the dark mass of encampment sprawling outside the walls. The three-headed red dragon banners snapped and rolled in the wind. Soldiers stood in formation below, waiting on a single word.

"Our army is right outside the city! Let them attack!"

Drogo glanced at her, then looked down at King's Landing. Green fire was still erupting across the city, burst after burst, like sickly pustules splitting open and vomiting up something that had no business being above ground.

Black smoke poured from the direction of the Great Sept of Baelor. The Sons of the Warrior and the Gold Cloaks were butchering each other through the streets.

He tugged the reins. Drogon rumbled low in his chest and wheeled away, heading back toward Dragonstone.

Daenerys bit her lip and followed. Viserion trailed close behind.

The three dragons landed on the platform cut into the western cliffs of Dragonstone.

Drogo dropped from the saddle. His boots sank into thin snow. He crossed the courtyard without looking back and walked straight into the Stone Drum Tower.

Daenerys was a few steps behind. When she climbed down, her legs nearly gave. The cold wind hit her lungs like a fist. She steadied herself against Rhaegal's wing for a breath, then went in after him.

The Painted Table Chamber was quieter than before. Ramsay Bolton was gone.

"Where is Ramsay?" Drogo asked.

Grey Worm stood by the door.

"He has already departed, Khal. He took his personal guard. Said he was heading back North to deal with the wildlings."

"Deal with wildlings." Drogo scoffed. He dropped into a chair at the table, stripped off his leather gloves, and tossed them down. "He means to kill Rickon Stark. Sansa Stark let it slip that her two younger brothers are alive. Ramsay's already decided the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch has them."

"Should we send men after him?" Grey Worm asked.

"Leave him." Drogo didn't even bother looking up. His tolerance for stupidity had limits, and he'd hit them.

He turned to Missandei, standing at his side in her role as the queen's guard. "Bring Melisandre."

Missandei acknowledged the order and left.

Daenerys reached the table a moment later. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold at altitude, tiny droplets of moisture still caught in her lashes, her breathing sharper than usual.

She pressed both hands flat on the table's edge. Her silver hair fell forward over her shoulder.

"Why aren't we attacking? The Faith Militant has already risen. Barristan Selmy is in there. The High Sparrow is in there. If we do nothing, they will all be killed."

"Then let them fight." Drogo rested one hand on the table. His fingertips tapped twice without thinking.

"The ballistae are still standing on those walls. The Faith Militant never managed to destroy them. Let the Faith Militant and the Gold Cloaks bleed each other first."

"The Faith Militant are our allies!" Daenerys's voice climbed.

"Enemies killing enemies," Drogo said. "The ones left standing are still enemies. We wait until both sides are spent, then we go in and take what's left."

"I need an army that answers to me. Not a church sitting on top of its own military."

"The false god is no friend of ours."

Melisandre walked in from the corridor, wrapped in a deep red woolen robe. The wind had pulled a few strands of hair loose, but her face was what it always was: calm, steady, touched with something close to cold.

"Khal Drogo. You sent for me?"

"I need the sky to go dark."

"Dark." She held the word a moment. "How dark do you mean?"

"Plunge the battlefield into darkness. The ballistae on those walls need light to aim. No light, and they're scrap iron."

Melisandre was quiet.

She moved to the brazier and stared into the flames. The firelight shrank down to two small gold points in her pupils.

"Darkness on that scale, covering an entire battlefield," she said slowly. "That would take a storm black enough to swallow the sun. The magic required would be immense. You would need to sacrifice a true royal blood, someone like Viserys Targaryen, even to attempt it."

Daenerys fixed her with a look that could have drawn blood.

Drogo glanced at Daenerys, then turned back to Melisandre.

"If we burn Theon Greyjoy, can that bring an eclipse? I only need the battlefield dark for a short window."

Melisandre raised her eyes and studied him. The ruby at her throat pulsed faintly in the low light.

"An eclipse," she repeated. "The magic that would require is no less than summoning a blizzard. The flame my god has granted me could not sustain a celestial event of that scale."

She paused. Her fingers laced together at her waist, working through something, like a hand counting beads.

After a moment, her tone eased.

"Balon Greyjoy once crowned himself king. Theon Greyjoy, after taking Winterfell, named himself its prince."

"He carries the kraken's blood. He carries the stain of usurpation. That is more than sufficient for an offering to the Lord of Light."

"If we act at night, I can call up a bank of clouds to cover the moon. One thick layer, and the ground goes black. You will not see your own hand in front of your face."

"At night?" Daenerys's brow drew together. "That's too long. The Sons of the Warrior and the smallfolk inside the city cannot hold out that long. By nightfall they may all be dead."

"Tonight," Drogo said. Done.

He gave no room for argument. He turned and nodded to Grey Worm. "Have Vardis write to the siege commanders. When the clouds cover the moon tonight, that is the signal for the general assault. No one delays. Not for a moment."

Grey Worm straightened. His right fist pressed to his chest. Firelight moved across his black eyes.

"Yes, Khal." He turned and walked out. Steady footsteps, quick pace.

The chamber settled into quiet. A piece of charcoal in the brazier cracked softly. A few sparks landed on the stone floor and went dark.

Daenerys didn't argue again. She lowered her eyes to the Painted Table and looked at the carved terrain, the wooden markers, the little flags standing in for armies that were already bleeding.

➤ Next: Sacrifice of Reek