Chapter 252 - Cersei Comforts the Troops
The clouds sealed the moon away. The green fire burning on the Blackwater Rush became the only light in the world, tracing the city walls out of the darkness and coating the towers in a sickly, infected glow.
Before he dove, Drogo glanced back over his right shoulder. Daenerys Targaryen rode Rhaegal off his flank, half a body-length behind.
She was bent low over the dragon's back, one hand locked around the saddle strap, the other braced against the pommel.
Jorah Mormont's army was hammering the Dragon Gate.
The battering ram struck the doors in a steady, brutal rhythm, each impact carrying all the way up to the sky.
Out on the sea, green fire spread flat across the water. Nimiz's fleet was stuck behind the fire line, ships circling uselessly at the edge of the burning surface, no way to reach shore.
Drogo pulled on Drogon's reins. The dragon tucked his wings and dove.
The scorpion towers on the battlements rushed up fast. Clearer with every second.
He could see men sprinting across the tower tops. Men cranking winches. Men ramming bolts into the grooves.
When the dragonflame came up out of Drogon's throat, Drogo's whole field of vision went black-red.
Wood and metal caught at the same instant. The scorpions' bow-arms warped in the heat, then snapped. The soldiers manning them never had a chance to run. Some went into the fire. Some went off the wall.
Drogo swept along the battlements, dragonflame raking scorpion after scorpion, bright streaks tearing across the night sky in his wake.
The light was enough for the archers. Arrow shrieks rose from the walls, shafts skimming past Drogon's wings. He heard them punch against his plate armor, a rapid, crisp clatter, like hailstones on sheet iron.
He wasn't worried about himself. He wasn't worried about Drogon.
He was worried about Daenerys Targaryen.
She had no armor. Just a thick silk riding dress and a leather belt at her waist. If a scorpion bolt found her body, there was no coming back from that.
He looked back.
She was still there, right rear, Rhaegal tucked into Drogon's wake, holding speed.
Drogo faced forward. Drogon dove again, and the last three scorpions on the wall burned.
The moment the giant crossbows went silent, the clouds veiling the moon parted, as if they'd been waiting for exactly that.
Silver light fell back across the broken walls of King's Landing, lighting up the deadlocked fight at the Gate of the Gods.
Drogo hauled on the reins. Drogon streaked down toward it.
Jako's Dothraki had been battering that gate for a long time. They were built for open ground, for riding and cutting, not for siegework. The horses had been wheeling back and forth under the walls, unable to crack that iron-sheathed door.
The other two dragons swept in behind, their wing-shadows crossing the streets below one after another.
By the time Drogo arrived, Tywin Lannister had already broken the Tyrell force holding the gate. His Lannister soldiers had hit from the inside, a blind-side assault the Tyrell men never saw coming. The Highgarden troops hadn't finished reacting before Westerlands soldiers rolled in from the flanks and shattered their line. The Gate of the Gods and the Iron Gate both changed hands within half an hour. Tywin had both of them in his fist.
He just couldn't hold them.
All three dragons dove at once.
Dragonflame poured from the sky. Gold-red fire crashed into the iron facing of the Gate of the Gods. Rivets burst. The wooden beams turned to charcoal in a single breath. The whole gate folded into a smoldering wreck.
The flames were still dying when the Dothraki came through. Hooves over hot ash and scorched wood, riders pouring through the gap, and the battle cries hit the streets of King's Landing like a tide coming in.
Drogo pulled Drogon up and turned for the other gates.
The Iron Gate's crossbar burned apart next.
The Lion Gate. The Old Gate. The King's Gate. He took the three dragons through them one by one, burning each open in turn. Every gate that fell let in another wave, Dothraki cavalry here, Jorah's infantry there. Every gate had a Lannister line behind it. None of those lines lasted long.
After the fire swept through, shields had melted. Spears had bent. The soldiers in iron plate were running faster than the ones without any.
The streets of King's Landing filled with the sound of hooves and voices.
From the air, the men flooding through the gates looked like black ants moving along the main roads, spreading toward the heart of the city.
Drogo brought Drogon down in the square outside the Red Keep.
The walls were high. Green Tyrell banners ran along the top.
But there were no archers under those banners. No arrows, no oil, no one.
In the square below stood more than 3,000 Tyrell knights, swords sheathed, peace banners raised. White flags, shifting in the firelight.
Jorah's infantry had the Red Keep surrounded.
Drogo dropped from the saddle and landed on the stone.
The Red Keep gates opened.
Mace Tyrell came out.
Dark green coat. A golden rose brooch at his collar.
Margaery Tyrell stood at his side, changed into a pale gown, hair pinned up, her face composed. No tension showing. No joy either.
The Tyrell cavalry in the square opened a path, from the Red Keep gates all the way to Drogo's feet. Seven or eight paces wide. The men on both sides stood straight.
Mace Tyrell walked the length of it and stopped five paces out.
He looked past Drogo at the dragon lying in the square. Drogon's wings hadn't fully folded yet, their trailing edges dragging two faint white lines across the stone. Then Mace looked back at Drogo and inclined his head.
"The Red Keep is yours, Khal Drogo."
Margaery dipped her head as well.
Drogo looked at them both. "You made the right choice."
Mace straightened and gestured behind him. "I've prepared a gift for you."
Two Tyrell knights pushed a woman out through the Red Keep gates.
Cersei Lannister. Dressed in fine clothes.
She stood on the steps and looked at the 3,000 Tyrell knights in the square. She looked at the dragon on the stones. She looked at Drogo.
Drogo glanced at her, then turned back to Mace.
"One gift? That's two."
Mace blinked. He looked at Margaery. Margaery looked at him. Neither of them followed.
Margaery started to ask.
Drogo stepped forward, reached out, and lifted her away from her father's side. One arm behind her back, one arm under her knees. Clean and direct.
Surprise crossed her face. She didn't fight it. She didn't speak. She just looked at him.
Mace stood where he was. His mouth opened. Then it closed.
Drogo carried Margaery toward the Red Keep gates.
"Let Queen Mother Cersei comfort the troops." He threw the words back without turning around.
Silence held over the square for a few breaths.
The Tyrell knights looked at each other. The Dothraki stood further back. Some were climbing down from their horses.
Cersei Lannister stood on the steps, fingers clenched tight around the edge of her cloak.
She watched Drogo carry Margaery away, the two of them disappearing into the darkness of the passage beyond the gates. Then she turned and looked out at the Dothraki cavalry filling the square.
They were looking back at her now. Some of them were already smiling.
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