Chapter 257 - Sacrificing Viserys — Face to Face

That night, only a few candles burned in the Throne Room.

Drogo sat atop it, a thick blanket cushioning his back against the blades of the chair.

Melisandre sat on his lap, her red robes hiked to her waist, her head tilted back, short broken sounds escaping her throat.

One of his hands steadied her waist. The other reached toward Margaery, who perched on the armrest of the throne, his fingertips tracing down along her waistline and finding nothing but dry skin.

Margaery's lips pressed tight.

"My king." Her voice was low, but the edge in it was unmistakable. "I feel nothing. Not here."

The opposite was true of Melisandre.

The red priestess's breathing came fast and shallow, a fine sheen of moisture trickling down the inside of her thigh and dripping onto the Iron Throne.

Drogo withdrew his hand, wiped it across his palm, then reached toward Margaery again.

Margaery didn't pull away. She didn't lean in either. She simply turned her face to the side and fixed her gaze on the pitch-black sky beyond the high window, as if waiting for it to be over.

Then the door to the Throne Room swung open.

The heavy oak slammed against the stone wall with a dull thud. Wind rushed through the gap and made both rows of candles shudder and dip.

Jonina Beeyon stood in the doorway.

She had changed into clean clothes. The scars on her face looked deeper in the candlelight.

She walked in without hesitation, her gaze sweeping openly over the tangle of three bodies on the Iron Throne. She didn't so much as furrow her brow.

Melisandre, if anything, grew more excited at the interruption. Her hips sank lower.

Jonina stopped at the foot of the steps, lifted her head, and looked at Drogo. Her voice carried no inflection at all.

"Have you given any thought to hatching the dragon egg?"

Drogo paused. He withdrew his hand from Margaery and rested it on the armrest.

His breathing was still heavy. His face was already calm.

He looked down at Jonina's scarred, pulled features and spoke without hurry.

"I kept something in reserve back on the Dothraki Sea. Viserys Targaryen was kept alive for exactly this moment."

"Sacrificing Viserys Targaryen," Jonina said, "gives you 70 percent odds of hatching that egg. If it fails, where do you find another person with dragon blood?"

"Mmm... ah, and..." Melisandre cut in, her breath still catching, "the false god's High Septon. Ah... sacrifice them both together and that dragon egg will certainly hatch."

Margaery stepped back half a pace and smoothed her skirt. "Viserys Targaryen is the queen's brother. The High Septon is the spiritual center of half of Westeros. The situation has only just stabilized. We should not be creating new chaos."

Drogo glanced at her. "Daenerys Targaryen broke with Viserys Targaryen long ago. As for the High Sparrow, the Faith of the Seven rising up suits me fine. My forces are concentrated in King's Landing right now. The more they rebel, the more I crush."

Drogo patted Melisandre on the rear, signaling her to get up.

Melisandre slid off his lap. Her red robes fell back to her ankles.

"I need to inform my queen."

He left through the side hall and crossed the stone gallery connecting the Throne Room to the east wing.

The torches had burned more than halfway down. Wax dripped onto the floor tiles and hardened into milky-white clumps in the cold. His boots echoed down the corridor, then went silent where the thick carpet swallowed the sound at the turn.

Daenerys Targaryen was lodged in a high suite in the east wing, her window facing Blackwater Bay. The two Iron Guards at her door saw him coming, inclined their heads, and pushed it open.

Daenerys Targaryen was seated in a dark wooden chair by the window, receiving Jorah Mormont.

Four more Iron Guards stood behind her. Missandei sat on a low stool to her front left.

Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah stood against the wall.

Jorah's posture was slightly stooped, speaking low. When he saw Drogo enter, he stopped and straightened up.

Drogo had told Missandei in the fighting pits of Meereen that Ser Jorah was not to be alone with Daenerys Targaryen.

Seeing Drogo walk in, she lifted her chin slightly. She waited until the door had closed behind him before she spoke.

"Who did you grace with your company tonight?" Her tone was lazy, lightly mocking. "I've half forgotten what your cock looks like."

Among all his women, only Daenerys Targaryen spoke to him like that.

Drogo picked Missandei up, settled himself onto her stool, and set her on his knee. "I'm here for serious business. I intend to restore the Dragonpit and house the dragons there."

"That's sensible. Letting them fly wherever they please isn't a long-term answer. They'll frighten the people of King's Landing."

Jorah Mormont nodded along. "A secure lair is wise. Westeros still has enemies. Killing a dragon is hard, but it isn't impossible."

Barristan stepped forward from the Iron Guard ranks. "Dragons need enough food. And freedom."

"Freedom?" Daenerys Targaryen turned to look at him. "What do you mean? They're free now."

"You haven't walked inside the Dragonpit yet." Barristan said it plainly. "Your ancestors kept their dragons there. It's a great cavern, iron doors wide enough for 30 knights to ride through abreast."

"But even so, the dragons kept inside it never grew to the size of their forebears. The maesters say it was the walls and the dome that stunted them."

"That's nonsense." Ser Jorah cut in, the rough bluntness of the North in his voice. "If walls could limit size, then farmers should be dwarves and kings should be giants. The truth is the exact opposite — big men are born in hovels. Dwarves live in castles."

"Men are men," Barristan said. "Dragons are dragons."

Drogo thought Barristan had a point. "Then the Dragonpit stays as it is."

Daenerys Targaryen had severed any feeling for Viserys Targaryen long ago, but he was still her brother. Coming straight out with burn your brother to hatch an egg would be clumsy.

He had planned to use the Dragonpit talk to ease the conversation toward sacrifice.

But they were already here. He was done circling.

"I intend to burn Viserys Targaryen and the High Sparrow inside the Dragonpit to hatch the purple dragon egg."

Barristan objected immediately. "The High Sparrow — kill him and the remnants of the Faith Militant will rise again."

Daenerys Targaryen's gaze was still. "Are you certain the egg will hatch?"

"Certain."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she looked down at her hands resting on her knees. "When?"

"The sooner, the better."

She said nothing more.

Jorah kept the old gods. His face didn't change.

Barristan shifted his gaze from Drogo and turned toward the window.

He was remembering the Mad King, many years ago, in the Throne Room of the Red Keep. In those final years, that man had also burned people. Burned them everywhere.

He didn't say it.

He stood by the window for a moment. Then he turned and walked out.

➤ Next: Tyrion's Ghost-Catching Squad