90: Chapter 90 The Logic of Harvesting

Drogon’s tail paused for a beat, then continued to flick.

He had one more question.

“In your plan, I hide after luring the enemy, letting the Enforcement Squad and the Gold Cloaks fight. What happens after the fight?”

“The Enforcement Squad is here for me. They won't forget their mission just because they had a skirmish with the Gold Cloaks—they are special agents directly under The Senate, not mercenaries.”

“After defeating Cersei's forces, they will still search for my bloodline signal in King's Landing.”

“When that time comes—will it be me alone against the five of them, or will they have been worn down by the Gold Cloaks enough for me to come out and harvest them?”

A faint, cold curve appeared at the corner of Melisandre's mouth. It wasn't a smile, but the certainty of “this too is part of the plan.”

“The latter. According to the visions in the flames—the Gold Cloaks' ballistas can at least wound one or two Dragonborn Knights.”

“There are over a hundred anti-air ballistas on the walls of King's Landing, using iron bolts—the tips are dipped in wildfire residue. Dragon scales can stop ordinary arrows, but they cannot stop ballistas.”

“If the Enforcement Squad is forced to fly at a low altitude—there are also wildfire jars hidden by Cersei on the rooftops of Flea Bottom. Those aren't the fifty-six jars from my prophecy, but ones Cersei buried herself.”

“If she could blow up the Great Sept of Baelor, she can blow up Flea Bottom. Once Flea Bottom is blasted, wildfire will splash onto the low-flying dragons.”

Drogon’s tail stopped. A rare flicker of admiration for someone else's scheme flashed in his slitted pupils. It wasn't the “this person's combat power is decent” kind of praise from before, but praise for the scheme itself.

“So it's not just letting the Enforcement Squad fight the Gold Cloaks. It's letting them fight the Gold Cloaks—then letting Cersei's wildfire hit the Enforcement Squad. Finally, if there are any crippled ones left, I'll come out to finish them off.”

“Precisely.”

White Mane walked from the wall to the long table.

She held a small pebble picked up from the training ground—it was a fragment of a spearhead that an Unsullied veteran had had sliced off by a dragon-kiss sword last night. It was made of obsidian, with extremely sharp edges and a fresh break. She tossed the pebble onto the map of King's Landing, landing exactly on Flea Bottom to the south of the Red Keep.

The pebble bounced on the map and stopped on the words “Flea Bottom,” its edge leaving a faint scratch on the parchment.

“You've calculated a lot on the political and magical levels. But you missed the simplest thing—the commoners in King's Landing harbor a hatred for Cersei stronger than any ballista.”

Her voice was flat, but every word was as sharp as the edge of her blade.

“If the Enforcement Squad flies low over Flea Bottom, gets hit by ballistas, and crashes, destroying a cluster of houses—those commoners won't help Cersei, nor will they help the dragons.”

“But they will help themselves. They will scavenge the ruins for fallen dragon scales, dragon blood, and anything on a dragon's body that can be sold for money.”

“A dragon scale can be traded for ten years' worth of food on the black market, and dragon blood can be sold as an aphrodisiac. When the time comes—you won't need to collect the bodies yourselves. The poor of Flea Bottom will help you strip the wounded Dragonborn Knights for parts.”

Jorah's face twitched. His fingers stopped on the table, his knuckles turning slightly white.

“...So that's your suggestion. Let the commoners scavenge the dragon corpses.”

“I am Dothraki. On my grass sea, if one Khal is defeated by another, his people will dismantle his tent and divide it up. It's not called cruelty. It's called a result.”

White Mane's tone held no hint of justification. She was simply stating a fact. After speaking, she took a step back and leaned against the wall again, arms crossed. The hilt of her dragon-kiss sword peeked out from her waist, its intertwined dragon-shaped crossguard glinting coldly in the dim light.

Daenerys didn't comment. Her fingertips continued to tap on the tabletop—tap, tap, tap. After a moment, she turned to Drogon.

“If this plan is set in motion—how long will you need to stay in King's Landing?”

“Depends on when the Enforcement Squad arrives. They are currently three and a half weeks away. If they arrive early—I might have to stay for three weeks.”

“If I continue my cultivation in King's Landing—I can look for dragonglass in the city. The black market has it. Last time I was at the Flea Bottom black market, I saw many fake relics, but the dragonglass fragments were the real deal. That fake sword stall owner still owes me a thank you—I saved him from spending time in a dark dungeon.”

“Three weeks. The maximum duration for a full human form is seventy-two hours. How will you solve that?”

“Incomplete human form. I'll revert to my dragon-man form after entering the city—but I'll wear a robe and a hood.”

“There are plenty of wandering mercenaries and foreign merchants in King's Landing—from Essos, from the Summer Islands, all sorts of people. A robe will hide the tail and scales; no one will give you a second look.”

“If I really need to hide—I'll switch to my full human form. I've stayed in Flea Bottom for three days; the most dangerous thing isn't the Gold Cloaks, but the vendors selling fake goods.”

Jorah interjected. His tone was cautious, but his brow was furrowed even tighter than before.

“Your Majesty, this plan has too many variables. Can the wildfire all be dismantled? Is Margaery Tyrell truly reliable? Will the Enforcement Squad see through it? If they fly directly over King's Landing and ignore the Gold Cloaks' ballistas—”

Melisandre spoke before he could finish. There was a certainty in her voice that seemed soaked in flames for two hundred years.

“If they have the patience to ignore the ballistas, then they have the patience to first find the hidden Lord Drogon.”

“But I have seen it in the flames—they will not ignore them. Because their captain is a Pureblood Chronos Dragon. The speed of a Chronos Dragon is unparalleled, but because of that—they are accustomed to solving everything with speed.”

“They won't hover and wait over King's Landing like crows waiting for carrion. They will dive, lock on, and strike. The Gold Cloaks' ballistas will fire when they dive—because a diving dragon is the largest target.”

“It's a dragon's instinct—the faster they go, the easier they are to provoke. No matter how well-trained the Dragon Senate's Enforcement Squad is, they aren't here to play diplomatic games with humans. They are here to find their own kind. Being shot with iron bolts by a pack of monkeys—even the most rational dragon will breathe a blast of fire first.”

Jorah stared at her. He was silent for a long time. His grey eyes looked like two pieces of flint in the dim light.

“You are very confident in your analysis.”

“I have spent two hundred years studying the behavioral patterns of dragons in prophecies. If I couldn't even predict that a dragon would get angry when shot by a ballista, I wouldn't be fit to be a priestess of the Lord of Light.”

The council chamber fell into silence once more.

This silence was longer than the last. So long that the oil in the Dragonglass Lamp began to flicker slightly—the wick was almost burnt out. So long that Barristan's hand, stroking his beard, stayed suspended in mid-air, his fingers still resting on his beard.

So long that the sea breeze outside the window stopped and started, and started and stopped again.

Daenerys's fingertips stopped tapping. She looked up, her purple eyes scanning everyone present. Her voice wasn't heavy, but every word carried weight.

“I will not make a decision on this plan tonight. Not because I think it's unfeasible.”

“But because once it starts, there is no turning back. Five hundred thousand people in King's Landing, the alliance with House Tyrell, the Targaryen reputation in Westeros, Drogon's safety—everything rests on a single plan. I need to sleep on it and hear it again when I wake.”

Melisandre bowed her head slightly. She didn't press further or say much more. “Your Majesty is wise.”

“But I also require—starting tomorrow, make the following preparations.”

Daenerys held out her fingers, counting them one by one.

“Ser Jorah, contact Margaery Tyrell and provide her with a rough map of the Red Keep's secret passages. Have her people begin assessing the difficulty of dismantling the wildfire fuses.”

“Commander White Mane, select three Dothraki who speak the common tongue and can disguise themselves as King's Landing commoners to serve as Drogon's emergency contacts in the city.”

“Melisandre, update the Enforcement Squad's distance and speed once a day. Drogon—you go to Storms End tomorrow to recover the relics. Go and return on the same day. After you return—we will talk your infiltration plan for King's Landing details.”

Jorah took a deep breath. It was so deep his chest swelled.

“Your Majesty, this is as good as starting the preparations.”

“Preparation is not execution. But I do not fight battles for which I am unprepared.”

She stood up. Her cloak slipped from her shoulders, and she caught it with one hand. She walked toward the council chamber door, and as she passed Drogon, her fingers brushed the tip of his tail hanging by his side, extremely lightly and quickly. The contact between scales and fingertips lasted only an instant—so fast that no one but the two of them noticed.

Her voice was very low. So low that only he could hear it. Her voice brushed past his ear.

“Come back from Storms End. We'll talk privately.”