Daenerys II

He stole her dragon! Dany had to rush back to Storm's End just to make sure poor Drogon was still there. She would've fallen upon Joffrey there and then, peace banner or no, but few of her horse were fit to make the journey to Bronzegate at her side, so unprepared were they for snow. No grazing land could be found, and what little fodder they had disappeared quicker than she would like. Worst of all, Lady Mormont looked into the flames and told her the thief was Queen Sansa's bastard brother who used some ancient sorcery of the First Men, something unknown and unlooked for, related to their worship of the demon trees. Ere they returned to her castle, her first order was to burn the godswood. The smoke in the air tasted sweet.

"What am I to do?" she wailed in despair. With a flying dragon, there was nothing she had to contend with the usurper.

Just when she was on the very precipice of darkness, a torch lit up in the gloom. "There is a way," Lady Melisandre promised.

"There is?"

"Yes, but you must lie with your husband for true. He has been crowned a king, but you are not wedded and bedded in the eyes of the Lord. His seed must spill."

Dany frowned. "But he's a sword-swallower. Ser Jorah said so."

To tell it true, Daenerys had been a bit offended that Renly did not wish to lie with her. Practically every other man she met, including married Ser Jorah, undressed her with his eyes. She had begun to grow used to their lusts. It was a useful thing to be a beauty men wanted. That red queen of Joffrey's was beautiful as well, and the king was handsome. Small wonder they were loved. If Jorah looked half so comely as that golden man, she should've wed him in Qarth, half a lifetime ago.

"There is a way, Your Grace. Lord Euron has sailed far and is knowledgeable in herb lore. There is a certain potion to help a man stand tall. They teach such in the Red Temple, but it was never a particular interest of mine. R'hllor's protection was enough for me. Our younger Greyjoy might also be of some help in the bedchamber."

She didn't exactly clarify what sort of help, but Dany got the idea.

In the black of night, Lady Melisandre prepared a marriage bed in the open air, under the new moon. There was a ring of torches around the bed, forming the shape of a heart. All the castle courtyard was deserted save for Dany and her husband, Renly, Euron, and Lady Mormont.

What followed surpassed description. She shivered under her furs, showing only enough skin to allow Lord Renly to enter her. Her husband's eyes were glassy and vacant, but his member stood tall as Euron promised. When he entered her, Euron joined them, mounting Renly after the Dothraki fashion. They three mated in the torchlight until Renly spilled his seed.

When her husband finished, his senses returned. "What is it?" he asked stupidly. "Why is it so cold?"

Euron pulled up his breeches and smiled coldly. "It is done, priestess. Do as you will."

With a flash of powder thrown into a torch, the courtyard was bright as day, cast in green and sickly yellow. Silent men approached, bearing chains. These were Euron's men, Dany realized, the mutes who crewed his Silence.

"Blood of a king, seed of a husband, fire of life!" Melisandre chanted as the quiet men chained her husband to the bed.

"What are you doing? What's happening? Stop! Unhand me!" he cried, growing continuously more hysterical and terrified.

Dany stood well back and wrapped herself in her furs. She hoped Renly's seed would not quicken within her. She would not wish to bear a coward's child.

With Renly chained to the bed, Lady Melisandre set the covers alight. Her husband screamed and begged as the fire spread, complaining of the hot chains that seared his flesh as the iron glowed orange, almost blinding in the black of night. His screams harmonized strangely with Melisandre's song spell. She sang in High Valyrian and the tongue of Asshai-by-the-Shadow, which she did not know. The secret words hid a haunting beauty as the flames rid her of her husband.

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Soon enough, he choked on the smoke and screamed no more. The bed still burned, and she could smell his flesh cooking. It smelled like pork.

"Call your mount, Your Grace!" Melisandre bid her at the appointed time.

"Drogon, Errerea!" Dany commanded.

She watched her black dragon, her beloved crippled child, wade into the flames and devour Renly with relish. They had not fed Drogon for three days to make sure he ate it all.

Sated at last, the Drogon curled up on the burning bed and slept. Come dawn, her baby rose and was healed!

With a thrill of exaltation, Dany commanded Drogon to be saddled once again. Just to be sure, she circled Storm's End three times, and even glided over Shipbreaker Bay, over whitecaps and jagged rocks. She was a dragonrider again!

"We must march at once!" she instructed Ser Jorah. "I will have my Rhaegal back, and the Iron Throne as well. How many can we muster?" Surely it must be a great host. Hundreds of ships and multiple trips took months to get them across the Stepstones.

Her knight and chief protector looked discomfited. "Fifty thousand swords can march, though I can't answer for how far. It is long leagues to King's Landing, Khaleesi."

"So few?" Daenerys questioned him. "Were ships of ours lost at sea?"

"Aye, and there have been other trials. This climate is not wholesome to our horses, and many are sick." His hairy face darkened. "Many have died."

She sighed. Supply problems plagued them on the Rhoyne as well. "Tell me what we have, Ser, and spare not my nerves. I would know all."

Ser Jorah leaned upon the stone wall in her castle chambers, looking suddenly old and tired. "Of your elites, two thousand. One thousand true Unsullied remain to you, and one thousand Ghiscari knights trained after the manner of the Seven Kingdoms, though half of those are squires, yet to win their spurs."

"That is good," she said. "They can be the reserve, held back until the point of uttermost need."

Jorah nodded. "The reserves, yes. Of foot, four lockstep legions remain to you, of five thousand men each. These are no true Unsullied. They are uncut and have only trained for a few years. We blooded them on the Rhoyne, but some are still quite green. There is another ten thousand: Greyjoy men in chief, and few sworn to Storm's End we've managed to terrify into obedience."

"We shouldn't have to terrify them!" Dany shouted in anger. "I am their rightful queen." She could do sums, however. "That makes two thousand elites in reserve, and thirty thousand foot, no? And my Dothraki?"

The old bear sighed. "The worst off. Of those fit to ride and fight, you have twenty thousand, but I caution you, they will not last. Their horses die fastest of all. We're running out of fodder. If we don't march now, we'll lose them all."

Twenty thousand screamers, the last khalasar in the world, the only one to cross the poison water. It would have to be enough. "Then we must march! Tomorrow, Jorah! We go to King's Landing, and my birthright!"

With fifty thousand, they could take a throne. She knew they could. King's Landing was not so large as Selhorys, and Dany broke their gates and forced Volantis to negotiate. Joffrey Baratheon was not nearly so dangerous. In fact...

"Joffrey Baratheon is to be taken alive if possible," she instructed her foremost protector.

He looked genuinely taken aback. "Your Grace?"

Could he not see? It was obvious to her. "I am newly widowed, Ser, and this 'good King Joff' is well loved. That red queen of his looks as if she will melt prettily. Taking the throne will be easy. The problem is holding it. If I take Joffrey to husband, I'll have an easier time regaining what remains of my realm."

And he is comely, never forget.