Daenerys Targaryen felt the chill but surprisingly, the Dothraki did not. She was worried that the sea and the weather would work against them, but instead lust and anticipation for war trounced everything else. They charged around their ships, chanting and roaring, sharpening their arakhs, even though Barrowton was an evening away.
If the weather did work against someone, it was Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion. The three were finally together after weeks of disappearance, perhaps knowing war was near, but none of them looked ready. Continuous downpour seemed to have done a number on them, and apart from Drogon, the dragons looked like tired, meek reptiles ready to be harnessed as cattle. If all goes well, I must not even need them.
Jon Snow had defeated Ramsay Bolton with an army of wildlings and men from the Vale, but he could not stop her. She had eighty thousand Dothraki led by Qhono and a gathering of forty thousand strong men from the Reach going into this war. When I outnumber him nearly ten-to-one, must we go through the formalities of war?
She looked around at the Dothraki and the Tyrells, wondering who would die in this futile formality of a battle. She wished it were none. Daenerys had little doubt the battle was hers for the taking, but perhaps it was time to see the greater picture. She had Varys send the northmen multiple ravens, all once again reiterating for Jon to bend the knee. Tyrion Lannister has died, they had said, but so has Arya Stark. Let the past be the past, kneel to me and rise again as Lord of Winterfell. Wave white flags on the rooftops of Barrow Hall, and I will know of your surrender. She did not know if the ravens had reached them.
As Daenerys tended to Rhaegal, she saw Varys coming towards him. He maintained a cautious distance and a cautious eye at the dragon, speaking to her from afar. “Grey Worm must have reached Castle Goldgrass by now,” he said. “More than a quarter of Jon Snow’s army will be indisposed.”
“That is good to know. Any news of the raven?”
“None.” Varys’ eyes saddened. “I find it noble that you are giving him a chance to recant, but northmen are stubborn by nature. They are too loyal to their ancestors to forget familial histories. Perhaps a show of the strength they are against, the thought that several houses great and small may face extinction will force them to kneel, as it did Torrhen Stark. But for now, it appears, battle plans must proceed as planned.”
Sighs escaped her. Daenerys found the lines between mercy and ruthlessness difficult to navigate. She had given Snow the chance to come alone, unarmed and ready to parlay, but he instead came with fifteen thousand men, with every intention to lay sword against sword. Perhaps enough was enough. You are not sheep. You are a dragon. “So be it,” she told Varys. She waved at Drogon to come nearer and see if he was ready to wrath on the northmen his fury.
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