Chapter 183 – This Time, She Doesn't Get a Choice
Back when the Night King's ice spear had pierced his leg, the wound had taken an unusually long time to heal. From that alone, Drogon had understood—this wasn't an ordinary weapon. That spear carried something else: magic… or perhaps the power of the god of cold itself.
And the Night King was nothing like the likes of Melisandre, Bran Stark, or the warlocks—mere servants of higher forces. He was far more dangerous.
The Night King did not fear ordinary dragonfire.
Even though Drogon had evolved—gaining four limbs and vastly stronger flames—he still wasn't certain he could burn the Night King to death.
Nor could he guarantee escaping unscathed from another ice spear.
Without a sure way to kill the Night King, even Daenerys's army of 130,000 would struggle against a host of one hundred thousand undead.
And Drogon had no intention of letting that happen.
Those soldiers weren't just her strength—they were also his source of faith and power. Watching them be annihilated by the army of the dead was not an option.
Because even if he later conquered King's Landing alone… there would be no joy left on Daenerys's face.
He understood her dilemma—and Tyrion Lannister's as well.
With the army of the dead ravaging the North, Daenerys couldn't attack King's Landing.
And Cersei Lannister was clearly counting on that—refusing to send troops, hiding behind a temporary truce, waiting for both sides to destroy each other so she could claim victory in the end.
But she had overlooked one thing.
Drogon.
If she won't send troops… then she'll be forced to.
[This time, she doesn't get a choice.]
Cersei thought she could sit back and reap the benefits after Daenerys and the Night King weakened each other.
She was dreaming.
—
Daenerys froze slightly when she heard Drogon's voice in her mind.
Before she could react further, he leapt from her shoulder and soared out through the balcony.
Inside the map chamber, everyone paused.
Drogon was usually silent—perched calmly while listening to strategy discussions. For him to leave mid-meeting like this was… unusual.
"Let's postpone any further discussion about Cersei,"
Daenerys Targaryen said, her tone steady.
She had a faint idea of what Drogon intended to do—and she wasn't about to force Tyrion to come up with an impossible solution.
Some of the older advisers from Slaver's Bay exchanged glances.
They remembered how the cities of New and Old Ghis had suddenly surrendered.
Could it be…
Was Drogon about to fly straight into King's Landing alone?
Those who understood Drogon's strength shared similar thoughts to Tyrion's: with Drogon, along with Rhaegal and Viserion, even an army of one hundred thousand dead might not be insurmountable.
More importantly—
Drogon had always acted on his own will.
Not even Daenerys forced him to do anything he didn't want to.
If he chose to act now… then he was likely about to repeat what he had done to Ghis.
—
Watching everyone else fall into silent understanding as they stared toward the direction Drogon had flown, Oberyn Martell frowned slightly.
He clearly felt like he had missed something.
And he fully intended to find Tyrion later—and get answers.
…
In King's Landing, after instructing her uncle to reply to Daenerys, Cersei returned to her chambers. She had barely settled in when a knock sounded at the door.
She already knew who it was—and irritation flickered across her face as she opened it.
Standing outside was Euron Greyjoy, his single greedy eye fixed on her.
"I'm not in the mood today. Come back another time," Cersei said, leaning against the doorframe.
Euron shoved a hand against the door before she could close it, a crooked grin spreading across his face.
"You've never been in the mood lately. Found someone new? Or thinking of tossing me aside?"
Since Jaime Lannister had been captured, Euron had expected things with Cersei to become easier. Instead, after his defeat by his niece Yara Greyjoy, Cersei had grown distant—barely giving him attention.
He knew why.
She looked down on him.
Two consecutive failures had soured his mood, and though he hid it well, he had already resolved to prove himself in the coming defense of King's Landing—to reclaim his reputation as the true king of the seas.
Being turned away again and again had ignited his temper. This time, he wasn't backing off.
Cersei tried twice to shut the door, but he held firm.
Realizing she couldn't brush him off so easily—and that his remaining twenty thousand men were still vital—she swallowed her anger and let him in.
The moment he stepped inside, Euron's hands were already wandering, forcing Cersei to hurriedly shut the door behind him.
He carried her toward the bed, shrugging off his coat—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A frantic pounding interrupted them.
Cersei stiffened, quickly straightening her clothes before opening the door again.
"Your Grace—dragon… a dragon is approaching!" the guard panted.
Cersei's expression darkened. Ever since Daenerys's black dragon had flown over the city, the other two—Rhaegal and Viserion—had been circling the skies from time to time, harassing the city.
At first, they had panicked, believing an attack imminent. But the dragons always flew too high—just a pass, then gone.
It had become an infuriating routine.
"Don't bother me unless they actually attack!" she snapped, already losing interest.
"Your Grace—this time… it's the black dragon."
Cersei froze.
"The black dragon?"
She turned sharply, just in time to see a massive shadow outside the Red Keep's window—far lower than before.
Rushing to the window, she saw it clearly—
Drogon.
He was already over the eastern sea-facing wall.
And then—
A blast of purple-black dragonfire erupted from his jaws.
The towering walls ignited instantly.
"Euron!" Cersei's mood evaporated in an instant. This wasn't harassment—this was an attack.
She no longer bothered hiding his presence and ordered him to take command of the scorpions.
Inside the chamber, Euron had already heard the distant roar. Throwing on his coat, he rushed out, catching sight of the black dragon above the walls.
A wild gleam flashed in his eye.
He grinned—and ran toward the battlefield.
—
At another window overlooking the eastern wall, Cersei stood rigid, watching.
She wanted to see it with her own eyes—
To see that monster shot down.
—
On the battlements, Drogon twisted through the air, evading two incoming scorpion bolts before diving toward the eastern gate.
More scorpions rotated, cranks turning, aiming at him.
He didn't even acknowledge them.
Closing in, he tilted his head—dodging a bolt aimed straight at him—and unleashed another torrent of dragonfire.
The impact alone shattered sections of the wall.
Stone blackened, cracked, and shriveled under the heat.
Soldiers caught in the flames didn't even have time to scream—their flesh collapsed and vaporized instantly, leaving behind charred skeletons that crumbled into fragments.
Scorpions engulfed by the fire burned to ash in seconds.
Even iron bolts began to melt, dripping into molten streaks.
Only the bolts aimed at his head made Drogon bother to evade.
The rest?
Some he swatted aside with his tail.
Some he blocked with his claws.
Some… he simply endured.
The Black Dragon had come not to threaten—
But to make a point.
And this time, the message was unmistakable.