The King of Winters

Chapter-27

Rhaegar

Across the still blue water came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the nearby galleys. The great warship groaned louder than them, its heavy oars splashing the waters on either side. Balerion's sails billowed in the wind from the masts. There were only fewer men in the ships now than when they had first sailed from King's Landing. Yet even so, as he stood upon the forecastle watching a cloudless blue sky, Rhaegar Targaryen happy to return home to his wife, children and sister. 

On the day the three ships had lifted anchor at Braavos, he had no reason to be happy about leaving for Westeros. His kingsguard was dead, half of the men he had taken to Braavos was dead. Even the Iron bank was not happy with the mess and his sudden leaving. Only when he got away from the waters of Braavos did he felt happy for the first time in the entire journey. The Iron bank can go to hell when he can return to his family alive unlike all the other unlucky men who had died in Braavos never to see their families back in Westeros again. He has other friends in Essos, great magisters and maesters with their armies of highly trained Unsullied and other sellsword companies. If he had any need of a army he could very well get the Unsullied and the sellsword companies to the shores of Westeros. 

No army could stand against them. The highly trained army in the world with their spiked bronze hats. Rhaegar had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. Most of them had been household guards. But the real army and the best of the Unsullied were in Astapor. Raised only to stand and fight the Unsullied of Astapor were the pride of the city he had heard his Magister friends from Astapor say. They have even told him the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor. 

It was some four hundred years ago or more, he couldn't remember it correctly. But it was when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The Khal who had led them was some horselord named Temmo. His khalasar was big, if not huge. He had forgotten the numbers they had told him but fifty thousand riders rode with him in his khalasar, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair, veteran warriors who had never lost any fight. 

Somehow the Qohorik knew that the khal was coming for them. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and had hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they had sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle. 

By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. When the dark came, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased. 

But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but the Dothraki knew nothing of that, nothing of battle strategies and war lessons. All they knew was to charge at their enemy and cleave them with their sharp, curved arakh. The Unsullied were men on foot, and for the Dothraki men on foot were fit only to be ridden down. 

The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm. 

Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained . . . but more than twelve thousand Dothraki had laid dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal had led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man had cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.