Game Of Thrones: Khal Pollo (GOT)

In the Red Keep, a strange new order had taken hold. Rough, bare-chested Dothraki warriors now stood guard in places where golden armored Kingsguard once stood. From the library window, Tyrion Lannister surveyed the inner courtyard with a bitter smile.

Suddenly, a commotion at the main gate caught his attention. A single rider, ragged and gaunt from months of travel, had just arrived. Behind him, dragged by a thick chain, was a monstrous figure that could barely be called a man.

Tyrion leaned forward, his eyes widening. He recognized the rider, Qorro, the Khal's Bloodrider. And his captive... despite being caked in mud, dried blood, and countless wounds, no one could mistake the brutal size and strength of Gregor Clegane.

Qorro dragged his growling captive to the Throne Room. Pollo, sitting on the Iron Throne, showed no surprise. He simply nodded in satisfaction. "Well done, Qorro," he said, his voice echoing. "Take him to the dungeons." He turned to a maester. "Send a raven to Dragonstone. Summon the Red Viper."

A few days later, in the Throne Room, Pollo sat with Daenerys at his side. His hand rested possessively on her shoulder. "Qorro has returned," Pollo said. "He brings a gift for our allies from Dorne."

Daenerys, whose eyes now held the same cold calm as Pollo's, nodded. There was no longer any doubt or conflict on her face. "Dorne will be bound to us forever," she said, her voice clear. "And the people will see that justice, however brutal, will be served under our rule."

The trial was held in the inner courtyard of the Red Keep. Gregor Clegane, who had been cleaned but was still chained like a wild animal, was dragged to the center of a circle formed by thousands of Dothraki warriors and the Westerosi nobles who were forced to watch.

Oberyn Martell strode into the circle. He wore no armor, only light orange and yellow silks. In his hand, he held his long, glistening spear. He walked around The Mountain, his movements graceful and deadly as a serpent.

"Gregor Clegane," Oberyn said, his smooth voice echoing in the tense silence. "The world knows you as Tywin Lannister's dog. I know you as the monster who killed my nephew and raped and murdered my sister, Elia Martell."

He stopped in front of Gregor. "I did not come to fight. I came for justice." He looked up at Pollo, who watched from above. "And my King has granted it to me."

He did not wait for a reply. He struck.

It was not a fight; it was an artistic slaughter. Oberyn danced around the chained giant, his spear a quick, venomous sting. He did not aim for death. He aimed for suffering. A thrust to the knee brought Gregor to his knees with a roar of pain. Another thrust severed his Achilles tendon.

"You raped her!" Oberyn screamed, his voice now filled with a burning fury as he plunged his spear into Gregor's stomach. "You killed her! You killed her children!"

Gregor roared, trying to grab his attacker, but his chains held him back.

"SAY HER NAME!" Oberyn shrieked. "ELIA MARTELL!"

With that final cry, he leaped into the air and drove his spear straight into Gregor Clegane's chest, piercing his heart. The giant's roar finally subsided into a wet gurgle before his massive body collapsed to the ground.

Oberyn Martell stood over his enemy's corpse. The Westerosi nobles stared in silence. Above, Pollo nodded slowly, a thin smile on his lips. Daenerys, by his side, observed the scene with the placid face of a Queen.

The message was clear to all: Under this new regime, all debts would be paid.

=====

In the cold Great Hall of Winterfell, Lord Roose Bolton sat in the high seat of the Stark rulers, his pale, emotionless eyes observing the Northern lords who had bent the knee to him. At his side, Ramsay gnawed savagely on a piece of meat, his eyes dancing restlessly.

"That Dothraki Khal has spent his strength in the south," Roose said in his whisper-like voice, which somehow sounded louder than another man's roar. "He has won his war, and now he must rule a kingdom that despises him. We will consolidate our power here. Winter is coming, and no southern army has ever conquered the North in winter. We will wait."

Ramsay grinned, revealing his uneven teeth. "I'd rather flay a few of their ponies."

"Patience, my son," Roose replied, his cold eyes fixed on his son. "Patience is a weapon that cannot be broken."

=====

In the Throne Room of the Red Keep, Pollo and Daenerys stood before a large map of Westeros. Only the North remained a defiant region.

Tyrion, standing nearby, explained the complexities of the situation. "The Northmen are stubborn, Your Grace. They will never accept a Bolton ruler, but they also will not accept a Dothraki Khal. A ground invasion would be a bloody disaster that would last for years."

Pollo listened, then turned to Daenerys, who stood silently at his side. "What do you think, my Queen?"

Daenerys stepped forward, her violet eyes fixed on the map of the North with a cold intensity. "The Northmen respect strength," she said, her voice clear and without hesitation. "Roose Bolton is a traitor and usurper. He is a sickness. And a sickness must be cleansed with fire."

Tyrion stared at her, a chill running down his spine. The moral compass of this regime was gone.

Pollo smiled in satisfaction. "The Queen has spoken."

A few days later, the sky above the Dreadfort was gray and heavy with the promise of snow. The Bolton guards on the grim, ancient fortress shivered, unaware of the real storm that was approaching.

The storm came without warning.

Two colossal shadows tore through the cloud layer with a deafening ripping sound. Pollo on Acnologia and Daenerys on Rhaegal swooped down like two gods of vengeance. The attack was not a siege; it was an execution.

Daenerys and Rhaegal circled the castle, their concentrated fire melting stone battlements and burning archers to ash before they could even loose a single arrow. Her actions were now as cruel and precise as Pollo's.

Pollo and Acnologia focused on the main keep. With one concentrated, sustained blast of black-red flame, Acnologia melted a hole straight through the ancient stone wall of the Great Hall, turning it into flowing lava.

Pollo and Daenerys stepped in together through the gaping hole in the wall. The hall was shattered and on fire. Roose and Ramsay stood in the middle of the wreckage, their guards either ash or fled. For the first time in his life, Roose Bolton felt pure fear. His cold logic had failed completely. Ramsay snarled like a cornered beast.

There were no negotiations. Pollo looked at Roose. "You betrayed your king." Daenerys looked at Ramsay. "You are a monster."

The shadows of two dragons fell over the trembling Boltons. Pollo and Daenerys raised their hands, and spoke their final command in unison, the male and female voices merging into one:

"Dracarys."

=====

At Castle Black, winter had arrived like a shroud. An unnatural cold gripped the Wall, sharper and deeper than any winter the maesters could recall. Inside the Lord Commander's office, Jon Snow stared into the crackling fire, but its warmth could not drive out the cold that had seeped into his bones.

The door burst open with a gust of freezing wind. Two frozen rangers dragged in a third, the sole survivor of their patrol. His face was a mask of ice and dried blood, his eyes wide with a terror that would never leave him.

"The eyes..." the ranger gasped, his breath coming out in a plume of vapor. "Blue... like stars... They're coming... the army of the dead..." He coughed, a spray of black blood staining the snow, before falling silent forever.

Jon closed the man's eyes. He knew this was no longer a ghost story or a wildling legend. This was the truth. With Samwell, by the flickering candlelight, he wrote a desperate message with hands stiff from the cold. It was not a plea, but a warning.

"Send it to the Dragon King in King's Landing," Jon commanded as Sam tied the scroll to the leg of their last strong raven. "May the old gods and the new have mercy on us all."

=====

In the Throne Room of the Red Keep, Pollo sat on the Iron Throne, efficiently settling disputes among the southern lords. He was at the peak of his power, the undisputed ruler of the kingdoms of men.

A maester brought a message delivered by a raven, its feathers still adorned with flecks of ice. Tyrion read Jon Snow's message in a clear voice. When he finished, small laughs and whispers of scorn rippled through the lords of the Reach and the Westerlands.

"Ghosts and grumpkins," one lord scoffed. "A wet nurse's tale."

Pollo stared at the message coldly. His mind analyzed it as a possible political tactic from the North. "The Northmen tell fairytales to scare their children," he said, his voice flat. "I have no time for ghosts." He dismissed the message.

That night, in his private chambers, Pollo was studying a map, planning a total reorganization of Westeros's feudal structure. Daenerys, who now completely supported him, provided intelligent input on genealogies. Yet, the message from the Wall continued to bother him. It was an unknown variable, an anomaly his logic could not account for.

He took out the Eye of R'hllor. The ruby pulsed with a gentle light in his hand. He had used it to see through the eyes of his dragons. Now, he would test the limits of its power. He held it tightly, closed his eyes, and focused his entire will on the foreign concept of the message: "Beyond the Wall."

The world around him vanished.

He was plunged into a howling, freezing blizzard. He saw a sea of undead wights marching relentlessly, their eyes glowing with a dead blue light. He saw undead giants, their skin pale and torn, and among them, tall, gaunt figures made of ice, the White Walkers.

In the midst of them, atop an undead horse whose bones were encased in ice, sat the Night King. He raised his head, and his eyes two blue stars burning with ancient intelligence and pure hatred seemed to stare directly at Pollo, piercing through his vision.

The vision shattered.

Pollo stumbled backward, gasping for breath, bumping into a table. The ruby fell from his trembling hand. He was drenched in sweat, not from heat, but from pure shock.

Daenerys rushed to his side, her face anxious. "Pollo, what did you see?"

Pollo looked at her, his expression grim, his eyes showing a horror he had never felt before. His conquest of men suddenly felt like a trivial child's game.

"The real enemy," he said.