It was nearly midnight and Grey Worm paced the deck, watching the stars and the smooth warm sea and thinking about the Dothraki. He was responsible for everyone in the armada that was sailing away from Westeros but the horsemen were more trouble than
everyone else put together. The three that he was going to put to death in the morning for raping one of his Unsullied were only the latest problem. Their horses weren’t doing well on the sea voyage and the Dothraki themselves were often seasick and
could always find alcohol when they weren’t. They were dirty, undisciplined, and violent. Brawling was a daily occurrence and they were better at it than they deserved to be. He had started to regret having to take them along on the first day of the
voyage. The Unsullied were not so difficult but he knew that they were not happy. They resented the Dothraki bullying and many of them seemed confused about what had happened at King’s Landing. Unsullied soldiers were always quiet but now many were
sullen. Several had simply disappeared over the side. Only the sailors were failing to cause him problems and he just hoped that the sea voyage itself, at least, would continue to be uneventful.
He needed sleep but Missandei wouldn’t let him sleep. She was always there, staring at him sadly and asking him why. She, who had pronounced the sacred word “Drakaris,” she who had served the Queen beside him, now accused him with bitter eyes.
Certainly, he had seen her head cut off. That is why he felt the rush of joy when the Queen had not accepted the city’s surrender, when he had been able to throw his spear into the enemy officer. No amount of killing could make up for her death but now
she seemed to think that he shouldn’t have killed at all. The fact that she was dead and that he should think it was only a dream did not make him feel any better. He was all right when he was awake, distracted by the difficulties of the voyage, but he
could not sleep easily or for long. Perhaps, he mused, he should be grateful to the Dothraki for being such beasts.
And beasts they were. He would have two squads of his men beside him when he pronounced sentence in the morning. He had no illusion that he could defeat a Horse Lord in a fight on the deck of a ship. He was a soldier, not a warrior, and he and his men
were trained to fight in formation, not to brawl. He decided to ready a third squad.
Some of the sailors were looking at the stars and checking their course. They seemed satisfied, so he left them to it. He was a soldier and not a sailor. The sea was starting to get choppy and he foresaw more seasickness among the men and horses in the
morning. “Just what we need,” he thought.
Then he glanced to his left and there was Missandei, standing on the waves off to the right of the ship. She had a dead child in her arms. He didn’t think it was someone he had killed in King’s Landing but he and his men had killed so many people. It
was necessary, it was the Queen’s will. But Missandei’s mouth, the only mouth that had ever touched his, called him a monster. She cradled the dead child in arms that once held Grey Worm close and starred at her lover with eyes filled with anger.
With no more refuge in wakefulness, Grey Worm thought of taking refuge in drink. However, his disciplined mind rejected the notion. He looked longingly at the waves but the thought of leaving his mean leaderless in their situation was not acceptable. He
accepted that he was going to suffer for the rest of his life and perhaps might one day realize how richly he deserved it.

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