The bloodrider glared at Arren, his fists clenched as he considered the challenge before him. The arrogance in his stance faltered as memories of Arren's previous victories against his brothers surfaced. The camp had whispered endlessly about the cursed blind man who had felled two of Drogo's fiercest bloodriders without so much as a scratch.
Arren remained motionless, standing protectively in front of Daenerys, his voice calm but unyielding. "If you want her, you'll have to kill me first. But I've already proven what happens when your kind crosses blades with me."
The bloodrider hesitated, eyes flickering between Daenerys, the smoldering remains of the pyre, and Arren's steady form. He saw no fear in the blindfolded man's posture, only the confidence of someone who had no doubt about the outcome of another fight.
Behind Arren, Daenerys remained silent, her eyes fixed on the bloodrider. Despite the grief of losing her husband and child, despite the weight of what she had just endured, for the first time since Drogo's death, she felt... safe. Arren's presence was not one of false bravado. He meant what he said. She had heard the stories, seen him fight, and now she could sense that this man was no ordinary warrior. Even though she had dragons by her side now, she knew they were too young to protect her yet.
The bloodrider took one step forward, his hand hovering over the hilt of his arakh. His desire for power burned brightly, but so did his self-preservation. Two of his brothers had fallen to this man—blind or not, Arren was a formidable enemy. And now, with Daenerys standing amidst the embers of a fire she had walked through unscathed, the bloodrider knew that she, too, was no ordinary woman.
"Drogo is dead," the bloodrider spat, his eyes flickering between the men and women of the khalasar who watched the confrontation unfold. "Without him, this khalasar will fall apart. You have no claim."
Arren's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Daenerys stepped forward, her voice quiet but filled with the same regal authority she had shown at her husband's side. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she said, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the camp. "The Mother of Dragons. The rightful queen of this khalasar. If any man seeks to take what is mine, they will face the same fate as Khal Drogo's enemies."
The bloodrider faltered. His eyes darted toward the three baby dragons clinging to Daenerys's arms, their sharp, reptilian eyes watching him with eerie intelligence. The camp was still, every breath, every whisper waiting for what would happen next.
The bloodrider sneered, unwilling to fully submit but not willing to lose his life. He backed away, his face twisted in frustration. "I will not be ruled by a woman," he snarled. "But I will not die for her either."
He spat on the ground at Arren's feet before turning his back on them both, his braid swinging as he marched toward his horse. "We will leave!" he bellowed, rallying a portion of the khalasar that still followed him. "Those of you who are true Dothraki, follow me! The rest can kneel to this... witch and her pet."
A ripple of movement surged through the crowd as several Dothraki warriors mounted their horses, choosing to follow the bloodrider. The ground trembled beneath the hooves of horses as the traitorous faction of the khalasar split off, taking a large portion of the camp with them.
Arren didn't move, his focus still on Daenerys, who stood tall and unshaken despite the sight of her dwindling followers. The fire that had burned on the pyre behind her had left an eerie glow in the air, casting shadows around her figure. Arren could hear the crackle of the dying embers and the faint rustle of her dragons as they clung to her.
The bloodrider glanced back once, his expression filled with disdain, but he did not challenge her again. The threat had passed for now.
When the dust finally settled and the khalasar that remained stood by their queen, Daenerys let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to Arren, her violet eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't fully read.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly from the rawness of the past few days.
Arren tilted his head toward her, though he kept his blindfold in place. "I promised Drogo I'd keep you safe."
Daenerys's lips twitched into a small, bittersweet smile. "He would have wanted that. You're loyal, Arren. Even to a man you never got to fight."
Arren nodded, his thoughts distant. He had come to Vaes Dothrak for a different reason, a quest to fight the greatest warrior of the Dothraki. But now, as he stood before Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons, with her enemies scattered and her future uncertain, he realized that things had changed. He had failed to face Drogo in battle, but that no longer mattered.
He wasn't here for Drogo anymore.
He was here for her.
Later that night, after the camp had settled, Daenerys approached Arren by the fire. Her dragons slept beside her, their tiny bodies warm against the cool night air. She sat beside him in the quiet of the night, the flickering flames casting long shadows around them. The weight of the day hung heavy in the air, but in this moment, there was an unexpected sense of calm. Daenerys sat next to Arren in silence, her mind clearly filled with the tumult of emotions that had been building for days.
Arren remained still, sensing her presence beside him. He could feel the heat from the fire on his face, the soft crackle of the wood, and the distant murmurs of the Dothraki who remained loyal to her. The night was still, but the world felt like it was teetering on the edge of something monumental.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The tension of what had passed—Drogo's death, the birth of the dragons, and the splintering of the khalasar—hung over them like a thick fog. Yet, in the silence, there was also an understanding.
Finally, Daenerys broke the silence, her voice soft and contemplative. "I never thought it would end like this," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the sleeping dragons beside her. "I thought... I thought Drogo and I would conquer the world together. That I would give him a son to sit on the Iron Throne."
Arren turned his head slightly, though the blindfold still obscured his eyes. "Life doesn't always go as we expect," he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet intensity. "But you've been given something far more powerful than any throne."
Daenerys glanced at him, her expression filled with sorrow and determination. "I know. These dragons... they are the key to my future, aren't they?"
Arren nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the memories of the other world, the one where Daenerys would rise as the Mother of Dragons, conqueror of cities, breaker of chains. "Yes," he said softly. "They are."
Her fingers traced over the scales of one of the sleeping dragons, her touch gentle and filled with wonder. "I never imagined it would be like this," she admitted, her voice almost wistful. "I've lost so much, but in return, I've been given... this."
Arren could sense the conflict within her, the grief of losing her husband and child, mingled with the awe and responsibility of becoming the Mother of Dragons. It was a heavy burden, one that few could bear. "You were meant for more than what Drogo could have given you," he said quietly. "Your destiny is greater than any khalasar."
Daenerys nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "I see that now. But it doesn't make the pain any easier."
"No," Arren agreed. "It never does."
They sat in silence again, the night wrapping around them like a blanket. For a moment, Arren felt a sense of peace, a calm that had eluded him since he had arrived in this world. But even as they sat together, the weight of their respective fates loomed over them.
Finally, Daenerys turned to face him, her voice low but filled with determination. "Thank you, Arren," she said softly. "For protecting me. For standing by me when you didn't have to."
Arren shifted slightly, his expression unreadable behind the blindfold. "I made a promise to Drogo," he said, his tone steady. "And I keep my promises."
A small, sad smile tugged at Daenerys's lips. "But Drogo is gone."
Arren turned his head toward her, his voice quiet but firm. "That doesn't change the promise."
Daenerys's gaze lingered on him, and for the first time in days, she felt a sense of security she hadn't realized she needed. Arren wasn't like the others. He wasn't trying to control her, to mold her into something for his own benefit. He was simply there—an unwavering presence in the midst of her chaos.
She rose to her feet slowly, the dragons stirring slightly but remaining asleep. "Goodnight, Arren," she said, her voice filled with quiet gratitude.
Arren nodded. "Goodnight."
Daenerys turned and walked back to her tent, the cool night air brushing against her skin as the sounds of the Dothraki camp faded into the background. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt... safe.
As Daenerys disappeared into her tent, Arren remained by the fire, his thoughts swirling with everything that had happened. His mind was a whirlwind of memories from his past life and the events unfolding before him now. He had come to this world with the singular goal of challenging the greatest warrior he could find, and for a while, that had been Khal Drogo. But Drogo was gone now, and Arren's purpose had shifted.
He had seen Daenerys's potential—her strength, her fire. The woman he had known from stories, from the life he had left behind, was taking shape before his eyes. But it wasn't just her power that drew him to her. It was her vulnerability, her humanity.
She was more than the Mother of Dragons. She was a woman who had suffered great loss and still stood tall, even when the world crumbled around her.
As the fire crackled beside him, Arren made a silent promise to himself. He would protect her, not because of Drogo's command, but because it was the right thing to do. The world was dangerous, filled with men who would use Daenerys for their own gain, who would try to strip her of her power. But as long as he stood by her side, none of them would succeed.
The night stretched on, and as the fire began to die down, Arren sat alone in the quiet camp, his mind focused on the road ahead. His path had changed, but his purpose remained clear.
He would be the shield that guarded Daenerys from those who sought to destroy her. He would ensure that her future, the one he had seen glimpses of, became a reality.
And if that meant facing more battles, more enemies, then so be it.
Arren was ready.