"Fire and blood, they said, and that's what fell on the Dothraki army, it fell from the sky like the wrath of the gods." Varys spoke to the small council.
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Drogo, mounted on the largest and strongest horse in the Khalasar, watched the advancing and retreating armies with a cold, calm gaze, no matter how many of his soldiers died before him, he and all the others showed nothing but indifference to such deaths.
It wasn't that they didn't feel anything, but in their eyes, the dead Dothraki rode the firehorses (stars) across the night sky with the Horse God.
How could they be sad in the face of such an honourable and glorious destiny as riding beside their god on horses of pure fire?
Suddenly Drogo's eyes caught sight of at least half of the army breaking away from the main body and heading away from the great city. His first thought was that the enemy had become frightened and fled the battle. It was a thought that made him proud, but the second thought that crossed his mind was that the enemy had begun to set a trap.
"Blood of my blood, what are your orders?" Drogo heard his Bloodrider, Cohollo, ask with a calm and respectful expression.
Drogo remained silent and looked at the men on horseback around him. He could see that they all wanted to hunt down the cowards and weaklings and kill them all. What if Drogo refused? He knew that he would be considered even weaker and more of a coward for not pursuing the fleeing enemy.
Drogo made his decision in an instant, looked at everyone and spoke in a strong, unquestioning tone. "Pursue and kill the cowards in armour."
Even if it was a trap, he, Khal Drogo, the Khal of the greatest Khalasar of his time, would still emerge victorious in the face of these cowardly and weak tactics.
Shouts of joy and ferocity were heard as soon as everyone heard his Khal's decision.
On the other side of the battlefield, Visenya watched half of the enemy army scatter and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Though the chances were slim, she and Benerro were still slightly worried that Khal Drogo might not do as they had planned.
In the end, the strategy worked with an ease that surprised them. Arrogance and extreme self-confidence made one of the most powerful men in Essos fall into their traps with little difficulty.
"In the future, beware of pent up arrogance. On the battlefield, only calm and wisdom can bring you victory." Visenya muttered to herself, learning every moment of this war. The problems and doubts she had when reading the books disappeared with every moment she took part in the war.
"That's the difference between a rookie and a veteran that was written in the books." She looked at the army of barbarians half her size and smiled.
With the first part of her plan in the accomplished, all Visenya had to do was complete the second and run quickly to catch up with the allied army.
Using her shield to block an arrow, Visenya advanced with her sword in hand, fighting like a Valkyrie on the battlefield. Her sword was fast and deadly, her steps erratic and hard to predict, and surprisingly she didn't mind playing dirty, using dust to blind her enemies or even kicking certain men in their most vulnerable parts.
As a woman, she knew she could never match a man in strength and endurance, but she could make up for it with her speed and agility. Visenya simply used her strengths, augmented by the terrain and tactics that were unethical in the eyes of many of the lords and knights of Westeros.
But did she care? The answer was no, one of the first things she learned from the books was that generals should use every tactic to defeat their enemies. The truth was always written by the victors and remembered by the people as their legacy. Wrong or not, it was necessary.
Visenya plunged her sword into the neck of a Dothraki, snapping his throat and then kicking him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. The man tried to stop the bleeding by placing his own hands on his throat, but it was a futile attempt as blood continued to pour from the wound.
Visenya watched coldly as the life drained from his eyes, feeling nothing but indifference. She wouldn't feel sorry for her enemies, because her fate would be the same if it was the other way around, and maybe even worse because she was a woman.
She didn't care about anything else as she moved forward, concentrating on killing the enemies in front of her. The two thousand men around her protected her flanks, allowing Visenya to concentrate on what was in front of her while giving orders to her men.
In the makeshift camp, nearly twelve-year-old Daenerys could hear the war cries and the clash of metal from afar, but she didn't mind the noise, helping the red priestess bandage the wounded soldiers and sew up the cuts with needle and thread. Her blue dress was stained with blood around her belly.
The girl's delicate face also bore traces of blood, especially on her cheeks - obviously none of her own, but that of the wounded. Helping others was the only thing she could do at the moment, as she couldn't take part in the war.
"The princess is very good at sewing wounds, is she used to sewing or weaving?" The red priestess commented with an expression of slight admiration as she watched Daenerys' skilful movements as she sewed the soldier's wounds.
"Sewing." Daenerys replied, running the needle through the soldier's skin and joining it to the other piece of skin. "I was always the one who mended my mother's and sister's clothes while they were busy studying or working in taverns to make ends meet without attracting the attention of assassins or bad people."
The Red Priest nodded and smiled.
"And you, what's your story?" Daenerys asked without lifting her head, concentrating on stitching up the wounds of the soldier lying before her.
"Me? Just another harlot's daughter in Myr with no idea who my father was, a powerful lord or a commoner lucky enough to lie with my beautiful mother." The priestess commented with a smile. "Because my mother didn't want me to suffer the same fate as her, she sold me to the Red Temple, where I became a priestess."
Frankly, the woman's story didn't surprise Daenerys. It was something so common in Essos that you'd be surprised how rotten the human race could be.
Daenerys asked no more questions, and when she had almost finished stitching the man up, she heard footsteps behind her, then a voice that sent shivers down her spine.
"Daenerys Targaryen, it seems you've gained a lot of courage lately, to the point of ignoring my orders and treating my concerns as nothing."
Her hands covered in blood, Daenerys swallowed and turned to see the graceful figure of her mother standing before her. Her expression could be described as calm, but the girl knew that calm was the one thing that wasn't there. It was a silent rage, ready to explode at the slightest moment of carelessness.
"Mummy, you look so beautiful in that red dress, so beautiful that you could make the moon shy before you." Kind and intelligent words fell from the lips of the nearly twelve-year-old girl in an instant, causing the Red Priestess to let out a melodious laugh.
Even the man being stitched up smiled, despite the pain he felt at the moment.
"Your Grace, don't blame the princess, she has a kind heart and only wanted to help wounded men like me." The man spoke, trying to soothe the queen's anger. He was already flattered to have someone like Daenerys tend to his wounds, it was the least he could do to spare one of his rescuers a scolding from her mother.
Rhaella might have believed the man's words had she not known her youngest daughter; had she not threatened, she knew full well that Daenerys would have rushed to the battlefield to fight alongside her sister without hesitation.
Just as the Queen Mother was about to speak, the sound of something distant caught her attention.
It was a long, guttural sound, accompanied by the thunder of wings flapping.
It wasn't just Rhaella who heard it, everyone in the camp raised their heads to see a small dot on the horizon approaching.
The confused expressions on the faces of the people soon turned to pure shock, while others showed fanaticism.
The red priestess, seeing what was coming, couldn't help but mutter to herself, remembering a verse from the Bible.
"Behold, he shall come, riding on a crimson beast, with the sword of light in his right hand; O Son of Light, his splendour shall fill the heavens, and at his coming he shall bring everlasting peace and abundant prosperity to the whole earth".
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