Unlike modern people who often stay up past midnight, the nomadic horse people sleep shortly after dusk and wake before dawn. By the time Daenerys got up, dressed, and stepped out of her tent, Drogo's khalasar was already bustling with life.
Women shouted at children, warriors barked orders to pack up the tents, and horses neighed and stamped their hooves. The smoky haze from gray-black fires, combined with the steam rising from iron pots, blurred Daenerys's vision. The air was filled with the mingled scents of boiling horse meat, fresh and warm horse dung outside the tents, and crushed grass underfoot—a strange yet vibrant mix of aromas.
Judging by the yolk-red sun just peeking over the horizon, Daenerys guessed it was no later than five in the morning. Then again, she wasn't sure—she couldn't even figure out what season it was in this place.
In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, the seasons do not follow a fixed cycle. The Stark family's motto, Winter is Coming, is no jest but a dire warning. Seasons here often last for years, and if a bitter, harvestless winter endures too long, humanity faces death not just by freezing but also by starvation.
Every time a "long winter" arrives, the northern regions of Westeros lose more than half their population. And if they are even unluckier and the "Long Night" descends, the extinction of ninety percent of the continent's inhabitants would not be surprising.
Breakfast was mutton soup—a hearty stew of barley, onions, carrots, turnips, and lamb seasoned with pepper, saffron, and other spices, simmered for over an hour. Daenerys's maids had started cooking long before she awoke.
Served in a red copper bowl the size of a cafeteria tray, Daenerys finished an entire bowl, surprising even herself with her appetite as a pregnant woman.
Or perhaps it was because of her awakening as the Mother of Dragons and the dream-like resonance she had shared with the black dragon the night before?
While she wasn't sure if her physical strength had increased, she felt full of energy upon waking—alert and invigorated. Following Drogo's black stallion, Daenerys glanced down at the black dragon egg cradled in her arms, her thoughts churning.
Barely half an hour after breakfast, under the golden-red morning light, the immense khalasar began moving forward like a dark cloud, leaving chaos and debris in its wake. It was as if a brown stain had been smeared across a green carpet.
Wherever the hooves of the khal's horse pointed, the khalasar followed.
Drogo appeared more lifeless than the day before. When he awoke that morning, he didn't even recognize Daenerys at first. Forget mutton soup—he had barely touched his mare's milk. His once sturdy and muscular frame had visibly withered, relying solely on his bony skeleton to remain upright.
By midday, the lush green grasslands and scattered farmland had gradually disappeared, replaced by low hills and yellowish-brown rocky terrain.
The merciless sun blazed like a newly rich tycoon, recklessly radiating light and heat.
The ground ahead shimmered with distorted air currents, while sweat trickled down Daenerys's chest like thin rivulets.
The only sounds left in this vast world were the steady clopping of horse hooves, the rhythmic jingling of bells in Drogo's braid, and the soft murmurs of conversation behind her.
Disoriented, Drogo had lost his sense of direction, veering away from the Lhazareen riverlands and deeper into the southern Red Waste.
Yet, wherever the khal's horse led, the khalasar followed.
The horse people only ate breakfast and dinner. When hungry at midday, they gnawed on dried meat while riding.
The reddish-brown horse jerky was light and thin, with visible muscle fibers—entirely natural and of a quality unattainable even for the wealthiest in her previous life. However, it was so tough that Daenerys nearly tore her mouth trying to chew it.
She had no choice but to take a mouthful of mare's milk, puffing her cheeks as she waited for the strips of dried meat soaking in it to soften. To her surprise, she eventually tasted a peculiar sweetness.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
The sound of horse hooves approached from afar. Daenerys looked up to see Aggo's warhorse kicking up a thin trail of red-brown dust as it galloped toward Drogo.
"Khal. Khaleesi. The land ahead is barren—there's no sign of people or danger—but it seems we've taken the wrong direction," Aggo reported hesitantly, glancing at Drogo before addressing Daenerys.
The khalasar didn't blindly follow the Khal's lead. Scouts constantly rode out in all directions to survey the surroundings and to guard against ambushes from rival khalasars.
Daenerys urged her silver mare closer to Drogo, preparing to advise him to change course. But suddenly, her pupils constricted. She pulled her reins tight, causing her horse to prance in place as she scanned their surroundings. The horsemen were struggling to traverse the dark red desert terrain.
An idea quickly formed in her mind. "Don't ask questions—just keep moving. Find a suitable place to set up camp ahead," she instructed.
After Aggo departed, Daenerys turned to Drogo, concern evident in her gaze. The conversation between her and Aggo had been loud, yet Drogo had shown no reaction.
A swarm of bloodflies buzzed lazily around Drogo, their droning hum looping faintly in Daenerys's ears.
The bloodflies, as large as bees, had heavy, slightly purplish bodies with a slick, repulsive sheen. They thrived in swamps and stagnant pools, feeding on the blood of humans and horses and laying their eggs in corpses or dying creatures.
Once, Drogo despised these pests. Whenever one dared approach him, his hand would dart out like lightning, capturing it without fail. He would then trap the fly in his massive palm, listening to its frenzied buzzing before crushing it with a decisive squeeze, leaving behind only a smear of red.
Now, a bloodfly crawled across the hindquarters of his horse, the stallion swishing its tail angrily in an attempt to dislodge it. Other flies circled Drogo, buzzing ever closer, yet he remained unresponsive.
His gaze was fixed on the distant brown hills, the reins hanging slack in his hand.
One particularly bold bloodfly landed on Drogo's exposed shoulder, while another hovered briefly before settling on his neck and crawling toward his mouth. Drogo swayed slightly in his saddle, the bells in his hair jingling softly, while his horse maintained its steady pace.
Finally, one fly crawled up his long beard and across his cheek, stopping in a crease near his nose. Drogo tilted to one side, and Daenerys, who had been watching him intently, acted swiftly. Her left hand darted out like a snake, grabbing him and pulling him upright.
The swarm of bloodflies scattered momentarily, only to regroup and land on him again.
A murmur rippled through the khalasar, growing into a wave of chatter.
"The Khal almost fell off his horse!"
"A Khal falling from his horse?"
As the leader of the khalasar, the Khal was the embodiment of strength and direction, his every action scrutinized as if under a magnifying glass.
For the Dothraki, a man who couldn't ride was unworthy of being counted among the horsemen—let alone their leader.
"Silence!" Daenerys turned and shouted. "The Khal is still on his horse." She released her hold on Drogo for added emphasis.
The near-fall had startled Drogo awake. He now clutched the reins with shaky hands.
"My moon of my life," he murmured.
For the first time in days, Drogo looked at Daenerys with awareness and addressed her as his "beloved."
Daenerys hesitated, her expression briefly awkward. Searching her memory, she replied, "My sun and stars, shall we stop and rest?"
In that moment, her face must have been distorted, but no one paid attention to her expression. Drogo's bloodriders had already spurred their horses forward.
"Blood of my blood."
"Blood of my blood, are you well?"
Before Drogo could respond, Daenerys loudly declared, "The Khal commands that we camp here for the night."
"Here?" Haggo looked up at the sun, which still hung high in the sky—it was only mid-afternoon. He glanced around at the dry, brown terrain, its vegetation withered and unfit for habitation.
He glared with his fierce, triangular eyes. "We cannot camp here."
"A woman has no right to order us to stop," Qotho added. "Not even a Khaleesi."
"Khal Drogo gave the command," Daenerys replied, stiffening her neck as she falsely invoked Drogo's authority.
The elder bloodrider, Cohollo, cast her a deep, scrutinizing glance before turning to his companions. "Find the nearest water source and set up an elliptical camp between the Khal's palace and the lake."
Qotho hesitated for a moment but eventually accepted the order along with Haggo.
Cohollo then began directing the people to construct Drogo's grass-paneled palace in the shade of a nearby hill.
Before long, word came from the scouts that a stream had been found. The bulk of the khalasar moved past Daenerys, heading toward the water source.
"Help me... water... I need water... help..."
A faint, feeble cry reached Daenerys's ears from a passing wooden cart. The voice was weak but struck her as oddly familiar.
Silver-haired Lillith!
The previous night, Daenerys had learned about Lillith from Doreah.
Like Doreah, Lillith was a courtesan purchased by Illyrio in Lys and gifted to Khal Drogo's bloodrider Jhaqo as part of Drogo's wedding dowry.
However, while Doreah was currently the favored companion, Lillith, nearing her thirties, was merely a "former first courtesan."
Now, Lillith lay alone on the creaking wooden cart. Blood dripped from her lower body, soaking her dress and staining it dark red. One of her golden sandals had fallen off, and her pale legs dangled limply, swaying with the cart's motion.
"Wait a moment." Daenerys called out to the woman driving the cart, covering her nose to shield herself from the pungent scent of blood. "What happened to her? Why hasn't anyone treated her? Where are her attendants? She's been crying for water—haven't you heard her?"
"Khaleesi, Lady Lillith fell from her horse," the dark-skinned woman hesitated, unsure how to continue.
Fell from her horse? Daenerys froze for a moment. Could this be because of the comment she had deliberately made to provoke Lillith the previous day? Had Lillith actually attempted to ride today?
In truth, even the bravest Dothraki women could not continue riding during the final stages of pregnancy, especially on long journeys.
Thus, in Dothraki tradition, it wasn't considered shameful for pregnant women to ride in carts.
Daenerys, however, was an exception. Her body had been strengthened by her recurring dragon dreams, leaving her remarkably resilient.
Seeing Daenerys still waiting for an explanation, the woman continued cautiously, her tone ambiguous. "Due to inappropriate words, Jhaqo stripped her of her title as his wife. Now, she's no different from me—a slave. Naturally, she has no attendants, and the eunuchs will not treat slaves."
"What did she say?" Daenerys asked, though she already had some suspicions.
Before the woman could reply, Lillith stirred on the cart and moaned faintly, "My child... Jhaqo Khal's son... save him... he is the future Khal of the Jhaqo tribe... I am the Khaleesi... save me..."
This woman came from a house of pleasure? How does she lack even a shred of cunning?
The slave woman immediately collapsed to her knees, trembling in terror. Her face, usually dull and emotionless, was now filled with fear. "Mercy, Khaleesi! I-I'll take her out to feed the dogs at once!"
"Feed the dogs?" Daenerys asked incredulously.
"Jhaqo ordered me to drag her to the edge of the khalasar and leave her for the wild dogs," the woman explained.
"Jhaqo has gone mad! She's carrying his child!"
"She won't survive." The slave pointed at Lillith's distended belly, explaining, "She fell from her horse this morning. Jhaqo initially assigned the eunuchs to care for her, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. The healers have declared her beyond saving. Yet, she refuses to die and keeps uttering blasphemies..."
(End of Chapter)
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