(Daenerys Targaryen as Dany)
As darkness descended, Dany turned to Aggo and instructed, "Detain Odo's men, but give the enslaved shepherds some food and let them go free."
Aggo cast a wary glance at the huddled shepherd slaves. "Khaleesi," he said cautiously, "the shepherds hate us. Now that they know our location, they might bring a larger force to attack us.
"They are weak, but they're not fools. They understand our situation and won't miss such a rare opportunity."
Aggo's sharpness and insight surprised Dany. Though young, he was unexpectedly perceptive. She regarded him for a moment before explaining, "How far can they get on foot at night? If they reach the Lhazareen River by tomorrow afternoon, they'd be moving exceptionally fast. But we'll be gone by tomorrow morning."
"It'd be easier to just kill them," Aggo muttered as he walked away.
The crimson sun dipped below the horizon, and the shepherds, bewildered by the announcement of their freedom, hesitated for a moment before cautiously testing the claim. Once convinced, they scattered like frightened birds.
But the funeral pyre wasn't lit immediately.
A group of Dothraki warriors stood with wide, almond-shaped eyes, scanning the night sky for an omen.
When a Khal dies, it is custom for his horse to be sacrificed to accompany him. The tradition symbolizes the Khal riding his steed proudly into the Night Lands.
As the pyre burns beneath the open sky, the Khal is believed to emerge astride a flaming warhorse, soaring into the heavens to join the stars.
The brighter the flames of the pyre, the more radiant his star shines in the dark expanse.
Thus, before lighting the fire, they had to identify the star representing their Khal. This couldn't be any ordinary star—it had to be a celestial anomaly, something new and significant that had appeared on this very night, marking the Khal's passage.
This, of course, was easier said than done. Finding an unusual star isn't a simple task.
The Dothraki sat on the ground, gazing up at the sky. The longer they searched, the more awkward the silence grew.
Dany felt a twinge of embarrassment. If she'd lived in this world for a decade or so, she might have been able to bluff her way through by pointing to an inconspicuous star.
But she was a newcomer, and her past self had no knowledge of astronomy—not like these nomads, who spent their nights beneath the open sky. Fooling the Dothraki was out of the question.
"Does every Khal have a star?" she asked an elderly Dothraki man nearby.
"Of course," he replied with conviction. "Great Khal Drogo is the twelfth Khal I have served. I have seen it with my own eyes. Each of the eleven before him rode a fiery warhorse into the sky and became a star, including Khal Drogo's father."
Twelve Khals? Dany marveled at his longevity while reflecting on the fleeting nature of power on the Sea of Grass, where heroes rose like sandstorms and fell like shooting stars.
"How long does it usually take to find the star?" she asked.
"Khaleesi, it's still early," the old man said, smiling with a mouth full of uneven, rotting teeth. His leathery face crinkled, exuding a kind of warmth despite its ugliness. "Once, we waited the entire night. We only lit the pyre when the sun was rising."
Dany realized this was a battle of endurance.
They would search until exhaustion and hunger blurred their vision. When desperation set in, any light in the sky—perhaps even the moon—could be mistaken for the Khal's star.
"There it is! Look!"
The excited cry came from Rakharo.
Dany followed his pointed finger to the eastern horizon and saw it—a red comet, low in the sky. It burned with the crimson hue of blood and fire, like the breath of a dragon.
This was no ordinary star. It was a sign, stronger than any they could have hoped for.
"Perfect. The twelfth," the old man chuckled with satisfaction.
"Pour the oil," Dany commanded.
Jars of fragrant oils—castor, vegetable, and aromatic—were poured over Drogo's body. The same was done for Haggo and Qotho. The silk bedding, the branches, and the bundles of hay all absorbed the oil, which seeped into the wood beneath. The air filled with a sweet and heady scent, thick and intoxicating.
"Tie the witch and throw her onto the pyre," Dany commanded once more.
Mirri Maz Duur, who had been quietly blending into the crowd and observing the construction of the funeral pyre, had assumed that everything was settled when the infant prince's head was brought back by Jhaqo.
Though she felt a tinge of regret at not being able to exact revenge personally, seeing the tiny head had been satisfaction enough.
But she never imagined that the silver-haired woman would suddenly order her own death by fire.
"No, no, no, Silver Lady, Khaleesi, please listen to me…" The witch scrambled to avoid Aggo, screaming and struggling wildly. "I saved Lady Lhazareen! You promised to reward me! I sang the birthing song for you, helped you deliver a healthy little prince. You can't do this to me—it's madness, senseless madness! Please…"
Mirri Maz Duur was no match for Aggo. Within moments, she was pinned to the sandy ground, unable to move.
"Bring me my dragon eggs," Dany instructed her handmaidens. Something in her tone sent them running without hesitation.
Ser Jorah stepped forward, his face pale, and grabbed her arm. "Princess, Khal Drogo won't need dragon eggs in the Night Lands. Take them to Asshai instead—sell just one, and we could buy a great ship to return to the Free Cities. The wealth from selling all three would sustain you for a lifetime."
"Do I look like I'm short of money?" Dany replied with a faint smile.
But Jorah didn't smile. Stunned by her response, he tightened his grip on her arm as if trying to pull his princess back from the brink of doom. "Princess, I know the death of Prince Rhaego has dealt you a heavy blow.
"You're holding up, not showing your grief to others, but I know your heart is drowning in tears. The weight of this sorrow is crushing your spirit, but you still have—"
His face turned red, and he seemed on the verge of uttering words that would breach the boundaries of knightly loyalty. But then, catching sight of the almond-shaped eyes watching him from all around, he faltered and said instead, "You're only fourteen. You have countless years ahead of you—countless little princes and princesses yet to come."
"Don't worry, Ser Jorah," Dany said, awkwardly pulling her arm free from his grasp. With a quiet, pointed tone, she added, "Never forget, I have the blood of the dragon.
"The last time, I thought Viserys, like me, couldn't be killed by molten gold. But I was wrong—he wasn't a true dragon."
Jorah released her, bewildered by her cryptic words, and watched as she took the three dragon eggs handed to her by the maids. Supported by Aggo and Rakharo, she began to ascend Khal Drogo's funeral pyre step by step.
Dany gestured for the Dothraki warriors to leave. She placed the white dragon egg on Drogo's chest, arranging his hands to hold it. Holding the black egg herself, she lay beside him, placing the green egg between them.
"You're mad," Mirri Maz Duur laughed from where she was bound. Watching Dany's every move, the witch cackled with a peculiar mix of disdain and glee. "Unending grief has driven you insane. So, this is how it ends!
"You should have taken my advice earlier—life for life, death for death. If the blood magic had brought that butcher back to life, at least you'd have saved your husband. Regret it now, don't you? Hahaha!"
"I'll kill her first," snarled Qotho, his anger boiling over as he prepared to strike down the cackling priestess.
"Stop," Dany commanded sharply. "I want her to burn alive."
The normally defiant bloodrider obeyed her without hesitation. For once, he didn't hurl insults at her, and his gaze held an unfamiliar respect, as if he were moved by the 'greatness' of her act of self-sacrifice. Or perhaps he believed that, in their journey to the Night Lands, his Khal would still choose her as Khaleesi.
Dany turned to Mirri Maz Duur. "Have you forgotten? Back in your temple, when you first tended to Khal Drogo's wound, Cohollo said that if the Khal died, you would die too."
"I am fulfilling the promise made that day. Regardless of whether Khal's death was your fault or not, he is dead, and so you must die."
"Ha! That's right. The Khal is dead, and the witch who treated him must die too." Nearby, Haggo let out a booming laugh before slitting his own throat with his blade. Blood gushed from his neck as he muttered, barely audible, "We… we must all go to join the Khal."
A sharp, wet sound followed immediately after from Qotho's direction, where blood sprayed from his throat as he followed Haggo's lead.
"They're all gone now," Dany said, her gaze fixed on the blood-red comet at the horizon, her tone layered with complexity. "Now, it's your turn.
From the moment Khal Drogo fell from his horse, I had envisioned this day for you.
Don't deny it—you killed him. You even sought to sacrifice his son to your devils. Worse still, you used a wife and mother's own hands to carry out this monstrous act."
"Ha! So, you're smarter than I thought," the priestess replied, her defiance unbroken. A triumphant sneer spread across her face. "But your son still died, didn't he? That's enough. My revenge is complete."
"Yes, you wanted revenge, and that's fair," Dany admitted. The priestess had every reason to avenge herself against those who had destroyed her home. "But how did you repay me for saving your life?"
"Saved my life?" Dany's words seemed to ignite the rage that had been smoldering within Mirri Maz Duur. She spat on the ground and fired off her retort with venomous fervor.
"I was dragged from the temple of my god by your Dothraki. A mob of men lined up, waiting to violate me.
It wasn't in the manner of normal coupling between man and woman—they took me like dogs, from behind. That was not natural.
When you rode by on horseback, the fourth man was still inside me. Tell me, Silver Lady, how exactly did you save me?
I watched my god's temple burn. I had once healed countless faithful souls there. I was a pure healer then, a devoted priestess, not some witch or blood sorceress.
My home was destroyed by your Khal's horde. The streets were littered with severed heads—heads of those I knew. There was the baker who once fed me bread, and the little boy I had cured of the gray fever after such great effort.
Even now, I can still hear the cries of children as your riders whipped them to drive them away. Their screams echoed like thunder. Tell me, Khaleesi, what exactly did you save?"
Dany was silent for a moment before replying, "I did everything I could. I saved your life, and I saved Eroeh and those women."
Khaleesi was not a Khal. Even a Khal could not undo the deeply ingrained traditions of the Dothraki. The old Daenerys Targaryen could have told anyone: I have a clear conscience.
"My life?" Mirri Maz Duur laughed coldly. "Look at yourself. When everything you hold dear is gone, what meaning does life have?"
It seemed everyone assumed that Dany was drowning in sorrow, her blank expression merely masking her despair—so consumed by loss that life itself seemed devoid of purpose.
"If life is meaningless, why did you beg me earlier?" Dany retorted mockingly.
"You'll never hear me scream," Mirri replied with icy resolve.
(End of Chapter)
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