Disclaimer: I am not a hardcore fan of G. R. R. Martin's work, but I have read a few pages - in my country, the two first books were split into four. So, yes, I know a little of Daenerys Targarien. The rest is picked by maps I have found in google. If there is any discrepancy, please tell me. What I have noticed is that G. R. R. Martin barely focuses in the cultural aspect of the other races that do not live in Westeros. Search Tengger Cavalry for an example of "Throat" singing done by Mongolian artists. These guys mix metal sounds with their traditional sounds.
A sweet melody came out of the Morin Khuur, the box-shaped instrument Ki-Yong used to play. He knew the Dothraki were a tribe more dedicated to the art of war than music. Where he came, there was no such things as Noble Houses fighting against each other. At least, he was certain the blood from the Ku-naira had all soaked the many noble houses in Shunamari, and many ghosts haunted the wild pines of the mountain-filled land. Swaying the instrument which many Onisamatzeka called a "Eastern Erh", Ki-Yong played. Many people argued Hyasuko could make a tiny Erhu when playing Gemmya Murin Khoor. But Hyasuko as not there and Ki-Yong was the only man in that small Khal who knew the music of his land. With the Northern Desert as mental picture, he began to sing about the majestic variety Shunamari was composed. "Wô Ai", such a simple phrase in the standard Onisamatzeka dialect. Yet, when sung with Kato Ki-Yong's roughened, mysterious and guttural singing, it gained a Gemmya mysticism.
The women in the Khal were surprised. Ki-Yong could feel their eyes as he played with the simple and home-made arch the "Erh", making his voice coming from many sides as he played with passion the three-string instrument. His eyes, a cold pair of piercing dark brown almonds, shone in the firelight as he sung.
He could hear the panting breaths, he could touch with his gaze the goosebumps the music provoked.
I love your exuberant seedlings in spring,
I love your bountiful golden fruits in autumn,
I love your blue waves rolling across Yotang Bay,
I love your white snowflakes flying over the North land,
I love your endless forests,
I love your grandiose mountains…
Oh, my beautiful Land of white pines,
How I love you.
A man with a tanned, brownish skin smiled as he applauded alongside the many people that consisted of the group, the Khal as the Dothraki called it. Ki-Yong had had been found unconscious, laying in a beach for over three weeks. The man was the one who had had found him. Yet, Ki-Yong had never discovered his name. This particularly strange man had two big and piercing brown eyes. He had a scar like two deep claw marks. Not only he towered over all the Dothraki but the tattoos and facial paintings were different. Being a traveller himself Ki-Yong was unsure what to think. The man carried a large battle-axe similar to those Ki-Yong had seen in the West. Black cardamom and black oudh hovered the man, and a small tone of sulphur. Oh, the traveller was quite a charmer, he had flirted with a few Dothraki women before Ki-Yong had yet to regain his strength. Yet, the man with the darkened hood, the facial painting with an eye wreathed in red flames was eerie. As though the ancient magic that pulsated in Ki-Yong's veins responded to whatever sorcery was bounded in those markings. Dark magic calling to dark magic, an invisible magnetic force was pulling the man to the bard. Whatever it was, it made the bard's wrinkled, olive skin shudder. Ki-Yong's eyes narrowed whenever the man was caught in his camp of vision.
A silvery ring shimmered faintly in the man's left glove.
« Ki-Yong, although your rhymes sound quite the fantastic web of exotic lands, I cannot help to wonder if you have been born here in another life. »
« Me? Ha! » Ki-Yong laughed merrily, the deep and sultry voice echoing in the camp, making a few women blushing. « That is an amusing tale you have there, westerner. I will never be a Dothraki, but I am no Onisamatzeka. I am and will always be, pardon the overused phrase, a stranded man on the beach with my Morin Khoor. »
« Have you heard of the new Khaleesi, the recent wife of the Khal? »
« What about her? Does she have the same lost, wandering look as some of the women here? Back where I come from, women are unafraid to wield a sword and there have been many proud, strong queens. »
« No. She is a beauty indeed, but a dazzling one at that! Blond hair, as the same colour as some cups made for the kings, and two beautiful sapphires as eyes. » The apparently older man murmured.
« That is an overused set of metaphors. My dear man, you must take note of those and practice new sentences and verses. One does not live a life of luxury and wanders with golden silks with such horrid, abhorrent and flavourless poetry. »
« By the way... I am to accompany her throughout the journey to the witches the Dothraki esteem. Will you accompany us? »
« You! I do not even know your name! You are probably some stranded foreigner, like me. How would you know her? »
The man winked. As he did so, a chill climbed to the bard's spine - no, the man's eyes were very abnormal. Now, they shined like two red gems.
« I might not know her personally, but my Master does. »
A mockingbird from the Essos continent had adventured to the Far East. He had reached the Mirkwood but he found it too dark and oozing with black magic, so he decided to rest on the beautiful mountain resting with its back in Rhovanion. Passing through an opening in the mountain's land, the mockingbird decided to have a small bath…but the more he flew and soared across the grand chambers, the more he was convinced this have been an unwise decision. He did see many and vast natural pools created by the river's spring. The reek of dragon's breath had corrupted the mineral water. A lethal stench of venomous gases heated the pools, glistening like gold in the dimness. Grown men would have drowned, for he could feel and smell an undernote of rotting bones. Instinctively the bird avoided those. Looking longingly at the pools would do him no good, and so he decided to explore upstairs. It was scalding hot on the flight of enormous stairs, so he could not land in any. He barely used the candleholders, for although a little mockingbird with little sight, he was a nocturnal and morning bird. A warm glow came from the stairs. As he went forward, it grew and grew, until there was no doubt about it. A red light became more like blood seeping from ancient stone. Wisps of silver and gilded smoke began to hover all around.
Any small, tiny bird could have sneaked into these narrow entrances, no matter how decadent and exposed to the erosion of a dragon's living. No bird who lived in those woods would dare to. But the little mockingbird was unaware of the dangers. He had never seen a living dragon. He was curious. Only when he heard a sound like the grumbling, rumbling thunder the mockingbird trembled in mid-flight.
Placing his tiny legs on a small stone salience in one of the many majestic and monumental pillars, he glanced…And gave a tiny yelping cry. For even if he was a few feet from the creature, he could see what many Humans in the west thought a legend: a huge red and golden dragon. The deep crimson tail coiled around himself, the dragon lay asleep. He had not noticed the many golden coins, the coins he had seen many humans trade for food or even, ones of their kind. A sea of golden coins and other seemingly Human objects made of gold underneath a dragon's hide. Why, two of the mockingbird could have made one of the large scales in the dragon's neck. The little bird had no idea why a dragon would want for such things, things that could have belonged to Humans.
Suddenly, an animal like a huge tarantula had walked not a few feet near the mockingbird. Perhaps she had thought the risk was worth the wait, for it was drooling from the arm-sized fangs. The bird was frozen with fear, for he could hear the lean legs approaching him. It was the size of a human!
Before the spider tried to eat the little bird, a gigantic red claw took hold of it. It was faster than the bird could have imagined. Although the spider tried to struggle against the dragon's front leg, it was no use. He stamped on the end of the tarantula's back, and then his jaws descended onto the small prey. Two cold and red eyes nearly mesmerised the bird, until he could escape from them, shaking his trembling head. The mockingbird instinctively flew as far as he could…but it seemed the dragon had only wished to eat the spider.
« Why have you come? » The dragon glanced at the mockingbird with the eye ridges raised.
Oh, the mockingbird did not want to answer this evil creature. A creak in the stone made the bird turn away, the black eyes horrified how there was a few blood dripping from the dragon's jaws. However, the dragon had placed one of the huge red and gleaming eyes into him, and a great will to speak overcame the poor bird.
« I wanted to rest… I have come far from the West. There is so much noise with Humans warring against each other. »
« Ploughs, trees being uprooted to make room for small agriculture, battles of mortal beings against another race of mortal beings…I have heard it many times. » The red dragon rumbled with a dreadful and disgusted tone.
« F-f-forgive me, o magnificent king of the skies… I have never meant-Never meant to disturb your sleep. I was thinking, even with your age and experience, you have not met every kind of Human! There is a man who has a charming voice. He lives in a tent. Have you heard about a girl who cries tears of nostalgia at hearing songs of a language she cannot understand? These humans-I know they are cruel but they cannot be that bad, if they love as you and-»
An impatient swing of the dragon's tail made the bird shudder and yelp once again. The arrow-pointed tail had been a few inches too close to throw him to a wall. A few coins rolled away, jingling and rattling with a high, shrilling noise.
He spoke again, a cruel amusement in his impossibly deep voice:
« Come now, you're not dead as of yet. Humour me. What is so important about the capability the mortals have of "loving"? »
The mockingbird stammered:
« I have seen her! I have seen her forgiving people who would have been accused of the most horrid things. I have heard her crying tears for a man all his brethren thought dead but-he is still alive. I have heard her missing someone who has never worth the mercy she gave out of sibling love. Many think she is still a child, a princess, but in the heart of hearts, she is a queen, experiencing an exiled queen's grief. Platinum hair gracing the tearful but inhuman beauty, one might say she descended from dragon and elf alike. As she struggles to command the army, she is the queen with the heart of a dragon. »
« That must be an interesting creature. » The red dragon said in a cryptic tone, neither too mocking, nor too gentle.
« Little mockingbird: would you satisfy an old dragon's curiosity? »
« I would do anything to get out of here. »
At this, the dragon smirked slyly, the teeth larger than any man could be.
« Then, depart to the northwest and continue to watch the Princess with platinum hair. I must be mistaken; perhaps she is as any innocent princess I have met in my younger days. »
Poor mockingbird... I kind of feel although the style in my writing is different, it is meant to be. I mean, Tolkien's literary style is different and a bird's perspective is different from Humans. I intended to place Smaug early but I had only the inspiration for my OC. ^^;