Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters named. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.
Simple one-shot about Rakharo's journey.
I've tried my best to stay true to the characters and the geography of Essos.
Enjoy and please let me know if there is anything I can improve on with my writing! Thank you!
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The young man packed the leather bags with enough of the rotten fruit and water for a day's journey. The Khaleesi watched him, a determined smile on her face. He looked to the other blood riders, also packing their bags. Each of them were to ride through the red desert, seeking anything or anyone. The Khalasar was desperate. People were dying. Rakharo mounted the thin horse and looked to his Khaleesi. She nodded and at once he was off, into the red waste once again.
The sun was high in the sky when he looked back. The heat seemed to make the horizon roll like grass in the wind, Rakharo could barely make out the abandoned city now; a white speck in a sea of red. He sighed and hopped off the horse, squinting toward his destination. Or lack of one; it seemed as if this waste continued endlessly. Rakharo searched his bag for a fig that wasn't horribly ruined and sat near a large rock, wiping the thick sweat from his face and hair, trying his best to stay out of the scorching sun. He allowed his horse a small portion of the water supply before heading off into the vast unknown.
Hours went by, each warmer than the last. Nothing but dry, thorn-covered brambles dotted the hard, cracked dirt. He quickly grew tired of the bleak desert and merciless sun, groaning with the heat and continuously shifting in the leather saddle.
Finally, something other than grey brambles begin to materialize in the distant heat waves. He squinted his eyes, and shaded his sand-battered face with a calloused hand, kicking his fatigued animal into a slow trot. Nearing the object, Rakharo realized it was the remains of something large. He wearily slid off his horse and headed toward the massive skeleton, gently touching the sun-bleached bones. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The man gathered that the skeleton belonged to a dragon, a colossal beast that perished long ago. It had died with its mouth open wide enough so that Rakharo was able to walk through the dark jaws with ease. He prodded at the creature's large teeth, black as the night and the length of daggers. The dragon seemed as if it was sinking into the red below, limbs half-buried, the bones of its wings stretching on for an eternity, sticking out of the dirt like fingers...yet Rakharo still couldn't reach the highest point of the beast's rib cage. He briefly thought of the Khaleesi's dragons, wondering if they would ever grow to this size.
Rakharo ran his hang along the ridged spine until it disappeared into the packed red dirt, marveling at its size, trying to imagine a time when this monster ruled the skies. He would remember to tell the Khaleesi. Once again, the man climbed on to his horse, leaving the bones to slowly deteriorate in the wind, long forgotten by the rest of the world. He took a last look at the beast and started toward the south, sipping at the supply of the now-hot water as he rode.
It was nearing sunset when he reached the poison water. It was known that Dothraki weren't exactly fond of the ocean, yet Rakharo gave in to his curiosity. At first, he only watched the tide as it effortlessly crawled up the beach, before sinking back to the sea again and again.
Content with his careful observations, the man finally allowed the warm water to swirl around his feet. The wind smelled of salt and he sighed happily. The humidity that rolled in from the ocean, though warm, was a welcome change from the unrelenting dryness of the waste. He searched the pack for a few more figs and relaxed in the sand, waiting for the sun to set.
The horizon of the endless sea disappeared into the red-orange sky. Rakharo stared in awe as the sun slowly sank behind a distant island in the west, turning the few visible clouds a vibrant pink. He laid back in the sand as the first pinpoints of light, said to be the spirits of past warriors, started to appear where the sky darkened into violet. The young man imagined his great ancestors riding in the night lands across the sky, wondering if Drogo was among them now. The sound of small waves crashing on the shore lulled him into sleep.
When Rakharo woke, the sun was just inching its way above the mountains in the east, warm on his back. He rose and prepared himself for the journey back to his Khalasar, his family. After adjusting the saddle and mounting the thin horse, Rakharo then looked to the ocean, sparkling lazily in the morning sun. He smiled with a new-found appreciation and turned his horse toward the waste, toward that speck of white he knew was just beyond the horizon.
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I apologize for the length. Let me know what you thought, I'm always trying to improve. Thank you for taking the time to read and review!