DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.
The night was alive with the sound of drunken laughter.
Vyctor sat down beside his employer and stared suspiciously at the honeyed piece of goat presented to him, its smell inviting a traitorous rumble from his stomach. A Meerense Slave girl began dancing in front of the fire and took his attention away from the dish, her lithe bronzed form slowly and sensuously moving in heavenly rhythm. The old Tyroshi sitting to the sellsword's left began drunkenly clapping his hands at the sight, honey and grease running down his many chins as he did.
Despite working for the old Tyroshi for over a year Vyctor still couldn't quite understand the man or his motives, least of all his actions of late. Why does he still insist on these frivolities? He acts as if twenty of his best men hadn't just been killed.
Twenty men, all of them were friends and comrades to Vyctor during his time with the Tyroshi and now they all lay dead somewhere in the Dothrak Sea, no doubt being feasted upon by all manner of wild beasts.
The Tyroshi travellers had been on their way to Norvos to trade spices when they were first savaged upon by Dothraki raiders. They came during the dead of night, the sound of drums waking the Tyroshi as it grew closer and closer until finally riders came forth like a fierce wind and tore through the camp, cutting down a good ten men before they vanished into the darkness like wraiths.
They came again the next night, and the next, until there were only half a dozen men left to protect the old man and his cargo of spice. Part of Vyctor wanted to leave like a few of his compatriots had but some deep sense of duty, of loyalty, kept him beside the old man. He certainly held little love for the old fool but he couldn't leave the bastard to die alone in the middle of the nowhere either.
After a while the old man waved the girl off and brought out his treasure, his true cargo that he valued above all the spice in the world, a small cream and gold coloured stone that he would always stare at every night by the camp fire, much like he stared now. There was a tired look on the man's face as he vacantly caressed the scale like surface of the stone.
"Did I ever tell you how I got this thing Vyctor?" he asked lazily.
"No milord."
The old man laughed drunkenly at that. "Heh, it's a lovely tale…It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was just a simple merchant back then, making my usual trades about the nine Free Cities, and one day, against my better judgement I took a short cut that lead me close to the horselord's sea. I was young, foolish. We came across the most bizarre sight; about a dozen or so Dothraki, all old men and women, as well as on grizzled knight. What really surprised me was the girl…." He said trailing off as he looked down at the stone again.
"A girl milord?" prompted Vyctor.
"She was a pretty thing, looked like one of them Lyseni whores with silver hair and purple eyes. And the baby…Gods she looked like a child herself and she carried this screaming little thing in her arms. None of my crew wanted any of that horselord scum to slow us down so the girl suggested a trade; some horses and water for this beauty." He said gently tapping the stone. "A dragon's egg. Heh I got my very own dragon's egg for a few underfed horses and some skins of water!"
The old man began giggling like a madman at that and clutched onto the egg tighter, whilst Vyctor looked on impassively.
"But I know now, that some deals just aren't worth it. Some deals come back to bite you and that's exactly what's happened. My sins have found me out." He said as he suddenly rose to his feet, an audible crack coming from his joints as he walked over to the fire, looking into the flames with some tired sense of defeat.
Then he heard the drums.
Vyctor jumped to his feet and unsheathed his sword and quickly went about waking up all the other camp dwellers, barking orders at them to get on their feet and prepare for battle. He turned back to the old man to warn him but the Tyroshi merely brushed him off.
He stood shoulder to shoulder with his few men as they circled the small camp, the large fire casting all manner of treacherous shadows across the ground. Vyctor could feel a large bead of sweat roll down his face as he stood tense, ready for any charging riders whilst the drums beat louder and louder. And then they stopped.
Vyctor wasn't sure what was going on but before he could react he suddenly felt something hard hit him in the side which sent him off his feet. It took him a moment to realize that he had actually been hit by an arrow which had lodged itself right in his ribs.
He was vaguely aware of the screams of his comrades as they were also struck down by the hail of arrows that quickly pierced their bloodied forms to the ground. He could feel the dirt around him grow wet from the blood as he desperately tried to move only to lose strength as he felt the wound open slightly, leaving him stuck helplessly as the Dothraki walked into the camp and brought the old man over on his knees near the fire.
All was silent aside from the occasional curse of the foolish old man, but then he heard the sound of bells chiming. Tilting his head to the side slightly Vyctor found the source of the bells as he saw the horde's leader step forward, his footsteps crushing the dirt as he came.
He was an absolute mountain of a man with think knotted muscle and hands so large that they looked as if they could rip a man's head right from his shoulders, and his chest was a wall of scarred and taut muscle from battles long since fought. There was something different about this Dothraki; his skin was a much paler shade of copper than the rest and his face was clean shaven compared to his brethren, but what really struck Vyctor was his long braided hair: it was an otherworldly colour of silver, the kind that marked him as the blood of old Valyria.
The Horselord stood before the kneeling and beaten form of the old man, his purple eyes bearing down on the man with a look of utmost contempt. "I've come to take back what was stolen from Me." said the Khal in a deep, throaty voice that was distinct of any accent at all.
The old Tyroshi merely laughed and pointed to the bonfire behind them. "There's your egg ya mongrel bastard!"
The Khal casually walked over to the massive bonfire and silently put his hands into the flames, unflinchingly scooping out the warm egg and holding it out for all to see. Vyctor's eyes widened in horror as he saw that the horselord was unburnt from the flames and casually tucked the petrified stone underneath his arm as he knelt down to face the terrified old man. "You thought that could stop me? Fire cannot hurt a Dragon." And with that he gestured to the two men holding the Tyroshi, one of the men let go and gave the old man's neck a fierce twist.
Vyctor let out a gasp of fear at that and caught the attention of the Dothraki. The Khal stood up and walked over to the dying man, a look of pity crossing his unusual features. A dozen thoughts raced through Vyctor's head as he stared up at the giant. I won't die like this, not here in the middle of nowhere. Gods this isn't how it's going to end.
The Khal swiftly brought his boot down and silenced all the man's thoughts.