"And how exactly are you planning on getting The Dothraki to wear this?" Jorah questioned Kaileena in a hush-tone. "Last time I checked the Dothraki view armor as cowardly."
"Dothraki culture is one only suited for the harshities of life in the steppe." She began to explain. "They're culture is one of a reaving, pillaging, and raping. They are not like this by choice, harsh places simply tend to create harsh people. Pride is less a factor here, strength is what truly matters to them. Only the strong survive in the hostile nature of The Dothraki Sea, nothing is ever given in this environment it is only taken; and even then something is typically taken from the taker. Not much grows in the steppe other than grass, even that is uncommon in certain areas. Most of the animals common enough to hunt in any regularity are just as likely to kill the hunter as they are them. These people follow people who promise them a better life, and displays the necessary strength to fulfill such a promise. For now at least, they have entrusted me with the betterment of their lives. I have no doubt that there will be reluctance, but they will come around. Besides, this armor is for far-more than just the Dothraki." Kaileena finished.
Jorah stared at the woman sitting beside him, obviously hanging on her last sentence.
"What in the seven hells are you planning." He said as more of a statement than a question.
The two diverted their attention from each other as the metalsmith that Kaileena had commissioned walked toward the duo in the odd swagger that nearly all Dothraki riders were known for. He was an older man, likely older than Jorah. The age ever-present in the wrinkles and scars that decorated his face stood in stark contrast to his tight, muscular body. He was a man of average height, and above average build. A strong man kept strong by years of his position and purpose in Dothraki society. Like many Dothraki, he was painted in blue markings.
"Khal Kailo." His deep voice rumbled as he bent to one knee as a sign of respect. As he knelt the two girls who stayed in his shadow became fully visible in their own right. He uses them for more than manual labor Kaileena thought as she took in the sight of the girls. They looked similar, possibly kin. The younger one couldn't have been older than 12, the older 15 or 16. They were garbed only in roughspun tunics barely long enough to cover their nethers. Dark bruises were all-too visible on their wrists, necks, and what showed of their inner thighs. Poor girls Kaileena thought to herself. If only there was a way for me to inform you that you're lives as chattel will soon be over and done, and your lives as free people began anew.; but actions speak oh-so much louder than words.
Kaileena growled in Dothraki for the 'smith to rise and show her what she'd come to his large tent for. He in turn shot a look at his slave girls who struggled to carry a large, rolled sheet off out of the corner of the tent. They carefully rolled the sheet and it's contents out in front of their Khal.
"Decisions, decisions." Kaileena said to herself as she analysed the fine craftsmanship presented to her. The first to catch her eye was of a scale design, it was forged of iron and reminded her of the armor common to the Iron Islands.
The second piece caught Jorah's attention first, it was a chestplate, gilded and ornate. It was one of many gifts from one of the free cities given generations ago to keep the Dothraki appeased. The interest in the chestplate was not vested, however. As both Kaileena and Jorah agreed that the piece was a remnant of a soldier, in army, fighting a war that has been long forgotten.
While the 'smith did not let it show on his hard face, it was obvious if only by the way he stroked his beard that in some part of his mind he was worrying. As Kaileena and her Ostracised knight of House Mormont Examined each and every bit of armor the 'smith had brought forth, moving down the shrinking line marking every piece that came before the last as a failure on part of the metal worker. That is how he saw it at least. Unlike their master, the worry showed heavily on the faces of the 'smiths slave girls. Kaileena noticed this and began to worry herself for the oncoming fate of the two girls if the 'smith was not satisfied with her satisfaction. If only to break the trend of silently reading faces that had overtaken all else in the 'smiths tent, Jorah inquired about the khals worries.
"Is there a reason as to why you're focused more on your blacksmith's slaves right now than you are on the wears that may very well mean the difference between a lost battle and a won war?" Jorah asked with a face as cold as the winterlands he came from.
Jorah's inquiry had caught Kaileena off guard. And Jorah in turn was caught off guard by the face that turned to meet his. Kailleena's face stood in stark contrast to her she normal complexion. She did not look like the leader of one of the most infamous and feared peoples in the known world; no, her face portrayed that of a young girl with the worries of things that were out of her control ravaging her mind. For a moment, Jorah did not see Kaileena. Instead he saw an orange skinned, browned haired Dany next to him.
This moment of vulnerability only lasted for as long as it took Kaileena to realize why jorah's cold face had warmed so suddenly. "His slaves," She said in a hush-tone. "if we leave this tent displeased those girls will surely pay the price for it." She finished as she examined a piece of armor that she could only describe as mail and surcoat combined as one.
"And?" Ser Jorah responded, his face cold as the winds of Bear Island again. "They are but slaves, why does what he does with his property concern you?" Is this truly the girl that defeated Khal after Khal? Jorah began to wonder.
"There are plans Old Bear...plans that I have yet to..." Kaileena trailed off as something caught her attention.
The Khal made her way to the end of the spread laid out before her and hastily picked up the second to last piece. It was polished steel, but not like any chestplate Kailo had ever seen. It wasn't a single piece of metal; instead it was many strips of steel. Held together with leather straps and laces. A large shadow blocked the light of the fire as the metal worker silently stepped forward, looking for a sign that his Khal was pleased. The smile on her face was all the assurance needed.
"Is your mind at ease now?" Jorah inquired as he and Kaileena rode together, away from the 'smiths tent.
"About the girls? Well, instead of viciously beating them from the night to the dawn, he'll viciously fuck them instead. Those girls are use to the latter, I know they'll survive to see the morning." Kaileena explained. "If you had to choose either being beaten to death, or being fucked raw which would you choose?" She finished.
Jorah rode silently, avoiding eye contact with Kaileena. "Answer me Mormont, that is an order." Kaileena sternly demanded.
"If I had to choose between the two, I'd choose fucking." Jorah answered with a face as still as ever.
"I'm glad we're in agreeal, Jorah." Kaileena said, wearing an ear-to-ear grin on her face.
