Seeds in the Wind

She opened her eyes to semi-darkness and weather it was the night or just the swell in her eyelids that made it so hard for her to see, she didn't know, but it took her a while before clearing her foggy eyes. She turned her head slightly and it fell to the side heavily; it was a rock hanging from her neck, pulling on her weakened shoulders. She felt each tendon, each muscle stretch in her neck and she thought that moving her head back would take all of her strength, so she didn't even try. She could see fires burning outside; the light penetrated in playful shadows through the tarp. It flickered against golden vessels and weapons spread across the tent. She couldn't see much of anything else. She thought to get up, but when she succeeded in moving just her fingers she knew it was going to be a struggle. She leaned to the side, trying to roll over, thinking afterwards she could crawl her way up, but even that was an inhuman effort. She fell back with sweaty eyebrows and tears in her eyes. She was drained; her body had become the tomb of her soul and did not allow her to roam free outside this place she was in. Her chest moved up and down slowly and she felt grateful for it. She was alive, but other than that she knew nothing, she remembered nothing. The bright light of the early afternoon that day came to her mind, the slippery image of the Targaryens dropping their weapons. That was all she remembered. The tarp flapped with a gust of wind and it cooled her burning body; her hands began to shake; she was cold with a fever.

W

Illyrio watched Jorah Mormont arrange his best clothes, pulling the cape a bit more on his shoulders, straightening the massive golden chain hanging from his tired fragile neck. It had been a while since he'd seen his old friend so nervous. He wished to comfort him, like he always did; throughout their many years together at the court he had been the optimistic one, trying to make a too down to earth Jorah take things a little lighter. But whatever he could say at this time, it would have been a lie so he did not insist. Instead he put his hand on Sir Mormont's shoulder to ease his anguish and the gesture sufficed to make the old man stop looking like a frightened swallow facing winter time. Drogo entered the tent followed by few of his generals, the only ones allowed to sit at his side during such meetings. They were there to observe and give word to the Council that Drogo kept his word and respected their decision. Yet tonight, he will use that free will and decide for himself. He looked at the two Targaryen nobles. He knew little about the Magister, but when his eyes fell on Sir Mormont he recognized a friend and honest man.

Jorah bowed before the Dothraki leader as did Illyrio. But he did not expect Drogo's hand on his shoulder, helping him up, yet again, like many years before.

"It has been a while, Sir Mormont."

"It has been indeed, Khalsar." Against all odds, the war that had brought them together and the many years that had passed in between, they still looked at each other with the same respect and understanding.

"Sit." He left them to take his seat across the tent and his men sat at his side, forming a circle. Eerie silence; only the deaf smoldering of the flames in the torches around the tent disturbed the air. Drogo spoke first. "I wish we had done this earlier, without having to waste each other's time."

"You are right, Drogo."

But the Khalasar didn't seem happy with his attitude; Jorah had never been limited in his responses but now it seemed that his wits had dried and his guts had shrunk, like cut grass left to die in the sun. He rested his face in his palm, sliding on a side comfortably, waiting for more from Jorah. The Targaryen knew he had to do better than this if he wanted any sort of understanding with him. But Jorah took his time and Khal's eyes fell on him, worryingly. His green gaze gave way to suspicion, his eyebrows frowned; still waiting.

Mormont looked at him and he could guess from the depth of his eyes that Drogo was observing him closely. It was of no use to excuse Leora now for her actions earlier in the day. Invoking a misunderstanding wouldn't have changed the facts for the Khalsar. He had been attacked and dragged into a battle that could have been avoided. Explaining what had been done would have been more of a loss of time for him still, so he had to approach matters differently.

"I know why you are here." Jorah spoke calmly and he was grateful his voice didn't screech like it had been lately. Drogo's eyes sparkled, with a tiny raise of his eyebrow and a flicker of a smile in the corner of his lips. He waited. "And you have every right to demand it from us. The Throne of the Westeros has lost its former glory and its pride and honor along with it. But with your guidance and advice, we can regain it and set things right for people; our people, your people; as it's right to do."

"If I may my Lord, mighty Khalasar!" Jorah's face went pale, white as a sheet of paper. His hand shook and he placed it quickly on his knee, but remained with his eyes into Drogo's, even though they had almost lost color when hearing Lorday's voice from behind him. Illyrio turned back at once almost hitting him with his staff, but he refrained in the last minute knowing he had to be careful and not attract more suspicion. If it hadn't been for the Council, they would have left this leach behind, but they were forced to take him in the Dothraki camp. Illyrio looked at him in the most threatening way possible; one wrong word from Lorday and Leora's cover could be blown away. Jorah waited with his back at the young noble and his attitude forced Illyrio to follow his example leaving Lorday room to address the Khalasar. And he didn't waste any time in doing so. "My lords, if we are to discuss peace, we should all be here then."

"We are all here." And for the first time Lorday felt incredibly small against the rough low voice coming from Drogo's mouth. He was different than anyone he'd faced before.

"Our understanding my Khalasar, is that Alchantar Wolof had joined forces with you, in this… proceeding." He bowed his eyes quickly remembering his statute before the Khal. It wasn't in his nature to bow, but he cared for his life so he stepped on his pride and did it.

"Your understanding does not concern me!" He straightened his position in the chair, bending forward to make sure the young Targaryen understood perfectly what he said. "We are all here." His eyes shifted back to Jorah and he disliked this weakness he saw in him.

"Continue, Sir Mormont."

"I believe it is you who should tell us what is on your mind. I dare to believe I know you a little and from my scarce knowledge I reckon you wouldn't have left to war without a plan in mind." Jorah kept his eyes bowed and Drogo tried to catch a glimpse of them. Jorah was one man that he wanted to look him in the eye.

"No one would come unprepared to war."

"Yet very few come prepared for the aftermath." And Jorah finally granted him his regard. Drogo sustained it for a little while and smiled. He knew what the old man said. People battled, spending nights to forge flawless military strategies; but they never considered what would happen after the battle was over. Not even plundering was easy; less asking for peace. But he did; he always planned everything ahead, from the moment he left his tribe to the moment he returned, otherwise his men and his riches would have been spent carelessly and perhaps in vain.

"What I want is simple. You must stop arranging trading for the others and give the tribes the freedom they need to buy their own supplies at the right price. Your location at the gates of the Northern Kingdoms does not empower you to take charge of trading. And if at least you had done right. But while your men are feasting others are starving."

"I Know my Khalasar."

"The loss of your King is not an excuse. Neither is your poor judgment as a Council."

"Unfortunately you are right in everything you say Drogo. But you are also familiar to these traditions, for you must obey your own Council. The power does not lie with one man alone and thus one cannot change the course of things if he must fight against the tide."

"Do you stand alone in this struggle?" Drogo waited looking at Jorah, and he turned his back towards Illyrio signaling the Khal that the Magister was his only other weapon of defense within the Targaryen Council. Drogo fell back in his chair, walking his hand slowly on his beard, observing both men silently. But with the corner of his eye, he saw Lorday fretting behind them.

"Yet you have gone against the Council's decisions many times Sir Mormont."

"At no avail. Little does it matter if one flower breaks through the snow; alone it will not bring spring upon the land."

"What of her?"

Jorah's heart kicked in and his cheeks blossomed. To Drogo's eyes it meant more than words telling him that Sir Mormont cared for Daenerys. He must have been her only shield against the nobility. His earlier thoughts invaded his mind again. Before the battle, when watching the high walls of Pentos he had remembered the council's words. He remembered Alchantar pleading. But no! The tribes were left better off on their own, each with their duty to their land and the Gods. But the Wolof was right about one thing. No one else could help settle peace and administer these affairs better than the most powerful tribe among them all; his tribe. And at that moment he realized that having an alliance with the Westeros throne not only would have helped him control their greed but also keep Alchantar and his men from plundering and scheming against the smaller tribes, like the Tekaras. But just a peace treaty could not grant him that much power.

Jorah looked at the Dothraki leader and from his experience with Drogo he knew something was going on. He never let anything transpire but now he seemed to lose track of their conversation for a moment, with his mind elsewhere. What's on your mind Drogo?

"Daenerys does not find approbation within the council due to her fragile estate." Khal looked at him and his eyes demanded a clearer answer. "She is a kind soul left alone to face the consequences of her brother's deeds."

"I wasn't told she could fight."

"She does what she must when it comes to defending her people."

"All she defended was the interest of your nobility."

"It is the only thing she can do. She is just as impotent against them as we are, as long as she is not admitted to the throne."

"She has the right to that throne by blood and no one can deny it."

"Where you come from, you make the law. Where she was born the law is made by others and it doesn't always follow the teachings of our ancestors. It bends and molds to the Council's needs until it breaks and she is now left to mend that rupture. She is not to blame."

"What is a princess worth if she can't take her throne?"

A silent moment fell between them and Lorday munched unhappily behind Illyrio but the Magister's staff in his foot stopped him from taking further action.

"Not much." And Jorah was overwhelmed with sadness; Daenerys had been a kind soul and she was sacrificed for nothing and now Leora stood in peril because of the same wrong doings of a hand dull of people who cared less for the well fare of others.

"I have a proposition to make you." Jorah's heart startled. This is it! "Leave us!"

His generals looked at him surprised, but the Khalasar didn't seem impressed and showed them the way out. One of them opened his mouth to talk but Drogo did not let him, otherwise he would have suffered the consequences of his short temper. He was about to do something he had not done before and he needed to be alone. "Now!" His generals got up and left one by one; Khal looked at Lorday and Illyrio was but happy to kick him out as well. The three of them were left and the tent seemed much bigger all of a sudden. Drogo took his time and Jorah grew more anxious; his earlier feeling that the Khal was planning something was now strong in his heart.

"I will marry her." Illyrio fell back into his chair as if struck by the mighty Gods themselves and Jorah, against all his predicaments, locked his mouth so to keep his astonishment at bay and unheard. A long moment followed where none of them dared to break the silence, nor face each other, staring blankly. Jorah forced his mouth open.

"The Council…?"

"It is my decision."

"Against the Coucil…" And finally their eyes met and they hovered around each other for another moment weighing the validity of his words. Not even the Khalasar held all the power in the heart of his tribe. He was bound by the decisions of his council and surely his council was not willing to receive a stranger as their Queen. Drogo sensed their suspicion but he understood their concern. It concerned even him to step across the line he had always obeyed before. But he had warned the council that the final decision would be his.

"I do not trust Alchantar, he will never repent and he will never stop. It's in his nature to burn until the very flame in his chest burns out and dies. And he will scorch many in his path. And I do not trust your council with taking the right decision, nor do I trust that they will hurry to help the tribes. The times of Aerys II are long gone and with them the light of these lands. Mad he was, but sane in his decisions."

"What you ask…" Jorah laid back in his chair as well, considering Drogo's words.

"Will help us all. Now that she'd have a king, Daenerys cannot be denied her throne and I will have enough power to keep the Wolofs at bay. And you would have enough authority to make your Council follow on the right path."

Illyrio got up pacing slowly, sticking his staff in the sand.

"This is insane!" He stopped abruptly realizing the insult but Khal only smiled amused. It had been long since he felt the thrill of a provocation and he felt like a young boy again about to do something forbidden and he enjoyed it. "Our Council would never accept a tribe leader on the throne, be the Dothraki leader himself and your people would crucify her for being the stranger that took the hope away from all of your nobles into marrying their daughters with you! I have been brought up differently but I know how they hunt you for this! Being the wife of the Khalasar is the most wanted thing in the realm of tribes!"

"That's why I'm going to have a say in it before they bring it upon me."

"But why her?" Illyrio's voice sounded a bit louder, but his worried eyes put Drogo at ease. He turned to look at Jorah keeping his eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly.

"Jorah?" Was the Khalasar asking for his opinion? He opened his eyes looking at the Dothraki standing across from him. He searched in his eyes for signs of deceit, of mockery, but there was nothing.

"I find it hard to decide her fate without her even being here."

Drogo fell back gently in his chair frowning. He did not expect that; he didn't even consider the option of asking her what she wanted him or not. It wasn't his way of doing things. But the words coming out of his mouth surprised even him.

"Then go ask her." Illyrio span on his tired feet to look at Jorah getting up slowly.

"Stay here Mopatis. I'll do this." Illyrio fell back like a spanked child and took his sit, rummaging through the sand. But he knew it had to be Jorah; he was the only one who could bring such news to her. He also knew she had no say in the matter, regardless how Jorah felt about the situation. As he walked out of the tent, Drogo looked at him, and his eyes pierced through his burning temples.

"Sir Mormont… Ask her the right question."

W

"My Lord, we should go around!" The general wiped his forehead looking at the tall trees ahead.

"It would take too long." His horse neighed kicking the dirt nervously; he shook his head and foamy sweat fell from under his crest. Alchantar had worked it too hard to get here. He couldn't afford a detour now. Time was not on his side so he had to do his best with the day light he was left. "We go through."

"My Lord, these woods are dangerous!"

But Alchantar knew that. He looked again in the distance at the tall lean white bark trees. Poplar trees. So defenseless yet so traitorous in their innocent look. Behind this thin curtain the thick woodland of Thakur lay ahead of them and not many dared enter its domain. The country of thieves and rebels, outcasts belonging to no kingdom, obeying no one's rules but their own. Alchantar kept still in the saddle; he was no fool. He knew the dangers of crossing through Thakur, but he had no choice. The Targaryens had not forged such a plan just to fight Drogo alone; there was more to it than he could presently acknowledge. A gust of wind passed above the trees and the forest sang to him; it was music to his tired ears. All the screaming the chatter, the loud voices of the past weeks had disturbed him. The horse finally rested for a while, picking on the green grass and Alchantar loosened his grip on the reins. His men too enjoyed the break. They had marched for days to get to Uyack then fought all morning and now rode like mad across the plains to reach Pentos. Not much was said since they had left the Tekaras but regardless, they followed their leader.

"Gather the men. Have them stay in formation, alert and ready. With a little bit of luck we'll cross these woods easily." He turned towards his general smiling insecurely. "We don't really look like prey do we?" But in the back of his mind he wondered whether he was asking himself that question more than he did his general. He never got an answer back; secretly, they both knew the answer.

He looked back. He had about fifty men left, all cavalry. He was in sorrow for leaving his infantry behind. Dead meat as he called them, was hard to find these days and he had just wasted so much of it. Maybe some of his smaller generals had survived and would lead them to Pentos. But with no clear orders, they might've as well just stood their ground and defend their makeshift camp in Uyack. He looked away and into the forest; he couldn't afford losing focus because of that now. He went first and the men followed; it seemed as if they were crossing the boundaries into a dream. Tall lean grass, slowly bending with the unheard wind, small forget-me-not flowers popping their tiny heads out of the green carpet to sip on the warmth of the sun. A spot of blue, here and there, caressing the feet of the white trees. The path curved a little and a few bloody poppies winked at them hiding among the saplings. Another gust of wind and the forest sang again; it soothed the hearing like the touch of satin, like the touch of rain drops in a torrid day. The men were silent; Thakur was a land mermaid. It crept into the hearts of the lonely and lost, into the souls of the tired, appeasing their sorrow, mending their wounds, until they reached its core where it swallowed them whole, spitting their bones on the other side. Very few wretched creatures dwelt here; murderers and scavengers.

The Wolofs rode quietly, exhausted from the day. A few drowsed in the saddle, leaning dangerously to the side. The wind brushed gently against their sweaty cheeks, soothing the burning flesh and here and there you'd hear a sigh of relief. Alchantar alone stood alert ahead of the small unit. He felt the armor rub hard against his shoulders, moist hair strands clinging on the back of his neck and he rolled his head slowly to get rid of the annoying pressure. It allured him as well, this peaceful and quiet place but he knew what lay ahead and he was not willing to give in to the temptation. His horse stepped lightly, lazily and the dirt softened the noise of his heavy hooves. The Wolof kept his eyes ahead, darting in the distance. The sun was playing among the choir of leaves, sparkling like gold powder in the small clearings among the poplar trees. Another gust of wind and the grass called for them with a silent yet appealing ripple, like green waves of a pond. His eyes closed gently, narrowing his vision; his head fell back slightly, but in a moment of awareness he forced them open again and changed posture in the saddle to help him stay awake. It had been a long march to Uyack and a frustrating morning. This forest was a patch on his bitter soul, but he couldn't…

His eyes closed; his fingers loosened on the reins and he felt carried away from all his worries. He felt the sweet caress of the sun on his cheeks, as if tiny children of the woods were playing on his face, tickling him with their little feet. A sudden choked sound and a disturbance in the trees. His eyes cracked open; colors were mingling before his eyes: gold, green, grey, shadows. A short muffled cry and his body startled in the saddle. His eyes opened wide, but still he couldn't fully grasp at the surroundings. He looked up at the sky and somehow the joyful feeling of a piece of heaven was gone. The grey of the clouds was menacing the crown of the singing trees. He looked ahead of him and a whole was slowly opening through the woods, as if the wind had collapsed to the ground spinning uncontrollably taking everything along with it; leaves, flowers, the sun. Thakur had opened its mouth ready to suck them in. He looked back rapidly and saw his men just as baffled as he was, alert and afraid. But nothing happened; another silent moment with just the wind intensifying above and around their heads. A cracking sound, somewhere up in the trees; a black figure swinging down from above, so fast they couldn't anticipate it; it flew among them, swiping one of his men off the horse to carry him with it back up in the green bushes. They took their swords out, pointing them and the nothingness around. A moment later a desperate frightening scream in the distance and their brother fell to the ground, dead. Alchantar drew his sword as well and turned around to look at the vortex stretching before them. They were here and there was no way back.

W

She trembled; her hands were cold, her forehead was sweaty and her right eye wasn't helping her much. It felt like she had a lump of meat on it and she gave up trying to open it. She thought she heard movement and opened her good eye to pierce through the thick darkness. She had been in and out of consciousness for the past hours. Maybe it was her imagination. With the corner of her eye she saw this light coming towards her and when it approached her enough she felt the warmth of the fire on her face and she turned towards it like sun flowers following the sun because she was so cold. Jorah's face contoured from behind the small flames, emerging from the darkness like a beautiful dream and her eyes came to life with his vision.

"Child!..." his voice was caught in between despair and mercy. He hurried to place the torch in the sand and help her. He disappeared into the darkness again and she listened to the sound of the torch for a little while. Then he rushed back with water and forced her head up to drink some. She changed the bandage on her swollen eye and she jerked away feeling the chilling water on her face. He took her hands in his and felt her tremble. He brought more blankets and animal skins to cover her until she was hidden almost completely. It took her some time before she warmed enough to be able to speak; but she waited for Jorah to tell her what was going on; she had no recollection of things and she worried.

"Jorah…" He sat at her side, holding her hand and in turn, he was also waiting for in his mind he was looking for the proper words to tell her the inevitable. "Are we lost?" Her almost dying voice didn't help him either; she sounded so broken and so hurt he couldn't bring himself to give her the news.

"Never lost my princess. Always together." And his hold on her hand grew stronger. "Never forget that." In the dim light of the torch her eyes succumbed to anguish further. "The people are safe; for now." Leora continued to look at him and her left eye did the job better than anything she could say. Jorach chuckled. "You are such an incredible person Leora! You speak pages without a word. I hope you use that…" but he stopped abruptly knowing what he was about to say. He took a deep breath. "Drogo has agreed to a truth. His reasons are just and his approach, dignifying. His terms are…good for our people. For your people." He plaid with her hand, massaging slowly her cold white fingers. "His terms… oh, Leora." He let go of her to rub hard on his forehead, shaking his head. "The only way to bring order to our kingdom and among the tribes is to marry him. He wants you to marry him."

"He wants Daenerys to marry him." And unexpectedly her voice had become stronger and harsher. Jorah looked at her and she seemed rather calm for the exceptional news he had brought her. But a moment later she left him to look in the darkness above her head. Tears rolled down her temples, disappearing in her hair and Jorah mourned her pain. "I am nothing but seeds in the wind." Gods have mercy, I cannot endure her this way…"I was born here but fate carried me away to blossom in a different land. And now that I have returned to where my roots are, I am yet again taken against my will." Jorah watched her cry and she had the right to. Life had not been easy on her and if a week before she was a young girl living in a small world in the woods of Uyack, now she was the princess of a large kingdom that asked the outmost sacrifice of her just when she had grasped on her new life. He bent to kiss the back of her hand, holding it tight against his face and Leora looked at him compassionately.

"I am so proud of you Leora. You speak like a leader and you have not yet accepted being one. Only someone who truly understands their role in this world, speak the way you have. In your heart, you know what you must do."

"Do I? I wanted to go home and see to my life. Learn of my responsibilities; give a proper burial to my sister whom I lost before I could even truly find. And now this."

"Nothing is without solution Leora. And what it might seem like a living hell today, it might turn into a new chance tomorrow."

"A chance to what Jorah? You know him."

"Do you remember my words?" They locked regard for a moment and she shivered under the blankets, breathing the feverish hot air from inside her lungs. "You surprised me right now with how wisely you have accepted this conclusion. Much of what you will do and say, I know it will surprise him as well."

"I am doing this for my people, for I have started this and I must end it. But I am not here to surprise him nor to please him, nor to be of any importance in his life!" Suddenly she struggled with the weight of the many coverings on top of her trying to free her hands and Jorah helped her. She sat, clanging on his shoulders and he came on his knees to support her. The bandage on her eye fell again and Jorah looked at her purple bruise and loved her more for her courage.

"Leora! Think things through! Your sacrifice is honorable but it does not grant you your life!"

"This is a peace treaty and it shall be treated as such!"

"Marrying Khal Drogo means exactly what it is: being his wife, being with him, at his side!" Jorah took a break unsure whether to voice the rest of the obvious truth. "Having his children."

She shook involuntarily and her grip on Jorah's shoulders grew stronger.

"Never! As soon as everything is resolved and all dangers to us and the tribes have been dealt with, we shall break this treaty apart. It's how it is Jorah, it's how it must be!" her voice sounded broken, shivering as if she could barely breathe. But Jorah shook his head.

"He did not ask for an alliance Leora. He asked you to marry him." She wished she asked what would happen if she had said no, but the answer to that question had come to her the moment he told her about Drogo's plans. She let go and Jorah barely had time to lay her back on the covers. She was shaking violently again and he covered her quickly. She waited for her fever to burn but still her voice was barely heard.

"Why me? Doesn't he have his women? Isn't there someone who wants to marry him? Some king that wants to give his daughter away for protection and fortune?" she quivered. "I am worth nothing to him and once all this will be over, so will I be done." Jorah took a moment to let her finish; somehow he could tell she wasn't finished. "Why would he have his heirs with a stranger?" She paused. "I wouldn't."

"Who would you have them with? A Targaryen? A Tekara? Does it matter?"

"Someone I'd love." They looked at each other again and she seemed to be a bit better; in her eyes she looked defeated.

"Then make that love happen."

"There are things in the world that can't be bought Jorah."

"But they can be won." Jorah smiled bending over to caress her forehead. "Nothing in life is fortuitous my girl and when you have lived long enough, you'll see that."

Leora smiled and for Jorah it was as if morning had already come. He smiled back with his pale lips.

"I told you, you make it sound so simple." But the glow in her eyes came and gone. "I am tired. And I am scared. More scared than I was before the battle. Facing him is harder than being killed."

"Death is always a coward's first choice." She giggled and it mended his heart. He was tired as well but did his best to hold on for her. "I must go back." Silence; he felt her hand squeeze his hard and he endured it. Another tear rolled from her left eye. He gave her a long kiss on the forehead, then got up and left taking the torch with him. In the dark she covered her face, hiding behind her palms. Her tears seared through her bruised skin and only the night witnessed her choked crying.

W

"My Lord!" one of his generals yelled desperately but Alchantar was already trying to round up his men into a more coherent formation.

"Bring them together man! Look behind you! Defend your flanks!" But Alchantar's orders made no sense because they didn't know what to expect. One of the soldiers thought he spotted something. He looked carefully, moving out of formation to take a better look and when he saw it coming he yelled from the top of his lungs but it was too late to even avoid it, less retreat. The log flew down from the trees, sustained by ropes, swinging straight into the man's chest, crushing him in the row of trees on the other side of the path. And as it swung back it released the torn body on top of the small army beneath. Horses neighed getting on two legs scared by the falling corpse. The soldiers looked horrified seeing one of them ripped apart, with his gut hanging from his waist, spreading into the dirt, his face carved in terror. They were all experienced soldiers; most of them had seen horrific things before; but only in battle, not when being hunted down one by one by an invisible force. In the back of the line another scream and they saw one more man being dragged into the bushes like cattle lassoed down.

"Move men, move!" Alchantar signaled his two remaining generals to push the men deeper into the woods and follow him. He entered the vortex, holding tight to his sword. It was all an illusion created by the foragers living in these parts of the world. They had burnt down the forest to make it look like the pits of limbo. They were everywhere and he had to keep an eye out for them. Behind him the soldiers moved in rows of two, watching each other's back as they moved along the trail and into the scorched forest. It was as if they were passing from one realm into another, so suddenly and unexpectedly.

From behind the trees, pairs of eyes watched them ride in the middle of a trap. For a little while they walked without anymore incidents, but Alchantar never lost focus. In the back of his mind he knew he had to stay alive, with or without his men at his side and he was thankful for this selfish part of his nature never failing him; it had won his life in so many dear situations. The forest sang again; this time a sinister song and he looked back just in time to see a cascade of logs, sharpen at both ends, tumbling down on his men. It tore through the hand full of men, sending some flying across the woods, smashing into trees to fall breathless to the ground. Others found their death faster, pinned into the killer ends of the massive weapons. Few others struggled to cut the ties holding the logs together and when they did, the trunks rolled on them bringing men and horses alike crushing down against the black dirt. Their defense was broken, the men had been scattered. The eyes behind the trees sent signals across the path. Alchantar saw them emerge like shadows from the bushes, hidden by the injured poplar trees. They were dressed in black, with their faces painted in charcoal dust, their eyes so white against that blackness. With hoods shading their eyes and daggers held menacingly in their hands, the Wolof army now stood face to face with the Sunasi, the inhabitants of the Thakur woodlands.

Alchantar looked beyond them envisioning his wait out of that place. He glanced back; the path was too narrow to group his men in battle formation. With a third of them gone and because of the difficult terrain, their chances of success were slim. The only way was to create chaos and amidst everything to dig a path for him through the bodies and slip far from the fight. But before even finishing his thought, the Sunasi launched their attack; so many flooding from every corner as if they were springing from under the ground or from the thicket above. They rushed into the scattered men likes wolves ambushing the prey and the Wolofs fought them blindly but one by one they fell. Their fighting techniques were unusual; they were like ghost serpents, one moment here and one moment there. They were silent and deadly, climbing up trees to then throw themselves at the enemy from above. The horses left without master got scared and in their madness crushed everything in their path, wounded and dead alike, until they were free from the torture of the sounds and cries around them, fleeing into the heart of the woods. Alchantar fought mightly and soon his sword weighed heavy with the blood dripping from its blade. He kept his horse steady and his posture right in the saddle, sowing death among the Sunasi but they were too many for him to take on alone. He only glimpsed at his men in the back and saw one of his generals being brought down and killed. They did not waste time with slaughter. It had to be swift and definitive so then they could move on to the next men. Time was of the essence for these dark warriors and so was for the Wolof King. But when his eyes fell back upon the Sunasi attacking him he was surprised to see one of them come before his horse out of no where and as if he could guess his intentions, Alchantar threw himself off the horse. The animal fell on top of him, succumbing to the daggers embedded deeply in its throat and the Wolof struggled to free himself. He grabbed the first Sunasi he encountered, pulling him by the ankles; the man dropped to the ground and Alchantar rushed his elbow in his jugular, crushing his airways. A moment later he twisted his head to the side, breaking his neck. He scrambled to take the man's dagger but just as he did he saw a second pair of feet before his eyes. He looked up slowly, in what seemed to be an eternity. The foot came right in his face sending him on his back. His eyes burnt like mad in the eye sockets and the pain in his temples thundered to the back of his head. The poplar trees sang again and their golden leaves snowed down on him bright and beautiful. As his eyes closed, the leaves lay on his cheeks like flakes of grey ashes.

W

Drogo watched Jorah entering the tent; he placed the torch aside. Illyrio fretted in his chair looking at Jorah with expecting eyes. In his heart he knew Jorah wouldn't have come back unless he had their fate sealed the way they expected to; which meant giving her away to Drogo. He looked down, guilty for having laid this burden on her as well. Coward, coward old man! He breathed in and for the first time in many years, the Magister felt weak in his decisions. Jorah came before Drogo and bowed. He may have not been at ease with respecting Khal's plan but, the respect towards him as a leader remained undeterred.

"She agrees." Drogo couldn't help a bitter ironic smile.

"Or did you agree for her?"

Jorah looked in his eyes and the Khalasar always appreciated the honesty he saw in this man.

"If I may, my Khalasar. All of us here agree that your plan has chances of success and both Illyrio and I will do our best to assist you in the Targaryen Court. It is clear as day light you have thought things through thoroughly. Yet I dare say, you may have not considered bringing a bride back home." And Jorah kept his eyes with the Khal until the young Dothraki lowered his, which rarely ever happened.

"You remind me of my father, Sir Mormont. He was the only one able to guess my intentions and foresee my worries." Drogo went to pour wine for himself and looked back at the two noblemen silently asking them whether they also wanted a cup, but both denied shaking their heads slightly. He took the cup, stirring the liquid a bit to sense the crude smell. Behind him Jorah looked at his wide shoulders and the blue drawings crawling down his muscular back. They had barely faded after the battle he had been in that day. The dust alone had made its way onto his skin darkening it more. Drogo turned around and Jorah remained still looking at him. "Indeed, I did not plan for this. I never did, before this battle; I didn't plan for it ever. It has not truly been in my interest to you my Khalasar?"

"But is marriage just an interest?"

"We may not come from the same place, but your world is not that different from mine. People seek fortune and fame, regardless of their allegiance, color or tradition." Drogo sipped on his wine slowly and his face betrayed his discomfort talking about the matter. "I am expected to have heirs."

"Doesn't it matter whom you have them with?"

"Not to me."

"I beg to differ." Illyrio pointed at Drogo with his staff. "I have been married, long ago." The Magister paused with a sad look in his eyes. "I remember her still, right now as if it were yesterday. She was sent to me; many were sent to me. Girls from across the land, whose families hungered for my name. I was young, bored and distracted. I didn't need a wife; I had plenty of mistresses, slaves, women who threw themselves at me." Jorah looked away unable to hold back a smile and Drogo leaned against a pylon enjoying the conversation. "Now, now, it may look… incredulous today, when you look at me –" Jorah looked at him mumbling something in his chin and Drogo smiled widely, sipping again from his wine. "- But I had them all. I didn't have to be handsome, I didn't have to speak nice to them, nor treat them like people. I had the money, the name and the power. That's what they really wanted, they didn't want me, so why give them something they didn't want? Until she came along. She hated me you know?"

"She must've done terrible things to you if even now you cannot get her out of your mind."

"Yes, yes, most terrible my Khalasar." Illyrio stopped rummaging through the sand and looked at him. "She taught me how to love. It ruined me."

The three of them fell silent.

"I know what you are trying to tell me Magister, but where I come from love comes out of need not choice and it will be no different for me." He finished his wine, putting the cup back on the little table. "But stay assured; your princess will be safe with me as long as she understands our ways and her place at my side." Jorah looked away; that would be the hardest part to teach Leora. But then again, some things should be left the way they are for her rebellion and quick silver spirit would most likely be her salvation. He glimpsed at Drogo approaching him; you'll have raw meat in your hands and it will be hard for you to cook it! He bowed before the Dothraki. "The wedding will happen tomorrow at sunset. Here, if that does not displease you or… your princess."

Jorah's heart startled. Tomorrow?

"If there is anything we can do to assist you with the preparations, my Khalasar…"

"I will send someone to you in the morning." He left but as he was preparing to get out of the tent, he stopped, looking over his shoulder. "If there are any customs she wants to keep to…" Jorah bowed again.

"Thank you, my Khalasar." And Drogo walked away into the night.

Illyrio dragged slowly across the sand coming before Jorah who remained bowed, with the burden of the world on his shoulders.

"What happens when he finds out she is not Daenerys and that he has married a half-breed?"

Jorah closed his eyes tight and the desire to cry burnt him.

"Let's hope that will remain a secret until more time passes."

"What do you expect old man?" Illyrio sounded nervous. He didn't like this anymore than Mormont did. "That they fall in love and he forgives her afterwards?"

"You said it yourself Mopatis! Love can be learnt even by the most inapt of us!" he frowned looking straight at his old friend. Illyrio pouted hitting with his staff in the sand. He wished he replied back but Mormont was right; and he missed his wife so much.

"Drogo is different. His world is cruel."

Jorah went back to his seat and brought his hands in prayer. Lorday barged inside anxious to find out the details of their small reunion with the Khalasar, but neither Sir Mormont nor the Magister hurried to enlighten him.

W

His head felt the size of a bucket. His eyes were swollen and it felt as if the skin on his cheeks was coming down on his eyes. He could hardly focus; the earth was swaying underneath him. The night had fallen. Alchantar inched angered with the realization and struggled impotently. He looked around and then he scrambled to look down at his feet. He was dangling hanged from a rope in the middle of the Thakur forest. His general and a couple of his men had joined him in this upside down prison. He wondered how the thin poplar trees could sustain all this weight but through the dark he realized they were hanging from beams nailed in the trees, like sheep waiting to be disemboweled. He wished he stopped swinging but he had his hands tight to the back and couldn't control the movement. He tried to take a closer look at his few remaining men. His general was awake and two others appeared to be alert. For the others he couldn't tell for sure, but when he met the eyes of his general the man shook his head, so he lost hope of them being alive. Further away the Sunasi had built the fires for the night.

Alchantar decided they were at a safe distance from the enemy to be able to communicate. He looked at his general trying to get his attention.

"Is this all that's left?" The general looked back at the soldiers lined up head down behind him then nodded. Alchantar was not pleased. Because of the dark he couldn't tell for sure how far up he was. But he had to try his luck. He stretched forth as much as he could, knowing that he had stashed a pocket knife at the back of his pants. He was grateful the Sunasi had stolen his cape and breast plate allowing him to be more flexible. He tangled his fingers around the belt remaining in a weird position where every muscle in his belly stretched to a maximum and he resented it. In his mid forties he sometimes felt like an old man. He walked his hand, inch by inch, not letting go of the belt, until he reached the inner pocket and took the blade out then he let go bouncing above the ground. He waited for the movement to stop then slowly used the knife to cut through the bindings until he freed his hands. He then lifted his body slowly up and his ankles hurt and burnt with the rope twisting tighter around his legs, but he kept going, bending his body, progressively, griping with his hands on the knees, then went higher and higher until he reached his ankles. He heard movement behind him and stopped abruptly to take a look back. There was nothing so he started cutting the rope, faster and faster, but the ties were thick. He tried to focus through the dark and see what he was doing but he could barely tell how deep he was with his knife in the rope. Then all of a sudden a deaf sound and he felt as if the rope loosened a bit. The next moment he plunged to the ground at full speed and he took a nasty fall reverberating through his lower back and neck.

The world span for a moment and he tried to regain clarity of mind fearing someone might have heard him fall. He got up slowly and saw his general struggling to attract his attention. He looked around with his knife ready, but there was no one there.

"My Lord! Quickly! Cut us loose!" Alchantar hurried behind the man and started cutting his ties. The general was impatient and kept kicking making the rope turn.

"Stand still man!" Alchantar couldn't see a thing. The dim light from the fires was now taken away by the general's body. The general rested, his eyes rolling left to right, keeping an eye out for any intruders. The Sunasi seemed caught in their small celebration. But with the corner of his eye he perceived the slight movement in the trees before him. He looked carefully wishing for his king to move faster and free him. And as he stood there with his heart beating frantically he saw them; a pair of eyes, with the white glowing eerily in the dark and he scrambled to warn Alchantar.

"My Lord!" Alchantar looked past the general and saw the shadow sneaking on them. He grabbed the general from the back holding tight on his shirt and kept the knife in his right hand, looking carefully around. The voices of the nearby Sunasi covered any sound of footsteps. A short cry and he saw the stranger attack from upfront and he flinched to the side, pulling the general with him. The rope rotated and so did Alchantar using his man as a shield. Another swish in his ear and the Sunasi snapped at him with his sword but missed again. It was his turn and Alchantar pushed the general in his face going underneath the hanging man to stab the Sunasi in the gut. The man retracted holding tight to his bleeding wound but instead of calling for the others he tried to take vengeance on his own, going for Alchantar's throat. But the Wolof king was fast; he bowed before the blade reached him and so the Sunasi's blade cut across the general's throat, almost decapitating him. The assault caused him so much pain that he took a moment to breath in and accept the weakness gripping on his joints. Alchantar watched him from beneath the general's body; he felt something dripping down his forehead and he looked up. The blood spilling from his general's throat rained down on him and in moments he found himself drowning in it and he pulled back disgusted. He wiped it off his eyes with his sleeve, clearing his vision right when the Sunasi tried one last attack. But Alchantar did not hesitate and embedded his small blade right under his chin. What a bloody job… Now the enemy blood was dripping down his hand and he didn't remember a time when he had been covered in so much blood. He pulled back leaving the knife in his victim. He took the Sunasi's sword and crawled silently towards where the horses were tied. The animals were restless with his approach, but he talked to them in a mild voice, taking one by the reins. He walked alongside the horse for a little while, enough to sink in the deeper in the woods. He looked back and saw the eyes of his soldiers following him, like gallows birds seeing the judge give the order for a kill. He turned his eyes away; his heart was black as the tar night swallowing him.

W

"If he wants to be King in Pentos, he should have allowed the wedding to be held there, for his future people to see him!" Lorday commented unsatisfied with the entire outcome of their discussions the night before. The news of the wedding had poured into the streets of Pentos creating chaos, but Drogo did not care. He had rounded up the Council informing them personally of his terms and as expected, there was no one there to refuse him. He put Jorah and Illyrio in charge until his return. First he had to take his future bride to his home and introduce her to her new family, and then he would be back to arrange matters in Pentos. His decisions sparked numerous animosities to say the list, but no one had the opportunity or the weapons to fight him. Jorah knew he had to keep a tight grip on the nobility once Leora and Drogo left, so that they didn't plan the unthinkable and plan against their new king.

Illyrio wanted to admonish the young noble, but refrained from wasting more energy on him. They had fought enough the night before. He looked around at the hand full of Targaryen nobles in their shiniest and richest clothes, chattering like old women at every step. On the other side, Drogo's generals and soldiers were as different of a picture as one could see. Half naked, with talismans around their necks, golden daggers hidden in the animal skins around their waists. Tanned, tall and muscular, like bows ready to be released. Illyrio was uneasy.

"Where is Leora?" he asked Jorah sitting next to him, but his eyes continued to prowl the surroundings.

"She is getting ready." Jorah didn't sound much calmer either. The dry air of the desert caused him to cough continuously and he sipped on water to keep his illness at bay.

"Children of my children will not witness this again."

"Neither have your forefathers." Jorah swallowed in again feeling the tingling of the dust down his throat.

"You know my friend, when I sent you to get Leora that fateful morning, I never dreamt it would come to this." Illyrio sighed. Too much had happened in such a short time.

"Neither did I, Magister. Neither did she." They shared a quick regard, but they were interrupted by the murmur in the crowd. The Dothraki bowed and Jorah saw Drogo coming.

"You better take your place. It's about to begin." Illyrio pushed his heavy cape aside and rushed among the people. Jorah bowed and the Targaryens, baffled and unaware, followed him hesitantly. Drogo stepped slowly, with his eyes set on the small shrine they had arranged for the ceremony. Illyrio had just appeared behind it, arranging his clothes and gold chain. He had taken his golden staff, baring the royal insignia, the symbol of his authority as Magister of the Court. The tarp above the shrine moved slightly with the wind and Drogo sighed. He had spent the night doubting his decision. He had never taken marriage seriously, knowing he could never have a woman to really love him for the man he was. A downfall to his statute as the Dothraki leader. But he had at least hoped to know more of her before he took her in. He wasn't sure how had such a thought crept into his mind, but he couldn't get rid of it. Her eyes were still burning him, so angry and daring. He wasn't used to that. He sighed as he passed Jorah, almost unobservant. A few more steps and he will reach the point of no return.

She looked at them with tears in her eyes. From behind the tarp she saw them gather waiting for her and she wished she could flee. And then she saw Jorah, her dear Jorah. They have known each other for so little, yet she appreciated his advice and patience with her. He was her spark of light in the dark times ahead. Behind her, one of the servant girls brought from Pentos arranged her veil. She did not care about her looks. With all the medicine and care she had gotten through out the night and all day till now, her bruises were still immaculate, her eyes was no longer swollen but kept its sickening color. Suddenly, the crowd outside went quiet and the Dothraki started bowing one by one. She peaked more and saw him walking with her back at her. She pulled back inside the tent, leaving just her eye into the light to watch him. It was the first time she could actually take a better look at him; her husband to be. He was so tall! She wished she knew what the blue drawings on his shoulders meant. His hair was longer than hers, braided carefully in a long tail, bearing small colorful bells in it and her eyes followed the soft sway of the brown hair across his back; she saw the muscles in his waist tense with each step he took and her lips parted unwillingly. He had not put much effort into wearing anything special on this day. His belt was an intricate carving of drawings, encircling his waist, supporting the golden dagger unfolding from the animal skins hanging down his hips. He had chosen lighter colors this time that contrasted with his tanned skin and her eyes ran down his powerful legs observing the flexing in his muscles and the way he stepped hard sinking his feet in the sand. He stopped before Illyrio, under the small altar her people had put together for them.

"It is time my Lady." The voice behind her startled her frail heart. She clenched tighter on the tarp. I'm not ready, not yet! "My Lady?..." A few heads in the crowd turned towards the tent. She could hear her breathing so loud it covered everything else.

Illyrio looked worried over Drogo's shoulder and Jorah became impatient with Leora's delay. He didn't see any movement in her tent; he sneaked away slowly going behind the crowd to see what was going on.

Leora saw Jorah approaching and she backed off from the entrance. He entered and they stared at each other for a moment; she looked like an animal about to run for its life. He stretched his hand to her.

"Let me walk you to the altar." Tears surged in her eyes and she shook her head. And by the Gods, she was beautiful! "Please child." She placed her hand slowly in his and allowed him to tuck it safely under his arm.

The sun was about to set but she found the light merciless to her tender eyes. In her mind, she looked like a slave girl. Bruised, with a purple eye and chapped lips, broken fingernails, pale and skinny. She looked down as they took one step at a time approaching the altar.

Drogo looked at her and it took him aback with how small she was. Without the armor, the helmet and the shield she was thin like a flower, stepping lightly on the sand that barely bore the mark of her soles. She kept her eyes in the ground and wondered if Jorah had told her about his traditions. He doubted he did. She wore a plain white dress, embroidered here and there with thin golden threads, like sun rays twisting and spinning on the sleeves. The material was cut deep on her chest revealing her soft skin and beneath it he could guess the shape of her round small breasts contoured shyly by the intricate drawings. The wind blew gently and forced her long veil to fall in waves down her back and all the way on the sand following the golden train. She wore the crown of the Westeros; pure gold shaped into a thin yet majestic piece of jewelry enriched with sapphires and rubies. She passed slowly through the crowd and the sun caught up with her, sneaking among the tents and the people; the crown jewel, her Queen Emerald shone brightly as she lifted her head slowly to welcome the breeze that brought this warmth. Drogo kept his ground but that short glimpse of her face made him want to see more; but he waited.

Jorah patted her hand gently and let go of her before Drogo. The two men shared one last look before Leora came before him and Illyrio cleared his voice, ready to start the ceremony. Khal Drogo looked at her so inquisitively, she felt it was penetrating though her skul, but she kept her eyes down. She was not going to give him anything more than what he had bargained for. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he wanted her to disobey his own rules, but she didn't. Illyrio started talking, but neither of them heard what he was saying. Leora kept her head so low it almost hurt her neck and she knew he must've observed the exaggeration in her gesture, but she did not care. She counted her breathing, trying to remain calm. What if I make him mad? Thoughts roamed through her head and she tried to chase them away. You don't want to bring his wrath on your people! She almost shook her head, convincing herself that she wasn't. Drogo looked at her carefully, from so close and she was the strangest girl he'd encountered. She was shaking her head looking as if she spoke with someone and his mind he went back to what Alchantar had told him, about her dementia. He took a deep breath. What was the truth about this girl?

"… with the consent of the Great Powers and the approbation of your people, I, humble servant of this throne and servant to its rule, unite these hands to walk the same path, now and forever."

Both Drogo and Leora looked completely taken by surprise when Illyrio joined their hands. She almost jolted back while he just locked her hand in his by instinct. Mine! The thought surprised him the most and his lips parted with a gasp; and the air never returned in his chest when he met her eyes. They stared and time stopped, if there was a sound around them they couldn't hear it. What a tiny little face… her bruised eye did not take away any of the beauty that shone through those chestnut irises fixing him so powerfully right now. Her lips were almost white with how tired she must've probably been and chapped from the day before; it made him want to touch and moist them. He clenched his jaw and unfocused his eyes from her. The spell was broken. What is this? He was confused by the novelty of his feelings and it annoyed him to have shown it to her. He looked at Illyrio who bowed his head slowly, inviting him silently to end the ceremony. Drogo turned back to her, still holding her hand and bent down slowly for her alone to hear him.

"Where I come from, women do not look me in the eye."

His voice sent chills down her spine. So hoarse, so low and appealing. It was the most haunting voice she'd ever heard and she thought he could tell from her breathing how captivated she was with it. But finally, his words had an impact on her.

"Why not?" and he did not expect that from her. She whispered and her warm breath came onto his face caressing it, pushing that veil of stubbornness off his face. Why not? Why not? And the more he repeated the question in his head the more it angered him with her boldness. For you get punished for it! Those were his last unspoken words to her before he did what any man would; kiss his woman.

It hurt her wrist with how hard she pulled but his hand was an unbreakable lock and she remained pinned where she stood with his mouth on hers, so suddenly, so unexpected that she continued to stare at him, an inch away, with the tip of her nose buried in his cheek and his beard felt heavenly against her soft skin. She didn't kiss him back; she couldn't because she never expected his lips to feel so tender and moist. Her eyelids burdened and gave in, her sight darkened and she was about to close her eyes and run back to her own world where she did not enjoy his kiss so much. But as she was about to close away from him, he opened his eyes and looked at her, so deeply it uprooted her from the surrounding reality. His mouth pressed harder on hers, sucking on her lips gently and she wondered again how such a big man could be so soft. But when he let go of her, his face went back to the arrogance and superiority he had displayed before and she blushed, ashamed with having been caught with her guard down. He never let go of her hand all throughout the applauses of the crowd, the false cheering and the dishonest wishes for the best. She gave up trying to keep her distance. It seemed to give him pleasure to fight her.

Soon the fires were lit and they roared up towards the sky. The night was young, the food was plenty, the drinks kept pouring. But she did not eat, she did not drink, she did not dance. She remained at his side, silent and observant of his people. Jorah was barely there; he spent his time together with Illyrio making sure none of the Targryens present would have too much to drink and reveal her secret. She watched the fires burn, she heard the laughs of the men. As the moon rose higher on the sky, her heart went colder. The time would come when she had to follow him in his tent. Her eyes closed against the full moon.

W

Alchantar saw them burning from afar. He knew the horse would betray his presence and he did not want the Dothraki to be misled in the dark. His death would have come swiftly and mercilessly. So he let the animal go and decided to walk to the camp of his ally. The torches on the walls of Pentos gave a bit of light across the sands and he saw them first like shadows; flags and weapons spread across the sand. But no bodies. He stopped for a moment. There had been a battle, but when did they have the time to gather the bodies? Where did Drogo bury his men? He took another look in the distance and watched the fires burn into the night. Hmmm… He continued walking disappearing into the night until he reached their tents. He sneaked in quietly and carefully. A few of his men were drinking in a corner absorbed in discussions. He moved further down, going around another tent until he reached the middle of the camp. But when he glanced beyond the tarp, he remained silent and confused. He recognized the Targaryen wear, the flags of the Westeros throne. What is going on? Has it ended so fast? In his mind he grinned. He didn't mind not being part of the men slaughter, as long as he got his share of the catch. But celebrating? It wasn't in Drogo's nature to be so kind. He switched corners and looked again. A colorful carpet was laid on a wooden structure, above the sand. Drogo sat in his chair, eating his fruit, like he knew he would. But there was something more; you! Leora sat down at the foot of the chair, looking down; looking sad. He took a step out of his hideout. Is she… yes she is! He fell back that one step he had taken and hid again into the semi obscurity of the tent. It can't be! How can it be? She was dressed as a bride, he recognized that, he'd been to Targaryen weddings before, either as a guest or a passer by, and he was not mistaken. All of a sudden the world seemed a much darker and overwhelming place. Alchantar closed his eyes, in defeat letting the air come out slowly and long. He breathed in, trying to find a way around this unexpected and unfortunate happening that had taken place in his absence. The Targaryens' plan had worked. But is this what they had really planned, or did it come from Drogo. No!... Drogo couldn't commit such nonsense. But then he looked again and in his cunning mind a new gate opened, one that Jorah had feared all along. He wondered…

The soldiers saw a man appear from behind the tent and they got up abruptly taking their weapons.

"Honorable Dothraki, it is I, Alchantar Wolof, your ally and humble visitor to your camp, if you have me." He bowed before Drogo's men taken aback by the surprising apparition. They didn't know why Alchantar hadn't been there for the battle and they did not understand why he was there now. "If I may trouble you with a small favor. If you could indulge me and call upon your Khalasar to see me in private. It is in his immediate benefit that he sees me." But even though he kept his head down he knew no such thing was ever asked from the Khal. He never came upon the call of anyone, but he had to push things into motion if he wanted to satisfy his curiosity. The Dothraki looked at each other even more confused with his daunting attitude. But they agreed and one of them left to inform Khal. Alchantar withdrew in the tent behind, waiting anxiously.

Soon the tarp pulled away and Drogo entered the tent, if not amazed at least annoyed with the Wolof bothering him unannounced.

"Alchantar Wolof, you have a gift to show in the most inappropriate moments."

Alchantar bowed, taking his time in showing the Khalasar how sorry he was for bothering him.

"I rode hard and long my Khalasar to reach you before… before any of this happened, but it looks like I might have arrived too late."

"What are you talking about? And stand up. Your bowing is meaningless to me." Drogo paced around the tent once, undecided whether to pour some wine or just listen to the Wolof king and then go back to his bride. He had much to learn about her and he did not want to spend that time with Alchantar.

"I see there was a battle."

"There was."

"So I had mine."

"I hope it was successful, like mine." Drogo grew impatient; he really didn't want to be there. Through an opening in the tarp he saw the moon cutting through the dark. It was almost time. In the back of his mind he grinned, but curiosity was eating him inside.

"Unfortunately, through my efforts I have discovered we have been deceived."

"Deceived? Explain yourself Wolof." Faster!

"The Targaryens sent a decoy to Uyack, for me to follow thinking it was Leora."

"The half-breed princess of Westeros; the one you wanted."

"Yes my Khalasar."

"And how do you know you've been tricked? Have you captured the decoy?"

"Yes. And it wasn't whom I expected."

Drogo sighed, bored with the conversation. He had made it clear to Alchantar that he was not interested in his fight with the Tekaras or the bastard child. But, he was in a good mood, so he allowed the discussion to continue, out of complacency.

"So where is this Leora now? Do you know?" and Alchantar smiled in the dark. He had brought Drogo right where he wanted. He took a few slow purposeful steps towards the opening in the tarp looking over the fires in the middle of the camp.

"Right there."

Drogo remained motionless; his eyes alone switched from Alchantar's face to the opening in the tarp, and back to the Wolof, not wanting to understand what he was saying. He came closer, but he kept his eyes on his assumed ally. Alchantar's eyes were fixed on his wife. His hand flew right in the man's throat bringing him up above the sand.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

But Alchantar choked under the clutch of Drogo's large hand. The Khalasar's arm didn't even shiver. Alchantar struggled.

"I… I'm telling… I'm telling you…." He choked again but Drogo didn't let go. "… the truth…" Drogo looked at Leora staring absently into the fire burning before her. He slowly let go of the Fire King. Alchantar took a few steps back, supporting himself against the table, coughing to regain his breath. His joints were weakened and he sat in a chair, making efforts to come to his senses fast and satisfy Drogo's curiosity and appease his warrior spirit. "See… I know them both. Daenerys and Leora. They are nothing alike. Daenerys is shorter, blonde long hair, almost silvery and deep blue eyes. She had hardly ever walked outside Pentos, and barely left the palace after her brother died. She was lost without him and the nobility liked her that way. She was easier to manipulate." He breathed again; he felt tired for no reason. "Then Illyrio found out about Leora, that she wasn't dead and sent Jorah to get her back and gain the throne of her father."

Drogo kept silent. He was watching the woman with long chestnut hair, fare features and daring eyes that he had just married that evening.

"Daenerys?"

"I don't know my Khalasar. But she… she is said to have not recovered from the tragedy of Viserys' death."

It didn't matter anymore. If Leora had led the Targaryen army in battle then she must have taken the throne. Still… his fists clenched painfully. He had been tricked; how could Jorah do this to him? He very well knew how unprecedented their marriage was. How hard it would be for both sides to accept it and now he had to go home with a half-breed who had probably killed her sister or locked her away to take the throne! Shame… He should've known, no woman raised at the court would have ever defied him like that. He turned around abruptly slamming his fist into the water vessel on the table. It wasn't enough; he hit the shields supported against the pylon sending weapons and armors on the other side of the tent rolling outside through the entry. He paced round and round, completely neglecting Alchantar's presence. The Wolof King didn't dare venture any further than where he had gone until now, so he waited to see the results of his mischief.

Drogo stopped again before the opening in the tarp and took another look at her. A servant girl had approached her and was whispering in her ear. She got up and left followed closely behind by the girl. She passed Jorah and they exchanged one last look. Will she try to kill him? He chuckled at the thought, but it sounded more like a muffled angry groan. He turned to leave but stopped before exiting the tent.

"I don't want you anywhere near the Targaryens. Stay here."

"But My Khalasar!..." but Drogo had already left. Behind him his men stood guard at the entry of the tent. Alchantar was now prisoner of his own ally. He fell back into his chair, angered and betrayed. He had given up his catch to do a greater evil, and in his quest to win he had forgotten what the price would be and now he was lost in his own desires and lies. Maybe there was still hope the Dothraki council would reject her and he could have her back for himself. If Drogo did not kill her meanhwile… He touched the top of his head and felt the clotted blood sticking in his hair. He laid back in the chair unable to sleep, but finding it hard to stay alert too. The moon was high in the sky and his eyes remained hypnotized with it. Before long, it disappeared behind his closed eyelids.

Leora entered the tent and looked back for the girl that had accompanied her, but with a quick bow she left, almost fleeing. She could not understand this fear of him. What was the use of it? She looked around and everything in that tent spoke of him. A few veils hanging from the ceiling, hiding large candles burning in the sand or on the tables. Hidden among them all, lay his bed, covered in animal skins, big and welcoming. Warm; yet wild. Something in her heart quickened and she took a small step back. That's when she felt him; her back against his chest and she felt small, so small. She turned around quickly backing off into his bed.

Drogo sat there, motionless, observing her. The dark powder on his eyelashes turned the green in his eyes into treacherous bottomless caves and she nearly got lost in them. Her heart pounded like never before. Thoughts mingled in her head about the one attempt she had had a few years back to be with a man and she had failed miserably. Maybe it had been her, or maybe she just felt used. Her eyes fell on him again and without her even feeling it, he had come closer. She had never prized her virginity too much, because few men did. It was just another win on their abacus. She stared back at him and realized that for the first time since she'd met him she felt scared. Drogo took a step closer and in the candle light his eyes sparkled, menacingly and Leora gasped for air. She didn't know whether she'd spend her first night with her husband, or the enemy.

Author's note

Sandradee27 – Girl, thanks so much for the review on chapter 12. I was in such a hurry to post it after vacation that I forgot to put in my little thanks. Glad you like the whole thing. As you can see, more Drogo is unfolding right now and there will be plenty more coming. I've brought the big boy into the game.

Straight Edge Queen – MUAH to you as well for the review on chapter 12. I will make sure Daenerys gets what she deserves. But all in due time.

Kiera666 – Happy you like the story so far! Keep me posted on what you think from now one!

My two Guests – thanks so much for your appraisals guys. To be frank, I don't really like describing war/fighting scenes. I really am impatient when it comes to descriptions as a whole. Hahah funny eh, considering I do describe a lot. I am more into dialogues, but I cannot do just dialogues, so… but I'm happy to see that you liked my war scenes. That came as a surprise to me. Thanks for reviewing and hopefully I'll hear from you soon.