The skull of the Black Goat was staring down at her with eyes of fire. It had scared her when she had come here before with Viserys. He had laughed at her for it, calling her a coward. She had thought that it had scared him too, but she hadn't wanted to wak the dragon. She had been little then. She had still believed that Viserys was something to be scared of. Maybe he had been right. Maybe she had been a coward. She stared back into the eyes of the animal that the Qohorik worshipped, determined to prove to herself that she was no longer a little girl.
"I knew an acolyte who went travelling to Qohor once. Pot was his name. Lardy arsed boy. Used to eat his weight daily, and that was no mean feat. Clever boy, though. The fat boys are often cleverer than those raised as soldiers or smiths."
"A fine story, Archmaester, but one that, I fear, does not seem of any important to our, khaleesi."
She started then, and looked around at her war council. It was pitiful compared to the ones that she had held in Meereen. Back then she had brave knights, Unsullied veterans, sellsword captains, fighting pit champions, Dothraki youths, even some men of Meereen had aided her. Now the men advising her on military policy were so small, in comparison.
There was Archmaester Marwyn. He had been the man that had been talking then, telling them of the history of the city that they were camped outside. He had talked about ancient battles, the Valyrian freehold, the founding of the Black Goat as the god of the city. That had been where she had become bored and drifted off into listless imaginations.
She had wondered about what had become of her Daario, or of Hizdahr, or of brave Ser Barristan. She had wondered to where Ser Jorah had gone after his exile. Had he found a sellsword company, or returned to Pentos, to be with fat Magister Illyrio. Maybe he had even gone to Lys to try and steal back his lady love.
"Understanding the history of our enemies is an important way of beating them, my grace, especially considering that we are only bothering with this to act as a symbol of your own power to the Dothraki, who have been too scared to fight the Qohorik ever since the Three Thousand made their stand. As Rogero said, we should destroy the buggers before we can let them rise off their arses."
Yes. This had been Rogero's plan hadn't it. Of course it had been. Everything they had done since she awoke at Vaes Dothrak had been part of one of Rogero's schemes. He played the game with a cocky arrogance that reminded her even more of Daario every day she spent with him. He had ridden alongside her when they abandoned their camp, Rogero's bloodriders behind them. He had brought them with him to Vaes Dothrak, and he had left with one fewer.
Rakharo and Humfrey Hightower would alternate riding with them too. She had thought of giving the Dothraki a white cloak, but had decided against it. She was not sure that he would want that of her. A cloak would hide his braid from view, and the Dothraki preferred to ride topless anyway.
Sometimes they would be joined up front by Motho, who had escorted her out of Vaes Dothrak, but more often than not he would lead their rear, marshalling the Dothraki that rode as freeriders to make sure that the mighty khalasar was not being followed. She enjoyed it when he did ride with them, however, as he had many stories, and he was kind to her, which was more than could be said of the other great khals of the Dothraki Sea.
Any man could be a khal, or so Motho told her, but not any man had it in them to lead a khalasar. At any one time there was never usually more than 10 great khals, who were recognised as such by the Dosh Khaleen. They were the mightiest khals, those who commanded the most men and had the longest braids. When one died, their khalasar would either split, and then fight each other over the position, or would pass into the hands of a son, if one was deemed worthy.
The great Khals now were Motho, Rogero, Zekko, Jhaqo, Pono, Jommo, Rhogoro, Ikko, and Rashato. There should be another, but Motho wasn't sure of his name. He would only be recent, as Khal Paro had been slain in battle by Jhaqo before she was brought to Vaes Dothrak.
Marwyn didn't like to ride, but he had to when with the Dothraki. To do otherwise would be showing his weakness. Whenever she met him he said that he would ride with them if he could, but that he had never enjoyed to ride fast, and often she and Rogero would fly ahead of the khalasar, letting the wind run through their hair. She had done this before, when she had been Drogo's, and loved it, but now she knew how it felt to ride on the back of a dragon it was less impressive.
Motho, Humfrey and Rakharo had all been given places on her war council, Rakharo upon her insisting to Rogero that her bloodrider be given a place amongst them. They had been joined by two more members the second day that they spent in the camp. The first was a woman of pale skin and red hair. She was called Seero, and Rogero claimed that she was his aunt. She had bent for Daenerys, a smile on her face.
When Daenerys had tried to talk to her, she found the girl quiet and unresponsive. Rogero's face had gone dark when he asked him about it later. He had told her that his aunt had her tongue removed by an angered rival many moons before. That had left Daenerys thinking how horrible she had been for thinking that the woman didn't like her.
The second was a woman that she remembered from Vaes Dothrak. She was one of the crones of the Dosh Khaleen, the widows of dead Khals. Her hair was black and stringy, matted together from lack of care. Her skin was copper, but old and wrinkled, and her eyes black. She couldn't see Drogo in her, but she claimed to be his mother. Her sun and stars must have inherited most of his appearance from his father.
She spent a night with the mother of her Drogo, but the woman spoke few words of the common tongue, and the Dothraki she spoke was a different variant from the one that Jhiqui had taught her many moons ago. Instead of talking, she had let the old woman brush her hair, which she seemed to enjoy. Both were given places on the council, but neither ever contributed much. When Seero wanted to interject something she would write it down on a tablet that her nephew had given her. This didn't happen very often.
"We no need to know history, khaleesi. You have dragon. Burn city."
"Yes, my young friend. This would be a good battle plan, if our khaleesi had a dragon to use to destroy the Qohorik. She does not, and that does not put us in a good position. The enemy has little to fear from a Mother of Dragons that doesn't have any dragons."
"In the days of old Targaryens used to be able to call their dragons to them with little more than a sound. Could the same not be true for you and your dragons, your grace?"
"Two of my children are confined beneath the great pyramid of Meereen, Grand Maester. The other... I do not know where he is. He will return to me when he desires to do so."
"Until he does we cannot make our move. Qohor has strong walls, and four thousand Unsullied, as well as mercenaries from Ib and Norvos. They have heard of our coming, and they have prepared for it. We should be thankful that the sellsword companies are all occupied in Slaver's Bay."
"The Golden Company sacked the city of Qohor once. Their walls cannot be too strong. We have fifteen thousand Dothraki screamers at our back. We can make our move now and destroy the Unsullied who stand in our way."
The Hightower knight was fresh faced, and she doubted if he had ever truly seen a battle. No doubt he had been trained by a master-at-arms back in Oldtown. He would not be prepared for what was coming.
"The Unsullied are not our enemies. If I could only talk to them..."
"We cannot afford to risk your life on the off-chance that you can convince our enemy to change sides. These Unsullied are not the ones that you liberated from Astapor, your grace. These are men who likely do not remember what it is like to be free. They know nothing but obeying the commands of their Qohorik masters."
"My Dothraki may not ride at the Unsullied head-on, khaleesi. They have all been raised on stories of the Three Thousand. Just being here does not sit well for them. The longer we stay the more likely we are to be abandoned."
"My sun and stars never let his men threaten him."
"And now he is dead, khaleesi. I am sorry for the bluntness. Me and Drogo never saw eye to eye. He was a strong warrior, but his stubbornness and desire to look strong and in charge was what got him killed. My men expect more from me. They would not be happy if I allowed them to stay here."
The opening of the tent opened then, and a Dothraki man stepped in, his copper skin bare from the waist above. This man wasn't one of Rogero's bloodriders, but still she recognized him from around the camp. He was one of Rogero's lieutenants, one of his enforcers who rode up and down the train whipping the walkers and forcing the slaves into picking up their pace.
"A new man has arrived, great khal. He says he is from the city. He says he is here to talk to the Mother of Dragons. Should I let him in, great khal?"
"We will see him outside, Karo. Come, khaleesi, let us greet your enemy and see what they have to say."
"The Kingsguard should come with you, your grace. I am here to stand at your back, should this Qohorik wizard decide to try any of their dark magic trickery to kill you."
"Ser Humfrey should come, Rakharo too, but the rest of you should stay here. Take me to our guest, Rogero, and let us see what he has to say. Hopefully he is here to offer us the surrender of the city."
"We would be so lucky, khaleesi."
The man that they met outside the tent was old and ugly. He was thin, with wrinkled skin sagging around his neck. His head was wide, with tufts of grey hair along the side of the scalp. His skin was yellowing. He wore a large grey robe that trailed behind him, with fur along the collar. His hands could be seen, however. They were as yellowing as the skin on his face, with long fingernails that were rough and sharpened.
The man went to kiss her hand, but Rakharo blocked his path. She didn't want the man's lips touching her skin. The skin was breaking and chaffed, and they were fatter than his form deserved. He retreated from her tall Dothraki, looking at Rakharo with a cautious look in his mismatched eyes.
"Name yourself, maegus."
Rogero had stepped forward, his right hand on his arakh, looking at the three Unsullied that had accompanied the Qohorik newcomer as if they posed some sort of threat. Daenerys knew that most Unsullied fought their battles as a group, but if these three were ordered to kill them then they would. The Qohorik wouldn't do it whilst he was here, however. They were safe.
"I am Marho, Assistant to the High Priest of the Black Goat, great khal. It has been some years since we last had a Dothraki khalasar at our gates. I was sent to find out what it was that you desired. Money? Women? Weapons?"
Rogero stepped forward again, but she put her hand out to stop him, and stepped forward herself.
"Do you know who I am, Marho?"
"Of course, khaleesi. I was younger when you were last here. Your brother was with you then. Viserys, was that his name? Pray, could you tell me whatever happened to him? I don't think that news reached us here."
"My brother is of no concern to you. I am here to demand the freedom of all Unsullied in your city, as well as the release of all your slaves, and the high priests to come before me and bend the knee."
"And pray tell, khaleesi. What makes you think that we will except such terms? We have seen bigger khalasars come and they have passed us by. The city of Qohor has stood since the days of the Freehold. Khal Temmo himself could not sack our city."
"I am not Khal Temmo, priest. I will give you one last chance to bend the knee and free your slaves, or I promise to you, in the name of my ancestor, the conqueror of Westeros, your city will be ashes. It's great history will be lost to time. Your people, your god. I will end them all. I am the Mother of Dragons-"
"Abandoned by your children, from the whispers I hear in my city's shadows. What is the Mother of Dragons with no dragons. She is just a woman. Qohor will not bend it's knee. Attack on the morrow if you wish. You will lose, and you will die."
"You speak brazenly for a man stood in an enemy camp, maegus."
Rogero had moved forward, his arakh half drawn, the steel flashing in the sun. She had seen it once before, the way the steel looked red when he held it some angles. It was like there was blood imbued in the blade itself. The Unsullied went for their spears, but Marho waved them down. His lazy eyes had widened now more than they had to anything Daenerys had said.
"I speak as an envoy of peace, not one of war, great khal. That is known. That is understood."
"You talked about my khaleesi being slain. That sounds more like the talk of war than of peace. That is what I understand."
"It is my regret. I did not mean to cause you offence, great khal."
She thought about what Marho had said. The Qohorik did have nothing to fear from her. Without Drogon, without Viserion, without Rhaegal. What was she without them? Did they make her the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea? Did they make her the Breaker of Chains, the Wonder of Qarth? Did they make her Mhysa?
That was when her skin felt a great chill, and a shadow fell over the tent. Some of the Dothraki went for their arakhs, the Unsullied went for their weapons once more, ad Marho's eyes went even wider than they had when Rogero drew his steel.
"Khaleesi..."
She did not need to turn around to know what had happened. She had called for him. She had called for her son and he had come. She could hear the deep breathing of the dragon that had taken it's seat behind her. It had leaned forward, and now she could see the dark scales of Drogon's head as he growled against the priest, baring his teeth. She cocked her own head, and spoke.
"You were saying, priest? Something about Qohor not bending the knee to a woman without dragons."
Marho couldn't speak. His jaw was open, revealing his yellowing teeth and his bulbous tongue. Daenerys walked towards the man. This time Rogero knew better than to try to stop her. She had her son back. She was no longer helpless. She walked straight past the priest, stopping in front of one of the Unsullied.
"Do you know who I am, friend?"
"Yes."
"You speak the common tongue."
"Yes."
"What name did they give you?"
"A man is Red Snake."
"Do you remember Astapor, Red Snake."
"Yes."
"Do you know what I did there."
"Yes."
"Would you like to be free?"
He had responded to the rest of the questions straight away, but this time his response was slower. He hesitated, and looked towards the priest, who still couldn't talk.
"Yes."
"Well then, friend. I hereby name you as a freeman of my army. Your two friends too. You are no longer Red Snake. You may choose whatever name you want. Do you have any objections, priest?"
Still silence from the envoy of peace.
"I thought not. Return to your line, friend. Spread the word that freedom awaits any who want it. All they must do is come to me before the morrow, and they will be accepted in, and from then they can choose their own future."
"Yes... Yes, kha- Khaleesi."
"Rakharo, take 5 of Rogero's men and ride with these men. Make sure they make it back to their comrades safely. Make sure they spread the word of freedom."
"Yes, khaleesi."
Her bloodrider left then, the three Unsullied leaving with him. She watched the boy go with some pride. She remembered when he had been smaller, when his braid had been so short that he could fit no bells in it. She wondered what had become of Jhogo and Aggo. She doubted that they would come when she wished it. She hoped that both of them had kept safe. She wished them to be with her when she eventually landed on the shores of Westeros.
It was only then that she turned back and looked at Drogon. He had grown even larger and stronger than when she had last seen him. His wings were mighty, and his neck thick and strong. The priest was still staring at the dragon that stood before him.
"Priest! Awaken from this stupour you find yourself in."
Marho dropped to his knees as she spoke, whimpering as he looked up into the yellow eyes of her child.
"Return to the city, priest. Tell them what you have seen here. Tell them that I will ride my child over Qohor at dawn tomorrow, unless I recieve word that the High Priest is willing to bend the knee to me."
Marho was grabbed by two of Rogero's Dothraki then, and was dragged away from the dragon. They stopped when she clicked her fingers.
"You wanted to know about my brother, priest. He burned. I will not hesitate to do the same to your city."
Then she turned her back on him, letting Rogero's men pull him away. She was glad to have the ugly sorcerer out of the camp. Rogero was looking at her with some awe as she walked back over to them. Humfrey was trying not to look the same, but failing.
"You were saying something about how the Unsullied would not surrender their masters, Grand Maester."
She knew that the others had been watching the scenes from inside the tent, and that comment meant that Marwyn stepped out. She had thought him ugly before, but now, having met Marho, she found his appearance relatively tame. Marwyn had told her that Maesters made a vow of celibacy, but he had also told her that he knew at least three Archmaesters that frequented whorehouses.
"Is this one of your dragons, khaleesi. It is truly magnificent. Not as big as they say of Balerion the Black Dread, or Vhagar the Monstrous, but still magnificent."
"You are not acting as yourself, Grand Maester."
She laughed slightly at the way that Marwyn was examing the scales of Drogon's right foreleg. She could tell that her child was curious about the little man that was buzzing around him. He was amused by it, but she told him that Marwyn was not a threat, and so he went back to resting his head.
"The Unsullied make up the largest part of the defence of Qohor. Turning some of them is a truly great victory, your grace."
Rogero frowned at Humfrey's comment.
"We will see how many of them actually come. We should sleep. Tomorrow may be a busy day, and you have given us an early time for combat, khaleesi."
And so they disbanded, but Daenerys Stormborn did not spend her night asleep. For the first few hours she sat on the back of her child, looking out at the lights of Qohor, and the lamps of the Unsullied as, one by one, they came to her. Red Snake past her first, laying his spear in front of Drogon's. With him were seven others, who gave her their spears too. Hundreds more would pass in the next few hours, of many different ages. Some of them had grown fat, like the Unsullied of Pentos, whereas others were still young. She knew what all of them had gone through.
After a few hours she left Drogon, who had drifted off to sleep, his head rested on the plushy grass. She returned to her tent, and sat, staring at the wall, thinking of all those that she had left and lost. She thought of her sun and stars, she thought of her brother. She thought of fat, old Illyrio, of brave and bullish Jorah, of smooth taling Xaro. There were some whose faces she had forgotten. All she could remember of Pyat Pree was the thin blue lips.
She remembered the face of Kraznys mo Nakloz, who had sold her Grey Worm, and Hero, and Marselen. She had burned him. She couldn't remember the names or the faces of the other Good Masters that had died that day. There had been too many.
"Khaleesi."
She turned to the opening of her tent and found Rogero stood there, still dressed in the clothes that he had been wearing from before. He wore his braid over his right shoulder. His eyes had sadness in them, but there was a slight smile on his face. His skin was darker than hers, but he was still paler than most of the Dothraki who followed him.
"You were very impressive today. May I come in?"
"You are welcome in here whenever you want, Rogero. It is your tent. I am just borrowing it. what brings you to me at this time?"
"A rider from Vaes Dothrak. Rhogoro has brought Zekko's head back to the Mother of Mountains. He claims that you are an enemy of all the Dothraki. I don't hold out much hope for Ikko and Rashato siding with us after this. The Dosh Khaleen have also named your husband's mother as an enemy, claiming she should never have left the temple. They are under the control of Rhogoro."
"You believe that destroying Qohor will show that I can be Khaleesi of the Khals?"
"I believe it will convince those that haven't already decided. Ikko and Rashato, maybe even Jommo. He was a friend of your husband's."
"Jommo betrayed you."
"Jommo is a braver man than you think. He has done more than any of us could know."
Rogero came over to the table and took the seat next to her. She couldn't help but notice his muscles. He was like Drogo. He was brave and brash like Daario, eloquent too, yet he was as raw as her sun and stars had been. He had been her first love.
"We have a few hours before you fly and I ride, khaleesi."
"And what would you suggest we do, great khal?"
He leaned forward and took her then, pressing his lips against hers. He smelled like man, tasted like man. He was as forceful as Drogo, as passionate as Daario. For a few seconds she kissed him back, but then pulled away. Was doing this betraying her sun and stars? Was Drogo cursing her from the Nightlands for this?
Rogero's lips were at her neck, and she felt him tenderly caress her skin with his kisses. He was passionate but careful and loving. She moved his eyes back up to her. There was a fire in them, a passion and a desire.
"Do you not want this, khaleesi?"
"I- I do. Let me get out of my riding wear first..."
Rogero rose and turned away from her.
"You- You may look at me."
"I want to delay the moment, khaleesi. That way, when I first see the most beautiful woman that the world knows naked before me, it will be all the sweeter."
She swiftly pulled down her own riding gear, until she was naked. She crept up behind him, and kissed him gently on the nape of the neck. He was shorter than some of the Dothraki, but still she could not reach him without standing on her toes. He turned to her when he felt her lips on him.
"You are more beautiful than I knew, khaleesi."
"Was it worth the wait, great khal?"
"Every second."
From then on was a blur. for some of the knight he took her from behind, as the Dothraki were custom to do, but then he let her on top, as she had done it with Drogo after Doreah had taught her. By the time dawn came she was laid on the floor of the tent in his arms. He smelled of man and sweat, the same way that Drogo had always done.
"We should go, khaleesi."
"Are you so quick to leave me?"
"Given my way I would not leave you now, but we must bring a city that has stood for a thousand years to it's knees. You have dragons to ride this morning, not just me."
She smiled at that, and kissed him again, rising from their makeshift bed and pulling on her clothes.
"Do not die on me, Rogero. I will see you again after this is done?"
"And by then you shall be the Greatest Khaleesi that the Dothraki have ever known. The Stallion that Mounts the World."
Daenerys smiled at the great khal as she left the tent. Outside stood Humfrey. She wondered how long he had been stood outside the tent, which caused her to blush. He surely couldn't have been stood there all night.
"Your grace, we have two thousand Unsullied who have come over to us. They all say they are willing and ready to fight."
"They will have their turn fighting. Not today. Today is for me and my child. Stand them down. Where is Rakharo?"
"Here, blood of my blood."
Rakharo was approaching her with a bowlegged swagger.
"Good. Take a hundred Dothraki. When people leave the city, run them down. Do not kill. Force them into surrender and bring them here. You understand that?"
"Yes, khaleesi."
"Humfrey, have Marwyn ready some poltices for the survivors. We want to be able to treat them quickly so we can get on the move soon after this is done."
"Yes, your grace."
"Good. I will see you both when this day is done."
She left them both then, striding past the Dothraki men who were saddling their horses. They all turned to look at her. She remembered them doing the same when Rhogoro trailed her throught the streets of Vaes Dothrak. There they had been accusing her, here they looked at her with awe and respect. She needed to prove these men that they were right to put their faith in her.
Drogon was awake when she found him. He was sat on the grass, staring out at Qohor. Did he know what was about to happen? Did he know what they were about to do?
She stroked his nose, and kissed his scales gently. They were warm. She mounted her child, and urged him into the air.
She circled above the Dothraki camp for a minute or two, looking down at the little individuals scampering around. She swore that one of them was Rogero, calling up to her. Then she turned her attention north, where Qohor sat, waking up from its sleep. She could see the line of Unsullied that blocked the Dothraki approach. It was smaller than it had been yesterday, but it would not matter. She had no intention of going through it.
Qohor was laid out in a similar way to other cities. The buildings were large and made of red brick. In the centre stood the main plaza, where the priests of the Black Goat would be gathered for their dawn prayers. That would be her first target. She urged Drogon on, and he flew with some speed.
The city was lazy in it's defending. Most of their men were stationed outside the walls, anticipating the first attack to be the Dothraki stallions. Drogon flew straight over them. He flew straight to where she wanted him to go.
The priests looked up when the shadow of the dragon hovered above them, and their screams started before she even said the command. She shouted it at all her might, so that Drogon might pick up on her power and strength, on her desire for revenge.
"DRACARYS!"
And then fire consumed them all.
