THE KHAL
The khalasar had moved through the great sea of the Dothraki towards Vaes Dothrak with a slowness born of hesitation. It did not have to be so. The young man knew this for a fact, had seen Khal Bharbo make it move with a speed so great it seemed to fly over the ground. Not that Khal Bharbo would do this ever again. For his father was dead, and now he, Drogo, the only living child of that great man's body, was the Khal in his place, taking his father's khaleesis to Vaes Dothrak to join the dosh kahleen, and to let the Dothraki know of Bharbo's passing at the hands of Khal Khaggo, who he himself had slain in turn, in that great battle near the demon road, where the line of Khaggo had perished from the earth.
That is, if these dark tales he was hearing were not true. As they can not be, he kept telling himself, even as a quiet dread took a deeper place in his heart with each new version of the story. That was why he had left the khalasar, and now rode his fastest horse to get a single look at Vaes Dothrak, the sacred city, in the most sacred of places. It had all begun a month ago, after the burning of his father's body, that Khal Bharbo could ride now with the Great Stallion through the heavens. "He rides now in the only khalasar now greater than his own," had sang his father's great khaleesi, his mother Drohisi, and as she sang it, Drogo had hoped, idly, that Bharbei rode alongside their father now. I slew Khaggo, just as I slew Jhaggo's bloodriders, he thought, hoping that their spirits had seen this up in the heavens. And then I slew Khaggo's bloodriders, with the help of my own. The line of Khaggo is ended, down to the blood of his blood. And when the time had come to give the villains mounts for the afterlife, Drogo had chosen wretched, fleabitten mounts from their herds, and hobbled the horses before killing them. Let them ride forever in shame, and ignominy, marked forever as the scum they were. It is no less than they deserve.
And with that, Drogo, now Khal Drogo until he could no longer ride, which he hoped meant when death took him, had begun the trek to Vaes Dothrak, to give up his mother and his father's three other khaleesis to the dosh kahleen. This was a great undertaking, for Khal Bharbo had been the greatest Khal yet living, whose khalasar, at twenty thousand warriors, was the largest held by any khal in these times. Khal Mengo's had been larger, and Khal Moro after him, and Khal Horro, after him. A wry smile came to his face, for it occurred to him there was little chance of forgetting that fact while he traveled with the Khaleesi Issei, his father's second wife, though she had been married to Khal Bharbo before Drohisi, frequently boasted of her descent from these men and of their great deeds.
This was largely because Issei had little else to boast of-her father's khalasar was a small, stunted thing that his father's had absorbed upon Khal Issmoro's death, and Issei had given Bharbo no children, only stillbirths and bloodbirths. "Issei's womb is as barren as her wits", his mother had told Drogo once, in private, and he had laughed, though quietly, for fool or not, she was still a khaleesi. In truth, these were little things to boast of-countless were the Dothraki in who the blood of Khal Mengo and his son flowed-Bharbo himself was a descendent, and he had been of no account at his birth, a humble herder of goats in his youth, until he had dared take up the arakh-and as for Harro... Well, Khal Harro had been a great Khal, in many ways, but few forgot that it was he who had killed Khal Moro, and ended the line of Mengo in its male branches, which had lead in time to the undoing of Mengo's great work with Harro's own death. The great khalasar that Mengo had built had split then, and it would only be reunited, the dosh kahleen had said, by the Stallion Who Mounts the World.
The trip across the Dothraki sea had been uneventful at first, until they met the caravan. Drogo had stopped it for his khalasar's share of the gifts that were to be granted for the privilege of crossing the Dothraki sea unmolested, and had been given them, in distressing plenitude, for this was a caravan of the East, and yet it bore the spice wines and fine jade that such a caravan would be taking to Vaes Dothrak, while it was going from it.
"In truth," said the Qartheen who led the caravan, "we recommend you do not go there, for your fellows in the city now run mad, or so we have heard, working great slaughter in the Markets. Men and women are cut down where they stand, and blood flows through the streets."
"You lie," said Haggo, his bloodrider, and also the son of his father's brother. "It is forbidden to shed the blood of free men in Vaes Dothrak. No Dothraki would break this."
The Qartheen grew very pale, always an accomplishment for one of the milk folk, for Haggo was among the largest of men, if perhaps not among the most quick-witted. "I only repeat what I have heard, from a merchant like myself, who saw it being done," said the Qartheen, in a small voice. "Like me, he returns from your sea with the full cart he came with." And Khal Drogo had thanked him for this news, and the khalasar and the caravan had parted their ways on the Dothraki sea.
"That man lied," said his bloodrider Qotho, whose father Qaro had been bloodrider to Khal Bharbo. "You should have given him to me. I would have made him tell us the truth, and tell us why he said such filthy nonsense." Drogo did not like Qotho, who was cruel when he had no need to be, and had once told his father this, when he was a boy. And Bharbo had laughed gently and said, "It is not for you to like him, my son, even if he is blood of your blood, and indeed I cannot blame you for feelings so. It is for your enemies to fear him, and that you must always remember." And indeed, when he had seen Qotho had cut down Khaggo's bloodrider Noro, who had killed Qaro, and then the bloodrider Morogo, in that battle near the demon road, Drogo had known the wisdom of his father's words.
"He gave us gift, as is custom," said his bloodrider Cohollo, who had been his mother's protector before he was born, and had been sworn to Drogo when he was babe. "Would you have us be honorless dogs, Qotho?" Drogo liked Cohollo, who had taught to him ride, and to fight, and to bring honor to his line, and who had saved his life, first when he was a child, and many times since then.
"What reason had he to lie, Qotho?," noted Drogo quietly. "You saw his cart. Full as he said, and not with the things of the west a merchant of the east would seek. No. There is some truth at the bottom of what that man said-or he thinks there is."
"Who can tell with the milk men?" muttered Qotho. "Their minds are all walls upon walls." But then he was silent on the matter.
The next caravan they met told a similar story, though in theirs it was a group of slaves that had set it all off. "Valyrians, from Mantarys," said the merchant, a man from Yi Ti. "Their leader, a three-headed freak, means to create a new Freehold on the ashes of Vaes Dothrak." The caravan after that, however, had claimed that a god, brought back by Khal Osso who had been making war in the north with great success, had sprung to life when placed in Vaes Dothrak, and run through the city, slaying all with a terrible lash. And the caravan after that had stated that it was mad old Khal Preisoo, called by many 'The Headtaker' for his habit of hanging the heads of the slain from his saddle and his belt, who had brought a bloodmage with him, and worked a terrible spell to kill all his enemies, in a wicked attempt to make himself the Stallion Who Mounts the World through forbidden sorcery. The black spells had first made the waters of the Womb of the World turn to blood, and then sent evil spirits throughout the city, slaying all they could. All these tales were told as reported to the merchants by witnesses, but not yet had the khalasar met anyone who had actually seen Vaes Dothrok.
The last caravan they met had seen the city. "We did not go there, great Khal," said its leader, a Tyroshi whose hair was dyed a bright red, and whose mustache and beard were dyed a bright green. "For coming within sight of it, we saw much that made us wish to flee it. Death stalks Vaes Dothrak now. Bodies lay in the streets, blood was everywhere, the men we saw rushed about bearing weapons, and there were fires. But as to the cause of it-well, we do not know if it was bloodmagic, or angry gods, or slaves, or madness, or what. We did not linger to find out. And we recommend, oh Khal, that sacred duty or no, you do as we have done, and flee that place."
Khal Drogo had visited his mother then to speak of this with her and the other khaleesis, Issei, and young Meirei, third wife in status, but his father's most recent khaleesi, younger than Khal Drogo himself, and pale-haired Relleya, mother of Bharbei, who was the daughter of a Prince of Pentos and a maid of the fields, and had been given to Khal Bharbo as a gift by that city.
"The khaleesis of a dead Khal must go to the dosh khaleen," proclaimed Issei grandly.
"So it has always been," said Meirei quickly, glancing away from Khal Drogo.
"And it has also always been that no blood could be safely shed in Vaes Dothrak," said Relleya quietly, Relleya, who his father had respected above all his wives save Drohisi, despite her lowly status, and who was his mother's dearest friend.
Drohisi nodded. "Indeed. If these tales be even close to the truth, then much has transpired that should not." Drohisi stroked her chin thoughtfully. While she did not boast of her bloodline in the manner of Issei, Drohisi could trace her descent back to Khal Loso the Lame, one of the greatest of the khals to arise after the great khalasar of Mengo had shattered, and in wiles even greater than he. In his mother, that blood showed, for she was clever and wise in all things. His father had always abode by her council, and as he told his son, he had never regretted it. "We should camp here," she said at last, "and send a rider ahead, to go to a place where Vaes Dothrak may be glimpsed. One man on a fast horse can outpace a khalasar. If Vaes Dothrak be safe, he will return, and we will go there. If not... then we will consider things." His mother gave him a lofty bow. "What say you, oh Khal?"
"This is the thing we shall do," he said. "And I shall be the rider."
His mother and Relleya looked alarmed at this. "That is most dangerous," muttered Relleya.
"You are the Khal," said Drohisi.
"And the fastest rider in this khalasar," said Drogo.
"But if something should happen..." his mother continued.
"It will not," said Drogo. "The Great Stallion rides with me." He shut his eyes. "I... it may be something terrible beyond all counting has happened. This being so, I would have one last look on the sacred city."
His mother was silent at that, and gave a single nod. And so Drogo had them prepare his fastest horse-the pale brown that had been his father's gift to him on the day he became a man-and headed towards Vaes Dothrak. His bloodriders wished to ride with him, but Drogo had convinced them that he had need to do this alone.
He had rode for a day now, with only a few breaks to give his steed and himself time to rest. And now... now he was within distance of Vaes Dothrak, could see the great horse gates...
And see the smoke rising from the city, the smoke from either one great fire, or half a thousand large ones. This cannot be. It is the sacred place-the Womb of the World. The first man arose here, with the first stallion. In time, all khalasars will be gathered here, to follow the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Drogo turned his mount, and rode up a tall hill for a better look.
The fires were clearer from here, as were the bodies. Drogo did not see a single living soul from where he stood. Nor was he sure he would wish to. He turned and began to ride back. I have seen a great and a terrible thing on this day, he thought, and shuddered.
That night, as he prepared his bedroll, he was certain he would have dreams of horror, sent by demons and ghosts. But instead, he dreamed of sunny skies and gentle winds, and of an easy ride. He was seated on his father's great black horse, with dear Bharbei, her pale hair streaming behind him as they rode. Their father guided the horse, smiling, and they nestled at his side. "Look!" said Khal Bharbo, gesturing ahead. "Look my jewels!" The children did so, and gaped in wonder at the great walls of Qohor. "This is the work of the dragon men," Khal Bharbo whispered to them, "who were lords of this place before Khal Mengo was even born."
"They must have been great khals in their day," said his sister, in awe.
"Great khals," agreed his father. "Great khals, who rode dragons in place of horses." This is a memory, Drogo realized, as he leaned back against his father, and felt the comforting warmth of his side. I dream of the past. And then he awoke.
When he rose, the sun was rising, but a few stars still shone in the sky-two that lay close together seemed particularly bright to Khal Drogo's eyes. I thank you, Great Stallion, for this vision. And I thank you father, and sister, for your wisdom, and hope that when the day comes that we ride together, you will not find me unworthy of that great company. And then he began to ride back once again.
On his return, a day later, Khal Drogo rode into the camp, and returned to his mother and the other khaleesis. He told them of what he had seen, and he told them of the dream. "I think... it is a message," said Drogo quietly. "I think father and my sister were telling me... to go west."
Drohisi stroked her chin at this. "I must consult with the gods," she said. "They will tell us if you have intepreted the omens correctly." She walked back to the khaleesis' tent, followed by the others, and closed its curtain. Drogo turned his back, and shut his eyes, for the magic of women was not for men. For an hour, his mother and the others chanted. And then the tent opened, and his mother emerged, and they spoke.
Drogo called his bloodriders, and his kos, and as many of his warriors as could hear to him, and spoke, from the back of his mount. "People, I have looked on Vaes Dothrak, and the dark tales are true-a great and a bloody doom has come upon that most sacred of places, and I fear it would be death to go there." A cry arose from his people, a long and a mournful wail, as even hardened warriors burst into tears at this knowledge. "And yet the gods have not abandoned us. The voice of Khal Bharbo himself spoke to me, with a message from the Great Stallion. We are to turn and ride into the west. There, we will find what we seek." He looked out amongst the Dothraki. "I, Khal Drogo, say we will do this thing. Who will ride with me?"
For a moment, there was silence. And then Cohollo spoke. "I, who am blood of your blood, will ride with you."
"As will I," said Haggo.
"And I," said Qotho.
"And I!" proclaimed Kho Wai. "I will ride with Khal Drogo, wherever he will lead."
"I will ride with him!" said another kho.
"We will all ride with him!" said another, a doughty man with six sons.
The chant began among the khalasar. "We will ride with him! We will ride with him! We will ride with him!"
And so the next day, with the rising of the sun, the khalasar of Khal Drogo, youngest and greatest of the Dothraki khals yet living, turned and headed into the west.
Author's Notes: I beg my readers' indulgence in what may seem like a strange divergence in the tale. Rest assured, ultimately what ties this back to what has happened in Westeros will be revealed, along with a better idea of what has actually happened in Vaes Dothrak, and what Drogo's going to do now.