Sister's Keeper
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
Chapter 8: Dothraki Iron Price
Months of travel through the grass sea and the country of Lhazar. Khal Drogo was in search of cities and villages to raid in search of resources to fund Daenerys campaign in taking the Iron Throne for their potential son. Fortunately, the cities were smart enough that they provided them slaves and gold. More in gold than slaves, but at least these slaves will not be used. As Ser Jorah explained, when a city gives a slave, the warriors cannot take the women. They take women from raids, not gifts.
I was still sickened by the concept. Reminding me that I was a slave to Viserys. If not experience in Volantis. There was this grand wedding, a wedding's in Volantis can last for days. Viserys went with the host, while Daenerys and I remained in the estate. It was the hottest day, hottest in the three-year summer. All the children and maidens went straight to the Rhoyne. Free and slaves there enjoying their time. All were equal for that one moment. No one gave a damn. Until a young boy was drowning. He was floating faced down in the water. His sister, screaming pulled him out of the river bank. She shook him, screaming him to wake up. Until one slave with a fish tattoo on his cheek rushed in shoving the girl. It was a crime to push a highborn, which resulted in death. But the slave did not care, he performed some sort of revival technique that the boy coughed up water and breathed.
Mother used to tell me in Valyrian, Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor, which means a dragon is not a slave. If a dragon is not a slave, neither is a human. And yet, I let my adolescent life in being a slave in an unwanted, abusive marriage. A sacrifice so Daenerys can be safe. I fear the road Daenerys is taking in getting us home will not be the method our ancestors did. Aegon did not siege conquest through slavery. No, based off the books, he arranged meetings to discuss peace, allow the Kings to surrender. When they did not surrender, then there were battles. In his victories, after appointing a new Wardens of a Kingdom, he did not take slaves. No, he collected their swords. And those swords from the leaders and generals and kings forge the Iron Throne while the rest became the foundation of the Red Keep.
There was always a choice, and that choice can reward the individual or hold a dreadful consequence. King Harren Hoarse of the Riverlands, King Mern Gardener of the Reach, King Loren Lannister of the Westerlands, and King Argilac of the Stormlands learned that the hard way. Queen Regent Sharra Arryn of the Vale and King Torrhen Stark from the North saw reason on the actions of their comrades and bend the knee. The North and Vale were given more lienees because they surrendered. As for Princess Mera Martell…she was the only one who did not bend the knee. That is another story entirely.
Fire and Blood, House Targaryens Motto. Fire in the burning of the dragon's flame and the blood of the slain. I also believed there was another side to the motto. As fire is considered to be a destructive element, it also provides life, warmth. Meanwhile, blood can be spilled, but it ruins in our veins that allows us to live. Live or Die, that was the option Aegon the Conqueror was offering, in a realm where there has been nothing but war and corruption.
I won't deny that House Targaryen made many mistakes after King Aegon's death. The dangers of incest, from the conceptions of madness. There are good kings of greatness, and there are terrible tyrants. In the end, it makes us human. The dragons were the only thing that made us unique. So, when the Last Dragon died…we were reminded that we were only human. And many Targaryen Kings had to learn it the hard way through the five Blackfyre rebellions.
Only one rebellion of a familiar put an end to House Targaryens arrogance. From our cousins, House Baratheon. On the mistake Rhaegar made by taking a betrothed woman and Father's obsession with wildfire and burning the North's Warden and heir. Viserys told Daenerys we were not at fault for the rebellion. Now that he is dead, and when I have a chance, I try to educate her on the truth. Our house is a coin, it holds two sides: one good and the other bad. If we were to go home, we must proceed with caution. For though there are many great kings in our House, it five took Targaryens to question that.
Once we made camp. Ser Jorah escorted me a mile away to train. This has been going on since departing Vaes Dothrak at first inside his tent, where he taught me how to hold a sword. How to find its balance. The Targaryen sword was not like his broad sword. No, it was an arming sword, double-sided. Weighing probably five pounds easy to use single handed. Before I learn to fight, I must learn about the sword, the names, and parts of it. Most importantly, how to hold and adjust.
By the time I understand how to grip the handle, did I learn to form stance? Ser Jorah was serious about his tutoring. Taking the extra smile in purchasing wooden swords, not tourney swords, as he explained, "I like to keep my hands." As if he was afraid, I would accidentally cut them off. Along with a heavy padded vest for armor. I won't lie, I was terrible at first. I wasn't born with a sword in my hand or trained with a Master of arms.
Ser Jorah was gentle at first, but as time went on, he added more force. Currently, I was learning how to use defensive. As the Exiled Knight explained, it is vital to defend oneself than the attack. So, Ser Jorah would strike an attack, while I block it. Hands, arms, and legs were hit. Even with gloves, I felt the pain. Bruises and welts were forming, but I did not care, knowing that they come from training than being abused. Although, a part of me wonders if I just bruise easily as a side effect of inbreeding.
After the lesson, I sat on a weaved mat checking my hands. A nice welt forming. Ser Jorah sat down next to me, as he pulled out a canister filled with ointment out of his satchel. He took my hand applying the salve.
"Learning to fight is never easy," Ser Jorah said.
"I bet it was for the Warrior," I muttered, then winced.
"Even the Warrior had to learn," he said. "Everyone learns. Some learn from training while others learn from experience."
I nodded, "Who taught you how to fight?"
"My father," he said.
"Where is he now?" I asked.
"Jeor Mormont took the black at Castle Black. Last I've heard, he is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." He answered.
Seeing his past on his poor choices linger in his blue eyes, I changed the subject. "Is it true that Bear Island is populated by bears?"
"Indeed, it is," he answered. "You could see a bear once a day in the summer. Once a week in the winter if they are not hibernating."
"Hibernating?" I asked. Never heard such a word.
"Sleeping a long period of time in the winter," he told me the definition.
I nodded trying to remember the winter. In King's Landing, I don't recall the winter season. There were cold windy nights, but never snow. In Braavos, there was some snow, but being a coastal city filled with activity, the Snow could be seen on the roofs of the building. Otherwise, all the Free Cities we've gone too never had snow. Only cold weather and rain. I tried to remember what snow looked like, all white that if a snowflake landed on you, you could see the intricate details. It was also cold too, and wet when melted.
"I would like to see a bear, and see snow again," I thought allowed.
"Perhaps once we return home, I can show you Bear Island," Ser Jorah offered.
"Really?" I asked surprised.
"It's best to know your people, there is more to the Seven Kingdoms than King's Landing and Dragonstone." He answered.
I sighed looking down at my necklace where the royal ring dangled. If I were to become queen. The Dothraki are not going south for ships to sail to Westeros for me. No, they are sailing for Rhaego. Khal Drogo held a passion for putting his son on the Iron Throne. It's a fifty-fifty percent chance that Daenerys is carrying a son. Honestly, I don't mind if my nephew claims the Iron Throne. What bothers me is how it's continuously reminded. Causing a slight rift between Daenerys and I. The only way I can secure my claimant is that there are no male heirs, that I am wedded, and have an heir of my own. But I don't want to be married…not after five years of hell.
"If I become queen," I sighed.
"Why do you allow it?" he asked.
"I'm a woman with only a name and bloodline. I have no lands, armies, or fortunes." I answered. "Currently, I just want to survive. Find myself again."
Ser Jorah sat there and listen.
"The beginning of my life I was kept in a tower because my father was paranoid, that I might get sick or assassinated. I hardly remember other places than the Throne Room. When exiled from Dragonstone, all my education has been about traditions. Ser Willem, bless his soul did so much to provide my siblings and me a childhood. But when he died, and generous people took us in…traditions were forced on me again." I said. "I thought something was wrong with me when Viserys forced me to marry him. A Targaryen is supposed to be pure. To keep the dragon's blood and Valyrian bloodline pure as possible. But I was disgusted. Is that normal?"
"It is," Ser Jorah agreed. "Before Aegon's Conquest, the Faith and the old religion did not believe in incest. And it seems your brother has forgotten that your House is no longer pure since Viserys the First married Aemma Arryn and Alicent Hightower."
"May look like a dragon, but not a pure dragon," I murmured.
Ser Jorah nodded.
Having Ser Jorah as my confidant was reassuring. I can talk to him about personal matters that I cannot share with Daenerys or in my dreams with Visenya. Not until I reel in the charm. I question how long that string is since it feels like the charm is getting farther and farther away. Let alone, the dream happening once every fifth night. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going mad in believing these dreams. Anyway, Ser Jorah gave me his words of wisdom. Helping understand the world we live in. What he recalls of Westeros and the news he hears.
The people do not believe in who is in power. As Ser Jorah mentioned, the common folk pray about is for rain, health, and a summer that never ends. My sister and I are against the great houses, most of which despise us because of our family. If we bring the Dothraki to Westeros, then the Highborns will think low of us. If Viserys only listened to me, and arrange a marriage to a wealthy man who has an army or can afford an army, precisely the Golden Company. But the word Warlord was enough for him, and brutality in fighting. I know Khal Drogo seeing him in private is good…but when he gave his speech, proclaiming his intentions…disturbs me.
"It's getting late, your grace, we should return," Ser Jorah suggested. "The lands are not safe at night."
I nodded as we pack our things and returned to the camp. When we arrived, the Warriors were excited, sharpening their weapons and making bows. Ser Jorah sighed as if knowing what this means.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"They are preparing for a raid," Ser Jorah answered.
"Oh," I replied, feeling my throat clenched.
"The women do not attend the raids," Ser Jorah promised. "I shall watch over you and your sister."
"It's not being attack that is the problem," I said.
Not sure if I want to attend the raid. Not wanting to see people turn into slaves.
.o0o.
The village that the Dothraki raided was a small village in Lhazar. The Lhazareen were not warriors, they were shepherds, peaceful people. Like the Dothraki who value horses, the Lhazareen see the importance in sheep, as their deity is known as the Great Shepard. Most areas were rich in resources that slaves were given; however, this was not a city or fertile land. It was a small village.
As the men pillage, the women waited outside with young warriors. My sister was almost seven months pregnant, as her belly was swollen. Currently Daenerys and I watched from a hill, seeing the hordes rushing in for the slaughter. Hearing the women and children screaming and men gasping their deaths. The Dothraki reminded me of the Ironborn, who pillage for the iron price than the golden price. Although they don't take slaves, they take prisoners for ransoms. The only slaves they do take were women to be their salt wives. It was all chaos and violence until the bloodriders return saying we are allowed to enter. Healthy women rushed to scavenge loose resources that they can carry.
Daenerys and I entered, with Aggo, Rakharo, Kovarro, Ser Jorah, and the three handmaidens behind us. Walking through the village, seeing people tied to poles, men being slaughtered, and bodies on the ground. Many of the Warriors were tearing down the sacred statues of the Great shepherds, and burning buildings. These acts were definition of what the Dothraki were.
"What did they do?" Daenerys asked.
"Lamb men make good slaves," Rakharo answered. "Khal Drogo will make a gift of them to the slavers, and the slavers will give us gold…and silk, and steel."
"I thought the Dothraki didn't believe in money," Daenerys said.
"Gold to hire ships, princess, ships to sail to Westeros." Ser Jorah explained.
We continue our walk, seeing the traumatize stares and women dragged about. The loud screaming and shrieks. I felt sick in my stomach, knowing this was not a raid of war, but a profit. Sicken by the practice of slavery. There was a pin where sheep are meant to be kept, now stocked with women young and old. Warriors grabbing them, as they try to resist knowing they were about to be rape.
Flashbacks from when I was raped by Viserys filled my head. After our argument when I returned from selling Mother's crown. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the room, tossing me on the bed ripping my clothes and taking me. I felt cold, my body shook from the traumatic memories.
"Alysanne," Daenerys called, placing her hand on my shoulder.
I pulled back snapping from the dark memories. "I need to go, I can't be here. I can't watch this."
Daenerys realizing what I meant scowled, "Jorah, make them stop."
"Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah asked, glancing between Daenerys and me.
"You heard me," Daenerys confirmed.
"These men have shed blood for their khal. Now they claim their rewards," Ser Jorah explained.
"She is a lamb girl, Khaleesi. The riders do her honor," Rakharo said. "If her wailing offends the Khaleesi, I will bring you her tongue."
Ser Jorah came closer, "Princess, you have a gentle heart, but this is how it's always been."
"I do not have a gentle heart, ser," Daenerys snapped, then said in Dothraki. "Do as I command, Khal Drogo will know the reason why."
Rakharo, Aggo, and Kovarro walked over stopping the riders from raping the women. The riders were confused, wondering why their reward is being taken back. Mago was amongst them as he turned glaring at us. Ser Jorah noticed this and came over to talk reason. I looked at Daenerys confused since she has been talking about home and encouraged Drogo to march south and let him take the gifted slaves. Why the change of heart?
"Why?" I asked her.
"I saw you being raped, I will not allow any more women to be raped as well," Daenerys answered.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Ser Jorah helped a woman and brought her over to us, "What do you want done with them?"
"Bring her to me. And those women there," Daenerys ordered.
"You cannot claim them all princess," Ser Jorah warned.
"I can, and I will," Daenerys promised.
All the women of the village have been claimed for Daenerys. Many of the Dothraki warriors were furious, but they did not come to challenge her. Instead, they took their complaints to Khal Drogo. It wasn't long when we were summoned to the Temple of the Great Shepherd. Mago was giving his complaint to Drogo. The Great Khal listen from his seat of a ram statue, until seeing Daenerys entered the area with her women. Mago and other warriors glared at us.
"Moon of my life," Drogo greeted then said. "Mago says you have taken his spoils, a daughter of a lamb man who was his to mount. Tell me the truth of this."
"Mago speaks the truth, my sun and stars," Daenerys answered. "I have claimed many daughters this day…so they cannot be mounted."
Drogo sighed, "This is the way of war. These women are slaves now…to do with as we please."
"It pleases me to keep them safe," Daenerys reasoned. "If your riders would mount them, let them take them for wives."
"Does the horse mate with lamb?" Mago taunts bitterly.
"The dragon feeds on horses and lambs alike," Daenerys countered.
Mago glared at her, "You are a foreigner. You do not command me."
"I am Khaleesi. I do command you." Daenerys reminded.
Khal Drogo snickered, "See how fierce she grows? That is my son inside her, the Stallion that will mount the world, filling her with his fire." He gave a nod, pleased of his wife's courage. "I will hear no more. Mago, find somewhere else to stick your cock."
Mago spat at Drogo's feet. This was an insult. Mago was a bloodrider, he is bound to obey his Khal. What he has done could punish him or kill him. He seemed not to care, drawing his arakh at Drogo.
"A Khal who takes orders from a foreigner who is no Khal," Mago insulted.
Ser Jorah, took Daenerys and me, pulling us back from a potential duel. The Exile Knight standing in front of us along with Rakharo and Kovarro. Qotho, Cohollo, and Haggo stepped forward drawing their blades; however, Drogo stopped them.
"Ohos. Os," Drogo ordered, which Qotho smirked as he the men stepped aside. Drogo held an intense glare. "I will not have your body burned. I will not give you that honor."
Drogo stood up holding his arakh. Mago lifted his own, placing the blade on Drogo's chest as a warning. Drogo seemed unfazed by it. Instead, shoved himself further causing a deeper cut.
"The beetles will feed on your eyes," Drogo promised, tossing his arakh to the side. "The worms will crawl through your lungs. "
Mago stepped back swinging at Drogo who easily dodged it. Over and over, Mago swung, and Drogo avoids it like it was some dance. He passed Mago, kicking him from behind that caused the bloodrider to stumbled. Drogo grabbed the knives from his leather belt and turned to face his opponent.
"The rain will fall on your rotten skin…" Drogo continued, dropping his knives. "Until nothing is left of you but bone."
What is he doing? I thought. Doesn't he need a weapon to defend himself?
Drogo lunged at Mago, who swung his arakh. It happened fast, seeing Mago impulsive offensive approach and Drogo taking the defensive maneuvers. That is when I realized what my brother-in-law was doing. He was tiring Mago out, witnessing the bloodrider exhorting so much energy into his attack causing the blade to be farther away from each strike.
"First you have to kill me," Mago challenged. Until there was a slow move, where the curve part of the arakh almost wrapped around Drogo's arm, except the Khal caught it. Mago's eyes widen staring at his Khal.
"I already have," Drogo said, twisting the arakh in a different angle causing Mago to let go and in a blink of an eye, sliced his throat. Drogo wasn't done yet, as he grabbed Mago by the neck and literally ranked his tongue out. Mago's body felled to the ground, dead. Drogo took his prized tongue and tossed it on a pile of heads. Cohollo and Haggo came over taking Mago's body away keeping to their Khals promise.
Daenerys caught her bearing and rushed over to her husband, checking his injury, "My sun and stars is wounded."
Drogo examined the wound and shrugged, "A scratch…moon of my life." As he cradles her cheek.
"Where are the healers?" Daenerys requested.
"This is a bite of a fly," Drogo assured, declining medical attention.
Seeing from where I stand, all he needs is his wound clean and some stitching. If there are no healers, I might be able to mend him. Also, I never stitched human flesh before.
"I can help the Great Rider with his cut," one of the women said. She appeared middle age, with tangled black hair and copper skin.
"The Khal needs no help from slaves who lies with sheep," Qotho said, pointing the arakh at her.
"She is mine. Let her speak," Daenerys ordered.
"Thank you, silver lady," the women said, speaking in common tongue. She stepped forward, but Qotho pointed his weapon again.
"Who are you?" Daenerys asked.
"I am named Mirri Maz Duur. "I was the godswife of this temple."
A septa, I thought.
"Witch," Qotho corrected, spitting at her feet.
Mirri Maz Duur was cautious, "My mother was godswife here before me. She taught me how to make healing smokes and ointments. All men are of one flock, so my people believe. The Great Shepherd sent me to earth to heal his –"
Qotho slapped her, "Too many words. A witch's words poison the ears."
"Lamb or lion, his wound must be washed and sewn, or it will fester," Mirri Maz Duur said.
Daenerys turned to Drogo, "Let her clean your wound, my sun and stars…it makes me hurt to see you bleed."
Drogo looked at Daenerys then at Mirri Maz Duur. He sighed and nodded. The godswife came over to examined the wound. Something did not feel right about her. I get this dark atmosphere as if she holds no good intentions. Also, what Qotho called her, a witch. Let alone, the Khalasar raided her homes and attempted to rape her, and she offered her services to treat her capture. Something is not right.
So, when camp was made, in one of the stone houses as the godswife treated Drogo, Daenerys and I watched. Drogo was annoyed, almost like he wanted the scar. But he was doing it for his wife. Still uneasy about this woman, I had her use my sewing kit to seal the wound, and water from my waterskin. Daenerys scolded me to be respectful, yet logically doesn't make sense. Prisoners of war don't aid their enemies.
It wasn't until I saw Mirri Maz Duur pull out a canister with a paste that I stopped her.
"Alysanne, let her do her work," Daenerys yelled.
"What is in this?" I asked.
"Ointment, to heal the wound faster," the witch answered.
"And what is in it?" I asked.
"Alys, let her go," Daenerys said.
"Danny, she is a prisoner, why can't you see that," I explained.
"She is my daughter," Daenerys countered. "Now let her go."
"Danny, if you are smart listen to me," I pleaded.
"Leave," Daenerys demanded.
I sighed and looked at Drogo, "Do not let her put poison on you. If you don't know what's in it, don't put it on."
With nothing else to say I left. I pray to the Seven that they both listen and not allow Mirri Maz Duur to apply the ointment. Why can't Daenerys see reason? The Dothraki invaded this village on the intentions of gathering slaves and raping women. So why is Mirri Maz Duur offering service to the man who leads the raid?
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