Jon
The scouts returned before dawn. By sparse torchlight listened to Tito's findings.
Young Jemshid was their newest addition. He joined them half a day ago with thousand men.
"The Dothraki camp is surrounded by forest to the west and north," Tito explained and pointed at the circle meant to represent the Dothraki camp.
"To the east stretches a barren plain, crossed by a shallow river and leading to a hilly area. The main horde still camping there and I doubt they will leave anytime soon. It seems they made this place their base of operation. I also saw them bring captives to the camp."
"Where?" Daenerys asked and met Tito's gaze. "Where do they keep the captives?"
"In the northern part of the camp…near their carts," Tito answered and drew several smaller circles on the ground.
"How many riders are there?" Chief Mallor asked. "What do you think, brother?"
Tito narrowed his eyes in concentration, before giving his estimation.
"About twenty-thousand riders…it is hard to say."
"We have about four-thousand men," Young Jemshid remarked. Then he lifted his gaze and turned to look at Jon."And three dragons."
Jon nodded his head in understanding.
"We have dragons, but I can't just burn the camp. I could harm the captives."
"Indeed," Chief agreed and nodded his head. "That is why our first priority should be to free the captives."
Jon's gaze immediately darted to the northern part of the camp.
"You mentioned a forest..." Jon said. "How would you describe the forest?"
"The woods are thick," Tito confirmed and bared his teeth, before drawing several lines on the ground meant to represent the forest. "The woods are thick, but passable by foot. Why are you asking?"
"I see," Jon said and pondered Tito's answer."A smaller group of people could try passing through the woods to free the captives," he continued. "Would that be possible?"
"It would be possible," Tito confirmed, but his serious expression told Jon that it wouldn't be as easy as he imagined. "But I doubt we would be able to free several hundred captives without alarming the horde."
"True," Daenerys added, her purple eyes narrowed in concentration. "But it would be possible if we provide them with a distraction."
Then she lifted her head and smiled at Jon.
Jon knew this kind of smile. It meant that she was planning something.
"What better distraction than a massive dragon?"
No, Jon wanted to say, but they didn't have much of a choice. They needed to attack within the next few days or their advantage of surprise would be gone. They tried to keep several paces behind the horde, but their time was running out.
"A good idea, "Jon replied instead and forced a smile over his lips. "And how do you intend to employ the dragon?"
She smiled proudly, seemingly pleased that he approved of her suggestion. To see her smile warmed his hearth, but it didn't erase his worry.
"The dragons," she corrected him. "I intend to employ both Viserion and Rheagon. Two dragons are more threatening than one. I also intend to ride Rhaegon. This way I can keep Viserion in check. You know how aggressive he can be."
Jon knew what she was trying to say, but he didn't like that Daenerys intended to ride Rhaegon. She had been training over the last weeks, but a real battle was different matter.
"Daenerys…I don't think…," he began, but her determined expression silenced him.
"I trained hard. I can do it," she assured him, her purple eyes pleading.
"Very well," he agreed and sighed. "But I suggest taking Sonarys instead of Viserion. He is much easier to control. Viserion can stay with me.".
"Sonarys listens to you, but Viserion doesn't. Keep Sonarys with you," Daenerys countered.
"We could help you by placing ourselves before the river. Thus we could provide another distraction."
"A good idea…they would certainly follow us like rabid dogs," Chief Mallor added grimly. "Thus we could lure them to the hilly landscape spreading behind the river."
"Several mounted riders should be enough to lure them there," Jon agreed. "And the hills are easier to defend against the mounted Dothraki riders. I and Sonarys could stay there and help defending this position."
"Good," Tito agreed. "But we also should watch out for the Boodriders and the Khal. Killing him could shorten the battle.
"Forgive me for asking this," Ser Barristan added quietly. "Why would killing him shorten the battle? Are the Dothraki solely dependent on the Khal's leadership?"
"The death of the Khal would split the horde…they would probably return to Vaes Dothraki to decide on another Khal. This would take moons," Tito explained.
"There is still the matter of the captives," Jon reminded them and took a sideway look at Ser Barristan."Who wants to lead the rescue team?"
"I will," Tito declared determinedly.
"Good," Jon said and jerked his head at Ser Barristan."Would you mind if Ser Barristan accompanies you? He is quite experienced at rescue missions…"
Tito's gaze flickered from Ser Barristan to Jon. Jon read doubt on his face, but he didn't voice his true thoughts and simply nodded his head.
"Very well," his friend answered and bared his teeth. "The old man and I will save the captives."
If Ser Barristan felt insulted, it didn't show on his face. He only gave a quiet.
"All of this is good and fine," Chief Mallor added and swept his dark eyes over the assembled group of people. "But we need to tread carefully. The Dothraki are fearsome."
Thus the meeting ended. Only Jon, Daenerys and Ser Barristan remained.
"Jon," Daenerys whispered and touched his shoulder. "Jon."
He grabbed her hand and met her gaze.
"I heard you," he said and gave her an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, my mind was straying…What did you say?"
She gave him a concerned look and touched his cheek.
"I was just saying that I am going to feed the dragons," she explained and placed a kiss on his cheek, before rising to her feet.
"Let me…," he began, but she silenced him with a warning look. "Let me help you. You won't have the luxury to sit on a dragon's back. You need your dire rest."
"The Princess is right," Ser Barristan added in his grandfatherly tone that left no room for discussions.
"At least take Larsha with you. She can be of help to you."
"I will," she assured him and rose to her feet, before slipping out of the tent.
Ser Barristan remained, his blue eyes searching for Jon.
"I can see there is something weighing on your mind," he said and gave Jon an expectant look. "I am an old man, but I heard talking helps wonders…"
Jon frowned. He didn't want to bare his thoughts to the elderly knight. He liked him, but he hadn't known him for more than a few moons.
Yet this problem concerned his family heritage and there was no one who knew more about it than Ser Barristan Selmy.
"I don't know…I thought the Dothraki horde would back off if I gave them a harrowing defeat. That is why I was prepared to use the dragons and in the end I made everything worse. And now we are relying on the dragons again. Seeing their power was terrifying. I know that war is bloody, but killing with dragon fire feels different than burying one's blade in an enemy," he tried to explain his feelings and shrugged his shoulders. "I must sound like a weak fool to you."
"On the contrary," Ser Barristan answered softly. "You are no weak fool. I think it is not wrong to have a healthy dose of respect for the enemy. People who allow themselves to be roused by feelings of revenge tend to commit fateful errors. However, I also learned that good intentions mean nothing if you are not prepared to enforce them with force and blood. There are different kinds of people…some can be pacified with mercy and others only understand the way of the sword."
Jon couldn't help but to laugh.
"I am trying to help the Lhazareen, because I think they are worthy of protection. And to achieve this goal I will have to burn hundreds of people."
"Indeed," Ser Barristan added and stroked his beard. "But that is the way of our world. Lord Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon killed thousands of people to protect their cause. So did your father's allies. That is the way of war."
"That is the way of war," Jon confirmed and grew eerily quiet.
"I fear so, my Prince," Ser Barristan added and graced him with a sad smile. "I don't know of this will help to ease your pain, but your father told me this: Better an end with terror than terror without an end. He intended to depose his father the Mad King."
Jon nodded his head in understanding.
"I think understand what my father was trying to say, Ser Barristan."
…
Daario
Dawn was drawing closer, but the distant horizon was still dark. Daario sat before his tent and continued to sharpen his blade. Now and then he observed his men going about their business, but even that proved rather boring.
He had been a sellsword for as long as he was able to remember, but this was the least eventful mission they had ever received. They had been following after the Dothraki horde for several weeks, waiting to get a glimpse of these so called dragons. The brought with four scorpions, which they kept hidden beneath earthen cloths. They even donned Dothraki garb to remain hidden in the crowd of unwashed savages.
Daario hated this the most. He longed for his armour and wanted nothing more than to shed the smelly garb of the Dothraki. The Widower and Jokin might not care if they smelled like a heap of horseshit, but Daario did.
The only positive prospect of this mission was the promise of coin. Daario already knew what he would purchase. He was in dire need of a new horse, but helping the Dothraki still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He knew what they did to the villages, though didn't take part in the butchery. The Dothraki didn't deem them worthy to partake. Defeating a worthy enemy could be better than fucking, but it was hard for him to understand what kind of satisfaction the Dothraki take from killing wailing women and children.
His companions didn't care. Off in the distance he saw Jokin running off with a Dothraki woman.
Exhaling deeply, he but his blade away and cast his gaze to the horizon. A pale light lined the hills, rising behind the thin river curling in the distance.
My watch is finally over, he realized and made his way along a row of tents, back to his humble dwelling.
The Widower was also awake and continued to sharpen his axe, despite Daario's presence.
"Did you see dragons?" he asked amusedly.
"Sadly not," Daario replied and slipped inside his tent. He hadn't slept for a whole day and his head squirmed from the smell of horseshit. He plopped back on his sleeping place and searched for his hidden stash of wine. One gulp of the Dornish wine was enough and he felt a stream of warmth washing over him.
This feeling was better than goodnight kiss and soon he drifted off to sleep.
He hadn't slept for more than an hour when Jokin rushed into his tent to wake him from his slumber.
"Enemy ahead!"
"Fuck," Daario muttered and pulled on his boots, before rushing after Jokin."Did you see dragons?"
"Not yet," Jokin replied and rushed up the hill. Up there they had a better view at the plain spreading towards the river. "But it seems the sheepmen decided to show their face."
"Seems so," Daario agreed when he saw several hundred riders, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. "But no dragons."
"No dragons,"Jokin repeated while Daario climbed down from the elevated position. Waiting for him at the bottom he found the Widower, who grinned as if he was expecting a good fuck.
"Stop smiling and wake our men!" Daario snapped and went to retrieve his blade.
In the matter of a heartbeat the camp came to life. Men stumbled out of their tents and in the distance he heard the cries of the Dothraki warriors growling their commands at each other. It didn't take long, before the first swarm of Dothraki warriors charged towards the enemy.
Daario's men were busy readying the scorpions while Jokin's archers prepared their bows and arrows. More and more Dothraki warriors gathered as Daario continued to watch the movements of the enemy. The Lhazareen riders had turned heel and were retreating behind the river. The Dothraki followed after them like rabid dogs."
Then he heard it.
The roar of the green-golden creature spreading its wings over the sky sounded liked running thunder.
Daario froze, his gaze still glued to the creature.
Suddenly, there was a second dragon. This one was even more terrifying than the first one, its wings made of shining silver.
Their unified roar made the world tremble.
Time to die, he thought in amusement and felt the warm rush of blood. The pounding of his heart even drowned out the cries of the Dothraki warriors, but that was not important. His enemies were the dragons.
"Finally!" he heard the Widower's enthusiastic voice. Jokin looked less pleased, his eyes as wide as saucers as he watched the approaching dragons.
Again, the silver-winged creature roared. Joking shuddered visibly.
"Shut up and get back to your position!" Daario shouted at the Widower and quickly returned to his assigned position.
By now his men had moved the scorpions up the hill. The plan was simply: to shoot the dragons from the sky, but what happened now woke his doubts.
The golden-green dragon had barely reached the outskirts of the camp when it unleashed crimson flames on the Dothraki warriors.
Daario couldn't believe his eyes. It looked like a fiery sword cutting its way through butter.
Within a heartbeat a dozen of Dothraki warriors were swallowed by the flames. Their cries made his ears bleed, but were soon drowned out by the sound of snapping arrows.
The majority of the arrows didn't even reach the intended target or were destroyed by another wave of flames.
The next volley of arrows came from the dragon's rear, even the few arrows that hit the target didn't show much effect. The dragon angled his head and unleashed a stream of flames on the Dothraki warriors.
It was a terrifying sight, but it was also what they were hoping for. The Dothraki were dying like flies, but it would provide the distraction they needed.
"Prepare the bolts!" Daario shouted at his men, who were still staring at the dragons. "Prepare the bolts!"
His shouting roused them from their lethargy, but the dragon was still too far away.
"Jokin!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the camp. "Send the archers forward to lure the dragons closer!"
Still pale, Jokin did as he was asked and moved his archers forward while the green-golden dragon continued to fly circles above the camp. The silver dragon was not far behind and unleashed a stream of yellow flames on the nearby tents.
Daario watched from his position as Jokin's archers unleashed a volley of arrows at the green-golden dragon.
Only a handful of arrows hit the target, but it achieved the intended purpose.
The dragon whirled his head around and unleashed a sea of flames in their direction. Jokin's men had dispersed in expectancy of a counter attack.
"We are nearly there," he told his men, who looked as if they wanted to get back to their mother's tits."Nock!"
The dragon came closer and closer, its roar soon exchanged by the thrumming of his heart.
Holding his breath, he watched and timed the approach of the dragon. Only when he felt the dragon's hot breath on his skin did he give the command.
"Loose!" he shouted and the first round of bolts was unleashed at the dragon.
It was a crisp, snapping sound that filled his ears. Daario's head snapped around and followed the bolts, unleashed from their scorpions.
One of the bolts flew a perfect match, before descending at the green-golden dragon, but it didn't work out as it should. The dragon ducked and the bolt missed, barely brushing his wings.
Daario's hopes were squashed, but he tried to hide his doubts. Sweat was rolling down his temples as his men readied the next round of bolts. Jokin used the moment to send his archers forward.
The dragon seemed to anticipate their attack and bathed a good thirty men in a thick column of crimson flames.
Their bloodcurdling screams made his blood freeze. Daario always prided himself on his bravery, but this was different.
Daario gritted his teeth as he tried to time the dragon's movement.
"Nock!" he yelled and raised his hand. The dragon's breathe felt like a hot furnace. "Loose!"
That's it!
All his hopes were dashed when the silver-winged dragon dipped down from the sky. He shrieked when the bolt hit his body. Another bolt brushed his silver wings, even drawing blood.
It was no use. The hit only helped to stir the dragon's rage.
In the blink of a moment the silver-winged dragon whipped around and bathed the world in a sea of yellow flames.
Fuck!
…
Ser Barristan
The woods before them were dark and eerily quiet, the howling of the wind their only companion as they made their way through the thick underwood. They counted not more than hundred men, but Ser Barristan remained optimistic. Duskendale seemed impossible, but in the end he managed to free King Aerys.
"This way!" the young man named Tito whispered to him and pointed ahead. They were trudging through the waist-high grass, before ducking under a large tree that blocked the way to a nearby clearing. They crossed the clearing and followed a muddy trail, leading along row of old trees.
The young man named Tito moved like a squirrel while Ser Barristan was slowed down by his age. He would have never admitted it openly, but he felt a hint of jealousy.
"We need to hurry," Tito added and gave Ser Barristan a concerned look. "Can you keep up, old man?"
Barristan chuckled. He was not easily insulted, especial not by a youngling like him.
"I will show you how old I am, my boy," he replied instead and followed after him. "Wait and see."
The rest of the path was bridged in silence. Occasionally he heard the whispering of the men walking behind him. To Barristan it sounded like growling. His Bastard Valyrian was passable, but his Lhazareen was still non-existent, though he tried his best to get a grasp of their difficult speech.
Their breathing was ragged from the fast pace when they reached the outskirts of the forest. They found themselves at the edge of a relatively steep path when they stepped out of the forest.
Barristan was surprised by the size of the camp. A sea of tents and cookfires spread before him.
"Look, that's where we need to go," Tito whispered and pointed at the outskirts of the camp. The light was still sparse, but even Barristan's old eyes were able to make out the shadowed shapes of the baggage trains. The carts stood at the furthest edge of the camp and were protected by Dothraki warriors armed with spears. Barristan saw only able to make out their shadowed shapes, but the tips of their spears glittered in the torchlight. The captives were even harder to place, but Tito was quick to provide him with an answer.
Now it was time to wait and to observe.
It would be the first time he saw the dragons in battle. He felt both excitement and worry. The Princess was a capable rider, but still so very young.
Silently, he watched the distant horizon, glimmering in a pale light.
Half an hour passed, before the camp came to life. Barristan could even see the Lhazareen riders crossing the river, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Below the camp he observed the shadowed Dothraki warriors mounting their horses, before driving them towards the approaching Lhazareen riders.
"There!" one of the men whispered in Bastard Valyrian and pointed at the sky. Accompanied by a loud roar and the swishing of wings the dragon named Rhaegon descended on the camp.
Barristan watched in awe as the creature spread his wings and unleashed a stream of crimson flames.
"We should move on," Tito reminded him and pointed ahead. "Our task awaits us!"
Barristan nodded and followed suit.
They didn't speak and tried to keep their movements as quiet as possible as they climbed down the steep path towards their intended target.
It didn't take long before Ser Barristan spotted the first two sentries coming their way.
"I will take the right one," Ser Barristan offered.
The young man named Tito frowned, but didn't decline his offer. He only lifted his blade and moved through the foliage, towards the second sentry after giving last directions to his men.
I have yet to gain their trust, he knew and unsheathed his blade. The feeling of his blade slipping out of his worn-out scabbard was as familiar as breathing to him.
The sentry didn't see him coming. Barristan slit his throat before he was even able to utter a sound. The Dothraki warroir stared back at him with wide black eyes, a gush of blood streaming down his corded body, before dropping to the ground like a puppet without strings.
Ser Barristan's companions didn't prove as efficient. One of their men must have alarmed the Dothraki, for a handful came upon them a heartbeat later, their curved blades raised in a threatening gesture.
The one coming at Barristan was a hunk of a man. His dark eyes glittered dangerously and a growl escaped his lips as he swung his blade. Barristan moved as surely as a dancer. He parried the man's blow and buried his blade to the hilt.
The man growled and collapsed half-way as Barristan freed his blade. It took only a heartbeat before he had wheeled around and killed the next one.
When he was done, he noticed Tito's presence. He stood in the shadow of a cart, his blade bloody and his dark eyes widened in surprise.
Who is now an old man, he wanted to ask the youngling, but there was no time to waste.
They used the carts to shadow their movements, but they were still forced to bloody their blades, before they reached the captives.
With a quick cut he buried his blade in the neck of the nearest sentry. He gurgled and collapsed when Barristan freed his blade.
Their actions alarmed the captives. The sun had climbed higher, but the light was still sparse and Barristan saw nothing more than shadowed faces filled with wear. The majority of the captives were male, ranging from young boys to grown men.
Some whispered in Lhazareen and even smiled, but the young ones cowered in fear. Only after Tito had explained their purpose did they calm down.
Barristan was surprised how efficient the Lhazareen worked. Ropes were cut, the captives assembled and directed while Barristan and the rest kept watch. They had to kill a handful of more warriors, but their enemy was rash. They were no match against a calmly-led blade.
Barristan killed them swiftly, but the young man named Tito seemed to take great pleasure in burying his blade in their bodies.
It was no surprise to Ser Barristan. He recalled the mangled bodies in the pillaged villages all too vividly.
Finished with their bloody work, their next task awaited them: to get several hundred captives up the steep path leading to the forest.
Especially, the younger captives proved problematic. They started to whimper, but the young man named Tito didn't hesitate to silence them with sharp words. It was so unlike his usual calm temper, but worked like a spell.
Not long after they were climbing up the steep path, towards the dark forest. Far off in the distance he heard the echoes of battle and the roars of the dragons. Only when he had arrived at the top did he turn around and gasped in shock.
The dragon named Rhaegon was bathing the enemy in crimson flames, his roar mixing with the snapping of arrows. Yet it was the cry of Viserion that made him shudder.
His roar sounded like the cry of a mighty lion as he moved through the camp. Left and right, he snapped his head at approaching riders, before tearing them apart limp and bones. Yellow flames leaped out of his mouth as he continued to move in their direction.
The sight confused Barristan.
What is going on, he wondered and smoothed his hand over the pommel of his sword. Why is he coming here…
"Move!" he shouted at the others and turned around. "Move!"
...
Daenerys
Daenerys trembled when she heard Viserion's painful shriek. She had been too focused on the enemy to notice the siege weapons placed on the hill.
The bolt flew straight at Rhaegon, but Viserion had propelled himself in front of them. Even in the lingering darkness she was able to see the blood running where the bolt had brushed his wings.
"Gīda aōla!" she shouted at Rhaegon and tightened her grip on his back. Yet that was easier said than done. Rhaegon was out of control and continued to bathe the enemy in curling red flames while the Dothraki warriors continued to litter them with arrows. A few of them were already stuck in Rhaegon's upper body.
We need to get away, she knew, her heart hammering wildly. Now.
"Sōvegon!" she shouted again and patted Rhaegon's back."Sōvegon!"
Over and over again she repeated her command, her voice strained from the effort. She clung to his back, the arrows darting over hear head like a swarm of birds.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Her eyes hurt from the smoke. The smell of death and blood filled her nose and made her want to gag. It was a smell reminiscent of the dead bodies in the pillaged villages.
"Rhaegon!" she shouted once more."Bē!"
She didn't know what did it, but Rhaegon finally obeyed her command. She tightened her grip on his back as he lifted them in the air.
Once they were back in the air she straightened herself and turned around to make out Viserion's position.
She gasped in shock when she noticed how far he had gone. He had wandered off north, where the outskirts of the camp met the dark forest.
Gods, I need to stop him!
Alarmed by this, she climbed higher and patted Rhaegon's back.
"Rhaegon!" she shouted and clucked her tongue." Geptot!"
Rhaegon changed his direction in such a quick manner that Daenerys was barely able to take a breath.
Her heart was steadily thrumming as Rhaegon followed after his brother, who continued his murder spray through the camp towards the forest.
I need to stop him, she knew and straightened herself. The cool air brushed her skin. Her head was cold and her calves felt hot as if she was sitting atop a volcano.
"Rhaegon! Paktot!" she shouted again."Paktot!"
Rhaegon obeyed and moved right, flying a curve to cut off Viserion's approach.
They had nearly reached Viserion when Daenerys straightened herself and cleared her throat.
"Viserion!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Henujagon! Keligon ziry!"
Viserion proved blind to her calls and continued his approach. It wasn't helped by the fact that a horde of Dothraki riders dared to make their way through the flames to attack them.
Their screams echoed in her ears as they hurled their spears at Viserion. Quick like a snake he angled his head and threw a current of flames at the enemy.
She didn't see what happened to them, because had to direct her attention back to Rhaegon, who continued to fly straight ahead, over the forest below.
We need to turn around, she knew and patted Rhaegon's back.
"Rhaegon! Geptot!"
Rhaegon roared and flapped his wings, before taking a sharp turn to the left, soaring over the forest below, back to the camp.
"Ilie! she commanded next." Ilie!"
Rhaegon didn't waste time and flew straight ahead. Daenerys straightened herself and timed her descend.
"Ilagon!" she commanded." Ilagon! Pektot!"
Rhaegon obeyed and dipped lower, before landing in a relatively pleasant manner. Daenerys' gaze flickered over the camp, but found no enemy ahead. This part of the camp was relatively secure and Daenerys had no reservations to keep Rhaegon on the ground. Yet she didn't dare to crawl from his back. She feared the enemy too much.
"Rhaegon! Naejot!" she commanded and the dragon slithered towards Viserion. Not far from their position the flames continued to spread towards the forest looming ahead. Viserion didn't help it by continuing to stir them higher.
"Keligon!" she called after Viserion, but he continued to ignore her.
Daenerys gritted her teeth and exhaled deeply.
I have no other choice.
"Rhaegon!" she shouted."Dracarys!"
Rhaegon roared and angled his head to the side, before unleashing a stream of flames in Viserion's direction.
His brother shrieked when the flames touched his body. Her heart clenched in guilt, though it was not uncommon that the dragons unleashed their flames at each other when they were quarreling.
He will be fine, she assured herself and commanded Rhaegon to repeat the action. He will be fine.
Finally, Viserion backed away. He shrieked and craned his head to look at her.
She felt the touch of his hot skin and met Viserion's gaze.
He is angry, she knew and didn't dare to flinch away. I need to remain calm. He can sense my fear.
"Viserion! Dīnagon arlī!" she commanded and braced herself for Viserion's reaction.
Rhaegon roared as if to add his voice and snapped his head at Viserion.
Finally, Viserion began to move backwards. He flapped his wings and with much effort he managed to take to the air. He looked like a young bird.
"Rhaegon!" she commanded and patted his back."Sōvegon!"
Relief washed over her when Rhaegon followed after his brother and it gave her a moment to clear hear head.
She tightened her grip on Rhaegon's back and directed her gaze westwards, where Jon was fighting at the side of the Lhazareen.
…
Jon
The blades parted and Jon urged his horse left to wheel around the enemy. This Dothraki warrior was hardly older than him, but a much better rider than Jon.
Robb was always better rider, he recalled for no particular reason and parried the next blow.
Jon gritted his teeth and searched for an opening.
With a quick movement he buried his blade in the man's shoulder. Blood trickled down the man's body and he collapsed from his rearing horse.
Yet he was not allowed to rest. The next warrior was soon upon him, but Ghost was quicker and felled the man's horse. The warrior was barely able to get up before Jon cut him down.
Jon pulled his blade free and wheeled his horse around to lead it up the hill, where Sonarys was waiting for him. Below he spotted the swarms of Dothraki warriors trying to reach the Lhazareen spearmen and archers.
The Lhazareen continued to litter the Dothraki warriors with arrows, but not even the elevated positions and Sonarys' flames were able to keep them away.
Like madman they continued to drive their horses up the hill, towards Sonarys. By now he had killed several hundred of them; below them spread a heap of corpses of men and horse alike.
Again the Dothraki unleashed a volley of arrows at them.
As always, the Lhazareen spearmen lifted their shields to protect their own archers. Some of the Dothraki arrows darted over their heads and several others ended up stuck in their shields.
The Lhazareen archers didn't hesitate to retaliate and unleashed an equal amount of arrows at the enemy below.
"Something strange is going on," Young Jemshid remarked and pointed at the distant camp. Jon lifted his head and saw Rhaegon circling over Viserion. He was far off from his intended position.
It seems Viserion is out of control, she realized but decided against telling Young Jemshid.
Daenerys knows what she is doing, he assured himself and turned his gaze towards the swarm of Dothraki warriors driving their horses up the hill.
Their shrill cries made his ears bleed, but he ignored it. He gritted his teeth and lifted his sword.
"Wait!" Young Jmeshid shouted and stopped him. "The bloodriders…the bloodriders have finally come!
"Finally," Jon replied and felt a hint of relief. It meant the Khal couldn't far."Our time has come!"
"Finally," Young Jemshid agreed and assembled his men. It were his best riders, chosen for this purpose alone: to kill the Khal and his bloodriders.
Jon nodded his head and turned around to regard Sonarys.
"Umbagon dīnagon!" he told the dragon and hoped he was able to understand him. Then he shifted his attention back to the enemy below and whistled.
"Ghost with me!" he commanded and kicked his heels in the sides' of his horse.
The bloodriders were easily discernable. They wore red war paint, covering their faces.
All he heard was the sound of his pounding heart as he continued to descend down the hill.
His first enemy, a hunk of a Dothraki rider, came straight at him, his curved blade raised for attack. Jon gritted his teeth and parried his quick cuts while trying to remain on his horse. The blades met in another quick exchange of blows, before Jon wheeled his horse to the side and brought down his sword in a savage blow to the rider's left.
The enemy barely managed to parry the blow, but Jon gave him no time to rest. The blades kissed briefly and Jon didn't hesitate to bury his blade in the enemy's horse.
The animal reared and catapulted the enemy to the ground. Jon was about to raise his blade, when Ghost jumped the man and ended his life.
Jon had no time to relish his victory. The sound of snapping arrows alarmed him and made him spur his horse further down the hill. They missed him, but two of their riders were hit. The rest were engaged in battle and continued to cross their blades with the enemy.
Young Jemshid had managed to unhorse another bloodrider when Jon spotted him.
It was the first time he saw him fight. Jon was impressed how easily he kept in the saddle while bringing down his blade at his enemy.
This bloodrider was sleek like a cat as he continued to exchange heated blows with Young Jemshid. His long braid was even more impressive. It nearly reached to his thighs, his many bells ringing with every quick movement.
The realization hit him like thunder.
That's the Khal, he was sure and urged his horse forward, to avoid their arrows. Ghost was not far, quarreling with another warrior, his sharp teeth bloody and his growls ringing in the air. He wanted to wheel his horse around to aid Young Jemshid, but another bloodrider blocked his path.
This one was not less terrifying than the Khal. He was a strong man, graced with a corded body. He growled at Jon as he drove his horse towards him in a quick pace. Jon was barely able to take a breath before their blades met. There was something rash and aggressive in the way he fought. The smell of sweat and blood met his nostrils whenever he got too close. This one had bathed in blood, so much Jon realized, but tried not to be discouraged by it.
Calm yourself, Jon recalled Ser Barristan's words. Yet that was easier said than done. The enemy was hammering at him with great strength and his horse was getting anxious. Let and right, the blades met and one cut gracing his shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the stinging pain and tried to calm himself, before making his next move.
Instead of attacking h led his horse to the left, riding a circle around the man. The man didn't hesitate to follow after him and Jon waited, watching out for an opening. He gathered his strength and timed the man's approach, before parrying the man's next cut and slashing his blade in the man's neck.
A stream of blood rolled down his neck, his black eyes staring back at Jon in shock.
Jon didn't hesitate to kick his feet in the side of his horse and pulled out his blade.
When Jon had wheeled his horse around, he found Young Jemshid still engaged in battle. Left and right, the blades made as if he was painting invisible pictures in the air. Both of hem sported cuts, sweat and blood running down their bodies.
Jon didn't waste more time and led his horse back to one his fallen companions. The man was dead, a puddle of blood spreading beneath him.
Jon sheathed his blade and leaned down to pick up the man's spear.
He had tried his best to improve his technique, but his guts still turned to jelly the closer he got to the enemy.
"Jemshid!" he shouted at his companion and straightened himself. "Get out of the way!"
It seemed Young Jemshid heard him, for he parried another blow, before urging his horse away from the Khal.
In the blink of a moment hurled the spear at the Khal.
The tip hit straight where it belonged and sent the Khal flying from his saddl. Jon unsheathed his sword and urged his hordes towards the fallen man.
The Khal was close to death when Jon laid eyes on him. The spear head notched itself deep in the man's chest. He was choking for air and trying to pull out the spear, but it was no use.
He was too weak and the spear went too deep He shuddered once more, before his body went still.
Jon felt a hint of shame for killing this capable warrior in such a degrading manner. Yet then he recalled the pillaged villages. Where was the honor in that?"
"Jon!" Young Jemshid's shout snapped him back to the present. "The next swarm is coming!"
"I hear you," he replied and kicked his feet in the sides' of his horse, to follow after Young Jemshid. It didn't take long before he found Ghost, his jaw covered in fresh blood.
Jon whistled, before they returned to join the battle.
Jon killed several more men, before they retreated to the safety of the hills. Their lines had thinned through the constant assault of the Dothraki horde, but the Lhazareen spearmen stood strong and Sonarys had kept off the blunt force.
Sonarys' roared loudly when Jon approached. At first he thought it was his way of greeting him, but then he heard another roar.
This roar was softer. It was Viserion's roar. Rhaegon followed suit and a heartbeat later he found his green-golden wings glittering in the morning light. He landed not far from Sonarys and whirled up a cloud of dust.
Viserion's state was a shock.
There was a bolt sticking in his upper body and his right wing was bleeding.
Jon felt relieved when he spotted Daenerys still perched atop Rhaegon's back. Jon unhorsed quickly and made his way towards Daenerys.
Daenerys looked pale and shaken when she arrived at the ground. Jon gasped when she pulled her helmet off her head, revealing her burned-off hair. Yet it was the arrow notched in his armor that was his true concern.
"What...," he muttered and touched her back. "What happened?"
"The arrow didn't go deep," she assured him through gritted teeth and took in the bleeding cut on his shoulder. "This looks much worse."
Then she lifted her head to meet his gaze.
"They had siege weapons and managed to hit Viserion. It stirred his rage and he nearly attacked the northern part of the camp. I was barely able to calm him," she explained and turned regard the destroyed camp.
Thick columns smoke were rising into the sky and blended out the sparse morning light.
The battle was over and the remaining Dothraki warriors were leaving.
"Viserion left nothing, but destruction in his wake," Daenerys continued to explain and craned her neck to look at Viserion and Rhaegon. "I am surprised how little damage the arrows were able to do to the dragons. Their skin must have thickened over the last moons, but the bolt went through, though not as deep as they hoped."
Then she noticed the heap of burned and mangled bodies.
"Sonarys kept them away from the hills…just as you said," he informed her and brushed his hand through her tattered locks.
"Viserion was stubborn," she explained, but winced when he brushed her shoulder.
"We need to pull out the arrow, before the wound stars to fester," he remarked.
Daenerys opened her mouth in protest when Young Jemshid interrupted their conversation.
"You should listen to him," Young Jemshid remarked, a sad smile curling on his lips. "The battle is done…it's time to bury the dead and to heal."
…
Daenerys
Daenerys continued to watch the dragons circling above her head. She gritted her teeth to blend out the fresh wave of pain surging through her arm.
They managed to pull out the bolt stuck in Viserion's body, but the wound has yet to heal.
The Lhazareen also about a thousand men or more, but they remained optimistic. Maybe it was simple their nature to endure hardships with a calm composure.
"You should rest, Princess," Ser Barristan remarked in a weary voice. He took no wound, but his clothes were drenched in blood.
Daenerys had felt as if a heavy weight dropped from his shoulders when she saw him alive and well.
"I am not tired," she replied at last. "And I am waiting for Jon."
"He should rest as well," Barristan added in a grandfatherly tone. "He is far too stubborn."
Daenerys couldn't help but to agree.
"That is Jon for you," she added and pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulder. "He can't sit idle."
"No, he can never sit idle…," Ser Barristan trailed off, his gaze fixed at the distant horizon. He looked as if his mind was somewhere else, maybe in past.
"Ser Barristan…," she began, but Ghost's waking roused her attention. He yawned and stretched his paws, before running down the hill towards the approaching men.
"Jon is back," she remarked and followed after Ghost.
She spotted Tito, Jon and several strangers. Most of them were bound to horses and sported burns of various degrees.
Yet they didn't look like Dothraki.
The man bound to Jon's horse even sported bright-blue hair. The nasty burn on his cheek looked painful, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
"Jon," she began, her gaze still resting on the bound man."Who is that?"
"A sellsword," Jon replied with a grim nod.
"My name is Daario," he added and didn't hesitate to introduce himself. "Jon certainly didn't lie about your beauty."
She was stunned and gave Jon a questioning look.
"You know him?"
Jon nodded and frowned.
"Sadly, I do."
"Don't be shy, Jon," the sellsword named Daario added and laughed. "We are old friends, aren't we?"
…