The Wanderer
Chapter 2: Where the rider?
The whole town was ablaze, black clouds of smoke billowing densely into the otherwise clear blue sky. Statues tumbled from their pedestals, collapsing into naught but rubble on the hard, trampled ground. The stale scent of sweat and blood and burnt human flesh permeated through the valley, but the Dothraki were used to the smell. The screams of the Lhazareen people could still be heard as they were rounded up and brought from the debris; flocked together in pens as the sheep that they so cherished.
Miiqa walked quickly through the crumbling village, not stopping to collect prize nor plunder as the others in the khalasar did. The possessions of the Lamb Men meant little to her and she was in no need of slaves. Instead, she walked straight and determined, looking ahead lest the fire that engulfed the buildings distract her from her task. She was searching desperately for her Khal, only stopping when she spotted his red stallion.
"I see his horse, but where the rider?" the woman said to one of the Khal's bloodriders. "Where is Drogo? Take me to him!"
"Be still," Haggo commanded. "What worries do you take to the Khal?"
Fire burned in the prophetess's eyes as she took a few more steps towards him. "Khal Drogo will want to hear the wisdom of his counsel," she said. In the past, the Khal would have had him whipped for keeping Miiqa waiting, but this was not then. Still, her words seemed urgent and was she she not the prophetess? Haggo knew not to deny the woman.
Drogo sat under the shade of a heavy canopy in front of the mud temple. He leaned forward against his bloodied arakh, idly turning the point into the dirt. He had slayed two Khals that day, and his hair was weighted heavy with tiny gold bells that rang with his every move. On one side of him were severed heads, stacked so tall that they dwarfed the sitting man. In front of him were two of his bloodriders, the third joining them as he lead Miiqa to her Khal.
The woman stepped under the shade of the canvas and bowed her head as she approached Drogo. He motioned her to come closer and she did, walking until she was right upon him. The prophetess took to one knee and held the Khal's hand in her own, kissing his dirty knuckles, a gesture of respect to counter her impending words.
"I came to you twice against my better judgement," she said, firmer than she planned. "Why seek my advice when you have no desire to follow it?"
Drogo pulled his hand back and glared down at the kneeling woman. "Who am I to take commands from you?"
"You are Khal Drogo," she said. "The undefeated horse lord, greater than all others. A man who has never before turned from my counsel."
Drogo considered her thoughtfully for a moment before commanding her to stand. She rose from her position in front of him, her golden anklets chiming as she did. The Khal took comfort in that familiar sound. "Come to my side," he told her.
Miiqa walked a few paces to stand beside his chair. They all stood quietly in the room - the Khal, the prophetess, and the three bloodriders. Outside the tent it was chaos, but inside only a fragile peace.
"You came to chastise me?" Drogo asked, not looking at the woman but out into the bright distance. The bloodrider Qotho turned his head slightly to look at the prophetess.
The woman did not have to bend to whisper in his ear, but merely turned, putting a hand on his bare shoulder as she spoke. "We must leave," she said quietly. "Turn from this village. Let the people go."
This time, he looked at her. "Why? Why must I do these things?"
"This will be our downfall," she said, staring into the Khal's dark eyes. "The beginning of the end."
Their contact broke only when the Khaleesi entered the shelter, taken in hand by Ser Jorah, and followed closely by her handmaids and khas. Behind the assembly came a group of woman slaves, looking destitute and downtrodden as they shuffled along. Daenerys stared hard at the two Dothraki. The prophetess was once Drogo's lover, she now knew, found out only days ago as she saw her leave the Khal's tent for the second time.
Before any words could be spoken, a mounted warrior rode up and jumped quickly out of his saddle. He walked furiously under the canvas before Haggo stopped him from advancing.
"I, Mago, who rides in the khas of Ko Jhaqo, have claimed many lives today for the khalasar," he practically yelled, unprompted. "But the Khaleesi has taken my spoils, a daughter of the lamb who was mine to mount!"
Everyone under the canopy looked at Daenerys. "Tell me the truth of this moon of my life," the Khal said, face hard and unmoving.
"Mago speaks the truth, my sun-and-stars," the girl told him, taking a few steps forward. "I claimed many women today, so they could not be mounted."
"This is the way of war," the Khal explained. He motioned to the huddled group behind the Khaleesi. "These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please."
"It pleases me to keep them safe," she said. "If your riders would mount them, let them be gentle and take them for wives."
The three bloodriders laughed before the Khaleesi could even finish her appeal. "Does the horse mate with the lamb?"
"The dragon feeds on horse and lamb alike," Daenerys spat.
"You are a foreigner," Mago growled. "You do not command me."
"I am Khaleesi. I do command you."
"See how fierce she grows?" Drogo asked, his chest puffed out with pride. "That is my son within her. The stallion who will mount the world," he said, risking a glance at the prophetess, "filling her with his fire." The Khal looked forward, sharing a quick look with his wife before he continued. "I will hear no more. Mago, find somewhere else to stick your cock."
The warrior spat on the ground in front of Drogo, and quickly, Jorah took Daenerys by the shoulders and lead her back. Even the quivering mass of slaves retreated.
"A Khal who takes orders from a foreign whore is no Khal," Mago said, holding his soiled arakh in front of him. While his bloodriders advanced on the man, Miiqa stayed by Drogo's side, unmoved by Mago's words.
Khal Drogo told his bloodriders to retreat.
"I will not have your body burned, " he said to Mago. "I will not give you that honor." The Khal stood and approached the man. Mago kept his arakh up, cutting into the flesh of the Khal's chest, but Drogo only pushed forward into it, deepening the wound. "The beetles will feed on your eyes. The worms will crawl through your lungs."
Mago swung his arakh twice, trying to catch the Khal in the throat, but he ducked both times and ended up between the warrior and Daenerys. He took the knives from he breetches and displayed them before dropping the weapons to the ground.
"The rain will fall on your rotting skin," he roared, "until nothing of you is left but bones."
"First you have to kill me!" Mago said as he attacked the man once more.
Drogo took the warrior's own arakh and slit his throat open. "I already have," he said as he reached through the wound and ripped out the man's tongue.
He threw the severed muscle on the tower of heads with a sound of disgust as he sat back in his seat. The Khaleesi broke free from Jorah's grasp and ran towards her lord husband. "My sun-and-stars is wounded," she said as she knelt in front of the man, the same as Miiqa had done not but minutes before. Drogo looked down at his bleeding chest.
"A scratch, moon of my life."
"Where are the healers?" Daenerys called.
"This is the bite of a fly," he said, slapping a hand against the wound.
"No man can stand before Khal Drogo," Miiqa assured the young Khaleesi, but the girl said nothing in return.
"I can help the Great Rider with his hurts," a woman's voice said from behind Daenerys. Miiqa looked beyond the girl and saw a squat sheep woman take a few steps forward. She was plain-faced and ragged, covered in dirt and blood from the battle that she took no part of.
"Come no further!" Miiqa commanded, her thundering voice almost surprising herself as Qotho put his arakh in front of the slave woman.
"The Khal needs no help from slaves who lie with sheep," Haggo spat.
Danerys lifted her hand. "She is mine," the Khaleesi said, addressing both of them. "Let her speak. Who are you?" she asked.
"I am Mirri Maz Duur," the woman said. "I am godswife of this temple."
"Maegi," Haggo growled, his hand restless on the hilt of his arakh. Miiqa, too, stood uneasy beside her Khal.
"I am a healer," Mirri Maz Duur said. "My mother was godswife before me, and taught me songs and spells and how to make sacred smokes and ointments. A moonsinger gifted me with her birthing songs, and a woman of your riders taught me the magics of grass and corn and horse."
A tense, contemplative silence filled the air.
"Kill the maegi," Miiqa said finally, her words mirroring the thoughts of the Dothraki bloodriders. The Khal stared at the prophetess, catching her eye and keeping her attention. Never had she been one who lusted for blood and now she called for the death of a simple slave. It was enough to make him reconsider sparing the lamb woman's life. Miiqa was the one to break their stare as she shouted for the Dothraki healers. "If it must be done, let it be by our herbwomen."
"Lamb, horse, or dragon - the wound must be washed and sewn, lest it fester," the godswife explained.
"Blood of my blood..." Qotho started, the flat side of his arakh still against the woman's chest.
"Do not do this thing," Miiqa whispered, putting a gentle hand on Drogo's shoulder. "My Khal..." she pleaded.
"My sun and stars," Daenerys said. "Allow the godswife to help you."