The Wanderer

Chapter 3: Where the giver of treasure?

That night, the prophetess had a dream.

A thousand thousand years ago, the first man emerged from the depths of the Womb of the World, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The vast lake was bottomless; the water still and calm as Miiqa walked along the banks. The sun shone bright in the midday sky, though no other came to the pool to seek relief from the heat. As far out into the distance as she could see, the lush plain was empty as well.

Miiqa was wandering aimlessly; no discernible destination was ahead and for that, she was surrounded in some strange sense of peace. There was no movement. No wind blew the trees, no bird flew in the skies. The was no sound, save for her own slow footsteps on the grass and she wished to stay in sight of the Mother of Mountains forever.

In the silent distance, a horse neighed. Miiqa picked up her pace, walking steadily towards the sound until she broke into a fast sprint. Her dress billowed behind her, the golden gossamer blowing in the wind. The beast was just ahead, grazing upon the grass close to the lake. The blood red stallion looked familiar, and stared back at her with the same awareness.

The surface of the water broke, and a man rose from it, walking towards the edge until he spotted the woman. He stood tall and brazen, droplets of water clinging to his bare body as he glistened in the sun. He was lean and long-limbed; his skin as burnished bronze. His hair hung wet and loose down his back, like obsidian, so black it shone almost blue in the blazing light. His lips were full between a dark beard and mustachio.

Miiqa left the shore and waded up to her knees in the water until she reached the man. He was taller than she first realized, towering over her as she stared up at large lilac eyes, glittering like an amethyst ring that she once so admired in the Eastern Market.

Hesitantly, the woman reached her hand up and smoothed the wet hair down on his scalp. "I see you with a golden crown atop golden bells," she whispered to him, though he spoke no words in return.

Bronze and obsidian and amethyst and gold - the riches of the world; the wealth of the earth. But where the giver of treasure? Was this man born from the Womb of the World as the first man; sprung from the infinite depths to people the earth with his khalasar?

Vezh fin saja rhaesheseres. The stallion who mounts the world.

Miiqa attempted to withdraw her hand, but the man caught her wrist in his grasp, pulling her closer. She gasped at this sudden movement, water splashing around her legs as she stumbled forward into the man. He clutched the woman's shoulders, steadying her but keeping her against him, her breasts pressed against his naked stomach. She placed her hands on the man's waist, bracing herself as she regained her footing. Under her touch, his skin radiated a fevered heat despite the cool water around them.

The prophetess watched his face as he reached around her and unbraided the various plaits from her hair until it flowed in all its length down her back. His motions were gentle as he did this and after, he combed his fingers through the waving tresses. He then held the back of her head in his palms, massaging her scalp until she closed her eyes and lost herself in the pleasure of it.

Before long, the man stopped these movements, but kept his fingers on her flesh; stroking her neck, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips, caressing the fullness of her lips with his thumb. He leaned down and placed his own lips upon her brow, then moved further, planting small kisses on the tip of her nose and both cheeks.

He rose back to his full height, Miiqa's eyes never leaving the smooth plains of the man's face as he did. He placed his hands on her shoulders, then slid the thin straps of her dress down her arms until the garment dropped into the water around her knees. The man held her waist as she stepped out of the gossamer, allowing the saturated fabric to float away and sink into the depths of the lake.

She felt the length of the man grow firm against her bare stomach as she pressed into him. His rough hands wandered up her sides and seized her breasts in his hands. The man pinched and pulled her nipples until they were hard and taut, eliciting a ragged moan from Miiqa's parted lips.

Her hands clung to his arms, so strong and unyielding as she clutched them tightly in her grasp. The man ran his hands up her chest to his shoulders, then back down her arms where he held the prophetess's hands in his own. He stepped back and lead her farther into the water until the soft surface waves lapped at her breasts, but barely reached his own stomach. He took her by the hips and lifted her easily and slid into her with a slow thrust.

Miiqa wrapped her fingers in the thick hair at the nape of his neck as he retreated and sunk back into her again. Her mouth sought the sultry skin at the hollow of his throat, leaving the salty taste of sweat smeared across her lips. His pace quickened and his thrusts became harder and more shallow. The man growled in her ear each time he entered her, the sensual sound making her thighs quiver around his hips. Miiqa threw her head back, her ebony hair billowing down behind her as she tightened around him and with one final thrust she called out his name.

"Rhaego!"

-X-x-X-

Where the khalasar stopped, the land was dead and brown. Hooves and wheels unsettled the dirt, clouding the air with a thick layer of dust. The staunch scent of the baked earth was not unpleasant, but the cracked ground filled both people and horses with despair.

"Why do you ride back?" Miiqa asked of Haggo as he rode against the flow of the khalasar.

"The Khal fell from his horse," the man replied, giving no attempt to lower his voice. "I was commanded to retrieve the maegi." He spit on the dry ground and kicked his stallion, urging it to continue its trail through the masses.

The prophetess rode quickly in the opposite direction, towards the head of the assembly. A tent was already erected when she arrived, Ser Jorah standing vigil at the opening. Miiqa dismounted her mare in one swift motion and made to enter the shelter.

"Khaleesi will see only the godswife," the man said to her as he blocked the entrance.

"Talk goes from mouth the ear, all over the khalasar. Khal Drogo fell from his horse," Miiqa said as she instictively clutched the leather pouch at her hip. "Am I not of the Khal's counsel, making me counsel of the Khaleesi as well? I am needed," she continued and from inside the tent, Daenerys told the knight to let the woman through.

The Khal was laid upon his sleeping silks, eyes half opened, but unseeing. His face was pale and hollow, the fullness of his cheeks wasted away. His hair was free from its braid, golden bells piled by his side as the Khaleesi bathed him with cool water.

"He is very strong," Daenerys said, and Miiqa did not know whether the girl was speaking to her or Jorah or merely reassuring herself. She sponged Drogo's flesh anxiously. "No one understands how strong he is."

The knight pulled out his knife and kneeled down, slicing off the paste that had congealed on the Khal's chest and prying the chunks from his flesh. The putrid smell of decay filled Miiqa's nostrils as she turned away from the black and oozing wound.

"He will die tonight, Khaleesi," the prophetess said, voice soft to hide her anger. Why did Drogo not listen when she advised him to turn away from the village? Why did he not kill the maegi when he had the chance?

"He cannot. I will not let him," Daenerys said as she continued to wash the man.

"Even a queen does not have that power," Ser Jorah said as he stood over the girl. "We must go quickly, before he dies."

The Khaleesi stopped her ministrations and stared up at the knight. "Go? Where should we go?"

"To Pentos," he said. "We will hire a ship to take us back. But we must travel south first to Asshai -"

"Khaleesi must go to the Dosh Khaleen," Miiqa said. "As all others before her."

The girl stood awkwardly, her swollen belly making every movement difficult. She dropped the sponge in a bowl and wiped her wet hands on her vest. "Why should I flee? I am Khaleesi. I carry Rhaego inside of me. He will be Khal after Drogo."

"The Dothraki follow only the strong," Miiqa explained to her. "They followed Drogo for this strength and when he is gone, the kos will fight for his place and the khalasar will be no more."

Jorah frowned. "They will not want competition, Khaleesi. They will take the babe from your breast and leave him to the dogs."

Tears filled the girl's eyes as she held her belly. The prophetess wanted to assure her that everything would be alright; to not worry for herself nor the child but she did not have it in her to lie to the disheartened girl. Miiqa put gentle hands on the Khaleesi's shoulders and spoke softly and truly to her. "As their last duty to Drogo, the bloodriders will take you to Vaes Dothrak where you will join the Dosh Khaleen. Then, they will follow him into the night lands."

Mirra Maz Duur entered the tent swiftly, followed by Haggo and the other two bloodriders. The man in front shielded his nose from the smell of rot with an arm. Qotho dropped the godswife's wooden bureau as he spotted the blackened flesh that covered his Khal's chest.

"The wound has festered," the woman said.

Qotho let the bureau lay where it fell and approached the godswife. "This is your work, maegi," he said as he laid the back of his hand across the woman's cheek and sent her to the ground.

"No!" the Khaleesi screamed. "I will not have her harmed!"

Qotho turned to the girl. "No?" he said. "You say me no? Better you should pray we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other."

"This woman is still your Khaleesi," Miiqa said and Jorah drew his sword from its scabbard. "Even if only while the blood of your blood still lives."

Haggo advanced on his Dothraki brother and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from any impending actions. "She is still our Khaleesi," the man repeated Miiqa's words.

"Your Khal will be gone by morning," Mirra Maz Duur said, as if challenging the men to do anything else. She had brought herself to her knees and was kneeling beside Drogo. "He is beyond healing."

Daenerys stifled a sob. "You must save him! You must know a way. Some way. Some magic -"

The tent grew silent, but restless. Miiqa squeezed her cherished pouch. Haggo took a step forward. Daenerys held her belly in both hands.

"There is a spell," the godswife finally said. "Some would say death is cleaner."

"Khaleesi, no," Miiqa urged. "Do not do this thing!"

"Do it," the girl commanded, ignoring the prophetess. "Save him."

"There is a price," the lamb woman said and glanced curiously at Miiqa. "Only death pays for life."

"My death," Daenerys sighed.

"Khaleesi -" Miiqa pleaded. Ser Jorah raised his sword as the bloodriders took a few more steps forward.

"No, not your death, Khaleesi. Bring me his horse."

"No!" Miiqa yelled, but Doreah stood and ran from the tent, fetching men to bring the Khal's red stallion and so they did. Rakharo led the beast into the tent, where it reared and struggled as it caught the scent of death. It took all of the Khaleesi's khas to restrain the horse, but even so, they begged the girl the girl to reconsider.

"Khaleesi, do not do this thing!" Rakharo fell to his knees and pleaded. "Let me kill the maegi."

"Kill her and you kill your Khal," Daenerys said firmly.

"This is blood magic," Miiqa said. "It is forbidden."

The Khaleesi turned calmly to the woman. "It angers you because your magic is without worth," she said. "As are your words."

As if she did not notice this exchange, the godswife began chanting in a tongue that no other in the tent understood. Before anyone knew what had happened, the woman drew a knife across the stallion's throat, letting his blood flow in a sanguine rush over the Khal, also spraying the Khaleesi, Miiqa, and herself.

The horse screamed and shuddered, dropping to his knees as the prophetess did. She stroked the soft hairs of the beast as it died. The sandsilk walls were spotted with blood, as were the rugs underfoot.

"Burn it," Daenerys commanded and her khas removed the stallion from the tent. "Leave us," she said to the others and Miiqa stood without a word to retreat from the tent.

"We will leave," Qotho told her. "For now." He pointed his arakh at both the Khaleesi and the lamb woman. "But know this - the Khal's fate is your own."

Thank you Oberon Sexton and dear Anon for reviewing!