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A/N: As always big thank you to everyone who reviewed, they keep me inspired.
Tomo and his five men appeared alone at daybreak. Their shadowy figures stood out against the pink skies of morning.
Only five of them, Rhaego thought sourly as he watched the men ride towards him through the long dusty plains. He cursed under his breath and clenched his fists tight at his sides, his rage a black weight in his belly.
They had ridden out from the ruins of the Fahrio's shack with eighty of the hundred that had made up his Khalasar. The other twenty men had ridden west to Pentos to return the dragon eggs to his mother, where they would stay as part of her honour guard. Along with Ser Jorah, the thought agitated him. The Bear Knight had been by his side for most of his life and his absence had been sorely felt though the old man had only become a nuisance of late and it was better for them all if he was gone from Rhaego's sight. With his eighty men the Khal had ridden southeast to Volantis following Gerion Lannister's map to his supposed treasure, though along the way they were besieged by sand storms and his horde scattered.
What men he had left had made camp amongst the great grass sea, where they sat in wait for their missing brothers. He had sent out four riders to search for the stragglers though they helped but little. Tiargo returned empty handed three days previous. The day before that Jogo returned with half a dozen of his people, though most were near blind from the sands that had battered them and their steeds. The day before and the day before there had been nothing and Rhaego feared them dead until finally Tomo returned.
"They were lost amongst the storm," Tomo had explained. "They were cut off from the rest of the Khalasar and lost out in the desert away from the great grass sea. We have travelled too far from the grass; blood of my blood, this lion leads us astray."
Rhaego had almost agreed with him, given the bout of bad luck they had suffered, but refused to give up. Giving up would mean admitting that he was too weak to do anything on his own and if there was one thing that the world had taught him it was that the weak died miserable deaths.
So in the end he sent Tomo a withering glance and said, "The lion does as I command and so do you, we will wait here for another day and then push on with or without the stragglers."
And wait they did, for a day and a night. During the day Rhaego led a few of his riders out hunting amongst the edge of the Great Grass Sea, game was scarce save for the occasional pack of wild dogs. They also came across a lone Hrakkar roaming through the tall grass and Rhaego declared that he would kill the beast just as his father had once done. It was a bold creature, attacking them without hesitation and the Khal thought that the beast must have never seen man before to not feel fear. He soon cut the beast down and made a necklace of its teeth.
"You should have come with us Lannister," he told Gerion when he returned to camp. "You could have seen what a true lion looks like."
The golden haired man had given Rhaego a thin smile and said, "I think I'll settle for the painted kind instead."
Soon the excitement from the hunt had died down and his Khalasar was growing lax so on the first light of the second day he ordered the horde onwards, like a long copper serpent emerging from its nest. They covered twenty-two miles that day, by the reckoning of Gerion Lannister. The second day they made twenty, sweeping down towards the river Rhoyne. Good progress, Rhaego had thought, but then the rains picked up.
It was only a light drizzle on the first day, gentle as a lovers kiss. But it grew heavy the next day, and even heavier the day after that. Soon the heavy wet winds became a lash as cruel as any slaver's whip and travel became a burden. They set up a camp as best they could amongst the flurry of rain but soon found that the tents were hard to raise and harder to take down, and even those were prone to blowing loose if the winds struck at it hard enough.
After two days the storm did not abate and Rhaego's Khalasar found itself slowing to a crawl and the Khal wondered how long it would be before illness spread through his ranks. Even the horses found it difficult to move through the slush the ground had turned to. A cold damp fog had settled in on the fourth day, robbing them of even basic sight in the wet darkness.
"We should head for the Mother Rhoyne," urged Gerion on the fifth night as they sat huddled together in a meagre tent. "We can simply move in a straight line all the way down to Volantis then."
The Idea had its merits, but Rhaego had heard plenty of stories coming from that accursed river, stories of blood and agony. Stories of the stone men, the thought sent a chill down the Khal's spine. "The storm will end soon." was all he said.
Yet it seemed that the Great Stallion did not agree with Rhaego's ideas and the rain only continued to pound harder at them. His men were starting to look a sorry lot, their once copper skin pale from cold and illness. It was not often that Dothraki were used to such conditions. Fortune smiled on them the seventh day and they came across a great ruin, an ancient keep that was half collapsed and overgrown with moss and vines. Around the domed rock were several piles of rubble that Rhaego assumed were once walls and archways. A single small tower stood beside the ruins, its windows penetrated with dozens of invading vines, looking like two empty eye sockets.
Rhaego ordered his men to set up camp amongst the ruins and make shelter in the hollowed out castles and went about setting up men to stand guard on the crumbling battlements. He could recognise by the shape and carvings of the ancient stone that it was a Rhoynish structure they using, and that meant that the great river was not far. "I'll not have any of those Stone men bring plague amongst my people," he told his archers. "Keep your eyes sharp and make sure to kill anything that approaches."
They had all settled down around a fire in the ruins of the Rhoynish keep, chewing away at dried horse meat and trying to keep up conversation with one another, though many were too sick and tired to do much more than sleep. Outside the rain continued to batter away at everything and seeped through some of the holes that had littered the partially destroyed roof, leaving puddles all about. The wind made a nervous whistling sound as it shivered through the broken towers and the walls groaned sorrowfully around them.
"This place smells….evil, blood of my blood," Jakerhro said before pulling a blanket tight around his shoulders.
"This place smells like an old ruin with dozens of Dothraki cramped into it," said Gerion before tearing into a darkened piece of horse meat. Despite everything the Lannister seemed to be in high spirits. "The Rhoynar built places like this hundreds of years ago, before the Valyrians expanded from their Freehold and destroyed them. Prince Garin led a quarter of a million men in an effort to stop them and their dragons, but of course those men all died screaming and Garin was taken by the Valyrians and hung inside a golden cage to mock him and his people."
Jakerhro grinned at that. "Did the fool die for his idiocy?"
The Lannister's green eyes trailed off for a moment before he gave a slight chuckle. "Quite the opposite, as the Dragonlords laughed Garin called out to Mother Rhoyne, begging for her to destroy them. That very night the river rose high and drowned all of the invaders. They say that the souls of those arrogant Valyrians still linger beneath the waves and the fog is their breath rising from the water. Garin himself is said to still rule amongst these forgotten places, his curse afflicting all who come too close."
Many of the other men had fallen silent to listen to the golden haired man's tale; they all seemed rapt in attention. Rhaego could see faint traces of fear in the eyes of some of them and said, "The only curse that is upon these lands is Greyscale, and even those afflicted die just like any other man."
"Aye, it is nothing more than a legend told by those who fear the past," agreed Gerion. "But all good stories have a kernel of truth to them and old places should be treated with respect, even this ruin."
Rhaego was about to speak when somewhere in the darkness he heard a horse whicker. The Khal frowned at the sound and tried to listen again but heard nothing. "I respect the people who built this place just as you do," he said firmly. "These people were kin to me, or do you forget Myriah Martell?"
That got a laugh out of the Lannister and flashed a toothy grin. "It's funny isn't it? The Valyrians drove the Rhoynar to the West, only to end up marrying their descendants' centuries later."
The Khal rolled his eyes at that and went back to his food. He found himself stoping mid bite. There's that horse again. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That horse…no, horses." he turned his head, listening. The rain did queer things to sound and it was difficult to know which direction it was coming from. Rhaego focused and stood away from the fire, cursing under his breath as he hurried out of the gloomy ruin and into the drenched courtyard. The Khalasar had erected a shelter for their steeds to keep them dry and all of the beasts seemed to be sleeping. That was not where the sound was coming from.
He rushed up amongst the crumbled battlements, axe in hand to stand beside his sentries. "What is it?" he demanded.
But Rhaego saw for himself before the men could respond. At first it seemed like a series of shadows jumping around in the darkness of night but when he allowed his eyes to adjust he spotted the familiar outline of men on horseback. My missing riders, he realized with a smile.
His missing ten were all looking very wet and very uncomfortable when they arrived, but otherwise unhurt and he waved them into the heart of the ruins. "Blood of my blood," said the leader when Rhaego appeared. "This is Mylessa. A gift to us from the Great Stallion."
The Khal had not noticed the woman that was sitting behind his bloodrider but once he spotted her red figure his purple eyes widened in shock and familiarity. The woman was draped completely in crimson silk which was only a few shades darker than her long auburn hair. The clothes seemed to move like a flames around her as she leapt down gracefully from the horse and as she approached Rhaego couldn't help but notice her slim waist and full breasts. Her heart-shaped face seemed as if it was carved from white marble, and her cheek bones seemed as delicate as glass. Her eyes however seemed to betray the rest of her, twin sapphires amongst all the red.
"We found her in the deserts walking alone," Said the rider. "She knows things. She knew that we were part of your Khalasar before any man could tell her, and she knew you'd be waiting in this ruin."
Rhaego stood transfixed at the woman, her unearthly beauty illuminating the night sky. To his great surprise he noticed that when the rain touched her bare skin it steamed. Yet she stood there, still as statue with her blue eyes set on his, the faintest of smiles tugging at her delicate mouth.
"Are you a sorceress my lady?" Rhaego asked the exotic woman.
"No, my prince," the woman answered in the common tongue. Her voice was sonorous and sweet, sending warmth through the night air. "I am merely a servant of R'hllor, sent to aid you."
A red priestess. Rhaego had grown up around such types in Pentos and was often afraid of their great night fires when he was a child. He was not afraid now. "Why would a red priestess want to help me?" he asked cautiously.
Her smile only deepened at that. "Because you are the Lord's chosen; Azor Ahai reborn."