"And they call it… Theon's Night?"

Ser Jorah Mormont nodded as he sat around the fire with the Dothraki bloodriders. The Khal was off with his khaalesi, trying to produce a fourth child, for 'a stallion must have four legs', leaving his bloodriders to sit with the Westerosi knight.

When he had wandered by accident into the Dothraki camp 3 months ago he had thought for sure he was dead. He remembered the tales of the Dothraki and all they did to those that stood against them. But they also hated the weak, seeing them as worthless. So he had, with utter balance, shown that he was respectful but strong. Willing to stand up for himself but also willing to bend to their demands. He had agreed to surrender his sword but when one screamer had gotten a touch too rough he'd broken his nose, stole his sword, and dared them to take it back.

They had laughed and cheered at that.

Now he was amongst them as an honored friend. He had fought with them against rival khals and used some of his knowledge to assist them with issues, such as crossing a river that had been too deep for their horses. They had taught him their language and ways, Jorah eager to learn. He had been told that the Khal would introduce him to his sister's husband's cousin, a Khal of great power named Drogo.

And now they wanted to know about his customs.

"Named after Theon the Hungry Wolf. He was a king in my lands… when men from Essos sailed across the Narrow Sea and came to Westeros and attacked his lands he chased them off. But that wasn't enough for King Theon. He followed them and slaughtered so many people-"

"-that there is now a great hill that covers their skulls," Tromho stated with a nod. "We know of that place… there have been Khals who have attempted to match the work of that man. The Hungry Wolf."

"You made a day to celebrate him?" Grul asked, taking a bite out of the sweetbread they were passing around. There were jars of honey and jam that they had captured from a caravan heading towards Meereen filled with rich treats for the plump Masters and the bloodriders had decided to enjoy the rare pleasures.

"It is said that we tell stories to chase away the spirits of the dead that he killed, lest they seek us out to claim their revenge."

"Spirits are scared by stories?" Tromho asked with a smirk.

Ser Jorah shrugged. "Perhaps. Mostly we do it as an excuse to eat and drink."

"I like this day!" Norim shouted, raising up the wine skin he had claimed as his own.

"What tales do you tell, across the foul water?" Grul pressed.

Ser Jorah shrugged. "Many of them you wouldn't understand, for they concern places that you have never been to." When they silently stared at them he continued on. "There is a tale of a man who would capture people and cook them alive, then serve them to his guests. Another of a mad man left alone with young ones and their night of terror trying to avoid him. The Smiling Fool who gave you what you desired but it always led to your death. Tales such as that."

"Such things would not scare us," Norim declared boldly. "We are not weak like your countrymen! We fear nothing."

But then Baluu let out a dark growl. "Do not speak of things you don't understand. And do not speak lies."

"Lie?" Norim declared. "I do not lie, old man."

"You fear the foul water. All of us do. We know the danger that it brings." He paused. "And the Pale One. None dismiss her."

All the Dothraki went still.

"..yes," Norim said quietly, his anger and rage that had burned so brightly moments earlier going out like a like candle doused in water. "The Pale One."

Ser Jorah wanted to ask what had frightened them so. He had been with the Dothroki for many weeks and they had never feared anything. No matter how large the army or dangerous the terrain they were bold and strong. They laughed and screamed in the faces of their enemies and when they died, so long as there was honor to it, they smiled and cheered; if there wasn't they spat and they cursed and swore to be waiting on the other side for the coward that had killed them through weak cunning rather than true strength.

The only thing they seemed to be leery of was the ocean and that wasn't out of fear. No… they seemed to consider the ocean to be a stupid thing that only stupid people traveled upon. More than one of the Dothraki had scoffed at him and wondered why he had crossed the 'foul water' to come to a strange land that wasn't his own. And the idea they would ever come to Westeros? That got them laughing. Ser Jorah had even used it to break the ice with them and get them to accept him, japing that they would come across the water to his lands. He said it with a smile and a chuckle and the Dothraki would cackle at the very idea. Proclaim that the 'weak fat lords' of his land should pray that the seas never dry up for if they did the Dothraki would show them true strength.

But… they never actually considered crossing the ocean.

The other thing that was very rare to see for the Dothraki, to the point that it also felt like an impossibility, was they agreeing on anything. Present four Dothraki with the same dish, one they had each claimed in private was their favorite, and at least one would find something to complain about until swords were drawn. A khal didn't so much get their riders to agree with them as they forced them to go along with their decisions without too loud of rumbling.

So for all those gathered to grow quiet and agree with the oldest of them, the gray beard who was covered in scars and looked to be as wrinkled as withered fruit but could still ride and shoot like a man half his age?

That was shocking.

He wanted to ask about the Pale One. He desperately didn't. But he didn't want to risk offending his hosts. He was a stranger in their lands and he wasn't for sure if he had the right to ask about something that so bothered them.

Yet something must have shown on his face for Baluu stared at him intently. "You have never heard of the Pale One, Jorah Mormont?"

"I have not," Jorah admitted.

"It is a dark tale… perhaps one fitting for your Night of Theon. It begins long ago, when my grandfather's grandfather was still but a dream in his father's mind…"

~MC~MC~MC~

Once among the Dothraki there was a Khal of great strength and power. Some say that he was born when his father, a mighty Khal in his own right, grasped hold of a wind spirit and took her until she agreed to bare him a child as the price of her freedom. Others say that as a boy he was like any babe but his father fed him the hearts of black lions and that made him mightier than all others. More whisper that he wasn't born at all but rather emerged from the ground after a battle that had bled a thousand screamers, born of their wounds and their rage.

Whatever the case may be he was mighty. His name though is never spoken and has been lost, so we must choose a name that might only be used in this tale, and never again. So I dub him Khal Skelgo.

His khalasar was so large that when the greatest of clouds created shadows upon the lands the riders in the very front would be in the shade while past the middle it still was warm and bright. Once there was a caravan leader who refused to pay the proper tribute to Khal Skelgo, so as the man slept the great Khal had his khalasar form a great spiral around the man's camp. When the caravan leader awoke Khal Skelgo spoke to him.

"You are free to go. Do so with my blessing. But you must make your way through my men, each of whom will let you past, so long as you make no attempt to attack them. Leave us and we will release all you brought and give to you treasures from our own horde." The caravan leader chose the strongest horse he had and he set off, believing this to be a foolish action on the Khal's part. But as the hours wasted on and he continued to move in a circle, faced with the grim and dangerous gazed of the Dothraki, he began to worry. For there was no grass for his horse to eat and no water for it to drink. He rode until sunset and when his stead could go no more he rested, watching as the Dothraki pulled out sweet meats and skins of water, filling their bellies while he had none.

For three days he did this until, still only halfway through, his horse threw him from his saddle and turned on him. The beast stomped him til his limbs were broken and then feasted on him, eating his belly as the man screamed for help. Khal Stelgo released the horse and the rest of the caravan wisely paid him three times tribute.

A Khal only gained a khalasar that size by being a mighty warrior. This… Khal Stelgo was. It was said that he could look an elephant in the eye without tilting his head and that if he drank milk from a cow the beast would die from being drained. His sword he left unguarded when he slept for it would take four strong men to drag it upon the ground and no horse would dare come near it. When he approached a city he would chant so loudly that those far beyond the walls would hear of his intentions.

It is said that one day there will be a Khal of Khals. One who will unite us all. The Stallion That Mounts The World. Perhaps they will still come… but I doubt it so. I believe that Khal came… and his chance to claim the world disappeared like a drop of sweat upon the burning sands. For he allowed himself to forget that he was Dothroki, believing himself to be something beyond us.

One day, Khal Skelgo led the greatest of his bloodriders on an assault upon a village by the foul waters' edge. This place can never be found, for years later when it was discovered again we burned it for its role in what happened, even though the people there were not the cause. The foul waters were cruel to them and to the Dothraki, choosing that day for their waves to push that burden upon us.

Khal Skelgo was the first to spot it: a small boat, like one the men who cast their lines upon the rivers use. The Dothraki have no need for such things but we do know of them and when taking plunder we have accepted them, for there are many that will buy them from us for many goods. The boat had come to a stop upon the shore and Khal Skelgo hurried to it, wondering what might be inside. The village had proven to be rather empty and the people there wise for they gave the Khal all he wished if he would spare their lives. So he was bored and sought out something new.

Within the boat he found a man, once strong and hale but now shriveled and still. What provisions he had brought with him were long gone and as he laid there the Khal knew he must be dead. He was reaching towards a chest, large for the boat but small for Khal Skelgo. He could easily lift it by the ropes wrapped around it with just a single hand. And he did so… only to be startled by the corpse-like man, whose eyes suddenly snapped open and from his lips came a scream.

"No! Mine! Mine! Mine! Torture and pain but mine! Agony and loss and torment! But mine! Mine! MINE!"

The man tried to attack the Khal, to claim back his box. But Khal Skelgo was mighty and he easily struck the man down, caving his chest in with a single swipe of his hand. And yet even as his bones broke and his skin tore upon his ribs the man tried to reach for the box.

Khal Skelgo was curious. What great price could be in such a box that would drive a man so weak and so helpless to lash out at him? He had to know so he placed the crate upon the ground and snapped the ropes before lifting up the lid.

Inside he found… her.

Her skin was as pale as milk and her hair silver as moonlight. She was a tiny thing, so that some might have thought he a child, but when she slowly stretched like awakening from a deep sleep Khal Skelgo could see the swell of her breasts and the flaring of her hips.

At once he loved her.

He lifted her up and carried her along the shore, stating that the sands were unworthy to kiss the soles of her feet. He placed her upon his horse and he declared to all that rode with him that she was to be his khaalesi. But one of his bloodriders allowed his eyes to linger on her form for too long and the Khal, in a rage, attacked him. It didn't matter that the man was like a brother to him, having fought side by side with Khal Skelgo in a thousand battles, each saving the other so many times that their blood debts were a tangled mess that would never be sorted. This man, his brother, his friend, his loyal rider, had dared to allow his gaze to linger too long upon the Pale One and with a roar of fury Khal Skelgo was upon him, reducing his face to a ruin and leaving his mangled corpse to rot in the sun. He declared that only he might dream of the Pale One, for that is what she became known as to the Dothraki, and any that were suspected of craving her would die.

But ignoring her was not enough to save one either. No… Khal Skelgo took this as an insult to his khaalesi and those that would not look upon her that first night were brought to him, their eyes pulled from their sockets and hot coals placed in their heads before they were sent out into the wastes to wander. He ruled that all must worship her and they did, for she became the goddess that all must think of but never dream of.

Through it all the Pale One remained kind and sweet. She treated all with gentleness and respect. Yet she did not respect our ways. She did not understand why the khalasar took slaves, for she found it odd and cruel. One day Khal Skelgo took 200 men and women to serve his khalasar but that night the Pale One took him to their tent and when he emerged he declared that their chains would be broken and all the slaves freed. When a freed man attempted to attack one of the Dothroki Khal Skelgo demanded that his bloodriders keep their swords in the loops of their belts and not harm any of them.

"My khaalesi loves them and we will not harm them," he said even as one of the gatherer wives screamed in pain, a former slave strangling her with his bare hands.

Whatever the khaalesi desired Khal Skelgo gave her. He attacked cities that once he had been willing to spare so he might bring back to her the finest of silken gowns and dainties of slippers; it didn't matter that some within his khalasar whispered that such things were not good for the hard travels they made, reduced to shredded ruins within days where leathers would last months or even years.

The Dothraki have no need for gems and jewels and it is these that we trade for items from the far off lands that make our lives easier. The spyglasses to sight our enemies, medicines that our wise women need to aid in the birth of our children, the bells that we use in our hair to warn our enemies that their death is riding towards them. And yet the gold and silver that had once flowed from the khalasar to the neighboring villages and towns instead remained in great wagons that Khal Skelgo demanded be pulled behind them, for they belonged to his khaalesi now. It didn't matter that she never looked at them but once upon him gifting them to her, letting them slip from her mind. They were her's and would be brought with them. The khalasar, which once had thundered across the Great Grass Sea at a speed that made the wind itself envious, became slow and plodding as they were forced to carry her treasures.

The khalasar though did not openly rebel over these changes. In part, yes, because they feared Khal Skelgo and what he would do if they spoke in open defiance of him and his khaalesi. But there were many others who loved her, for she was beautiful and they could not hate one such as her. She was also kind and never greedy, caring deeply about those in the khalasar. She demanded that their meals be rich and filling, so that even the least of them, the old men who could no longer race into battle and made themselves useful by seeing to the horses, ate such rich meals that they would lapse into dreamless sleeps that would carry them well past the rising of the sun.

They only thing that gave Khal Skelgo troubles was that he could never provide such a meal to his khaalesi. She would nibble upon the fruits and the plants of the ground but she would turn away any dish with meat, saying that it did not smell right to her, despite all others declaring the aroma the greatest they had ever sniffed.

"It doesn't agree with me," she would say.

Khal Skelgo was desperate to find something she would enjoy, for it filled him with terror that she might waste away. And he hated that she was not able to dine as they did, enjoying the finest meals his cooks could create. He started first with the common beasts: the cow, the pig, the chicken. Rarities for the Dothroki, for they preferred goats and old horses to such bloated things.

"The flesh of a beast is added to one's bones," it is said. "To eat a strong horse or a determined goat is to make your own body stronger and more determined. To eat a bloated cow or a piglet that has been plumped up is to place fat upon your bones. And fat can not swing a sword."

But Khal Skelgo argued that his khaalesi was not a warrior but a treasure and deserved such fine meats. And when she declined they went to his khalasar, who grew to love their tastes.

Still he searched on. He began to lead great hunts into the grasslands, seeking out giant serpents, mighty lions, and the great Horn Beasts. He paid the weight of an entire village in silver to a merchant to be given an elephant which he slaughtered and presented to her the greatest of cuts. He and his bloodriders waited on the shorelines until the great water horse emerged from the river and they attacked it, losing half their men but bringing back the prize for their feast.

Each time she turned him down with a polite smile.

He captured traders from far off lands and demanded to know what they ate there. What meats from beasts he'd never heard of had they at their feasts?

"Why does it matter?" one man asked the nearly raving Khal.

"Because how can she bear me strong children if she doesn't eat!?" Khal Skelgo roared in his face.

Finally, after many months, Khal Skelgo finally admitted his defeat and went to his khaalesi. He bent his knee to her and begged her to tell him what she hungered for. He would provide it, he promised! She had but to tell him.

Such a proud khal… to bend his knees and beg another.

She looked upon him with her soft dark eyes and reaching out with pale fingers lifted his chin up.

"Meat as made by my homelands," she stated.

"I will find cooks from there, and they will prepare it for you!" he declared, relieved. It wasn't what he had brought her but how it was prepared! An easy fix!

But she shook her head. "It can only be made there, for I am one of only a few that has left my homelands."

And Khal Skelgo, for the first time in months, was ill at ease, for he knew that her homelands lay across the foul water, on an island no Dothroki had ever seen. She had told him of the great green island that had been her home and how she longed to show it to him. That it was a place where the khalasar could find a true purpose, welcomed by her people. But no Dothroki had ever traveled across the foul waters and Khal Skelgo refused to return his khaalesi to her lands, even for a visit. She offered to allow him to select a few that would go with her but he could not bear the idea of being parted from her. And so his khaalesi fell into a quiet depression, the light fading from her eyes, and the great Khal found himself in a war where his might and strength meant nothing. He could not slay her sullen looks with his sword, not beat away the tears that came to her eyes when she thought of her home. She moved about with a sadness that pained all, like a flower that wilted too early.

Finally Khal Skelgo could not take it anymore. So he declared that they would take shipyards and seaside towns and they would secure the ships needed to travel to her lands. And while many feared traveling across the foul waters the Khal's love for his khaalesi filled their own hearts and drove them to aid him. He could not take them all, for there were simply not enough ships for all, but he would take a great number, the likes of which would be spoke of for a thousand years. The attacks to claim the shipyards were bloody, so that when they finally did claim the ships their bottoms were stained red from the blood that had spilt into the foul waters. He forced sailors to teach his riders how to steer a ship like they would guide a horse, paying them in both gold and threats for their knowledge and later their aid.

The journey was not an easy one, for the foul waters can upset a man's stomach without them even letting a single mouthful touch their lips. The moans and wails of the Dothroki filled the air as they traveled those 5 days and a fair number died due to being unable to eat anything thanks to their stomachs rebelling against them. But the khaalesi was in fine spirits and when they finally spotted her island home she assured Khal Skelgo all would be worth it.

The Dothroki raced onto the shore the first moment they could, splashing in the foul waters as they leapt from the boats and made their way to the sands. They kissed the ground and thanks the gods for all they had done to see them through the journey. The khaalesi laughed as they said their troubles were finally over.

"Why do you smile, my Pale One?" Khal Skelgo asked. "What amuses you so?"

The khaalesi turned to him and smiled. "Your people's words. You truly do not understand?"

He tried to press her for answers but she would say no more and in the end he also would say no more, growing quiet as he too was led to the shore. There he found his bride's people waiting for them, all pale and beautiful but not as beautiful as she. And they proclaimed that there would be a feast the likes of which the Dothroki had never seen.

They were taken to their homes, made from rocks and trees, and there the islanders fed them blended drinks that were so sweet and savory that the Dothroki felt as if they were no longer awake but dreaming with their eyes open. The khaalesi's people saw that the journey had been hard on them and they did all they could to bring them comfort. Cloth and soaps were retrieved and the salt that had sprayed onto their bodies was wiped away. Beards were trimmed and hair combed. Pale nimble fingers worked along their shoulders and their backs, soothing sore muscles.

Khal Skelgo sat in a place of honor, watching as all this happened. He was sleepy yet he forced himself to remain awake, even as his khaalesi urged him to sleep, for the feast would be coming soon. But even then his will was great and he kept himself awake… and heard the words she thought, in his addled state, he wouldn't understand.

"You have done so well, my khal," she whispered to him. "So tough and stringy would be your muscles. But your feasts have made you soft, your flesh pebbled with fat."

He tried to turn his head towards her, to understand, but instead his eyes fell upon his own form and it was as if the veil had been pulled from his eyes. His lean stomach had become engorged and bloated, his limbs fatty and thick. He was heavy, far too heavy, and it made him sluggish and slow. He looked at his people and saw it was the same for them as well. The men and the women of the khalasar had all gained weight, so that movement was troublesome for them.

But move they did all the same. All the Pale One's kin beaconed them with sweet words and they moved, leaving their seats and walking forward. Some moved towards great wooden barrels and slid into the them, smiling as warmer and warmer water was added… never noticing in their addled state that their skin was beginning to grow darker as the pails of water added to their baths grew hotter. Perhaps, had it been so hot at once they would have noticed… but because it was so gradual, like with the fattening of the khalasar… they didn't even realize they were being boiled alive until their bodies slipped and they plunged completely into the water, their muscles too weak to push them up.

Others smiled and hummed and rocked their bodies back and forth, eyes shut as they walked a waking dream right to the Pale One's brothers and uncles. They smiled and looked them over, making marks upon their bodies with charcoal soot, pointing out a leg or an arm that would be best. And still they smiled even as the blades came up and slit their throats, their bodies suddenly yanked up and hung so they might be bled dry.

Khal Skelgo stared at this all, his mind fighting against the drink and the sweets that were addling it, and when he finally turned to his khaalesi he saw her smiling, her pale face soaked in blood before she reached down and tore some meat from one of the Khal's own bloodriders, holding it in her fingers before slipping it past her lips. And suddenly she was no longer a beautiful maiden but a monster. Skin too white and eyes to dark. Teeth too sharp and fingers too jagged.

"Your feast has made my feast… and this meat agrees with me. I wonder, my dear one, how you-"

But the Pale One and her people… they had made a mistake. For they had forgotten than just because a strong man might go to seed it did not mean that he lost all his strength.

The Khal grabbed the knife near him and with a savage throw drove it through the eye of one of her kin, causing him to scream in agony before he fell down. Madness and chaos descended upon the dark feast and Khal Skelgo's voice ripped through the air, breaking through the haze that had taken so many of his riders and people.

"To me! To me! Back to the ships!"

Several responded. Many did not. Indeed, so beguiled were his people that they continued to stand there, allowing themselves to be led to the slaughter, even as those of stronger wills tugged on their wrists and begged them to come with them. The Pale One's family caught more than one Dothroki because they stayed moments too long trying to save friend or family.

The battle took hours, fought through the jungle and to the shore of the island. The Pale One's tribe were vicious and they knew the lands well, and the Dothroki had been weakened by their Khal and his decisions, making them slow and quick to tire. More than one simply fell to the ground, bodies pierced by a dozen stabs, and allowed the Pale Ones to drag them away, refusing to fight back again. But finally Khal Skelgo made it back to the ships, though now they only needed one, leaving a dozen more behind to rot in the waves near that accursed island. He managed to bring back a handful of his people, his once great horde reduced to so few that never again would it be able to grow.

And… he also brought his Khaalesi. His Pale One.

He boasted of what he would do to her as she laid upon the deck, the blood thick and sticky on her mouth, attracting flies. How he would torture her. Maim her. Make her suffer for all she had done to his people. How he would return to his homelands and he would gather up a new horde and then force her to lead them back to that island and he would burn it to the ground and slaughter all of her savage kind. And how she would live through it all and suffer for what she had done to him.

But when they arrived once more upon the shores of these lands and the survivors demanded blood… he could not do it. For he loved her too much and her beauty was too great. He touched her skin that was stained with the blood of his brothers and sisters and felt only its smoothness. Looking into her soulless eyes and saw only loving pools. Ignoring her sharp gnashing teeth as she tried to nip at his fingers and held her hand as she tried to claw his oranges out.

His khalasar tried to help. The captured the Pale One when the Khal slept and beat her savagely, breaking her limps and smashing in her mouth so that she had no teeth and restrained her. But the next morning when they presented her to him, even trapped in a sack and wrapped in ropes, he still loved her and made his excuses.

The survivors turned on him and he fled to a small fishing boat, paddling away… never to be seen again.

~MC~MC~MC~

Baluu stared into the fires. "Since that day, no Dothroki will cross the foul sea. And it is whispered to all that will listen the dangers of looking beyond our own lands. We are the horse masters… and woe be to any Dothroki who ever dares to allow their gaze to turn to the lads beyond the sea… and the women that dwell there. For while the Pale One is most likely dead… her people are cunning. They know their trick worked once and they will try it again. To ensnare a Khal and make him weak… make the Dothroki weak… and then consume us all."

Ser Jorah was silent. It was just a tale, after all. Nothing more.

So why then did he feel like he had been just told of a future he couldn't escape?