Chapter 8: The Game Changes
The desert stretched endlessly before them, an unbroken expanse of golden sands and jagged rocks. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, its heat pressing down like a physical weight but still they pressed on.
Mat rode at the head of the ragtag column, his hat pulled low against the glare of the sun, his eyes scanning the horizon. Every step of their journey felt like a gamble, every choice a roll of the dice. But so far, his luck had held. They had found water when they needed it, game when their supplies ran low. It wasn't easy—far from it—but they were alive, and for now, that was enough.
Behind him, Daenerys rode with her dragons perched across her shoulders, their tiny claws gripping her tunic as they chirped and cooed. The creatures had grown over the past couple of weeks, their wings stronger, their movements more confident. They had become a source of hope for the group, a reminder of the power that lay within their reach.
Mat glanced back at Daenerys, his gaze softening as he watched her. She seemed lighter somehow, more assured, even in the face of their dire circumstances. The dragons suited her, he thought. She had always carried herself like a queen, but now she looked the part.
"You've taken to them," he said, slowing his horse to ride alongside her.
Daenerys smiled, her hand brushing gently over the black dragon's scales. "They're remarkable," she said. "It's like they understand me, somehow."
Mat chuckled. "Well, they're smart, I'll give them that. Smarter than most people I've met." He tilted his head, giving her a teasing grin. "Maybe I should start listening to them more than my own instincts."
She laughed softly, the sound a balm in the harsh desert. "Your instincts have guided us well so far. I'd trust your luck over most anything."
Mat's grin widened, but his eyes grew thoughtful as he looked ahead. "Luck's a funny thing. It'll get you where you need to go, but it doesn't always take you the way you'd like."
Over the days that followed, the desert tested them relentlessly. The heat was suffocating during the day, and the nights were bitterly cold. Their supplies dwindled faster than Mat would have liked, but every time they reached the edge of desperation, his luck came through.
A dried-up riverbed yielded a hidden spring. A herd of wild goats wandered into their path, providing much-needed meat. Mat had even found a game of chance in their misery, tossing rocks to mark where water might be or where the next meal would come from.
"Bloody fool," he muttered to himself more than once, shaking his head as the dice in his head rattled with each decision. But no matter how improbable the odds, the results always seemed to favor him.
Daenerys spent much of her time tending to the dragons, learning their quirks and rhythms. The black dragon—Drogon, she had named him—was the boldest, often flying short distances before returning to her. The green one, Rhaegal, was curious but cautious, while the cream-colored Viserion was the most affectionate, often curling around her neck like a living scarf.
Mat had begrudgingly grown attached to the creatures as well, though he would never admit it outright. They had taken to perching on his shoulders when Daenerys wasn't watching, their sharp claws making him wince as they climbed over him.
"Bloody nuisances," he grumbled one evening as Drogon nipped playfully at his hat. "I've had badgers less persistent than you lot."
Daenerys laughed, watching as Drogon flapped onto Mat's head, his wings beating furiously. "They like you, Mat. They can sense who you are."
"And who's that?" Mat asked, his tone wry as he tilted his head to dislodge the dragon.
"Someone they trust," Daenerys said simply.
Mat's grin faltered, a flicker of something deeper crossing his face. "Trust is a dangerous thing, Dany. Don't let them trust me too much." He was worried his abilities had run out and he was leading Dany to her doom.
She tilted her head, studying him. "I trust you."
His smile returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, that's your mistake, isn't it?"
The group's spirits lifted whenever they found food or water, but the desert took its toll on all of them. Jorah kept a close eye on Daenerys, his concern for her welfare evident in every step he took. Irri and Doreah worked tirelessly to keep morale up, though even they couldn't hide their exhaustion.
The bloodriders who remained were fewer now, their loyalty hard-won but steadfast. They followed Mat and Daenerys without question, though they often exchanged wary glances when Mat made his strange decisions, trusting in his luck.
One night, as they gathered around a small fire, Daenerys sat beside Mat, her dragons curled around her. The group was quiet, the weight of the journey pressing down on them.
"Do you think we'll find it?" Daenerys asked softly, her voice carrying over the crackling flames.
"Find what?" Mat asked, leaning back against a rock.
"Whatever it is we're searching for," she said. "A city, an army, a future..."
Mat stared into the fire, his expression thoughtful. "We'll find something," he said after a moment. "Might not be what we expect, but we'll make it work."
Daenerys smiled, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "With you by my side, I believe that."
He glanced at her, his grin lopsided. "You'd better. My luck's gotten us this far. I'd hate to disappoint."
As the fire burned low and the stars glittered overhead, the group huddled close, the desert stretching endlessly around them. They had no map, no clear destination, but they had each other.
Mat tossed and turned under the clear night sky, the stars above him unblinking sentinels. Sleep didn't come easily, and when it did, it brought with it visions that felt more like omens than dreams.
In his dream, he stood on an endless plain of red grass, the sky above swirling with storm clouds. A path stretched out before him, but instead of leading westward to the lands of Westeros, it veered sharply east, toward lands he couldn't name but somehow recognized.
The path was fraught with shadows—hulking shapes of twisted beasts, cities wreathed in eerie light, and rivers that ran black like ink. He saw figures waiting in the darkness, their faces obscured but their eyes gleaming with malice. Yet, amidst the horrors, there were moments of brilliance: golden palaces, armies of glittering soldiers, and Daenerys standing atop a mountain, her dragons roaring to the heavens.
"East," a voice whispered, though whether it was his own or someone else's, Mat couldn't tell. "The strength she needs lies in the lands of the sunrise."
Mat shivered, his gambler's instincts recoiling from the sheer impossibility of what he saw. Yet, even as dread settled in his chest, he felt a pull—an unshakable certainty that this was the path they had to take.
When he woke, sweat clung to his brow, and the dice in his head rattled louder than ever.
The sun was just rising when the tide of fortune turned.
They had been riding for hours, the desert giving way to stretches of dry plains, when they spotted the dust cloud on the horizon. It grew larger and larger, until the shapes of riders emerged, hundreds, then thousands, until it was clear—an immense horde of Dothraki was barreling toward them.
Mat tensed, his hand instinctively going to his ashandarei as he counted their numbers. It wasn't just a few hundred or even a few thousand—it was a sea of riders, an army that stretched as far as the eye could see.
"Bloody hell," Mat muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his weapon.
Daenerys rode up beside him, her expression calm but her eyes sharp as she took in the approaching horde. "What do we do?" she asked, her voice steady.
"We don't run," Mat said simply, his gaze fixed on the riders. "They'd catch us before we got half a mile."
Jorah moved up on the other side of Daenerys, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "They'll be hostile," he warned. "They won't recognize your claim or his."
Mat didn't answer, his mind already working through the possibilities. As the horde drew closer he recognized some of the riders mixed with others he didn't recognize.
"My old army," Mat said, his voice tinged with surprise. "They're with them."
The horde thundered to a halt a short distance away, the ground shaking beneath the weight of so many horses. A group of riders broke off, their leader a tall, imposing figure with a sharp face and piercing eyes.
"Who comes before us?" the man called, his voice booming across the plains.
Mat urged his horse forward, his ashandarei resting across his lap. "Matrim Cauthon," he said, his voice carrying. "Khal Mat."
The riders exchanged glances, muttering among themselves. Recognition flickered in the faces of some, their expressions shifting from hostility to uncertainty.
"You disappeared," the leader said, his tone suspicious. "You abandoned the horde."
"I didn't abandon anyone," Mat replied, his voice calm but firm. "I've been leading my Khaleesi. And now I'm back."
The tension in the air was palpable as the riders debated among themselves. Finally, the leader turned back to Mat, his expression hard.
"Prove you can still lead," he said.
Mat sighed inwardly, gripping his ashandarei tighter. He was readying himself for a fight when Daenerys spoke.
"Wait."
Mat turned, his brow furrowed as Daenerys dismounted her horse. Her silver hair caught the sunlight as she strode forward, her expression calm, regal.
"What are you doing, Dany?" Mat asked, his voice low.
"Trust me," she said simply, before stepping past him.
She stopped a short distance from the gathered riders, lifting her hands. A sharp, high-pitched chirp cut through the air, followed by the sound of flapping wings.
The dragons appeared, swooping down from the sky with piercing cries, their small forms casting long shadows over the riders. Drogon landed on Daenerys' shoulder, his wings spreading wide as he let out a roar that belied his size.
The effect was immediate. The Dothraki riders froze, their eyes wide with awe as they took in the sight of the dragons. One by one, they dismounted, dropping to their knees in reverence.
Mat stared, his own awe mingled with disbelief as the entire horde knelt before Daenerys, their heads bowed.
"Well, I'll be," Mat muttered, shaking his head.
Daenerys turned to him, her eyes shining with a confidence he had never seen before. "The game has changed, Mat," she said softly.
He dismounted, moving to her side as the dragons chirped and fluttered around them. "Aye," he said, his voice dry. "But if we're leading this many, we're going to need a hell of a lot more water."
Daenerys smiled, her hand brushing against his. "Then we'll find it. Together."
Mat sighed, glancing back at the massive horde and the endless plains stretching before them. The dice in his head rattled louder than ever, and he muttered under his breath:
"Bloody flaming hell."
As the sun climbed higher over the plains, Mat and Daenerys were flanked by a cluster of Dothraki leaders, their faces a mix of curiosity and deference. The horde moved like a living thing behind them, an endless tide of horses and warriors that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Mat adjusted his hat, shielding his eyes from the sun as he glanced at the men around him. "Alright," he said, his tone casual but probing. "Why were all of you headed east, anyway? The Dothraki usually prefer the open plains, don't they?"
One of the leaders frowned and exchanged a glance with the others before speaking. "When we thought you were consumed by the flames, we took it as a sign," he said, his voice steady. "A sign that the Great Stallion willed us to test our strength in the lands of the sunrise."
Mat raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "A sign, huh? And what made you think heading east was the right move?"
Another Khal spoke up, his tone more reverent. "We believed you sacrificed yourself, Khal Mat," he said. "To give us your luck. The flames consumed you, and the Great Stallion blessed us with your gifts. It was our destiny to march east."
Mat stared at him, blinking in disbelief. Then, to the astonishment of everyone present, he threw his head back and laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that echoed across the plains.
"Sacrificed myself?" he said, shaking his head as he wiped a tear from his eye. "For you lot? You think I'd willingly go up in flames for a bunch of savages?"
The Dothraki leaders looked at each other, confused by his reaction. Daenerys, standing quietly beside Mat, gave him a pointed look, her lips twitching with amusement.
Mat's laughter slowed, and he glanced at Daenerys. The memory of the flames came rushing back—the heat, the chaos, and the way he'd thrown himself into the fire without a second thought. He remembered the fear in her voice when she'd called his name, the look in her eyes as he reached for her.
He cleared his throat, his grin fading slightly as a more thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Then again," he said slowly, his voice quieter, "maybe I've got it in me to sacrifice for someone. Just not for the rest of you."
Daenerys' gaze softened, her hand brushing against his arm in silent acknowledgment.
Mat turned back to the leaders, his expression shifting to one of resolve. "Well, it looks like you were headed in the right direction after all," he said, his tone decisive. "We're going east."
The Dothraki leaders exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of relief and approval. To them, the word of a Khal was final, and with their dragons and newfound purpose, Mat and Daenerys had cemented their authority in a way that no one could question.
Daenerys stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding as she addressed the leaders. "The lands of the east hold power we will claim," she said. "We will build something greater than any khalasar has ever known."
The Dothraki leaders nodded, their reverence evident. One by one, they knelt before Mat and Daenerys, their loyalty reaffirmed.
Mat sighed, adjusting his ashandarei on his back as he looked out over the vast expanse of land stretching toward the sunrise. The dice in his head rattled faintly, a subtle but persistent reminder of the gamble ahead.
"East it is," he muttered to himself, his voice dry. Then he glanced at Daenerys, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "Let's hope your dragons like exotic food, Khaleesi. Something tells me this is going to be a long road."
Daenerys smiled, her confidence unwavering as the dragons chirped and fluttered around her. "Together, Mat. Always."
With that, the horde began its march, the thunder of hooves reverberating across the plains as they set their sights on the mysterious lands of the east. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers they couldn't yet fathom, but Mat and Daenerys faced it with unshakable resolve.
The game had changed, and the stakes were higher than ever. But for Mat Cauthon and Daenerys Targaryen, there was no turning back. Their destiny awaited, forged in fire and guided by the roll of the dice.
The journey south and east was grueling, even for the hardened Dothraki riders who followed Mat and Daenerys. The sands stretched endlessly, the sun a relentless blaze overhead. But with each passing day, the dragons grew, their once-delicate wings now strong enough to carry them short distances. They hunted small prey, adding to the meager food supplies, and their presence alone gave the ragtag army a sense of purpose and awe.
For Mat, the weeks blurred together into a series of calculated risks. His instincts—guided by the ever-present rattling of the dice in his head—had steered them toward water, hidden game, and the occasional oasis. But as their supplies dwindled and their morale waned, even his luck was stretched thin.
When they reached the outskirts of Qarth, the city rose like a mirage from the desert—a gleaming jewel against the barren sands. Its high walls and ornate gates were unlike anything Mat had seen, the craftsmanship intricate and alien. The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine, though he couldn't say why.
"You don't like it," Daenerys said quietly, riding beside him.
Mat adjusted his hat, squinting at the distant city. "Not one bit. Feels... off. Like walking into a dice game where all the players are smiling too much."
Daenerys nodded, her expression thoughtful. "But we need supplies, Mat. The army won't last much longer without food or water."
Mat sighed, knowing she was right. His luck could only take them so far. "Alright, Dany. Let's see what these fine folks of Qarth have to offer."
They approached the towering gates under the watchful eyes of the city's Thirteen, the ruling council of Qarth. The men and women who greeted them were draped in opulence, their robes embroidered with gold and jewels, their faces painted with strange symbols.
Daenerys stepped forward, Drogon perched regally on her shoulder, flanked by Mat and Jorah. "I am Daenerys Targaryen," she announced, her voice steady. "Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons. We come seeking trade and refuge."
The Thirteen exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disdain. One of them, a tall, gaunt man with a sharp nose, stepped forward. "We have heard of you, Khaleesi," he said, his tone polite but dismissive. "And of your... pets. But Qarth is not a city for beggars, nor is it a sanctuary for every would-be queen who marches to our gates."
Mat raised an eyebrow, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his ashandarei. "Beggars, huh? That's what you see when you look at us?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "You lot have no idea what you're looking at."
Daenerys stiffened, her gaze hardening. "You would deny us aid? My dragons—"
"Are an interesting curiosity," another member of the Thirteen interrupted, her voice smooth and mocking. "But Qarth's gates do not open for mere curiosities."
Mat burst into laughter, his voice echoing across the sands. The Thirteen bristled, their expressions a mix of offense and confusion.
"You lot," Mat said, wiping a tear from his eye. "You're something else. Standing there in your gilded robes, pretending like you're better than everyone else." He stepped forward, his grin widening. "But I'll tell you what you are. You're fools."
"Careful, foreigner," the sharp-nosed man warned, his tone icy.
"Careful?" Mat repeated, his grin turning sharp. "You're the ones who should be careful. You've got a queen and her dragons at your gates, and you think you can just send her away?" He turned to Daenerys, his voice dropping. "Dany, these bumbling buffoons don't deserve you."
"What are you suggesting, Mat?" Daenerys asked, her tone cautious but intrigued.
Mat's grin faded, replaced by a steely resolve. He turned back to the army behind them, raising his voice so it carried over the gathered riders. "Dothraki!" he called. "These fools think they can turn us away, deny us what we need. Let's show them how wrong they are."
The Dothraki roared in approval, their war cries echoing across the desert.
The Thirteen paled, their confidence faltering as they realized the gravity of the situation.
"You wouldn't dare attack Qarth!" the sharp-nosed man shouted, his voice trembling. "Our city is impenetrable!"
Mat smirked, spinning his ashandarei lazily. "Impenetrable? Maybe. But I've got a knack for breaking the odds."
Daenerys stepped forward, her dragons screeching as they spread their wings, their presence a living embodiment of the power she wielded. "We will take what we need," she said, her voice ringing with authority. "With or without your permission."
The Thirteen faltered, their confidence shaken, but before they could respond, Mat turned to the Dothraki and gave the command.
"Attack!"
The Dothraki surged forward, their cries filling the air as they charged toward the gates. Mat and Daenerys stood side by side watching as the ground shook under thousands upon thousands of hooves.
The Thirteen of Qarth remained frozen for a moment, their confidence evaporating as they realized the magnitude of what they faced.
The Spice King, an immensely fat man adorned with jewels, sneered at Daenerys even as the Dothraki bore down upon them. "You are nothing but a spoiled child playing queen!" he bellowed, his voice trembling with fear and arrogance. "You and your savage lapdog will burn for this!"
Mat's eye narrowed, his grin vanishing into a cold mask. Without a word, his hand darted to his belt, and before the Spice King could take another breath, a knife whistled through the air. It struck with a sickening thud, embedding itself in the man's eye socket.
The Spice King crumpled with a gurgling scream, blood pouring down his face as he writhed on the ground.
"Well," Mat said, spinning another knife in his hand. "Guess he should've kept his mouth shut."
As the horde thundered past, chaos erupted. The thin man, his face twisted with fury, lunged toward Daenerys with surprising speed, his bony fingers clawing for her. Mat moved without thinking, bringing his ashandarei up in a brutal arc that impaled the man cleanly through the chest.
Mat's victory was short-lived. The man's body shimmered and vanished like a mirage, only for Mat to feel a rushing wind and he spun around, his eye widening as he saw the thin man standing behind him, unscathed, his skeletal face split into a cruel grin.
"You cannot kill what is not real," the man intoned, his voice otherworldly.
"Bloody hell," Mat muttered, gripping his ashandarei tightly as the man lunged again.
"Warlock," Jorah growled, his voice low and furious as he dueled with Xaro Xhoan Daxos, their blades clashing with sparks.
The warlock laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally as he flickered in and out of sight. "You are doomed, Mother of Dragons," he gloated, his voice a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
His words were cut off abruptly as the thunder of hooves roared behind them. The Dothraki horde, their charge unstoppable, surged past Mat and Daenerys in a wave of steel and fury. The warlock was caught in their path, his form shimmering as he screamed, but there was no escaping the relentless tide. A hundred hooves trampled him into the dirt, his voice silenced forever.
Mat staggered back, breathing heavily as he turned to Daenerys. "Well, that was bloody terrifying," he said, his voice shaky but light.
Daenerys placed a hand on his arm, her eyes wide but resolute. "He's gone. You saved me again."
"I think the horde did most of the saving," Mat replied, glancing towards the misshapen ruin of the ugly man. "Might want to make sure that fucker is dead though."
Dany smirked and yelled, "Dracarys!" The three dragons screeched and flpped unsteadlity into the air, shaken by the chaos but wanting to follow her command. Tiny flames erupted out their gullets but together they were enough to consume the warlock and consume his body.
Nearby Xaro was distracted by the carnage which left an opening that Jorah seized upon. With a swift, practiced motion, Jorah's blade sliced cleanly through the Qartheen merchant's neck. Xaro's head tumbled to the ground, his body collapsing moments later.
Jorah turned to Mat and Daenerys, blood splattered across his armor. "The warlock and the fat man are dealt with," he said grimly.
Mat nodded, gesturing toward the city gates where the Dothraki were now hammering at the defenses. Archers on horseback loosed volleys of arrows at the Qartheen Civil Guard defending the walls, their cries mingling with the clash of steel and the thundering hooves of the horde.
The siege had begun in earnest.
Mat turned to Daenerys, pulling her close. Her hands gripped his arms tightly, her breath warm against his neck as she steadied herself. The dragons circled above, their screeches mingling with the cries of battle.
"This is just the beginning, isn't it?" Daenerys whispered, her voice low but steady.
Mat looked down at her, his expression softening. "Aye, Dany. It's the opening gambit." He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "But we've got something they don't."
She tilted her head, her gaze questioning. "What's that?"
Mat gestured to the dragons, then to her, his grin returning. "You. And luck. And maybe just enough madness to pull this off."
Daenerys smiled, a flicker of hope breaking through the tension. "Then let's show them what we're capable of."
Together they turned to face the battlefield, the gates of Qarth trembling under the onslaught of the Dothraki horde.
The sound of splintering wood and crashing steel filled the air as the gates of Qarth gave way under the relentless weight of the Dothraki horde. With a thunderous roar, the riders surged into the city, a wave of destruction that swept through the ornate streets like a storm unleashed.
Mat and Daenerys stood just beyond the gates, their initial triumph quickly giving way to a deep, sinking unease. The cries of anguish and terror that reached their ears were unlike anything they had heard before, a cacophony of pain and despair that chilled the blood.
"This..." Daenerys began, her voice trembling. "This isn't what I wanted."
Mat's jaw tightened as he looked ahead, gripping his ashandarei tightly. "This isn't what we wanted," he muttered.
They moved cautiously into the city, the dragons perched on Daenerys' shoulders hissing and chirping uneasily. The streets, once resplendent with the opulence of Qarth, were now painted with blood. Headless bodies littered the ground, their lifeless forms sprawled in grotesque displays. Merchants, citizens, and soldiers alike were caught in the onslaught, their cries of terror snuffed out by the ruthless blades of the Dothraki.
The horde had become a living meat grinder, riding down anything in its path, the lust for blood overtaking reason.
Mat gritted his teeth, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the carnage. "They've lost control," he said, his voice tight with anger. "They're not stopping."
Daenerys stepped forward, her voice rising above the chaos. "Stop this!" she cried, her tone commanding. "In the name of your Khal and Khaleesi, stop!"
But her words were drowned out by the roars of the Dothraki and the screams of their victims. A rider galloped past, his arakh dripping with blood, his face wild with the thrill of slaughter.
Mat grabbed Daenerys' arm, pulling her back as another rider careened dangerously close. "Dany, we can't stay here!" he shouted, his voice strained.
Daenerys clung to him, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the destruction. "This isn't what I wanted," she whispered, her voice breaking. "They're killing everyone..."
Mat wrapped an arm around her, his gaze darting around for any safe path. "We'll stop it," he promised, though his voice was heavy with uncertainty. "Somehow, we'll stop it."
They pressed forward, ducking for cover as another rider sped past, his arakh slicing through the air mere inches from them. The streets were a blood-soaked nightmare, the once-beautiful city reduced to a charnel house.
A child's scream pierced the air, and Daenerys turned toward the sound, her breath hitching as she saw a young girl cowering against a wall, a Dothraki warrior bearing down on her.
"Stop!" Daenerys cried, breaking away from Mat, but the warrior didn't heed her.
Mat moved quickly, his ashandarei flashing as he stepped between the child and the rider. With a swift, brutal motion, he drove the blade into the warrior's chest, the man toppling from his horse with a guttural cry.
The child fled into the shadows, and Mat turned back to Daenerys, his face grim. "We need to find the bloodriders. They'll listen to us."
Daenerys shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "They're not listening to anyone. They've lost themselves to this... this madness."
Another explosion of noise erupted as a building collapsed nearby, sending a plume of smoke and ash into the air. The ground shook beneath them, and Daenerys clung to Mat, her dragons screeching in fear.
Mat held her close, shielding her as debris rained down around them. "Stay with me, Dany," he murmured, his voice steady despite the chaos. "We'll get through this."
She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled against him. The dragons curled protectively around her, their small forms trembling as the world seemed to crumble around them.
For what felt like an eternity, they stayed like that, huddled together amidst the carnage. The city burned, its streets choked with smoke and blood, the cries of the dying a haunting chorus that seemed to echo endlessly.
Mat's grip tightened on Daenerys, his jaw set as he stared into the chaos. This wasn't what they had planned. This wasn't the victory they had hoped for.
And yet it was the reality they faced.
"What have I done," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet horror.
Daenerys looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen but filled with determination. "We'll get through this. We need to."
Mat nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Stay by me."
As the city continued to burn, they held each other close, the dragons nestled between them. The world around them was chaos, but in that moment they found solace in each other, a fragile anchor in the storm.
Mat realized this is up there with some of his worst stolen battle memories. He reminisced on his time in the Two Rivers and wondered how he had gotten to this point in time. He cries as he thinks about Rand and the burden he carried for the last years of his life.
"I think I finally understand, Rand. I'm sorry." Daenerys looks at Mat in worry as she's never seen him this vulnerable, but she hugs him all the tighter.
The battle for Qarth was far from over, and Mat didn't think he'd ever laugh again.