Viserys had already received news of the horse lords long before their army approached Gohor.
Haggo and Kovarro eventually arrived beneath the Balerion Wall, which was even higher and thicker than the Vhagar Wall.
Standing beneath the dark stone ramparts, both men felt as though the wall rose straight into the sky.
The two riders were beginning to suspect that the Targaryen king was no ordinary man.
"To build walls like these in such a short time... could that Targaryen king be some kind of god reborn?" Haggo said uneasily.
"Don't talk nonsense," Kovarro replied with a snort. "If he were truly a god, he would not hide behind walls this high to protect himself."
The massive fortifications reminded him of Pentos.
In his eyes, the soldiers of that city were useless in open battle and could not compare with the roaring warriors of the Dothraki.
Under the guidance of palace guards, Haggo and Kovarro were led into the Palace.
In the past two years, Viserys's treasury had grown very wealthy, and he had begun building gardens and pavilions.
It was the height of summer.
Flowers bloomed everywhere in the gardens, and butterflies drifted through the air. Fountains sparkled beneath the sunlight like jewels set into the palace grounds.
The sharp towers of Westeros and the domed halls of the Rhoynar were combined with remarkable elegance.
The stone paths beneath their feet were spotless.
As envoys of Drogo, both men could clearly feel the wealth of Viserys.
This city was nothing like the small states and petty towns they had visited before.
Beautiful maidservants with graceful manners moved throughout the palace.
The sight made the two barbarians eager with desire.
When Khal Drogo captured this place, they intended to enjoy themselves thoroughly.
Kovarro could almost see the day when the Dothraki horde would ravage Gohor.
He was already impatient to provoke Viserys and ignite the war as soon as possible.
Yet when the two men entered the throne hall, they were stunned by its magnificence.
The towering throne upon its high platform stood like a boundary stone, warning them not to overstep the rules of etiquette.
It made up for the embarrassment Viserys had once suffered when meeting village elders years before.
Above the throne, the three-headed dragon seemed to stare down upon them.
"Magnificent," Haggo muttered.
His voice echoed loudly through the vast chamber, startling him so much that he quickly lowered his tone.
"A magnificent throne."
"Yes," Kovarro agreed. "It would be even better if we dragged it back for our khal."
In their eyes, only Drogo was worthy of such a throne.
They expected Viserys to appear quickly. Instead, they were left standing for so long that their legs began to ache.
"By the Horse God," Kovarro grumbled quietly, "when Drogo takes this palace, I will make this Targaryen stand for an entire day."
But he dared not raise his voice too loudly.
Guards stood along both sides of the throne hall. They held long spears and wore heavy armor, watching the two envoys closely.
Haggo and Kovarro had the distinct feeling that any improper movement would get them killed immediately.
Just as hunger began to creep into their stomachs, a voice announced from outside.
The two men turned at once.
A silver-haired youth entered the hall, followed by a white-cloaked knight.
He ascended the throne.
The voice of a young herald rang out.
"You stand before Viserys Targaryen the Third, Protector of all Westeros, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."
The announcement echoed throughout the hall like the sound of a ceremonial instrument.
Under such formal display, Haggo and Kovarro felt a heavy pressure settle upon them.
As a man of Valyrian blood, Viserys possessed striking features.
Clad in elegant black robes, he made the two riders feel strangely inferior.
"Drogo... Drogo... Drogo..."
Haggo silently repeated the name in his mind, forcing himself to recall the image of his khal.
It helped.
His nerves gradually settled.
"Targaryen king," he said loudly. "Our Khal Drogo is a friend of the governors of Pentos. We have heard that you intend to seize the gifts meant for him. Are you not afraid of the army of roaring warriors?"
The moment Haggo finished speaking, Arthur and the guards beside the throne tightened their grips on their weapons.
Drogo's followers had little talent for diplomacy.
Their khal had conquered the Dothraki Sea through brute force. Anyone who disagreed was simply crushed.
As his bloodriders, Haggo and Kovarro used the same approach in diplomacy.
Accusation, followed by threats.
That tactic had always worked when dealing with the rulers of small towns and petty states.
But the man upon the throne was not impressed.
At that moment, Elder Lothan, Davos, and several younger ministers were observing from the second-floor gallery.
Among them were Aegon and Aemon.
Both boys were clearly displeased by the envoys' attitude.
"One day we'll march straight to their homeland," Aegon muttered angrily.
Aemon's expression was dark.
As for the accusation of intercepting Pentos's gifts, it was complete nonsense. Those payments were called transportation service fees.
The observers whispered among themselves while continuing to watch.
Viserys spoke calmly in the Dothraki tongue.
"We do not seize gifts. Why have you come to Gohor?"
Hearing the king's calm tone, Haggo assumed Viserys was just like the rulers of smaller cities.
His confidence grew.
"Our Khal Drogo is the strongest khal among the Dothraki," he declared proudly. "He has never been defeated. He has heard that you also have never lost a battle, and therefore he respects you.
"If you send one hundred chests of gold, ten thousand slaves, and allow your sister to marry our khal, Drogo will recognize you as a friend."
Haggo rattled off the long speech in Dothraki.
Arthur, standing nearby, understood none of it.
In the past two years he had made great progress learning Valyrian. But his Dothraki was still in its early stages.
He could only listen without comprehension.
Ever since coming to Essos, the greatest challenge for him had not been war. It was foreign languages.
Unlike Arthur, the ministers in the gallery had translators. When the translation was relayed, anger erupted immediately.
"Outrageous!"
"They should all be hanged!"
"Let them taste the longbows!"
It was almost an open provocation.
"We should teach them a lesson," Ock muttered, already considering how to deal with the Dothraki.
"Throw them into the mines," Clement suggested to his brother Crispian.
"Make them work as laborers."
Marcus and Mathos discussed their own ideas.
At that moment, however, they overheard the quiet discussions of the older men they had previously dismissed.
"We could recruit some pyromancers," the Old Crab suggested calmly. "Produce more wildfire and burn the entire grass sea. That would weaken them without sending a single soldier."
"That would take too long," Lothan replied seriously. "We could purchase poison from Lys. The Dothraki have only a few watering places."
"We might sell them salt mixed with lead," Davos added thoughtfully. "If their people and livestock consume it, miscarriages will increase dramatically."
Gradually, Lothan and Davos realized there was no longer room for compromise between Gohor and the horse lords.
Pentos, Braavos, and even Volantis were supporting them.
This was a proxy war.
Under such backing, the Dothraki had become fearless.
"His Grace surely understands this," Lothan whispered to Davos. "The reason he lowered himself to meet these barbarians is to show us their true nature."
Davos nodded.
Nearby, the Old Crab shared the same conclusion.
The old men were thinking of their descendants.
For the sake of their children and grandchildren, the fire of war had rekindled in their aging bones.
They would fight.
They would crush the horse lords so thoroughly that for at least fifty years the Dothraki would never dare raise their curved blades toward Gohor again.
Gohor's population was already growing crowded. They needed to take Nasar and expand into the Golden Plains.
Their strength had grown enough that they were preparing to one day retake Westeros.
They could not allow an enemy to strike them from behind.
With the older ministers now firm in their stance, the rest followed naturally.
Only moments ago, Marcus and Clement had looked down on their elders. Now, hearing their plans, they felt almost merciful by comparison.
The harsh punishments they had imagined seemed mild next to the schemes of these old men.
"Father... aren't they being a bit too cruel?" Marcus whispered uneasily to Mathos.
He remembered how Davos used to play with his grandson. The old man would laugh as the child tugged at his beard.
Now he was calmly discussing how to make the Dothraki people and their horses miscarry.
Most of the time, Davos was still much like the man he had once been.
But Viserys had given him honor and status beyond anything he had ever imagined.
He had become a noble.
His family had even joined in marriage with the house of Audro, whose lord held the title of prince.
Most importantly, Davos had now seen his grandchildren's generation growing.
Old men rarely wished for bloodshed.
But when they believed their descendants were threatened, something savage awakened within them.
And once awakened, it could not be restrained.
Listening to the vicious schemes of the old ministers, Aegon and Aemon felt their hearts pounding.
They had already decided.
When the audience ended, they would ask Viserys for permission to go to war.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor