The long night was dark, the moonlight hidden, with only numerous bonfires illuminating the long-silent Dothraki.
Today was the day to pray for the upcoming birth of the Dothraki ruler. The Dothraki leader, Khal Drogo, was preparing an ancient and sacred ritual with his soldiers.
The ritual was brief and bloody. Daenerys watched as the Dothraki soldiers first selected a sturdy stallion, shouting Dothraki prayers, then swiftly cut open the horse's chest to pull out its heart. The throbbing veins on the heart made Daenerys's own heart pulse in rhythm.
Khal Drogo took the heart from the soldier and handed it to Daenerys personally.
Accompanying him on this journey had made Daenerys truly fall in love with Khal Drogo; she sensed the soft heart beneath his tall, powerful exterior.
Daenerys stood in the center of the crowd by the burning fire, holding high the blood-stained, still-beating heart extracted from the sturdy stallion. She looked at her husband, seeing the gaze full of love in his eyes.
The horse heart was ugly and reeked of blood, but she endured the discomfort in her heart and stomach, swallowing the heart bit by bit.
Watching this scene, the surrounding Dothraki shouted excitedly and began to dance around the fire.
"khaleesi! khaleesi! [Dothraki]"
The dance moves were strange and lacked aesthetic beauty, but Daenerys was happy because it meant the Dothraki truly recognized her identity.
From this moment on, she was the khaleesi of the grasslands.
Khal Drogo was also moved by Daenerys's actions. He stepped forward and embraced her tightly.
"My khaleesi, my moon. You are my only one, and I shall give you my all." [Dothraki]
"My sun and stars, you are my beloved, I am willing to give everything for you." [Dothraki]
"My dear khaleesi, you will bear our child. He will ride a stallion across the infinite grasslands, cross the Endless Sea, and conquer the world." [Dothraki]
"My sun and stars, the prince is riding within me! Our child will ride a stallion to rule the Dothraki and mount a dragon to rule Westeros. He will sit upon the iron throne that symbolizes royal power, crowned by the sun and moon, and guarded by starlight." [Dothraki]
The old woman kneeling nearby holding bells sang in a raspy voice: "The prince is riding!"
"The prince rides his horse!"
The last one, a one-eyed crone kneeling in the very center, suddenly snapped her eye open. She looked half-mad. "I see his face! His hooves sound like thunder!"
"His hooves sound like thunder!"
"The prince rides! He rides The Stallion Who Mounts the World!"
"What is the prince's name!"
"His name is Rhaego," Daenerys responded, seemingly very fond of the name.
"The prince's name is Rhaego!"
"Rhaego! Rhaego!" the soldiers screamed in unison.
"The prince rides The Stallion Who Mounts the World. His stallion is as swift as the wind, and his Arakh is as sharp as light. Enemies shall tremble before him, and the wives of enemies shall weep. The world will sing of his great name!"
Thousands of people shouted loudly, "The Stallion Who Mounts the World!" as the sounds of drums and horns echoed through the night sky.
After being together for so long, to communicate better, Daenerys had worked hard to learn Dothraki while Khal Drogo was learning the Common Tongue of Westeros. She didn't know many words, and her speech was a bit stiff, but it stirred Khal Drogo's heart.
Under the reverent gaze of the crowd, Khal Drogo slowly walked to the center of the ritual. His physique was mighty and majestic, his gaze bright and piercing.
His braid was thick and long, reaching below his waist—proof that he had never been defeated in his life.
He looked affectionately at his wife before him, then raised his arms and shouted: "My son Rhaego, the son of Khal Drogo, shall ride The Stallion Who Mounts the World and lead the whole world! I shall also give him a gift! I will give him that iron chair his mother's father once sat upon; I will give him the Seven Kingdoms!"
Khal Drogo shouted heroically before everyone present: "I, Khal Drogo, shall do this thing! I will take my khaleesi west through the world, crossing the black salt water on horseback, across the surging Endless Sea! I will do what no other Khal has ever done since ancient times!"
"I will raise my Arakh! Kill the men in iron suits! Tear down their stone houses! Take their children as slaves! And bring their useless idols back to Vaes Dothrak to kneel before our Mother of Mountains!"
He beat his chest and swore loudly to the heavens: "I, Drogo, swear it here! I swear it before the Mother of Mountains! With the stars above as my witness!"
The oath rang through the sky, echoing off the distant high mountains.
Daenerys Targaryen stared blankly at this wild, untamed man before her, deeply moved.
She smiled—a smile of pride, with tears streaming down her face. She was no longer that poor little girl who was bullied and hunted; now, someone truly protected her.
This was her man, her support, her eternal harbor in this world.
The flames burned fiercely, making a series of crackling sounds.
Sitting in a corner, Viserys Targaryen drank gloomily. Seeing his sister marry a barbarian and about to bear his child, his heart was filled with resentment; he had fallen into complete despair.
They were now nearing Vaes Dothrak, traveling further and further east.
Watching his homeland grow more distant, Viserys finally realized that Khal Drogo and his people likely never intended to give him an army.
...
Ashes were blown by the wind, brushing across the grass, with small particles striking against the golden armor.
Clop, clop, clop—
Horses stepped on the dry, cracked grass, making unpleasant sounds. Jon Clinton dismounted and touched the burnt firewood and dried grass to feel them.
"They left about three days ago, Your Majesty. We are catching up to them," he said to Aegon Targaryen, sharing his assessment.
"Good. Keep this distance and continue. Don't alert them. They should stay in Vaes Dothrak for a while."
Aegon Targaryen gave the order without hesitation, confident in his judgment.
According to the original timeline, Viserys Targaryen was about to die, followed by Khal Drogo. After a while, the three dragons would hatch. At that time, it would be his turn to reap the rewards.
"Your Majesty, there seem to be a few tails behind us. They are from Dorne, and their destination might overlap with ours."
"Ignore them. Prince Doran's plans never seem to go as he wishes anyway."
"Yes."
Jon Clinton looked at Aegon as if looking at his own son. He truly hoped this child could lead a massive army back to Westeros, execute the rebels on the iron throne, and avenge Prince Rhaegar.
Every time he thought of Prince Rhaegar, the image of his death always surfaced in Jon Clinton's mind.
Jon Clinton mounted his horse and followed behind Aegon Targaryen.
Looking at Aegon in front of him, the figure of Prince Rhaegar seemed to appear before his eyes. He reminisced about the past, silently chanting his dear friend's name.
"Soon, very soon. My Silver Prince, please wait for me. I will fulfill your long-cherished wish for you."
(Oh, right. The original work hinted several times that Jon Clinton was gay; he deeply loved Prince Rhaegar and affectionately called him: My Silver Prince.)
...
When the hurricane passes the ridge, only the bent grass remains. As dawn approaches, the darkness is at its most intense.
Quentyn Martell lay on the ridge, watching the golden soldiers depart in groups. He knew this was the famous Golden Company.
At this moment, he was full of envy for the blue-haired young man ahead. If only this great army were his.
Everyone in Dorne, including his sister Princess Arianne, believed Quentyn was serving as a foster son and soldier under Ser Yronwood, who guarded the Boneway.
In reality, however, he had secretly crossed the Narrow Sea and reached Dothraki territory. He needed to complete the secret mission given by his father and build a grand future for Dorne!
Quentyn Martell had initially prepared to cross the Narrow Sea and land at Volantis accompanied by Cletus Yronwood, Ser Gareth Tywin, Willam Wells, Ser Archibald Yronwood, and Maester Kedry, but an accident occurred during the voyage.
Their ship encountered a group of pirates, and although they eventually repelled them,
Cletus and Ser Willam died in the battle, and even the kind and learned Maester Kedry died of his injuries shortly thereafter.
Damn it! Even their small, rickety boat could run into pirates! Are pirates that desperate for money now?!
"Prince, are we going to keep following them like this?" The speaker was Gareth Tywin, Quentyn's close friend.
He was very tall, half a head taller than Quentyn, with a slender and well-proportioned build. He was extremely handsome, with amber-blue eyes and desert-colored hair streaked with gold. A faint smile always played on his lips, making him look very confident.
He was elegant in behavior and generous in character—the perfect material for a heartbreaker.
Every time Quentyn Martell looked at this guy's face, he felt a bit jealous. Why the hell are you so handsome? Are you the prince or am I? He suddenly felt that bringing this guy along wasn't such a good idea.
"Hope is just ahead. I must get Daenerys of House Targaryen. I cannot affect the family's grand plan or disappoint my father."
Quentyn Martell's eyes were bright. He wasn't very tall, but he was burly, solid, and thickset. His features were plain, with bright black eyes, a somewhat broad forehead, and a sharp nose. A few silver strands were mixed into his thick black hair.
Only his sunny smile was impressive, but he was rigorous and responsible in his dealings and rarely smiled.
Quentyn remembered his father's instructions. His father said Viserys was already dead and Arianne's betrothal to him was forced to be canceled.
The only compromise was for him to marry Daenerys Targaryen; in any case, Martell had to be firmly tied to Targaryen.
"Father, please watch me!" Quentyn was originally supposed to inherit the throne of Dorne, but he had no complaints about his father's decision; he was already prepared in his heart.
"But the intelligence was wrong. Viserys Targaryen isn't dead yet?"
The speaker was Ser Archibald Yronwood, a member of House Yronwood and the nephew of Lord Anders Yronwood.
He was also a good friend of Quentyn's. House Yronwood sending him to follow Quentyn was also a sign that they stood together with House Martell.
Archibald Yronwood was the tallest and most massive of the three.
His arms were thicker than Quentyn's thighs, and his protruding belly jiggled with his steps. His head under the turban was round and smooth, looking like a braised egg.
Since they landed, Gareth Tywin had demanded he wrap his head in a turban because his bald head might expose their position due to reflections.
"Prince Doran's information cannot be wrong. There must be a time difference between the two continents. He was already dead when we received the intel, but he's not dead yet now, which means we haven't reached tomorrow. Maybe this guy will drop dead in a bit."
Gareth Tywin lay on the grass, a weed he'd plucked from somewhere dangling from his mouth. He mumbled vaguely while keeping his eyes closed to focus.
"Damn, you can lie through your teeth now without even blinking. You're a real genius..."
Archibald Yronwood was stunned by his serious words, and it took his brain a long time to react.
"Please, my eyes are closed..."