The fire had long since burned down to glowing embers, their faint orange light pulsing softly against the endless sea of grass. Above, the sky stretched without limit, painted in deep blues and scattered stars, the moons of this world casting their quiet silver gaze upon the land.
Gadriel sat cross-legged beside the dying fire, his journal resting open upon his knee.
His quill moved slowly across the page.
I've been riding across this golden sea for a while now. Dust can only carry me so far and so fast before she needs a break. The ride has been good so far, I've not had much trouble…well at least not much after I left the area that that merchant was talking about.
He paused briefly, letting the ink settle.
The few people who I met that did try to do harm…they won't be able to again.
His expression didn't change as he wrote it. It was simply a fact.
But besides that it's been ok.
Gadriel stopped writing and leaned back slightly, holding the journal at an angle as he examined the drying ink. The letters glistened faintly in the firelight before slowly dulling into permanence.
He closed the book gently and set it beside him.
"It shouldn't be long now, eh Dust?" he said quietly.
He turned his head.
Dust lay nearby, curled on her side in the grass, her breathing slow and steady. Her ears twitched faintly in her sleep, but she made no effort to rise.
Gadriel smiled faintly.
"I suppose that answers that."
The fire cracked softly.
The wind moved gently across the plains.
Gadriel leaned back, resting his hands behind him, and looked up at the stars. They were different from the ones he had known in Skyrim, but their quiet presence felt familiar all the same.
Eventually, his eyes grew heavy.
He allowed them to close.
And beneath the endless sky, the Dragonborn slept.
Morning came with warmth.
Gadriel awoke already moving, his body acting on long-trained instinct. He packed his belongings quickly, his movements efficient and practiced, leaving no trace of his presence behind.
Dust stood patiently as he mounted her.
The sun had only just begun its ascent when they set off once more.
They rode hard.
Days passed in a blur of wind and motion.
The golden plains stretched endlessly in every direction, rising and falling like waves upon a frozen sea. Gadriel allowed Dust frequent breaks, but even then he supplemented her endurance carefully, slipping small amounts of stamina potion into her water when necessary. He never gave enough to harm her—only enough to sustain her strength during the long stretches of uninterrupted travel.
Dust remained strong.
Faithful.
Uncomplaining.
On the tenth day, everything changed.
Gadriel crested a hill and slowed Dust to a stop.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Far in the distance, something moved.
At first, it appeared as nothing more than shifting dots against the horizon. But as he focused, the scale of it became clear.
It wasn't dozens.
It wasn't hundreds.
It was thousands.
No—tens of thousands.
An entire mass of people, moving as one.
"What are all of those people doing here…" Gadriel murmured.
He activated his Eagle Eye ability.
His vision sharpened.
Magnified.
The distant shapes snapped into clarity.
He saw riders atop powerful horses. Men and women both, clad in leather vests, fitted trousers, and belts adorned with bone, bronze, and steel. Their skin was sun-darkened, their bodies lean and strong.
The warriors bore long braids, some threaded with small bells that chimed softly as they rode.
Weapons hung at their sides.
Curved blades.
Arakh.
It took only a moment for understanding to settle.
"This is a Dothraki horde."
The sheer size of it was staggering.
It moved like a living thing.
A tide of flesh and steel.
"Wow…" Gadriel whispered.
"Well… these guys seem to be heading in the same direction I am. Perhaps they are heading to Vaes Dothrak too."
He considered his options.
"I should follow them… but if I get too close they might attack."
He frowned slightly.
"What to do…"
Then he remembered.
The merchant.
His words.
"…right."
Gadriel reached into his bag and pulled out a silver ingot.
(It's about 8 inches long and 2 inches in width and height.)
He turned it over in his hand, watching sunlight glint off its smooth surface.
"I wonder if this will be enough?"
He looked down at himself.
Armor.
Weapons.
Threats.
He sighed faintly.
"Before I go down there though I should take off my armor and weapons to show that I'm peaceful."
One by one, he removed them.
Dragonbone armor.
Dawnbreaker.
His bow.
All of it vanished into his bag.
In their place, he drew out simple but refined clothing.
Brown silk robes.
Clean.
Non-threatening.
Merchant attire.
"Yes," he said quietly. "This should work."
He mounted Dust once more and began riding down the hill.
The Dothraki noticed him quickly.
Several riders broke away from the rear of the horde, their movements swift and purposeful. Their curved blades gleamed in the sunlight as they approached.
Gadriel dismounted calmly.
"I can't understand them…" he muttered.
"I guess I can just use tongues."
(Tongues was an ability from daggerfall that allowed the character to understand non human speech, I've repurposed it as a universal translation, also I think that it's possible from the Dragonborn to learn this ability lore wise.)
He gripped the ingot firmly.
The riders closed in.
He whispered softly.
"Kaan Drem Ov."
The words slipped into reality like falling stones.
The tension shifted.
Not gone.
But less.
The warriors circled him cautiously.
Gadriel approached the one who appeared to be their leader.
He extended the ingot.
"Azhasoon kava Khal," he said clearly.
(Gifts for the khal.)
The man snatched the ingot from his hand, examining it with sharp, suspicious eyes.
"Me yer zhalia?" the man demanded.
"Anha vithierat yer jada Vaes Dothrak ma anha zalat athtijerat kishi khalasar."
He stepped closer.
"Majin vosma nakho kashi ma anha evethat yer ma eve yer ha chifgi."
(What do you want, I see your heading to Vaes Dothrak and I wish to follow at the back of the horde, fine but one wrong move and I will castrate you and turn you into a slave)
Gadriel inclined his head respectfully.
He said nothing.
He simply mounted Dust.
And followed.
The hours passed as the horde moved like a living ocean.
No one spoke to him.
But no one attacked him either.
When night finally fell, the khalasar came to a stop.
Fires sprang to life across the plains.
Thousands of them.
The air filled with voices.
Laughter.
Shouting.
Movement.
Life.
Gadriel sat quietly upon Dust, observing everything.
These people lived differently.
Freely.
Violently.
Honestly.
They were not like the people of Westeros.
They were not like the people of Skyrim.
They were something else entirely.
Gadriel smiled faintly as he closed his eyes.
"This is going to be fun."