"Ah—!"
Inside the palace that belonged to Khal Drogo in Vaes Dothrak, Daenerys let out another cry.
This was her first time giving birth, and the pain was far fiercer than she had imagined.
But she was not afraid. She knew she had to bring this child into the world—he was all her hope.
He was the prince who would ride the stallion, the nightmare of the Usurper!
"Rhaego!"
The old crones of the Dosh Khaleen were not merely praying. Some among them were experienced midwives, and at this moment they were helping Daenerys.
"Hold on, Khaleesi!"
"It's almost over—you will be a great mother!"
Drogo stood not far away. From time to time his gaze drifted toward her, while his feet shifted restlessly on the ground.
Beside him, his three bloodriders—Qotho, Cohollo, and Haggo—also remained there, their expressions grave as they watched the Khaleesi in labor.
In truth, it was not only them who felt tense in Vaes Dothrak at this moment.
The prophecy of the Dosh Khaleen had long since spread throughout the entire sacred city.
"The Stallion Who Mounts the World"—this came from an ancient prophecy. The stallion was the promised king, the khal of khals.
He would unite the Dothraki people into a vast khalasar, its dominion stretching to the ends of the world, and all the peoples of the earth would fall beneath his rule.
Yet while the Dothraki trembled with tension over this matter, there was another group who were anxious for a very different reason.
"This is our last chance… Daenerys watches those things every day."
The slave trader who had arrived here several months ago, claiming to be a noble of the Seven Kingdoms, was now leading several men toward the place where Daenerys kept the dragon eggs.
"Illyrio Mopatis should never have given those things to that woman in the first place… Now we have to go to such trouble just to take them back."
"Who could have known back then… If that bastard hadn't truly hatched a dragon, they would have been nothing more than three pretty stones."
The former slave trader—who called himself a noble, and who was now Daenerys's steward—whispered with his assistant as they walked, their steps never slowing.
Hearing the complaints, he could only brush them off with a few casual words.
Yet it was true. The reason they had come to the City of the Horse Lords, the reason they had approached Daenerys, had always been those three dragon eggs.
But Daenerys treated the eggs like her very life itself. Most of the time, they never left her sight.
That was why, for several months, they had found no chance to act, forced to linger here in vain.
So they could only wait. Wait and wait—until Daenerys went into labor, and at last their opportunity arrived.
"Take the eggs and leave quickly. The merchant caravan that has kept in contact with us has already changed several times, and this current one has just finished packing and is preparing to depart."
"Once we have the dragon eggs, we'll slip into the caravan. No one will notice us for a while—we'll have plenty of time to get away."
After exchanging a few more simple words, the group of three finally reached the place where Daenerys kept the dragon eggs.
Yet the moment they stepped into the room wrapped in red curtains, an unexpected woman was already inside.
She was adding coal to the brazier to keep the dragon eggs warm.
Hearing the noise, she turned her head instinctively to look.
"It's you?"
"Steward Jickon Dyxon, may I ask what business you have here?"
Irri had bronze skin, black hair, and almond-shaped eyes. She set down the tongs in her hand and looked at the three men before her with some curiosity.
At Irri's question, the man calling himself Jickon Dyxon exchanged glances with his companions, then walked forward with a smile and said, "Her Grace sent us to bring the dragon eggs to her."
"According to Targaryen custom, every newborn Targaryen has a dragon egg of his own. Her Grace can hardly wait any longer."
Hearing Jickon's words, Irri tilted her head and thought for a moment, finding nothing strange in them. She had heard the Khaleesi say similar things as well.
"Do you need my help? The dragon eggs need to be kept warm." Seeing Jickon approach, Irri rose to her feet, preparing to help.
But even after reaching the dragon eggs, Jickon did not stop. He kept moving toward Irri.
"There's no need. You've done enough already."
Jickon smiled, and a dagger suddenly slid from his sleeve and plunged into Irri's chest.
Feeling the pain in her chest, Irri's eyes widened, filled with disbelief.
The sacred city forbade all bloodshed and fighting, and it strictly forbade the carrying of blades. Even the khals obeyed this law to the letter.
Yet when Irri tried to protest, it was already too late, because the dagger had cleanly pierced her heart, making even the lifting of a hand into a vain hope.
Looking at Irri as she died in shock, Jickon's gaze was cold. As an assassin, killing was his true trade.
He gently caught her body, then pulled over the carpet on the floor and wrapped her in it, both to keep the smell of blood from spreading and to prevent blood from running and causing some mishap.
The handmade wool carpet from Myr was highly absorbent—at least, it was proving useful now.
After dragging Irri's corpse to an inconspicuous corner of the room and laying it there, Jickon cleaned the dagger. When he turned back around, his companions had already packed up the dragon eggs, each placed separately in one of three chests.
Stepping forward and lifting one as well, Jickon nodded to the other two, and the three of them silently started walking out.
Before long, they had left Drogo's palace and reached an inconspicuous corner of the street outside.
A wagon piled high with goods just happened to be passing by.
…
"Hold on, Khaleesi! Keep pushing—the head is already out!"
The old crones seemed even more tense than Daenerys herself, their voices turning shrill in their throats.
Dany's hair was already completely soaked with sweat. Though she had nearly run out of strength, the moment she heard those words, a fresh bit of power seemed to appear out of nowhere within her body.
Then, a little more than ten seconds later, a loud cry rang out through the luxurious palace.
With that cry, the tense, storm-laden atmosphere in the palace suddenly fell silent. The next moment, it was broken by a cheer.
Drogo, who had been pacing restlessly while Daenerys screamed in pain, halted at once. He turned his head, and uncontrollable joy appeared on his face.
"Let… let me see my child—my Rhaego… And bring me the scissors."
Now that the child had truly been born, Dany collapsed weakly onto the soft feather bed. Yet she did not rest immediately. Breathing rapidly, she struggled to prop herself back up, her eyes fixed on the child who was being held high by the oldest of the Dosh Khaleen—the same crone who had spoken the prophecy.
Hearing her words, the former Khaleesi paused slightly. After glancing at Drogo, who had stepped forward as well, she carefully carried the child over to Dany.
At the same time, a large hand passed over a pair of scissors that had been specially prepared.
Dany first looked at the child. Seeing the umbilical cord still connected to the blood-filled sac, she instinctively followed the hand that had offered the scissors with her gaze.
"Here… take."
Drogo's Common Tongue was still not very good, and his pronunciation was not precise, but Dany understood what he meant.
Taking the scissors from her husband, Dany personally cut the umbilical cord of her child, then tied a neat knot with her own hands.
For this moment, she had deliberately practiced for at least a month.
The old crone tactfully handed the child over to the couple and stepped back several paces.
Dany then took the softest piece of silk, dipped it in water of just the right warmth, and personally wiped the blood from her child's body.
Drogo crouched down as well and worked together with her.
During this time, neither of them spoke a word.
When everything was finished, and the child had been wrapped in another piece of soft silk, Drogo looked at the wrinkled little thing between the child's legs and could not help forcing an awkward smile onto his face.
Dany, meanwhile, gazed at the child—a small infant, red-black and wrinkled.
Now that he had been cleaned, he was no longer crying with the same strong voice as before.
"He has the same color skin as you… bronze," Dany murmured softly while leaning against Drogo's chest, her voice so gentle it seemed afraid to disturb something.
"He also has hair like yours—silver… gold—and violet eyes."
The first sentence Drogo spoke in Dothraki, while the latter he said in the Common Tongue of Westeros.
After these few words, the two looked at one another and smiled softly.
"His name is Rhaego. He is our child, the one destined to ride the stallion that mounts the world," Dany said in Dothraki.
While the two were sharing this quiet moment, the old crone of the Dosh Khaleen who had been waiting nearby stepped forward again.
"Khaleesi, you need rest, and so does the child. He needs the nourishment of your milk. He will grow little by little—there is no need for you or Khal Drogo to hurry now."
Dany knew this as well. Hearing the old crone's words, she seemed already to feel the swelling ache in her breasts.
Then she handed the child over.
But as the old crone took the child, she gave her command.
"I want to see him at all times. I will not have him leave my sight!"
"Yes, Khaleesi."
And so the child seemed to become the only thing in Dany's world. For three days straight, she remained immersed in her own small world.
Even when the people of all Vaes Dothrak came to offer their congratulations, Dany did not emerge from it.
Until she remembered something.
"People have given Rhaego many gifts, yet I have not given him one…"
"According to our custom, a child of the blood of the Dragon Kings will have a dragon egg of his own after birth. Perhaps he might even hatch a dragon from it."
As Daenerys spoke, one of Drogo's bloodriders personally went to the place where Dany kept the dragon eggs to bring them back.
But just as Drogo and Dany waited with anticipation for the gift to arrive, what came instead was a corpse wrapped in a carpet, already beginning to stink.
"Someone drew a blade in the sacred city. The gift you gave the Khaleesi has been killed, and the dragon eggs have been stolen."
The one who spoke was Cohollo. Among Drogo's bloodriders, he was the eldest—a short, stout, bald man with a hooked nose and a mouth full of broken teeth.
Even now he could not hide the anger in his heart as he reported to his khal.
As he spoke, he lifted the wool carpet that had been wrapped around the body, revealing the corpse inside—bloated, pale, tinged blue, and reeking with foul odor.
On the corpse's chest was a conspicuous patch of blood and a gaping wound. Blackened, sticky blood had soaked into the wool carpet, and clusters of fly larvae were already writhing in the seams.
"Irri!"
At the sight of the corpse in the carpet, Dany sprang from the bed in shock. This loyal handmaid was the one she had ordered to guard the dragon eggs.
And now what stood before her was nothing but a corpse.
And worse—
"The dragon eggs?! You mean someone stole my dragon eggs and killed Irri!"
Cohollo lowered his head slightly to glance at the corpse, the fury in his eyes burning even stronger. This was undoubtedly a provocation against their khalasar—and even against all of Vaes Dothrak.
"Yes, Khaleesi. We are investigating who did this."
Upon hearing the confirmation, Dany staggered a step before a large hand steadied her shoulder.
"No… no."
Compared with Dany's disbelief and shock, Drogo's face had already gone utterly expressionless.
"They have taken my most cherished possession, and they have killed the slave of the moon of my life."
"They have trampled the laws of the sacred city. They have trampled our honor."
"Find who did this. I will make them pay the price they deserve!"
On the following day, as the entire city was placed under strict guard and the matter investigated, everything that had happened during the time of Daenerys's childbirth was combed through as though with a fine-toothed comb.
And the disappearance of the three men who had once sworn themselves to Dany naturally became the most conspicuous clue.
"They betrayed me!"
"They dared betray me?!"
"They were never loyal to me or to the Targaryens. They were loyal to the Usurper—spies sent by him to steal my dragon eggs!"
Dany was furious. The taste of betrayal was not an easy thing to bear.
"Princess, the Usurper Robert is dead. His bastard has inherited his throne, and it is said that he has even hatched a dragon. Yet the Seven Kingdoms are now at war. Robert's brothers are fighting this bastard for the Iron Throne."
"Perhaps it was for this reason that he sent men to your side, pretending to submit to you while in truth plotting to seize your dragon eggs."
When it became known that the nobles who had fled from the Seven Kingdoms were the ones who had betrayed Dany, Jorah Mormont—who shared a similar background—did not pass that night well.
Had Dany not protected him, he would already have been dragged outside Vaes Dothrak and hanged and disemboweled like the slaves that the so-called noble had once brought as gifts for Daenerys.
At the thought of this, Jorah's face turned pale.
After learning the whole of what had happened, Drogo rose to his feet. He cast Jorah a cold glance, then turned toward Dany.
"Moon of my life, the gift you prepared to give to Rhaego, son of Drogo, has been taken by villains. This is not your fault. I will bring back what belongs to you and give those who did this the punishment they deserve."
"And I will give him a gift as well. I will give him the iron chair upon which his mother's father once sat!"
"I will give him the Seven Kingdoms!"
"I, Drogo, khal, will do this!"
"I will lead my khalasar west to the ends of the world. I will ride the wooden horses across the black salt water and do what no khal before me has ever done!"
"I will kill the men in iron clothes and tear down their stone houses!"
"I will rape their women and take their children as slaves!"
"I will bring their gods back to Vaes Dothrak and bow before the Mother of Mountains!"
"I, Drogo, son of Bharbo, swear this—before the Mother of Mountains and with the stars above as witness!"
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