The Mother River was misty in the early morning, but the people in the main camp were no longer as noisy as usual.
Outside the small tent where Viserys was imprisoned last night, there were two more Blood Riders holding scimitars — Illyrio had specifically instructed that this mad prince must not cause any more trouble.
But he knew in his heart that Viserys's obsession was like wildfire on the prairie; with just a spark, it would burn out of control.
As Illyrio walked to the main tent's entrance, he heard Daenerys's suppressed sobs from inside.
He lifted the curtain and entered, only to see Drogo lying on the animal skin bed, his face already turned from pale to ashen, his breathing so faint that the rise and fall of his chest were barely visible.
Daenerys knelt by the bed, clutching Drogo's hand, her tears dripping onto his wrist.
"He woke up once last night, saying he wanted to drink kumis..." Daenerys's voice was hoarse, "But after just one sip, he started coughing blood, and the healer said... said his internal organs were already infected."
Illyrio walked to the bedside and felt Drogo's pulse — weak, erratic, like a thread about to break.
His heart sank; his modern medical knowledge told him this was sepsis caused by a severe infection, and in an era without antibiotics, a cure was almost impossible.
But he couldn't say it, he could only pretend to be calm: "Boil some more fever-reducing herbal soup; maybe he can still pull through."
Daenerys nodded, wiped her tears, and got up to instruct the slaves to boil the soup.
Illyrio looked at Drogo's lifeless face, his fingers unconsciously touching the dragon-sigil necklace beneath his collar — he knew Drogo didn't have much time left, and Viserys was the last blade hanging over their heads.
Sure enough, in the morning, a fierce quarrel erupted from the western tent.
Illyrio rushed over, only to see Viserys had broken free from his bindings and was holding a stolen dagger to a slave's throat, roaring at the onlookers: "Let me out! I am the King of Targaryen! Drogo is dying, I am the one you should pledge allegiance to!"
The Blood Riders tried to step forward, but Viserys yelled at them to stop: "Don't come any closer! If you do, I'll kill him!" The slave trembled with fear, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Illyrio stopped, trying to keep his voice steady: "Viserys, put down the dagger.
Drogo is not dead yet, and the matters of the Khalasar are not for you to decide.
If you go back obediently, once Drogo recovers, we can still discuss the matter of sending troops."
"Discuss? I'll never believe your nonsense again!" Viserys's eyes were bloodshot as he frantically scanned the Dothraki, "Listen, all of you!
As long as you help me kill Daenerys and Drogo, I will take you to Westeros, where there are countless gold and cities, ten times richer than the Dothraki Sea!"
The Dothraki's faces gradually turned angry — the Dothraki valued loyalty above all else, and Viserys's words were not only a betrayal but also an insult to the Khalasar.
Kohol stepped out from the crowd, holding Drogo's bronze scimitar, his eyes cold: "Prince, have you forgotten the rules of the prairie?
Anyone who threatens the Khaleesi has only one path: death."
"Rules? I am the rules!" Viserys suddenly rushed towards the main tent like a madman, "I will kill Daenerys, she is not worthy to be a Targaryen princess!"
Illyrio's heart tightened, and he quickly chased after him.
As Viserys reached the main tent's entrance, he collided head-on with Daenerys, who was carrying the herbal soup.
The soup bowl fell to the ground, and the scalding herbal soup splashed onto Viserys's leg.
He screamed in pain, but his dagger still lunged towards Daenerys.
"Watch out!" Illyrio lunged forward, pushing Daenerys away.
The dagger grazed Daenerys's arm and plunged deep into a nearby wooden pillar.
Viserys tried to pull out the dagger, but Kohol had already rushed up, kicking him to the ground and placing his scimitar at his throat.
Drogo, inside the tent, seemed to have heard the commotion.
He slowly opened his eyes, saw Viserys pinned to the ground, and spoke weakly: "Take him... to the bonfire square... judge him according to the rules of the prairie."
The Dothraki quickly gathered at the bonfire square in the center of the main camp.
Viserys was tied to a stake in the middle of the square, surrounded by angry Dothraki, who waved their scimitars and shouted, "Kill him!" "Traitors deserve to die!"
Daenerys stood by Drogo's stretcher, her face pale, but without the slightest hesitation — Viserys's madness had made her fully realize that this man was no longer her brother, but a disgrace to the Targaryen.
Illyrio stood beside Daenerys, his heart filled with complex emotions.
He knew that in the original story, Viserys would die from a "golden crown," but he hadn't expected this day to come so quickly and so tragically.
He wanted to dissuade her, but he knew this was the only way to quell the Dothraki's anger and completely resolve the hidden danger.
"According to the rules of the prairie, anyone who threatens the Khal and Khaleesi must undergo the 'Punishment of Molten Gold.'" Kohol raised a bronze spoon, filled with freshly melted gold, the glittering liquid shining with dazzling light in the sun, "This is the most severe punishment for a traitor, allowing him to die with the 'King's glory.'"
Viserys finally showed fear, struggling and shouting: "Daenerys! Save me! I am your brother! You can't let them kill me!"
Daenerys closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, there was only cold determination in her gaze: "You are not my brother, you are a traitor to the Targaryen.
According to the rules, execute him."
Kohol nodded, walked in front of Viserys, and slowly poured the scalding gold onto his head.
Viserys let out a shrill scream that pierced the silence of the prairie, and then quickly fell silent.
The Dothraki gradually quieted down, and only the sizzling sound of cooling gold remained in the bonfire square.
Daenerys turned away, not daring to look at the corpse on the stake, but tears still flowed uncontrollably.
Illyrio gently patted her shoulder, saying nothing — at this moment, any comfort would seem pale and powerless.
After the judgment, Drogo's condition worsened.
He lay on the animal skin bed in the main tent, already in a coma, with only occasional gasps indicating he was still alive.
Daenerys stayed by his side, clutching the warm stone she had found by the Mother River, as if its faint warmth could give her strength.
"Illyrio, look..." In the evening, Daenerys suddenly grabbed his hand, her voice trembling slightly.
Illyrio followed her gaze — the three dragon eggs Daenerys had placed by the bed were now emitting a faint red glow, echoing the warm stone in her hand.
Even stranger, the patterns on the surface of the dragon eggs seemed to be slowly unfolding, as if life was awakening within them.
"This is..." Illyrio's heart pounded, and he remembered that in the original story, dragon eggs needed "the fire of life" and "Targaryen blood" to hatch.
Could this warm stone be the key to igniting the dragon eggs?
"Yesterday I put the stone next to the dragon eggs, and this morning I found them glowing." Daenerys carefully picked up a dragon egg; the shell was warm, even hotter than yesterday, "Drogo said that deep within the Dothraki Sea there is a 'heart of flame' that can resurrect dead creatures.
Could this stone... be a fragment of the 'heart of flame'?"
Illyrio took the dragon egg, and the warmth on his fingertips made him even more certain — this was the crucial foreshadowing for the dragon eggs' hatching.
He looked at the unconscious Drogo, and a bold idea suddenly formed in his mind: if Drogo truly couldn't make it, perhaps his cremation, combined with the heat of this stone, could ignite the dragon eggs' fire of life.
But this idea was too wild, and he dared not speak it easily.
Just then, Drogo's breathing suddenly stopped.
Daenerys threw herself onto him, crying out his name, but received no response.
The air in the main tent instantly solidified, with only Daenerys's cries echoing across the silent prairie.
Kohol walked into the tent, saw Drogo's state, knelt on one knee, and said in a heavy voice: "The Khal... is gone.
According to the rules of the prairie, a cremation will be held in the bonfire square to send his soul back to the embrace of the Dothraki Sea."
Daenerys slowly stopped crying, wiped away her tears, and her eyes held an unprecedented determination: "I will personally prepare his cremation.
Put that warm stone, and the dragon eggs, into his funeral pyre."
Illyrio's heart trembled; Daenerys actually had the same idea as him!
He looked into Daenerys's eyes, where there was no longer the timidity from before, only the boldness and resolve belonging to the Targaryen.
"Are you sure? The dragon eggs are our last hope."
"I am sure." Daenerys picked up a dragon egg and held it to her chest, "Drogo protected me with his life; I will use the Targaryen way to let his soul witness our rebirth."
The Dothraki quickly built a funeral pyre in the bonfire square, using the driest pine wood, piled two people high.
Drogo's body was placed in the center of the pyre, and Daenerys personally placed the three dragon eggs and the warm stone beside him, then sprinkled some kumis and spices around — these were items the Dothraki used to commemorate the dead.
As night fell, the bonfire square was crowded with Dothraki.
Daenerys stood before the pyre, holding a burning torch, her eyes fixed on Drogo's body with determination: "Drogo, my Khal, thank you for everything you have done for me.
Today, I will use the Targaryen fire to send you on your final journey.
May your soul find your glory on the other side of the Dothraki Sea."
She threw the torch onto the pyre, and the dry pine wood instantly ignited, the flames quickly soaring, illuminating the entire square.
Illyrio stood among the Dothraki, watching the raging flames, his heart filled with anticipation and tension — he knew that this cremation was not only Drogo's funeral but also the beginning of the Targaryen's rebirth.
The flames grew stronger, and the dragon eggs and the warm stone glowed faintly red in the fire, like three beating hearts.
The Dothraki knelt one after another, praying to the pyre, and only the crackling of the burning flames and the Dothraki's prayers remained in the square.
Daenerys stood before the flames, her golden hair glowing red in the firelight, her eyes shimmering with a resilience beyond her years.
Illyrio looked at her back and suddenly understood that the once timid princess had truly grown into a Khaleesi capable of leading the Targaryen restoration through one crisis after another.
The flames of the funeral pyre gradually rose, illuminating the shimmering waters of the Mother River and the night sky of the prairie.
Illyrio touched the dragon-sigil necklace beneath his collar; the cool metallic touch formed a stark contrast with the distant firelight.
He knew that after tonight, the winds of the Dothraki Sea would carry the Targaryen fire towards a new future.
And those dragon eggs shimmering in the fire were about to bring unprecedented change to this turbulent world.