The khalasar moved like a giant serpent winding across the endless Dothraki grass sea.
Quaro led the women, children, and slaves across the Rhoyne toward the rich grazing lands west of Dagger Lake.
The grass there was still thick and green.
They could rest for a time.
The march was brutal.
Everyone was exhausted.
But Rahallo’s orders were absolute, and no one dared complain.
If they failed to stop Khal Fogo, the khalasar’s women and children would become his slaves.
Viserys rode in the middle of the column wearing a filthy woolen tunic.
The three-headed dragon embroidered on his chest was faded and blurred with dust.
He kept glancing around with restless, angry eyes, turning often to stare at the long line of people behind him.
Disgust twisted his face.
Rahallo was a fool.
Marching with so many old men, weaklings, women, and children was asking to be destroyed.
A man of his blood — king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Viserys Targaryen the Third — would not die with savages.
He decided to find Daenerys and make her see reason.
If she refused, she would feel the wrath of the sleeping dragon.
He found her sitting on the grass in Dothraki leathers and furs.
Her silver-gold hair was pulled back and tied with a bone pin.
She looked capable and wild at the same time — more beautiful than he remembered, yet somehow a stranger.
Viserys felt his disgust deepen.
He could not understand how his sister had slipped so easily into the savages’ ways.
“Dany,” he called out in his shrill voice, “Rahallo is leading us straight to ruin!
We have to leave.
Now.” Daenerys looked up.
Her gaze was calm.
“Brother, what are you talking about?” “We have to run!” Viserys ignored the disrespect in her tone.
“Fogo is too strong.
Rahallo can’t beat him.
When Fogo comes we’re finished.
We need to get out before he arrives.
Then… I can give you to Fogo.
He’ll support us.
We can still take back the Iron Throne.” Daenerys stared at him, eyes wide with shock, as if she were looking at a stranger.
Viserys leaned closer, excited.
“Dany, I’m your brother.
I’m your king.
I would never hurt you.” Daenerys rose slowly.
Her violet eyes stayed locked on his face.
“You’re wrong.
Rahallo won’t fail.
And I’m not going anywhere.” Viserys went still.
He could not believe she had just defied him.
Then he began to shake.
His voice rose into a scream.
“Are you out of your mind?
You trust that savage?
Have you forgotten who you are?
You’re a Targaryen.
True dragon blood.
You belong in the Seven Kingdoms.
In King’s Landing!” Daenerys shook her head.
“No.
I’m not going back.
This is my home now.
And you… you should go.” Viserys looked at her and saw nothing of the meek girl in silk gowns he remembered.
This barefoot creature with mud between her toes and sun-flushed cheeks looked exactly like the Dothraki savages he had always despised.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” Rage exploded through him.
His voice cracked high and thin.
“I am the son of the dragon!
The rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!
You worthless slut — do you want to wake the sleeping dragon?” He lunged forward and clamped both hands around her throat, squeezing with everything he had.
“Answer me!
Do you hear me?” Daenerys bared her teeth and shoved him hard.
The strength in her arms surprised them both.
Viserys stumbled backward several steps, veins throbbing at his temples.
This obedient little sister had dared to lay hands on him.
Daenerys felt a cold knot form in her stomach.
She knew what came next.
His rages always ended the same way.
A sharp crack split the air.
A whip lashed out like a striking snake and coiled around Viserys’s neck.
The leather yanked him off his feet and slammed him into the grass.
He landed hard, body twisting, only able to make choked, animal sounds.
Dothraki riders nearby jeered and laughed.
The man holding the whip was her bloodrider Balbo.
His face was cold as he shouted something in Dothraki.
Daenerys didn’t understand the words, but Irri, Ser Jorah Mormont, and several other members of her kos came running.
“Khaleesi,” Irri said, anger sharp in her voice, “Balbo asks if you want him dead.” Daenerys shook her head.
“No.
Don’t kill him.” Balbo seemed to understand.
He snorted and loosened the whip.
Viserys lay gasping on the ground like a fish thrown onto dry land.
A thin line of blood ran down his cheek.
Someone else shouted in Dothraki.
The warriors around them roared with fresh laughter.
Irri glanced down at Viserys and raised her voice.
“Khaleesi, Zako says you should cut out his tongue.
Teach him a lesson.” Viserys went white.
He clutched his throat, unable to speak, eyes pleading.
Daenerys looked at her brother’s miserable state and felt a complicated rush — disgust, pity, and something colder.
“Tell them no one is to touch him.” Irri translated.
Balbo heard the order, then swung the whip again anyway, knocking Viserys flat once more before pulling it back.
All these years they had run from city to city, begging magisters and princes for scraps, surviving on flattery and lies.
He must have known how little they truly respected him.
No wonder he had grown so brittle, so impossible to reach, and finally broken completely.
The world called him the Beggar King.
They had not been wrong.
He had always been exactly that.
Even with a crown on his head, a beggar was still a beggar.
She had simply refused to see it until now.
The old fear of him vanished.
In its place came a sharp, clean clarity she had never felt before.
“Have Zako watch him,” Daenerys said, chin lifted.
“Until my sun and stars returns victorious.
Then we’ll decide what to do with him.” “Khaleesi,” Jorah said quietly, stepping closer, “it’s getting dark.
You should return to camp and rest.” Daenerys looked toward the horizon where Rahallo had ridden.
“Ser Jorah… do you think Rahallo will lose as well?” Jorah was silent for a moment.
“Khaleesi, perhaps your brother has done one right thing in his life — trying to take you away from here.” Daenerys met his eyes without flinching.
“I believe he will win.” Her voice was steady and final.
“Ser Jorah, this is my home.
I’m not going anywhere.
And I don’t want to hear you say anything like that again.” Jorah lowered his head and sighed.
“As you command, Khaleesi.”
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