With many hands helping, the servants quickly set up a simple tent.
Of course, it wasn’t just the maids who were busy; the three Dothraki Riders Drogo had sent to protect Daenerys—Quilo, Jogo, and Rakalo—were even more efficient.
The tent was not large, a dome made of horsehide felt with the door flap facing east.
All the people of the plains camped this way so that when the sun rose, the first light would shine directly into the entrance.
Two layers of wool blankets were spread on the ground, feeling soft underfoot, though they couldn’t compare to the sinking softness of the bedchambers in Pentos.
A low bed stood against the inner wall, covered in animal furs, with a hard pillow woven from horsehair.
Beside the bed stood a wooden rack, from which hung a few changes of robes.
An oil lamp flickered in the center, next to a silver plate laden with fruit, cheese, fried bread, and a jug of mead.
She lay on her stomach, her face turned to one side, her silver hair spilling across the furs.
Drogo was applying ointment to the wounds on her buttocks, wrapping them in thin gauze; she didn’t dare lie on her back and could only remain prone.
“Still hurts?” Drogo asked.
Lali stood by the silver plate and translated his words.
Daenerys shook her head.
“Much better.” She paused, then added, “That ointment of yours…
it’s quite effective.” “When you ride tomorrow, place a wool blanket over the saddle,” he said without looking up.
In truth, the Dothraki did have carts with high wheels that creaked and groaned as they moved.
However, only eunuchs, the crippled, women in labor, the elderly, and the young rode in them.
As the Khal’s wife, even if the saddle rubbed several layers of skin off her backside, Daenerys had to endure it.
She lay on the bed, watching Drogo for a long while.
“You and the other Dothraki…” she began, then stopped.
Lali waited to translate, but she waved her off and said in the dothraki language she had only recently begun to learn, “You and the other Dothraki…
are different.” Drogo understood, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“How so?” Daenerys thought for a moment.
“My brother said the Dothraki have unusually strange tastes, that even young boys, horses, and sheep can…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
“Magister Illyrio said you are uncivilized, violent savages who loot and kill, doing everything except good deeds.” By the time she finished, Lali’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head, her mouth agape and motionless.
Drogo looked at her, seeing she had no intention of starting the translation.
“Translate it for me completely, exactly as she said it.” Lali’s throat bobbed.
She spoke with a trembling voice, each word sounding as if it were being squeezed out.
When she reached the part about “young boys,” she flinched, and by “horses and sheep,” her voice was shaking so much it was barely audible.
Even lying prone, Daenerys could tell something was wrong with Lali’s tone, so she reached out and grabbed Drogo’s wrist.
“I said it; it has nothing to do with her.” As soon as Lali finished the last sentence, she immediately knelt and prostrated herself on the ground, her chest touching the earth, not daring to move.
After hearing it, Drogo didn’t get angry but instead laughed—not a cold or mocking laugh, but a genuine laugh out loud.
The laughter lasted for a short while.
He couldn’t imagine how the original Horse Lord would have reacted upon hearing such words.
There were only the three of them inside the tent.
The other three maids, Eli, Jiji, and Doria, were of lower status and were currently outside the tent preparing the evening meal.
Drogo didn’t particularly care for the dark brown skin of Dothraki women.
Although Doria was also a Lysene girl, her figure was nowhere near as stunning as Lali’s.
Drogo said, “Your brother is wrong.
I have never seen a Dothraki do the things he described.” He thought to himself: In this regard, the Dothraki are truly more maligned than Bao Longxing.
He continued, “As for looting and killing, that part is true.
However, I also hope to do my best to change these bad habits, but these are traditions passed down for thousands of years and cannot be changed overnight.
Forcing change would only lead the tribes to rebel.” After speaking, he reached out and helped Lali up from the ground.
Lali stood up and translated his words sentence by sentence.
He was actually a bit surprised that Daenerys dared to speak so directly.
When she first met Drogo, the way she looked at him was like a lamb looking at a wolf; she would avoid him, not dare to look up, and speak only in a whisper.
Before the dragons hatched, he had done his best to maintain the original progression of the plot to avoid any complications.
But for Daenerys, his gentleness, thoughtfulness, and understanding had caused a change in her mindset.
After listening, Daenerys’s eyes lit up.
“You are the Khal; if you give the order, they will surely listen to you.” Drogo looked at her.
Still too naive.
“You’re oversimplifying things,” he said.
He reached out and stroked her head.
Her silver hair was soft against his palm.
Drogo couldn’t tell her that later there would be a man named Mago who would draw his blade to challenge him over spoils of war.
That he would be wounded, giving a witch an opening to turn him into a living corpse, and that he would eventually be smothered by her.
He could only say, “Some things cannot be changed simply by giving an order.” Drogo continued, “Besides, I have more important things to do right now.” “You mean hatching the dragon eggs?” Daenerys said suddenly.
“Why are you boiling them?” Drogo thought for a moment and decided to answer truthfully.
“I want to hatch them.” “Illyrio said they can no longer be hatched.” “He’s wrong.” Daenerys looked at him, her eyes filled with a bit of doubt but also a glimmer of hope.
“Have you ever seen a dragon?” Drogo thought: Seen one?
Not only have I seen one, I’ve even had the ‘full dragon treatment’ before.
The curtain was pulled back, and Eli, Jiji, and Doria entered carrying steaming mutton.
The offal was served in large bowls, steam rising from them, as the gamey scent mixed with the aroma of meat instantly filled the tent.
Drogo tilted his chin toward Jiji.
“You tell her.” Jiji paused for a moment and set the bowl down.
“Khaleesi, the dragons are long gone.” “Yes,” Doria chimed in, “they all died out a long, long time ago.” “Is it the same everywhere?” Daenerys said disappointedly.
“There are no more dragons,” Eli said firmly.
Drogo spoke then, his voice calm and measured: “Unless these three eggs are hatched.” Daenerys said, “But no one has hatched a dragon in centuries!” Drogo replied flatly, “That is because there was no Mother of Dragons.” The moment the words left his mouth, it was as if a bolt of lightning had struck his mind.
“Crack~ Boom!” The Mother of Dragons, of course.
dragon eggs need the Mother of Dragons to hatch.
He had spoken the words without thinking, and only after saying them did he realize the truth.
Daenerys didn’t have much of a reaction; she just listened, thinking it was merely a common remark.
But her fingers unconsciously stroked the three eggs, like touching a dream that had not yet awakened.