“You have the power to change their views, don’t you?” “I have been trying to change their views.
Haven’t you noticed?
Since implementing the Bloodrider system, the tribesmen have become more eager to learn in order to serve as leaders.” “But such views were not formed in a day, nor can they be changed in a short time.
I need to give them a setback to make them realize the importance of wearing armor.” Daenerys thought for a moment.
“Viserys cannot wait that long.” “Even if they could accept wearing armor, it would probably take a year or two to forge tens of thousands of suits.” He reached out to brush away the stray hairs from her forehead.
“Viserys is not a true dragon.
You are.
You don’t need to be so concerned about his feelings.” After a long time, Daenerys gave a soft “Mhm.” On the way to an audience with the Dos Khaleen, Drogo saw an old acquaintance from afar—Ogo.
He was riding in front, followed by three men who were presumably his newly recruited Bloodriders; the four of them approached.
Daenerys followed his gaze: “Who is he?” “The person who attacked our Khalasar shortly after we left Pentos,” Drogo’s voice turned cold.
As they drew closer, Drogo saw the face clearly and noticed that he had already shaved his beard and cut his braid.
There was no greater humiliation on the plains than this.
He pulled his reins about five or six paces in front of Drogo’s horse, covered his chest with his right hand, and bowed slightly.
“Mighty Khal Drogo, I apologize for what I did to your Khalasar before and hope for your forgiveness.” Drogo looked at him, and after a moment, he spoke: “You ran quite fast.
Otherwise, you truly would have become an ‘old acquaintance’ by now.” The flesh on Ogo’s face twitched.
“I have been waiting for you in the sacred city, and I have prepared many gifts.
Please accept them.” “Waiting for me?” Drogo’s voice was unhurried.
“How long have you been hiding here?” On the plains, tribes could fight to the death.
But Vaes Dothrak was a sacred city; once inside, everyone was a brother.
No blood could be shed, and no blades could be drawn.
He dared to meet Drogo precisely because he was counting on this.
“I returned to the sacred city right after that day,” Ogo replied.
Daenerys looked at him.
She had seen the ferocity, arrogance, and insolence of the Dothraki.
But she had never seen a Khal so humble—his back bent, his head lowered, his voice soft as if begging for mercy.
“Hahahaha!” Drogo, his Bloodriders, and the nine Bloodriders he had selected during this time burst into laughter.
Ogo stood there, his face turning the color of pig liver.
Having laughed enough, Drogo urged his horse forward.
“What,” he said, without even turning his head as he passed Ogo, “are you going to block my way?” Ogo stepped aside.
After the horse had gone a distance, Drogo called out without looking back: “Virgo, go and accept the gifts.
Then come back and tell me what they are.” A Bloodrider stepped out in response.
He was lean and strong, about thirty years old, with a sturdy build; he was the smartest among the nine.
“Yes, Khal!” Virgo turned his horse and headed back toward Ogo.
Drogo continued forward with Daenerys.
Maybe it’s not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”