Khal Drogo’s khalasar had been stalled in this desolate wasteland for two days.
Rumors that “the Khal is dying” circulated through the tribe every waking moment.
It could hardly be called a rumor, for everyone knew the truth: Khal Drogo was too sick to even mount his horse.
Without their Khal to lead them, the khalasar could not move.
That night, Mirri Maz Duur announced with an ashen face, “The Khal’s wound has festered.
No healer can save him now.
All that remains is to guide him down the dark path, so he may ride into the night lands without pain.” Daenerys feigned absolute heartbreak, begging the woman to save her ‘sun and stars.’ Mirri Maz Duur studied Dany and her heavily pregnant belly with eyes as black as night.
Her voice was unnervingly quiet, almost like a sleepwalker’s murmur.
“There is one way.
A magic.
“But this spell is not only difficult to perform, it is also exceedingly dark.
For some, death would be a cleaner end.
“I learned this magic in Asshai, and paid a bitter price for it.
My mentor was from the Shadow Lands…” “A bloodmage.” She spat the word out softly, openly revealing her true identity for the first time—a maegi.
She had previously denied being a witch, claiming only to be a healer and a priestess.
Her voice seemed to carry some dark enchantment.
Daenerys, who had been baking in the heat of the roaring brazier, suddenly felt an icy, clammy tentacle wrap around her throat.
She couldn’t breathe; her brain was starved of air, her thoughts blurring.
She heard herself mumble in a daze, “Do it, save him…” Suddenly, a surge of scalding magma erupted from her lower abdomen.
The intense heat shocked her nerves, snapping her instantly awake.
The dragon egg had been tucked directly against the skin of her belly all along.
Forcing down her shock, she put on a hesitant expression.
“The Khal’s bloodriders will never allow it.
Is there truly no other way?” The maegi paused, then shook her head.
“No.” Dany pursed her lips, staring directly into her eyes, and said coldly, “So you admit you are a maegi?” “Do I?” Mirri Maz Duur seemed entirely unafraid, smiling faintly.
“Silver Lady, right now only a maegi can save your warrior.
And you must pay the price.” Dany looked at the unconscious Drogo and asked, “What do you want?
Gold, horses…” The maegi cut her off without hesitation.
“This is not a matter of gold or horses, my lady.
This is blood magic.
Only death may pay for life.” “Death?
You want my life?” The maegi assured her, “Not your death, Khaleesi.” Her gaze flicked repeatedly to Dany’s swollen belly, her eyes dark and harboring a hidden malice.
Deciding not to drag this out any further, Daenerys asked bluntly, “Whose death will wake my sun and stars?
Surely not his horse?” “Silver Lady, you have great courage to face the cruelest of realities.
You have already guessed it, haven’t you?
The equivalent exchange of blood magic: trading the life of one noble Khal to the gods of night for the rebirth of another great horselord.” Mirri Maz Duur smiled and pointed at Dany’s belly, looking like a demon from hell eyeing an unholy sacrifice.
“Khal Drogo is not just your sun and stars; he is the guarantee of your safety.
“As long as your husband lives, you will have a whole flock of children waiting for you to raise…
Perhaps, like that other Silver Lady, you will give birth to twins representing the sun and stars.” Dany’s face changed drastically.
She grabbed the teapot in front of her and hurled it at the woman.
*Crash!* The maegi hadn’t expected such a reaction.
The pot struck her square on the forehead, and blood mixed with milky-white mare’s milk streamed down her cheeks.
“Aggo, Rakharo, drag the maegi away!
Gag her and tie her up!” she shouted to the guards on duty outside.
Two days and nights passed.
Drogo’s khalasar was on the verge of collapse.
Every night, Dany could hear the weeping of Irri, Jhiqui, and her other handmaids.
This morning, she had even seen Doreah’s chest, stomach, and thighs covered in brutal bruises.
It was the work of Qotho and Haggo.
A Khal’s bloodriders shared everything with him except his mount.
Drogo never allowed them to touch Dany, but her handmaids had always been theirs for the taking.
They had never been this excessive before, but now…
“Everyone knows the Khal is dying.
According to Dothraki custom, his bloodriders must die with him.
Qotho and the others know their time is running out, which is why they’ve become so deranged.
Dead men have nothing left to fear,” Ser Jorah told her, looking exhausted.
He had actually endured the most hardship over the past two days.
He hadn’t taken off his heavy armor since the moment he put it on.
By day, he stood guard outside; by night, he propped a chair by the door, his gleaming sword resting across his knees.
“Furthermore, this place is barren.
The stream a kilometer and a half away has been nearly drunk dry by the men and horses.
The main issue is the lack of grass; the livestock won’t last much longer.” Jorah rubbed his dim, tired eyes, speaking with a hint of despair.
“The Dothraki will never watch their horses starve or die of thirst.
They will make a move soon, if not tonight, then tomorrow.” *I did it on purpose.
I deliberately watched Drogo ride in the wrong direction, deliberately chose this desolate wasteland that cannot sustain a massive khalasar for long.* *Because I want the kos to give up and lead their respective khas away to disband on their own.* *I absolutely cannot let ambitious men fight for the Khal’s position near my small khas.
Otherwise, my people would never survive the chaotic crossfire, and as Khaleesi, even my own life wouldn’t be guaranteed.* Sensing that the final moment had arrived, she looked at the haggard knight with dark circles under his eyes and said, “I believe I will go into labor tonight.
Go and fetch Mirri Maz Duur.” A flash of pain crossed Ser Jorah’s eyes.
He desperately wanted to tell his princess: *In this situation, please do not hold out any hope for the child, or you will not be able to bear the devastating blow that is bound to come.* “Khaleesi, didn’t you say she wanted to sacrifice your child?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Do not worry.
I only need her to sing the birthing song.
I won’t let her near my body,” Dany reassured him.
The maegi had been locked in a nearby small tent for the past two days.
Aside from her disheveled clothes and hair, she seemed to be in decent spirits.
“I have heard the whispers of the horse warriors.
Your husband’s tribe is about to collapse.
Only his return from the darkness can change all this—your fate, and the fate of your unborn child,” she calmly urged Dany.
“My stomach hurts.
The baby is coming.
Help me deliver the child first.” Dany lay on the rugs, her body *drenched in sweat*, looking *as if* she had just taken a hot bath in her clothes.
“I will help you…” Mirri Maz Duur paused for a moment, then moved toward Dany’s bed.
“Wait.” Dany had Irri block her path.
“I am at full term and this will be a natural birth.
You will sing the birthing song from behind the screen.” She then spoke sternly to her handmaid.
“Irri, you stand guard out here.
If she does anything suspicious, shoot her dead with the crossbow immediately.” “You do not trust me?” The maegi’s face darkened.
“No.
At least not until my son is born safely.
I will not give you my trust, and you know exactly why,” Dany glared at her.
Mirri Maz Duur kept her face expressionless while pondering inwardly: *Should I let her deliver the child?
Regardless, her son, prophesied to be the Stallion Who Mounts the World, is doomed to die.
He will either die at the hands of a new Dothraki Khal, or be sacrificed by me to the demons in the shadows.* *Why hasn’t this silver-haired woman suffered a mental breakdown as expected?
The seductive dark magic woven into my words last time didn’t work either…* *It is so frustrating that I cannot personally bestow the cruelest revenge upon her.* No matter what she thought in her heart, faced with a Dothraki handmaid glaring at her with a loaded crossbow, Mirri Maz Duur had no choice but to obediently sing the birthing song.
The delivery went surprisingly smoothly.
Dany only wailed for half an hour before the weak, soft cries of a baby echoed from behind the wooden screen.
“Do not move!” Irri warned loudly.
The maegi stopped her attempt to walk around the screen and turned to the handmaid.
“Your Khaleesi needs me.
There is more complex work to be done after the child is born.” In truth, she had no other ulterior motives at that moment; she just felt that today’s birthing process was incredibly strange and desperately wanted to see it with her own eyes.
“Halt.
Do not move.” Irri held the crossbow steady, completely unmoved.
From inside, Dany spoke weakly, “Irri, let Jhiqui and Doreah come in.
Mirri Maz Duur has proven her loyalty.
Escort her back to her tent and do not bind her anymore.
And…
send her some wine and meat.” *This is highly abnormal.
That silver-haired woman is plotting something!* The maegi was absolutely certain of it, but she just couldn’t figure out what Dany had done or what she was going to do.
Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah had never given birth, nor had they studied midwifery.
They simply assumed everything was the result of Mirri Maz Duur’s miraculous birthing song.
Even Ser Jorah and the others outside shared this thought.
After all, just a few days ago, everyone had ‘seen with their own eyes’ the maegi help a dying Lilith deliver a pair of auspicious twins.
Before that, all the hairless men had been one hundred percent certain that Lilith was beyond saving after falling from her horse!
From this, it was clear that Mirri Maz Duur was an extraordinary midwife and healer.
With her help, it was perfectly normal for the Khaleesi to successfully give birth to a son.
When Ser Jorah brought the three bloodriders—Cohollo, Qotho, and Haggo—into the grass-curtained palace, they naturally assumed the scrawny infant in Dany’s arms was their Khal’s son.
“My sun and stars, your ‘blood of my blood’…
he is dying,” Dany said casually, looking down and stroking the infant’s sparse black hair.
“Woman, the Dothraki are not like your Sunset Kingdoms,” the wise old Cohollo mocked mercilessly, believing he had seen through Dany’s absurd ambition to rule as regent.
“Since the horse people were born from the Womb of the World, there has never been a baby Khal.
“In fact, even if a Khal’s adult son is not the strongest warrior in the khalasar, he might not inherit his father’s position.” At this point, they didn’t even call her ‘Khaleesi’ anymore.
Just as Ser Jorah had said, while Khal Drogo lived, she was the Khaleesi of a tribe of a hundred thousand horse people.
After his death, she would be nothing.
Daenerys said to them, “I have accepted my fate: the dosh khaleen in Vaes Dothrak.
But as the blood of my husband’s blood, this child is his continuation, and in a way, your bloodline too.
“I hope that one or more of you warriors will ride out tonight and take my Rhaego”—the name of Daenerys’s son, decided since the day she became pregnant—”to the north.
“Vaes Dothrak, beneath the Mother of Mountains, is the sacred city of the horse people, where no blades are drawn, no blood is shed, disputes are set aside, and hatred is abandoned.
“Find the dosh khaleen crone who prophesied that I would birth the ‘Stallion Who Mounts the World.’ Have her retract her prophecy for Rhaego, and beg her to take him in as a lifelong servant.
“If these requests are met, I, as the ‘Stormborn’ Princess of Dragonstone, will swear an oath on Rhaego’s behalf: to forever renounce any claim to the legacy of his birth father, Khal Drogo.”