Although several walls of Drogo’s grass palace were made of thick rushes, the roof and front were sewn from multiple layers of silk and coarse cotton.
When dismantled and folded together, it was enough to fill ten wagons.
In modern society, it would be almost worthless…
well, actually, it would be quite valuable.
Dozens of animal pelts hung upon it—golden mink, thick bison hides, and the pelts of white lions unique to this fantasy world, which could probably be exchanged for several apartments in the prime districts of a modern metropolis.
Anyway, back to the world of ice and fire.
The greatest Khal naturally resided in the finest palace, and Drogo’s grass palace was undoubtedly the most magnificent existence in the Dothraki Sea.
“Khal, it is getting late.
I’m afraid we will have to make camp here for today,” Mago said to Jhaqo.
Jhaqo thought for a moment, then loudly ordered Kovarro and the others to stop.
“Leave.
The palace is mine.
Tonight, I will feast the warriors of the khalasar.
Also, I know Drogo has ten chests of gold medallions and fifty chests of silver medallions.
Hand them over.
They all belong to me now.” The Dothraki had no monetary system and did not trade with coin, but they were not the only people in this world.
The horse people were not even the strongest race.
When they arrived at the nine Free Cities with their high walls, deep moats, and heavy guards, they still needed to acquire daily necessities through the exchange of gifts.
Gold and silver were the hard currency of the world of ice and fire, and the Dothraki needed them too.
They melted down gold, silver, and copper into medallions and plates that could be linked together to form belts.
From time to time, a Khal would unfasten a medallion from his waist and bestow it upon a meritorious warrior as a reward.
As the most powerful, Khal Drogo possessed the strongest khalasar and the greatest wealth.
The “luxurious” grass palace, spanning over two hundred square meters, had nearly half its space filled with heavy wooden chests.
Aside from clothing and daily utensils, gold and silver made up the bulk of it.
“You are too late.
You are not the only ko who covets Khal Drogo’s wealth.” Jhaqo rudely interrupted her.
“Not ‘ko’.
I am Khal Jhaqo.” Daenerys’s eyes held a look of contempt as she continued, “To prevent rogue soldiers from breaking into the tent, I had those things thrown out long ago.
Besides, the dosh khaleen are provided for by the entire city of Vaes Dothrak.
I have no need for gold or silver.” “Is that true?” Jhaqo was somewhat angry and somewhat disbelieving—or rather, unwilling to believe it.
“We carried the chests out and dumped them together.
Sixty chests.
It is known,” Ser Jorah said.
“It is known,” Aggo echoed.
“It is known,” Dany’s khas chimed in haphazardly.
“Damn it, leave at once!” Jhaqo waved his whip in exasperation.
A Khaleesi’s dowry, a Khal’s weapons, and his horses were never to be taken by force…
well, this was a tradition known to all Dothraki.
In a twenty-square-meter linen tent, a dozen wooden chests were piled messily in one corner, mostly gifts Dany had received at her wedding.
When they were carried out of Drogo’s palace, Mago had even dismounted to inspect them.
The newly erected tent was too small to dig a fire pit, so they could only pull the door flaps wide open and light a roaring fire a short distance outside.
The dim yellow flames illuminated Qotho’s cold, gloomy face.
He had been keeping vigil by Drogo’s bedside, waiting for the moment his ‘blood of my blood’ would ride into the Night Lands.
Haggo was drunk, lying dejectedly on the ground, his dull eyes staring blankly at the roof of the tent.
“The child should have been left beside the blood of my blood, to wait for the final moment together.
Cohollo shouldn’t have listened to her,” he slurred.
The tent was too crowded.
Dany sat by the entrance, ignoring Haggo’s words.
With a pale face, she kept her head down, stuffing cotton batting into a rag doll.
She had just sewn the doll out of pale yellow silk.
It had no head.
Jhaqo had said he threw the child’s torso to the wild dogs.
The atmosphere in the camp beneath the starry sky was oppressive, the silence so thick it felt solid.
Among the small khas of one or two hundred people, the only sound was the crackling of firewood burning in the flames.
Ser Jorah remained in full armor.
He looked at his princess with pity, opening his mouth several times to say something, but it was as if his throat were blocked; he couldn’t utter a single word of comfort.
*Perhaps no words could ease the grief in her heart right now,* the knight thought sadly.
Unbidden, a scene that had taken place in King’s Landing surfaced in his mind.
It was fifteen years ago, on the eve of the complete annihilation of the Targaryen dynasty.
As the heir to the Lord of Bear Island, his extraordinary martial prowess had earned him a place as a personal guard to his liege lord—Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell in the North.
When he led the Northern army and followed Lord Stark into the Red Keep, he had witnessed a scene similar to tonight’s: a three-year-old princess beheaded, and a prince not yet a year old reduced to a bloody pulp smeared against the wall…
The rhythmic thud of approaching hooves broke the silence.
Kovarro rode out to investigate and quickly returned, reporting to Daenerys, “Khaleesi, it is Jhaqo’s Khaleesi, Lady Lilith.
She says she wishes to thank you in person.” Dany sat cross-legged on the ground, a folded woolen blanket resting in front of her.
Hearing this, she stared blankly down at the infant’s corpse inside the bundle for a long moment before saying in a hoarse voice, “Invite her over.” “I am here,” a female voice called out from the darkness, followed by a line of riders holding torches.
Without waiting for Dany’s command, Lilith’s entourage barged into their small circle.
“You—” Dany started, then stopped.
The wind-blown flames illuminated a smiling face that was a mix of smugness and mockery.
At this point, not even a fool would think she came with good intentions.
As Dany fitted the cleaned head of the baby boy onto the neck of the rag doll, she said in a muffled voice, “I saved you.” “Look, I am riding a horse too,” Lilith said, awkwardly pulling the reins to make her mount walk in a circle.
“A little filly with a silver mane, exactly like yours.” In truth, they were not the same.
Dany’s silver filly had a coat that shone like spun silver, while Lilith’s was merely a white horse.
Unlike the Myrish silk dress she wore last time, she had adapted to local customs and changed into a painted Dothraki vest.
Dany covered the bundle, looked up to meet Lilith’s eyes directly, and repeated, “I saved your life.” Lilith pursed her lips and waved a hand behind her.
Two athletic Dothraki female riders came forward to help her dismount.
Although she could sit on horseback, Lilith was still in her postpartum recovery period.
Her limbs were weak, her body clumsy, and she needed her handmaids to support her when she walked.
She couldn’t compare at all to Dany, who hugged her dragon eggs and experienced ‘dragon dreams’ every day.
Stumbling over to Dany, she mimicked her and sat cross-legged on the carpet spread over the ground.
Lilith leaned in close to Dany’s ear, covered her mouth, and whispered with a smile, “I hate you.” “That is obvious,” Dany nodded seriously.
She giggled, propping her hands on either side and leaning back slightly.
Looking up at the stars twinkling like jewels in the sky, she sighed and said briskly, “Ah, I am a Khaleesi now too.
I have my own little silver horse, my own khas—that’s them right there.
More importantly, I have a son as strong as a dragon.” As she spoke, she pushed off with her hands, shifting from leaning back to leaning forward, and reached down to pull back the cover of the cloth bundle in front of Dany.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.
What a pitiful little thing.
He’s not even half the size of my Jango.
Oh, everything below the head is sewn from cloth?
Right, his original body was eaten by dogs.” Hearing this, Dany inexplicably felt a great sense of relief.
The heavy guilt that had been crushing her chest and making it hard to breathe suddenly lifted.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“Thank…” Lilith froze.
“What are you talking about?
Are you crazy?” Dany bared her teeth in a vicious sneer.
“Even though you’re a disgusting bitch, at least you knew to come visit me.
That far exceeds the expectations I had for you.” *Just how low were your expectations of me?* It took Lilith a moment to fully grasp her meaning, and her face instantly twisted in anger.
“I—” Before she could lash out, Dany immediately warned, “The Dothraki cannot harm the dosh khaleen, or they will suffer the curse of the Horse God.
It is known.” She then turned her gaze to Lilith’s handmaid, and the Dothraki woman immediately responded, “It is known.” “It is known,” Irri and Jhiqui added.
“You—” Lilith glared at Dany.
After a long moment, she suddenly burst into laughter.
“It doesn’t matter.
I was always a bitch, and you’re no better.” “I saved your life!” Dany reminded her for the third time.
“I am grateful to you, but that is all.” Lilith scanned the crowd for a moment until she spotted the maegi peering over at them.
Pointing at her, she sneered, “You saved her too, yet she still killed your Khal and your child.” “I did not,” the maegi waved her hands repeatedly, denying it loudly.
“Silver Lady, have you forgotten?
It was I who used the moon’s song to help you give birth.” Lilith had no intention of conversing with her.
She simply turned back and stared at Dany with a grinning face.
“Drogo is your man.
You know better than anyone how many scars he has on his body.
Many of his injuries were far more severe than a scraped chest, yet he remained the most powerful Khal of the Great Grass Sea.
Even the brothels of Lys whispered his name, dripping with blood and death.” “I believe her,” Dany said flatly.
Then she asked, “Why do you hate me so much?
Just out of jealousy…
but being a Khaleesi isn’t exactly an enviable position.” Lilith gently stroked the silver hair hanging over her chest.
Glaring with her pale purple eyes, she gritted her teeth and spat, “Because I absolutely despise being someone else’s substitute!” “What do you mean?” Dany asked, confused.
How many women with silver hair and purple eyes were there on the western continent of Essos?
Even in Drogo’s khalasar, there were dozens of such slave girls.
“I originally belonged to Illyrio.
Because he wanted to fuck you but couldn’t break the maidenhead that belonged to Khal Drogo, he bought me from a brothel in Lys.” Lilith leaned close to Dany’s ear and whispered in a venomous tone, “That fat pig kept screaming your name the whole time he was fucking me.” “That’s it?” Dany’s eyebrows shot up, looking completely unfazed.
*In modern society, what beautiful woman hasn’t been fantasized about?* *When men jerk off, do they just stare at themselves in the mirror?* The Targaryen family was naturally blessed with beautiful genes; all its members were incredibly attractive.
Take Dany’s dead brother, for example.
His character was as vile as it could get, but his looks…
well, his looks and his character were at opposite extremes.
Daenerys’s appearance was naturally top-tier as well.
But more importantly, she had the added allure of being the last princess—the final princess of the ancient Valyrian royal bloodline.
Just thinking about it was enough to excite anyone!
Seeing that she had failed to provoke Dany, Lilith looked displeased.
She gritted her teeth and continued, “My status was low, and Illyrio never took me seriously.
He often used me to entertain others.
On the very night before you married Drogo, your ‘Beggar King’ brother, Viserys, was preparing to sneak into your bedchamber…
It was Illyrio who stopped him, telling him that if he angered Drogo, not only would he fail to use the Khal’s screaming warriors to reclaim his throne, but neither of you siblings would keep your lives.
Then, the Beggar King fucked me, and he too was calling out your name.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Otaku_Senpaii Want more chapters?