Khal Drogo's Wedding

In accordance with Dothraki tradition.

Khal Drogo and Princess Daenerys held their wedding in an open clearing on the grasslands outside Pentos.

Daenerys was filled with terror.

The Dothraki actually believed that all of life's important events should bear witness beneath the open sky, including weddings and wedding nights.

How could this be?

She was afraid from the bottom of her heart.

Afraid of this wedding that had never once asked for her opinion;

Afraid of the man seated beside her, speaking the harsh, incomprehensible language of the nomads, who had not even spared her a second glance;

Afraid of everything she would be forced to endure in some open patch of ground after sunset.

Confusion, fear, and the unknown surrounded her.

After all, she was only a thirteen-year-old girl.

This was not how she had imagined her wedding.

More than forty thousand strangely mannered, barbaric "guests" feasted and celebrated below, while even more women, children, and slaves, along with countless animals, surrounded this temporary open-air palace.

Looking out, she saw strange foreign men and women bare-chested beneath the high platform, adorned with leather, horsehair, and bronze, eating horsemeat and drinking mare's milk.

Everyone gorged themselves on the grass and dirt, breaking into shoving matches at the slightest disagreement.

Amid the clamor, she felt only lonely.

Though Khal Drogo sat laughing and shouting from the seat of honor on the high platform, his attention was not on his new bride within arm's reach, but on the Bloodriders below.

No one spoke to her, as if she did not exist.

She looked toward Illyrio and her brother below. They were close enough for her to see her brother's increasingly sour expression, yet too far away for her to say a word.

And beside her brother was Ser Jorah, who seemed even more solemn than usual.

Did he dislike this wedding too?

The drums boomed as bare-chested women danced strange, wild dances for the Khal before the high platform.

The bride hurriedly looked away, doing her best to ignore the sight.

Another Dothraki approached one of the dancers, then a second, then a third, until two men seized the same woman.

Strange cries came from the two warriors' mouths.

In the blink of an eye, two Arakhs slid from their sheaths, dazzling white light flashing with their shadows.

These weapons had sickle-like curved blades. Nearly every Dothraki warrior carried one, and she had seen countless such blades in less than half a day.

Now, she also witnessed their sharpness and danger.

After several breaths of dizzying clashes of white light, a curved blade swept across one man's waist. His spine and abdomen were instantly cleaved in two, nearly cutting him in half.

The man fell at once, his red and green innards spilling onto the ground and becoming coated in dust.

No one stopped the bloody duel.

Magister Illyrio had warned her beforehand, "Any Dothraki wedding that does not claim at least three lives is considered a failure."

She had a feeling that today's wedding would claim far more than three.

Slaves carried away the corpse, but the other warriors' enthusiasm did not diminish. The victor casually pulled over a dancer and began enjoying himself.

The wedding continued as usual.

A servant slowly approached the high platform carrying dishes.

Khal Drogo and the Princess chose their food first, while what remained went to the Magister, Viserion, and the others.

Viserion's pride was wounded again and again with each new round of food. He did not think Khal Drogo held a higher status than himself, much less his sister, who sat above him.

"Your Majesty, please do not be upset. This is merely courtesy toward the hosts of the wedding. The Khal naturally understands how noble you are."

As Elin presented the dishes, he consoled Viserion.

Elin did not want the Beggar King's momentary impulse to ruin this wedding. His plan still needed time.

Viserion immediately believed him. "That's what I thought. Drogo still understands propriety. I am the sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms. Of course he should know who is above whom."

"Humph! For my sister's wedding, I'll let him off this time."

Elin silently nodded in agreement, only grateful that the Beggar King had not spoken loudly enough and that Khal Drogo did not understand the Common Tongue of Westeros.

Unlike the Princess, Elin was very pleased with today's wedding.

The disorderly arrangements across the grasslands, the palace woven from grass, the crude high platform, the various wedding rituals, and the guests allowed to wander about armed with swords and blades—death was nothing unusual.

Elin knew how to make use of the power here.

Drogo's Khalasar was enormous.

Forty thousand warriors and countless women, children, and slaves had gathered on these grasslands. The consumption of supplies and the difficulty of managing them were immense.

Drogo naturally could not handle every matter himself. He had deputies who managed the tribe for him. These men were the Kos, responsible for commanding the various Khas within the Khalasar.

With the Khal at the head and the Kos assisting him, the power wielded by forty thousand warriors was enough to make Pentos tremble.

For this reason, the Magisters of Pentos had doubled the city guard. But no one dared guarantee how much difference that would make.

As everyone knew, Pentos was the weakest of the Free Cities.

Its peace treaty with Braavos stipulated that the people of Pentos could possess no more than twenty warships, could not hire mercenaries, make contracts with free companies, or maintain any army beyond the city watch.

What use were massive walls alone?

Thanks to the Crown Prince's guidance, Elin decided to exploit this fundamental imbalance and conflict between the Dothraki and Pentos.

The dishes had all been served.

Elin exchanged a look with Jorah Mormont, and they quietly departed.

Now it was Jorah's turn to worry.

In just a few days, Jorah felt that he had exhausted more mental energy than he had in the previous several years.

The Spider, Varys, had tasked him only with infiltrating the Dragon House siblings' circle and passing along intelligence. He had not asked Jorah to take the initiative and do anything.

It had been a good bargain, but The Spider probably would not live much longer. Jorah still trusted the power of the throne more.

Elin.

This Crown Prince's attendant was far more troublesome. He wanted Jorah to make connections, to kill, to serve as a guard.

His gaze shifted toward the Kos on the other side. Pono and Jhaqo—those two Kos had actually not killed Elin outright. Did Drogo know?

Jorah touched the hilt of his sword. Let less blood be spilled today. Especially mine.

The sun slowly set.

Khal Drogo rose and clapped his hands. Every drumbeat, shout, feast, and celebration immediately came to a halt.

Drogo helped Daenerys to her feet. The ceremony for presenting the bride's gifts began.

Viserion stepped forward with three maidservants.

Two were Dothraki women with almond-shaped eyes, black hair, and brown skin. The third was a Lys girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Dear sister, these are no ordinary servants," Viserion said. "Illyrio and I selected every one of them especially for you. Irri will teach you to ride, Jhiqui will teach you Dothraki, and Doreah will teach you the arts of the bed."

Viserion smiled faintly. "She is an expert in that regard. Illyrio and I can both guarantee it."

Ser Jorah Mormont slowly approached with a long, thick scroll in his arms.

"Princess, I am deeply ashamed. Impoverished as I am, I could only afford this map of Westeros. I hope it might ease your longing for home, if only a little."

Jorah untied the silk knot securing the scroll. "Allow me to unfold it for you."

Elin stood quietly behind Viserion.