When King Ghidorah carried Viserys to Moro Khal's camp, the Khal renowned for his valor had already prepared for war.
He sat astride his warhorse with a sharp Dothraki Arakh in hand, having gathered his most loyal Bloodriders and several hundred elite riders into a charging formation. They roared their challenge at the sky.
The Dothraki revered courage. Even against a dragon, Moro insisted on launching a heroic suicide charge so that his name would live on in song.
"Warriors of the Dothraki, the Horse God will bless us! Let the monster in the sky taste our strength!" Moro raised his Dothraki Arakh high and spurred his horse forward first.
"For the Khal!" his Bloodriders howled, spurring their horses after him in a desperate charge at King Ghidorah.
Yet against absolute power, such a mindlessly fearless charge could only end in tragedy.
King Ghidorah's three heads unleashed their breath at once. Fire, ice, and golden rays of annihilation wove a web of death, carving swaths of scorched earth, frozen ground, and utter nothingness through the charging riders. The survivors tumbled with their horses, their screams unending.
The charge collapsed in an instant. A golden ray grazed Moro Khal himself, erasing his left arm and half his shoulder. He screamed as he fell from his horse.
Viserys guided King Ghidorah down into the center of the battlefield, now a sea of fire and corpses. Moro Khal lay there, never to rise again.
He leaped from the dragon's back, Blackfyre and Bloodshadow in hand. Moro Khal's three Bloodriders lunged at Viserys from different directions, their eyes bloodshot as they roared in despair. They were among the finest warriors of the Great Grass Sea, but the gulf between them and Viserys was insurmountable.
Viserys stood where he was, Bloodshadow angled toward the ground