Horse Lords' Palace – Smaller Meeting Room
War in this world feels more like a logistical nightmare. I was no general, but after seeing how soldiers moved in my old world, I knew communication would be a problem here. Still, with our horses, we could form a unit to handle that.
I sat on the large pillow I usually lounged on, watching my guests talk and argue. Ko's were speaking of attacking and killing, while the prince and the bear-man debated formations. It was strange hearing outsiders' perspectives on war—they made valid points, but their tactics were terrible.
I turned to the woman at my side, Maria—my most trusted person—and whispered in her ear. "What are they doing?"
"They call it a war council," she replied quietly.
I looked at her, then at the newest addition to my women—Obara Sand—who was studying the maps. I leaned toward her, whispering, "Why are they wasting their time?"
Obara looked at me from behind her veil, confused. I turned back to the group in front of me and spoke over their bickering.
"Motho, have the Dosh Khaleen prepare Daenerys for the ceremony. Kota will take a thousand men and set up a communication line to the disputed lands. Ko Dagan will join him. Set up five camps of shadow steed riders—two hundred strong each—from the golden fields to the hills near Myr. After establishing the camps, Kota will wait at the golden fields. Dagan will hold the hills. Prepare your men."
The room fell silent. The two marked men I addressed stood and left immediately. Dagan had long been one of my most loyal Kos. He never asked—he only obeyed. He had once fought to be my bloodrider, but lost to my current weakest one. So he remained Ko, directly under my command.
"I don't care what tactics you've used in the past. My people move as I order. Myr will fall—and it will be my gift to the first of my Khaleesi. You are here to do what you must. I am Dothraki—I will fight as such."
I looked around at them. These people were too far up their own arses.
"You're all here for different reasons. Some seek retribution, others vengeance. We Dothraki conquer. If you think I don't want to rule over rubble, think again. If there is resistance, I will burn everything to the ground and have whoever is left rebuild it. I do not seek your approval—I allow you a seat in my tent not because we are equals, but because you bring cities I need not burn."
Third Person POV
All over Essos, the great cities were in full mobilization. There had been no battles in the Disputed Lands for nearly two years. Instead, thousands of encampments ringed the borders, banners stretching for miles.
The Three Sisters had struck an agreement—to halt the march of the horse lords. Mercenaries flooded the region, called from every corner of Essos.
The Triarchy had reunited once again, hoping to preserve their way of life. Their forces were vast: thousands of sellswords, Unsullied, and slave-soldiers. From massive elephants to hulking warhorses, the gathering was an overwhelming display of wealth and resolve.
Among them were strange figures—men in black robes and goat masks. They cleaned odd ritualistic blades—some pronged, others curved. Their eyes shone gold, goat-like, and some even bore small horns. These priests flew a black flag marked by the symbol of a goat.
MC's POV
I sat on my usual pillow, watching my people—bloodriders, Kos, and now former slaves.
These ex-slaves looked out of place. Outside the palace, the Dothraki could pass for wild, gentle savages. Under my gaze, they reverted to their natural state: brutal and unrelenting.
The Dornish prince fit right in with my men. He was terrifyingly skilled. On a bad day, he could probably kill me.
Still, I hated this. Politics wasn't my way. I should be killing, plundering. But walls were a must—and why build when I could take?
My thoughts were broken by the voice of the Mother of Dragons. My future wife.
"So, have our celebrations begun?" Daenerys asked, wearing only a veil over her face, a leather skirt, and a tube top.
I looked at her smiling face, at the Dothraki celebrating the start of our month-long wedding ceremony.
"Yes. From this day until your name day. On that day, we seal our union and march south," I said.
I turned back to the crowd—not people, but my people.
I smiled for the first time in a long while. The few who saw it did a double take, looking around in disbelief.
Weeks Later – Daenerys Targaryen POV
"Khaleesi of the Undying Horde. You are lucky, Princess," Maria said with a smile as she dressed the younger woman.
Daenerys wore a long, tanned leather skirt, split up one side for ease of riding. Her hair was braided into a single plait, decorated with jade bells and fresh flowers. Lately, streaks of white had begun appearing in her black hair.
"Do you think I'll be a good queen? No—a good Khaleesi?" Daenerys asked.
Maria, heavy with child, smiled at her. She reached for a dagger with a horse's head on the handle and a whip wrapped in dragon-scale with a carved skull at its base.
"You ride a dragon. You will march to war beside the Khal. You'll be whatever you wish to be, Daenerys—for you belong to the Khal."
Maria's words were soft, yet weighty. After a pause, she continued:
"You may see yourself as a prize, but you're not one because of your blood or lineage. You were chosen for your strength, your adaptability to our people. You will always be seen as an invader, no matter your birth.
The man who will carve a path to the throne of Westeros is no ruler—he is a conqueror. Never forget that, Khaleesi."
Daenerys looked at her reflection. There was nothing left of the Targaryen girl she once was. Her eyes were reptilian, her hair black streaked with silver, her ornaments all Dothraki horses. The Stallion had taken her for his own.
MC's POV
I stood in a large tent before a polished silver mirror.
The dark-skinned figure of the Undead Khal stared back at me. My gaunt, tense body painted in white war paint, slowly covering the tattoos that marked my flesh.
Around me stood my bloodriders, silent and deadly, already in full war paint. Swords, daggers, bows—they were armed to the teeth, waiting, watching.
My movements were slow and ritualistic. My muscles twitched like drawn bowstrings. My blades had been blackened by the same mysterious rite that bound our people into one interconnected horde.
A voice came from outside. A woman.
"Great Khal—the Khal of the Grey Men from the Far East has arrived. All the outstanding Khals are now here."
One of the twins dismissed her with a grunt.
I knelt over my blades and looked at my bloodriders.
"We have killed and fought one another for many years. But today, on this day—there will be only one Khal. One Khalesar. Blood of my blood—will you ride with me?"