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Essos, Vaes Dothrak
11th Moon of 57 AC
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The Great Grass Sea seemed to ripple beneath the hooves of hundreds of thousands of horses. The air, thick with dust and the acrid scent of animal sweat, vibrated with a dull roar that echoed for leagues around. The Khalar Vezhven, the great gathering of the khalasars, had summoned the horselords to the feet of the Mother of Mountains. From every corner of the steppes, riders had ridden with their khals at the vanguard, converging on the only place in the world where swords must remain in their scabbards and Dothraki blood could not be shed under penalty of eternal damnation.
Vaes Dothrak, the city without walls, unfolded before the newcomers as a labyrinth of straw huts, leather tents, and ancient stone monuments brought from plundered lands. There were no gates to bar the enemy, nor watchtowers, for the Dothraki believed only cowards hid behind stone walls. Along the imposing Godsway, bare-chested riders with long braids adorned with bells paraded with pride. The khalasars had already taken positions in the sprawling peripheral camps, claiming their territories by deploying their riders. The atmosphere was a mix of restrained hostility and savage camaraderie, where men measured each other with their gazes, counting the bells in their rivals' hair and boasting of the slaves and livestock captured in their latest raids.
However, the desert routine was broken by an unusual sound that began to filter from the western horizon. It was not the light, rhythmic gallop of Dothraki steeds, but a heavy, metallic, rhythmic rumbling—a marching cadence that made the ground vibrate with an artificial rhythm.
The sentinels of the Khalasars were the first to spot the column. At first, laughter and derogatory remarks spread among the traditional riders.
"What kind of men hide in shells like the turtles of the Rhoyne?" mocked one of the Dothraki, pointing toward the rising dust. "A Dothraki only needs his bone bow and his horse to dominate the earth. Those are cowards who fear the wind."
But the mockery quickly died in the onlookers' throats as the contingent from Xandar became fully visible. It was not a group of merchants or a small retinue; it was an entire khalasar of thirty-six thousand riders, and the sight of their advance defied all the logic of the steppes.
At the vanguard marched the riders of Xandar, mounted on robust, dark-coated stallions. Each one of the thirty-six thousand warriors was covered from shoulder to calf in gleaming iron armor, forged with a precision that surpassed the crude craftsmanship of the Free Cities. The breastplates, bracers, and closed helms reflected the sunlight with a blinding intensity, creating the illusion of a river of liquid metal advancing relentlessly over the grass. Behind them, completely breaking Dothraki tradition, the women, children, and elders of the khalasar did not walk on foot or use rickety carts; they rode tall camels, whose slow, haughty gaits gave the rearguard the air of a fortified imperial caravan.
The initial contempt of the local Dothraki morphed into a heavy silence, tinged with a fear few wanted to admit. An entire khalasar protected by metal was an unbeatable force in the open field; bone-tipped arrows would bounce off their chests, and bronze arakhs would notch against their sides.
At the forefront, flanking the Khal, rode his eight Bloodriders: Kakho, Cakoqqo, Onno, Qrano, Essino, Zirqo, Mottaekho, and Gezro. Their appearance provoked murmurs of astonishment and bewilderment. They did not wear common iron. Their armor was made of a crystalline, deep, mystical blue material that seemed to absorb the daylight and return it in electric flashes: pure diamond, cut and assembled for war.
And in the center of the group, leading his Khalasar, was Caspian. His netherite armor—a dark gray, almost black hue with reddish reflections that resembled dying embers—instilled reverential terror. The dense metal, of such colossal weight that only someone with his strength could wear it with such grace, made him look more like a god of war than a mortal. To his right rode Valka, whose netherite armor bore engraved runes that seemed to vibrate with latent energy, maintaining a severe posture, her gaze fixed on the horizon. And to his left, Princess Aerea Targaryen, now a Khaleesi, wore armor of Valyrian steel, the relic she had salvaged from the ruins of Old Valyria; the dark metal with concentric ripples encased her figure with elegant lightness, reflecting her lineage of dragonriders.
The murmur of the crowd gathered at the Horse Gate died out completely when the sky darkened.
Two gigantic shadows fell over Vaes Dothrak, accompanied by a sudden wind that whipped the banners and spooked the horses in the camps, sending them rearing and neighing in panic. Endaxia roared first, spreading her immense wings over the Mother of Mountains, her silhouette blotting out the sun for a few moments. But it was the creature following her that froze the blood of the khals. Balerion the Black Dread flew over the city with his more than one hundred meters of length and an imposing wingspan of nearly three hundred. His absolute black scales and red eyes observed the human gathering from above, emitting a deep rumble that resonated in the chest of every man on the ground.
Caspian raised his hand, and his khalasar halted with a military precision no other Dothraki group possessed. The iron riders began to dismount to pitch their camp with meticulous order, ignoring the stares of the thousands of savages surrounding them.
With the Khalar Vezhven scheduled to begin at nightfall, and with it still being morning, Caspian decided to tour the sacred city. He did not do so alone; he was accompanied by Valka, Aerea, and his eight Bloodriders, allowing the local population a close look at the nature of those who had dared to defy the customs of the desert.
Caspian rode effortlessly, listening to the subtle clinking of the gold chains adorning his attire over the netherite armor. At his side, Valka observed the city's markets with detachment. The Western and Eastern Markets were teeming with merchants from the Free Cities, Yi Ti, and Qarth, all selling their wares to the Dothraki in exchange for the spoils of war.
"It is a city built from the bones of the cultures they destroyed," Valka commented softly, looking at a bronze statue of a Ghiscari warrior lying half-buried near a fabric stall. "They create nothing; they only hoard everything they get."
"But they possess a strength that cannot be ignored, my queen," Aerea interjected, a slight purr in her voice. "They are the finest riders in the world; with all of them under a single banner, there is no power on earth that could face them head-on."
As they moved down the wide earthen avenues, people stepped aside to let them pass. The Dothraki warriors of other khalasars looked at them with a mixture of hatred and fascination. Some spat on the ground as the diamond-clad riders passed, but no one dared raise a weapon. The laws of Vaes Dothrak forbade the shedding of blood, but the true reason for their restraint floated in the sky, where Endaxia and Balerion continued to trace concentric circles over the mountain peak.
Hours later, Caspian stopped in front of the great pavilion of the Dosh Khaleen, an immense structure of interwoven wooden beams roofed with animal hides. The place emanated the smell of burnt herbs and rancid fat.
"This is where history begins," Caspian murmured, looking at the entrance of the enclosure. He then stepped inside.
The interior of the Dosh Khaleen pavilion was bathed in thick gloom, broken only by the large braziers burning in the center of the space, casting long, dancing shadows on the leather walls. The air was heavy, saturated with the smoke of bitter herb incense that the acolytes continuously tossed into the flames.
The khals of the greatest khalasars of the Great Grass Sea were already seated in a semicircle on fur cushions, surrounded by their respective bloodriders. Khal Polo, a broad-shouldered man with a braid that reached almost to his knees, kept his brow furrowed. Beside him, Khal Jommo and Khal Honko conversed in angry whispers, sharing the same indignation that ran through all the traditional leaders.
When Caspian entered, flanked by his Bloodriders, a hostile silence fell over the room. The metallic clanking of their armor as they moved was an insult to the ears of those present, accustomed to the scrape of leather and the silence of fabrics. Caspian did not seek a spot on the floor; he remained standing, arms crossed, his netherite armor absorbing the reddish firelight.
"The Khalar Vezhven is for the Dothraki," declared Khal Polo, rising from his seat and pointing at Caspian with a scar-riddled finger. "Not for an intruder who hides behind metal shells like a coward from the stone cities. Not for a man who needs beasts of the sky to instill the fear his own arm cannot provoke."
"A true Khal rides bare-chested beneath the sun, trusting in his blood and his stallion," added Khal Honko, his eyes bloodshot. "You bring garments of steel to the sacred land. You are a disgrace to the Horse God."
The murmurs of agreement from the other chieftains were immediate. The tension escalated, and several bloodriders placed their hands on the hilts of their arakhs, forgetting for a moment the sanctity of the place.
Before the situation could erupt, a figure stepped forward from the darkness at the back of the pavilion. It was the matriarch of the Dosh Khaleen, the eldest widow of the ancient khals, a woman whose skin looked like wrinkled parchment and whose cataract-clouded eyes reflected the brazier light with supernatural fixity. The rest of the crones followed her in deathly silence.
"Silence!" the crone's voice, though raspy, resonated through the pavilion with the authority of centuries. "The khals shout like children before a storm, but their eyes are blind to the signs in the sky."
The matriarch walked slowly to the center, stopping between Caspian and the outraged chieftains.
"The Horse God has spoken in the visions of the Dosh Khaleen," she continued, raising her skeletal hands toward the roof. "We have seen the steppes burn beneath a fire that does not scorch the grass, but the souls of the weak. The great stallion who mounts the world needs no horse of flesh and bone. The mount of the great stallion is the beast of bronze wings that shatters the clouds. The Horse God has chosen his Herald, and his command is clear: all khalasars must submit to the one who mounts the sky."
An outburst of fury interrupted the crone's words. Khal Jommo leapt to his feet, his face twisted in rage.
"Crazy old women who drink too much fermented mare's milk!" Jommo roared, pointing at the matriarch with contempt. "I will not submit to a foreigner because of the fantasies of dying witches. Your prophecy is a lie meant to frighten children. My khalasar will not kneel before metal or your empty words!"
Another Khal stood beside him, spitting toward the central brazier in a show of absolute rejection, hurling direct insults at the crones and the legitimacy of their vision.
The matriarch of the Dosh Khaleen did not flinch. Slowly, she turned her head toward the two khals who had resisted. Her clouded eyes fixed on them with a cold, ruthless intensity. She did not utter a single word, nor raise a weapon, nor make any gesture of violence.
Suddenly, the Khal who had spat grabbed his head with a choked scream. His eyes widened monstrously, and his knees gave out, sending him crashing face-first into the dirt floor. He began to writhe in violent spasms, his face contorting into an expression of indescribable agony, as if every nerve in his body were being scorched from the inside by an invisible fire. His bloodriders tried to touch him, but the man let out shrieks so harrowing that it froze the blood of everyone present.
Khal Jommo took a step back, horrified, but before he could flee, the crone's gaze fell directly upon him.
Jommo froze in place. A sharp wail escaped his throat as he fell to his knees. His hands clawed at his own leather-clad chest, his breathing turning into an agonizing wheeze. His body trembled under the weight of absolute suffering that left no external marks, yet consumed his strength at a terrifying speed. Within a minute, the screams of both men ceased completely, leaving their lifeless bodies on the pavilion floor, their eyes wide open and staring into the void, devoid of all life after experiencing the purest of pain.
The silence that followed was absolute. None of the remaining khals dared to breathe heavily. They looked at the corpses, then at the ancient matriarch, who simply looked away, returning to the shadows alongside the rest of the widows as if nothing had happened.
Caspian observed the bodies with an impassive expression. He knew that the power of the world did not always manifest through the sword or dragonfire; he, more than anyone, knew there were powers and mysteries in this world that were difficult to explain, and the Dosh Khaleen's demonstration had made it clear who held true control over those who haunted the Great Grass Sea.
Khal Polo, trying not to tremble, bowed his head before Caspian, albeit warily. "The khalasar of Polo is yours, Khal of Khals," he said with a shaking voice.
One by one, the remaining khals followed his example, bowing before the man in the netherite armor. Caspian's iron riders were no longer intruders; they were now the vanguard of a force that would unify the entire Dothraki people under a single banner.
A slow, calculating smile appeared on Caspian's face. He glanced at the witches of the Dosh Khaleen in the shadows, who nodded with the same satisfaction reflected in his eyes. Control of the Great Grass Sea was finally his.
"Rise," Caspian commanded, his voice echoing powerfully through the pavilion. "Let it be known that every change I have made to my Khalasar will also extend to every Dothraki who can hold an Arakh; you will help me strike down anyone who stands in our way, and the name Dothraki will be marked as a force of nature throughout Essos, and very soon, the rest of the world. Today, the Undying Horde is born!"
Shouts of acclamation began to spread from the pavilion to the outside, where the riders within the temple repeated the decree of their new and sole leader, while high above, the humming of the dragons blessed the dawn of a new era.