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Essos, Vaes Dothrak
12th Moon of 57 AC
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The slopes of the Mother of Mountains no longer reverberated with the hooves of hundreds of thousands of stallions, but with the rhythmic and almost unnatural echo of progress. Vaes Dothrak, the city without walls that was once the beating heart of the Grass Sea, found itself in a state of absolute metamorphosis. To any ordinary observer, the task of rebuilding a metropolis of thatch huts, reed palaces, and ancient monuments that had been razed or abandoned would seem the labor of an entire generation. But for Caspian, a man who carried the weight and secret of a tool that defied the physical laws of this world, reality molded itself with the ease of thought and the movement of his hands.
Caspian stood upon a rocky prominence that overlooked the great western market. Before his eyes, a translucent interface unfolded—a creative menu containing the very essence of what had helped him build Xandar: blocks of polished stone, wooden beams, glazed terracotta of various colors, and even redstone mechanisms whose internal logic would have driven the maesters of the Citadel mad. Just as he had done during the dizzying foundation of Xandar and the construction of Vaes Yeraan, Caspian needed no quarries, no oxen, nor the endless scaffolding required by the architects of Westeros or Ghis. A simple movement of his fingers in the air was enough for a row of perfectly cut stone columns to materialize instantly from the ground, fitting together with a millimetric precision that no human mason could replicate in an entire lifetime.
At his feet, however, the ground was indeed populated by thousands of human lives. Following the great migration of the hordes toward Vaes Yeraan, the ancient Dothraki capital had not been left empty. Thousands of men and women of various ethnicities—peaceful-eyed Lhazareen, escaped slaves from the Free Cities, and Dothraki of lower status who chose not to follow the massive exodus—thronged the mapped streets of the city. Some formed brigades destined to recover any object of value, relic, or precious metal that the hordes had left behind in their haste. Others, in simple tunics and with submissive movements, served as servants to Caspian's personal khalasar—those warriors who had become the pillar of the conquest of Qohor and who had sworn to follow the King of Xandar and who now patrolled the avenues under construction, maintaining an iron order beneath the shadow of the man who flew in the sky.
"The work continues without complications, my Khal," a soft voice, tempered like silk, interrupted Caspian's silence.
Caspian closed the invisible menu with a blink and turned his head. Amanda was there, holding a silver tray with a baked clay jug and a cup of wine spiced with cinnamon and wild berries. She wore a simple attire of white linen, adapted to the climate of the plains, yet clean and perfectly arranged.
Amanda had become something far more transcendental than a mere servant in Caspian's life. In the past moons, she had earned a place of absolute intimacy; she was his most cherished servant, the only person outside his inner circle who knew the monarch's moments of silent fatigue and who knew exactly how to anticipate his needs. She was not only in charge of supervising the food, the arrangement of his quarters, and the most minute details of his daily life, but she also represented a haven of blind loyalty on a continent that devoured careless kings.
"Thank you, Amanda," Caspian said, taking the cup. The wine was at the exact temperature he liked, neither too cold from the mountain wind nor too hot from the midday sun. "How are the inventories of the eastern sector coming along?"
"The Lhazareen have finished classifying the bronze statues of the Promenade of the Gods, my Khal," she replied, keeping her hands clasped before her belly, her head slightly inclined in a show of deep respect. "Everything suitable for smelting or for the adornment of the new palaces has been cataloged. The riders of your khalasar guard the storehouses. There will be no losses."
Caspian nodded, taking a sip of the wine. As he observed the horizon, where a great structure of stone bricks sprouted from the ground following the commands of his creative menu, he allowed himself to enjoy the silence of the camp.
"Sometimes I wonder if this place will ever forget the smell of suffering," Caspian commented, more to himself than to her.
"Under your hand, my Khal, the world forgets whatever is necessary to flourish anew," Amanda said. Her tone was flawless, sweet, and measured, while her eyes remained fixed on the ground, waiting with peaceful patience for her Khal to finish his cup.
"Go rest for a while, Amanda. You have been awake since before the first light, preparing the provisions for the Khalasar," Caspian ordered in an affable tone.
"Your well-being is my only rest, my lord. But I shall obey your wish," she made a perfect curtsy, gathered the tray, and withdrew with silent steps, descending the polished stone path that led to the central palace under construction.
The following day, the reconstruction of Vaes Dothrak continued beneath a relentless sun, even as the world crossed through a winter. Caspian spent the entire morning using the creative interface to lay out the city's underground aqueducts. It was a technical labor that required immense concentration; he had to place blocks of stone and create drainage conduits to ensure that the new metropolis would not suffer from a shortage of liquid even when the population tripled, or that the sewage systems would not be overstrained.
At midday, the king returned to his main tent, a massive pavilion of black and purple silk that the servants had erected near the great market. He was exhausted—not physically, but mentally from the constant manipulation of the interface that unfolded in his mind.
When he entered, Amanda was already there. The tray with sliced fruits—fresh figs brought from Xandar, slices of melon—and a jug of fresh water with mint leaves waited upon the wooden table. She was even finishing the alignment of the morning report documents with a neat order, skills learned since her time as a slave.
"Always precise, Amanda," Caspian said, letting himself fall onto a pile of Ghiscari leather cushions.
"It is my duty to ensure that the weight of the crown does not exhaust you, my lord," she replied, her back turned to him as she finished arranging some maps that contained the blueprints of the city.
Caspian took a fig and brought it to his mouth. While chewing, he casually observed the silhouette of the woman with her back to him. There was something, a minute, almost imperceptible detail, that caught his attention. When Amanda placed the final document upon the table, her fingers did not release it immediately. Instead of withdrawing with the smooth fluidity that characterized her, she remained completely motionless for an excessive fraction of a second, keeping her right hand extended over the wood of the table, the tendons on the back of her hand strangely tense, rigid. Her shoulders squared in a way that, for an instant, erased the habitual submission of her posture.
It was an utterly strange glimpse. That bodily rigidity did not remind him of the protective warmth Amanda usually deployed in the domestic environment, but rather of the imposing, cold, and calculated presence of Valka. It was the same attention to the surroundings, a martial rectitude that seemed entirely foreign for a docile woman like her.
Caspian frowned slightly, halting the movement of his hand toward the cup of water.
"Amanda?" he called her, intrigued.
The woman turned instantly. The rigidity in her hand and shoulders vanished at once, dissolving with such natural ease that Caspian doubted his own eyes. Her face immediately lit up with her usual docile and peaceful smile, and her brown eyes looked at the king with a devotion that seemed unshakeable.
"Yes, my Khal? Do you wish for me to bring more wine, or should I send for someone?" she asked, tilting her head with a gentle and genuine curiosity.
Caspian observed her intently for a few long seconds. The gaze was identical, the tone of voice possessed no flaw, and the arrangement of her attire was correct for any given afternoon. The hint of martial tension that had reminded him of Valka seemed to have evaporated like the morning mist over the Grass Sea. The king shook his head, rubbing his temples and attributing the strange impression to the severe mental fatigue caused by the hours spent ordering the blocks of the creative interface.
"No, nothing like that. The water is fine," Caspian said, finally taking the cup. "Just... make sure the workers receive double rations this afternoon. The work on the aqueducts is proving heavy."
"It shall be done immediately, my Khal. I will personally see to it that your command is fulfilled," she replied with a perfect bow.
She took the empty tray and walked toward the exit of the pavilion. Her gait was light, measured, and elegant—a walk entirely her own. She stepped out of the tent, losing herself amidst the bustle of the workers and the warriors who guarded the exterior, leaving Caspian alone with his maps, while the winter wind of Vaes Dothrak continued to sweep the dust of reconstruction through the deserted avenues.