Chapter 108: The Great Khal Drogo
Waymar and Yugo rode into the Dothraki camp with wary eyes and steady hands.
Yugo was a strange sort of Dothraki, clever and sharp where most of his people were blunt. He had a quick mind, a taste for learning, and an unusual interest in the customs of other lands. It made him an oddity among horse-lords, but a valuable one to Artos. He was as dangerous as any Dothraki rider and far more useful than most politicans.
Waymar had expected danger when he rode into the camp. He had spent enough time among Dothraki to know the kind of people they were, and he had survived enough of their horrors to understand what it cost to endure them. The horrors of that war lingered in him.
Loyalty to Artos had kept him sane.
For most of Artos's men, that was true enough. The burden of what they had lived through still lingered in some measure, though for many the worst of the survivor's guilt had long since faded into memory. What remained was duty. Work. Purpose.
For Waymar, that meant politics.
Bravos had made him useful there, and Artos had made him indispensable. He was not merely a man with a blade. He was Artos Stark's sword and representative in a city where every smile could hide a knife. That title had come from bloody business, and he had earned it well enough.
Still, that was not why he had come here.
He had come to speak with the Great Khal Drogo.
Waymar let out a slow breath.
He was about to negotiate the safety of a khaleesi, and to put the life of her brother in Westoros hands.
Seven hells.
He set his jaw and rode on.
The camp stretched across the grasslands in a sea of leather tents, tethered horses, smoke, and low murmurs. Men moved among the tents with weapons in hand and suspicion in their eyes, but there was purpose to the camp as well. The Dothraki did not build walls, but they made boundaries all the same. It was quite evident to the Outsiders.
Beside Waymar rode Yugo, his scarred face hard as old leather.
"They watch us," Yugo said.
Waymar looked around, then gave him a dry glance. "I had noticed."
Yugo grinned and jsped. "Good. If you stop noticing eyes on you, then you are already dead."
Waymar frowned. "You have picked up too many of Lord Artos's bad habits."
"Better his habits than yours," Yugo said.
"Come. Let us greet the Great Khal."
Waymar said nothing more. He kept his back straight and his expression calm.
When they were brought before Khal Drogo, the whole camp seemed to quiet around them.
Drogo sat like some war god carved from bronze and muscle. He was broad and terrible, and he carried the stillness of a man who had never needed to ask twice for obedience.
Waymar moved first, with Yugo beside him.
Yugo inclined his head and spoke in Dothraki.
"Great Khal Drogo. I am Yugo, and this is Waymar. We ride as bloodriders for the Great Khal Artos."
*This means Dothraki*
Drogo's dark eyes remained fixed on them for a long moment.
Artos was already known among the khals. A strange exception among horse-lords, but one they respected nonetheless. He had the strength to stand among them, and he had once defeated a great khal in battle. That mattered in the grass sea.
Then Drogo gave the smallest motion of his hand, and the men around him relaxed by a fraction.
"Speak," the khal said, in a voice low and rough.
Waymar did.
"I greet the Great Khal," he said in Dothraki, rough but understandable. "I bring gifts on behalf of Khal Artos, for your marriage to the khaleesi."
Drogo's face did not change.
Then he spoke, and Yugo translated where needed.
"What does Khal Artos want? It has been many years since he last came among us. Nearly a decade, since he was declared khal. He has not returned. So tell me—what has changed now?"
Waymar gave a small smile.
"You are right. But the matter now is more pressing than old visits and old honors."
He gestured slightly toward the khaleesi.
"You have a khaleesi of different lands. Lands where Khal Artos comes from. Westeros."
At that, the air in the camp tightened.
"In Westeros," Waymar continued, "by order of the King of Westeros, both Viserys and the khaleesi are considered fugitives."
That stirred the Dothraki at once. Men shifted, hands tightened on weapons, and the camp's calm became dangerous in a heartbeat.
Waymar held up one hand before anyone could speak too loudly.
"But Khal Artos wants something else. He remembers the respect and honor shown among the khals at Vaes Dothrak. Your father was one of those who spoke for him there, Khal Drogo. I was there so were you. You know what of man he is."
That part mattered. It's true Drogo's Father spoke for Artos a decade ago.
Drogo's expression did not soften, but the tension in the air eased a little.
"That is why Khal Artos has sent me,"
Waymar said. "To bring a message of peace, and gifts to show respect to Khal Drogo. He also offers safety to the khaleesi, if she declares that she has no interest in Westeros or the Seven Kingdoms. If that is done, Khal Artos will pledge her safety upon his honor as a khal ."
He let that hang for a heartbeat.
Then he said the harder part.
"But we would need the khaleesi's brother dead. That is the gift Khal Artos asks from your side. I know a hard gift but he asks for it regardless."
Waymar knew the words might cost him his life. He did not flinch.
He had not come here to be admired.
He had come here to carry Artos's will.
Daenerys's voice cut through the stillness.
"Your words and your tone do not match. You speak of safety, but it sounds like a threat."
Waymar turned toward the tent from which she had spoken.
Daenerys Targaryen emerged with careful steps, watched closely by the women around her. She was still young, still sweet, almost innocent in the way girls sometimes were before the world had fully taught them cruelty. Waymar had seen her once, long ago, with Artos in Braavos, when she was still a child. Artos had recognized her at once and had helped the two siblings more than once after that, even when he could have done otherwise.
Waymar saw the change in her now.
Her face was still soft, her voice still gentle, but there was a new stillness in her. She had begun to understand that her life no longer belonged only to herself.
"It is not a threat, Khaleesi," Waymar said. "You can be sure of that. It is a genuine offer from Khal Artos, who now serves as Hand of the King of Westeros. If it were Artos Stark thinking of attacking you , he would have come himself. He would not have sent gifts in his place."
He looked at her, and at the same time he saw another face in his mind, one he would have gladly split in half had the chance come.
Ser Jorah Mormont.
A traitor. A slaver. A man who had turned his back on everything the North was supposed to stand for.
Waymar kept the fury off his face with effort.
"You are Lord Artos's man, I presume," Daenerys said in Westorosi. "I have seen you, and heard of you, in Braavos quite often."
Waymar bowed his head slightly. "I am, Khaleesi. And yes, we have met before. I live in Braavos most of the time, while serving Lord Artos."
The title pleased her more than it should have.
"And you come for peace?"
"Yes, Khaleesi," Waymar said. "That is what Lord Artos desires, and what he believes is best for both sides."
He hesitated, then added, "He also writes that he would not wish harm upon the little girl he met in Braavos ten years ago."
That drew a faint look of confusion from Daenerys before memory slowly returned to her face.
Then her expression changed.
"I remember now," she said quietly. "You, and the giant of a man who was with you. That was Lord Artos."
Waymar nodded.
Daenerys looked at him for a long moment and then asked the sort of question only a girl with an innocent heart would ask.
"Can peace truly last?"
Waymar exchanged a glance with Yugo.
Then he answered carefully.
"Peace can last if strong men choose it over pride. Khal Artos believes that. So does Khal Drogo, if he is willing to see the value in it. With this agreement, Khaleesi, no threat will come to you from Westeros."
Daenerys lowered her eyes.
"It is easier to say such things than to do them," she murmured.
Waymar's voice softened a little. "That may be true. But Lord Artos would also offer you safety even if you ever wish to visit your homeland again. He would protect you himself, and so would the North."
Then he let the harder truth stand.
"But both he and the King are adamant about your brother's death. I know that is harsh. But it is the truth of Westeros. Your family is not loved there."
For a moment, a faint smile touched Daenerys's mouth.
She still had the simple grace of innocence about her, though the camp around her was no place for innocence to survive untouched. That made her seem both fragile and stubborn all at once.
Then Khal Drogo spoke again, and when he did, the whole camp seemed to listen.
"Khal Artos is a respected khal among us," he said. "My father himself spoke for him in Vaes Dothrak. Speak in detail of this deal, and of the situation."
The meaning was clear enough.
He would hear the offer.
He would keep the peace, so long as peace was not made into a chain around his neck.
Waymar understood that well enough. Most great men meant no more than that.
Yugo gave him a slow nod, and Waymar knew the message had landed.
The meeting did not become a feast, but neither did it become bloodshed.
That, in itself, was victory.
...
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