A freshly cut horse heart, still dripping with blood, was placed before Daenerys Targaryen.
Steam rose from the raw flesh into the cold night air of Vaes Dothrak. The muscular organ still twitched faintly, its veins pulsing as if life had not yet fully left it.
Khal Drogo stood before her silently, his powerful arms stained with blood up to the elbows.
Behind him, his bloodriders knelt beside the butchered carcass of the stallion, their stone knives slick with gore.
Torches burned along the pale walls surrounding the sacred pit, their orange-red flames casting strange shadows across the gathering. Under the flickering light, the horse's blood looked almost black.
Daenerys stared at the heart before her.
Her throat tightened instinctively.
Slowly, she lowered a trembling hand to her swollen belly.
Sweat rolled down her forehead despite the cool night air.
Around her stood the Dosh Khaleen—the ancient crones of the Dothraki. Their bodies were bent with age, their skin wrinkled and weathered, yet their eyes remained frighteningly sharp.
Those eyes watched her closely.
Silently.
Judging her.
Daenerys took a slow breath.
"I cannot retreat."
"I cannot show fear."
"I am a daughter of the dragon."
She repeated those words in her heart like a prayer.
Gathering her courage, Daenerys picked up the horse heart with both hands.
It was warm.
Heavy.
Slippery with blood.
Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she bit deeply into the tough flesh.
Warm blood burst into her mouth instantly.
The metallic taste nearly made her gag.
Blood dripped down her chin and neck while the texture of the raw meat twisted her stomach violently.
For one terrifying moment, she thought she would vomit.
But she forced herself to endure it.
The Dothraki believed that if a pregnant woman successfully consumed an entire horse heart, her son would grow strong, fearless, and swift as the wind.
However, if she vomited…
If she choked…
Or if she failed to finish the heart…
It would be considered a terrible omen.
The child might be born weak.
Deformed.
Or worse—
A daughter.
Daenerys clenched her teeth harder.
That was unacceptable.
For the past two months, she had prepared herself for this ritual.
Even during pregnancy, she forced herself to eat bowls of half-coagulated blood to grow accustomed to the smell and taste.
At first, she had despised it.
Now, she endured it.
All for the child growing inside her.
All for Khal Drogo's son.
When Daenerys first married Drogo, she had feared him.
She had feared the Dothraki.
She had feared her own future.
But over time, things changed.
Beneath Drogo's fierce exterior, she discovered unexpected tenderness.
He was rough, yes.
Wild.
Untamed.
Yet he treated her with surprising care.
Slowly, Daenerys stopped fearing him.
And eventually…
She began to love him.
Every night, Drogo drank and celebrated with his bloodriders until late into the darkness. Then he would return to her tent, wake her gently from sleep, and carry her beneath the open sky.
Those nights became precious to her.
Then, not long after, she discovered she was pregnant.
The news changed everything.
Originally, after their marriage, Drogo was supposed to take her directly to Vaes Dothrak, the sacred city of the Dothraki.
But events across the Narrow Sea had delayed their journey.
War had erupted in Westeros.
House Baratheon and House Lannister had descended into conflict, throwing the Seven Kingdoms into chaos.
Because of that war, Illyrio Mopatis begged Drogo to remain longer in Pentos.
The wealthy magister feared instability spreading across the Free Cities and paid enormous sums to secure Drogo's temporary protection.
He even promised to provide Viserys Targaryen with the army he constantly demanded.
During those months, Viserys became obsessed.
Every day, he asked for news from Westeros.
Every day, he watched mercenaries sail toward the Narrow Sea.
Every day, he imagined himself at the head of those armies.
He spoke endlessly of reclaiming the Iron Throne.
Of restoring House Targaryen.
Of killing the usurpers.
Of displaying their heads above the gates of King's Landing.
Daenerys heard those same speeches constantly.
At first, she pitied him.
Then she grew tired of them.
Viserys demanded his promised army from Illyrio nearly every day, but always returned furious and empty-handed.
His temper worsened with each passing week.
Sometimes he even caused scenes within Illyrio's palace.
He wanted to confront Drogo directly and demand the army he believed he had purchased with Daenerys herself.
But Illyrio always stopped him.
"The time is not right," the magister would say.
Then Daenerys became pregnant.
And all of Viserys's hopes shattered.
Drogo immediately announced they would leave for Vaes Dothrak.
The Khalasar began its journey toward the sacred city so Daenerys could participate in the ancient ceremony of the horse heart.
The child inside her needed the blessing of the Dosh Khaleen.
The heir to a Khal must be recognized properly.
Daenerys tore another piece from the heart.
The flesh resisted her teeth stubbornly.
Because blades were forbidden inside Vaes Dothrak, she could only rip the meat apart using her teeth and fingernails.
The taste became worse with every bite.
The blood had cooled now, turning thick and slimy.
Its smell filled her nose and throat.
Her stomach churned violently.
Several times, she nearly lost control.
But every time she felt ready to collapse, she looked toward Drogo.
He stood beside her like a bronze statue.
Tall.
Proud.
Unmoving.
His long black braid hung behind him, decorated with bells that chimed softly whenever he moved.
Gold rings adorned his mustache, and a massive golden belt rested around his waist.
Though his chest remained bare, he looked every bit the conqueror the Dothraki worshipped.
Whenever Daenerys met his eyes, she found strength again.
And so she continued eating.
Bite after bite.
Swallow after swallow.
Until finally—
It was finished.
Daenerys swallowed the last piece of raw flesh.
Her fingers felt numb.
Her cheeks trembled from exhaustion.
Slowly, she lifted her head toward the Dosh Khaleen.
Gathering every ounce of strength left inside her, she shouted in Dothraki:
"Khalakka dothrae mr'anha!"
"The prince rides inside me!"
The oldest crone of the Dosh Khaleen raised her bony arms.
"A prince!" she shrieked.
"A strong prince!"
The other women echoed her words immediately.
"A boy!"
"A mighty boy!"
Bells rang throughout the pit like singing bronze birds.
War horns thundered in the distance.
The old women began chanting in unison while eunuch servants tossed dried grasses into bronze braziers.
Sweet-smelling smoke rose toward the stars overhead.
To the Dothraki, the stars were fiery horses galloping across the heavens.
Silence slowly fell across the sacred pit.
Everyone waited for the prophecy.
Daenerys could hear the crackling torches.
The distant chirping of birds.
Even the soft movement of water from nearby lakes.
Drogo stepped beside her and gripped her arm tightly.
She could feel his tension.
Even the mighty Khal feared the prophecies of the Dosh Khaleen.
At last, the oldest crone opened her single remaining eye.
Her voice trembled as she spoke.
"I saw him."
"I heard his hooves thunder across the earth."
The other crones repeated her words together.
"His horse runs swifter than the wind!"
"His Khalasar will cover the world!"
"His enemies shall tremble before him!"
"Men shall weep blood in terror!"
"The prince who is coming…"
"He is the Stallion Who Mounts the World!"
The crowd exploded into deafening cheers.
The old woman stared directly at Daenerys.
"What shall the Stallion Who Mounts the World be named?"
Daenerys straightened proudly.
"We shall call him Rhaego."
The name echoed through the night.
"Rhaego!"
"Rhaego!"
"Rhaego!"
The Dothraki roared his name again and again until it seemed the entire city shook with celebration.
Even after Drogo led her away from the sacred pit, the chanting continued in her ears.
The great procession moved through the Godsway, the wide grassy road stretching through the heart of Vaes Dothrak.
As they walked, Drogo spoke in heavily accented Common Tongue.
"What does the name mean?"
Daenerys smiled softly.
"My brother Rhaegar was a great warrior."
"Ser Jorah says he was the last true dragon."
Drogo nodded slowly.
"A strong name."
"Good for my son."
They passed beside the Womb of the World, the sacred lake the Dothraki believed to be the birthplace of humanity itself.
The water reflected the moonlight like polished silver.
There, Daenerys removed her clothing and entered the freezing water to wash away the blood and grime of the ritual.
When she emerged trembling from the lake, Doreah hurried forward with silk robes.
But Drogo waved her away.
His dark eyes fixed upon Daenerys intensely.
Without warning, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
The world spun around her in a blur of heat, strength, and laughter.
Later that night, the great feast began within Khal Drogo's palace.
Massive fire pits illuminated the enormous hall while the smell of roasted meat and fermented mare's milk filled the air.
The hall overflowed with people.
Khals from other khalasars sat in places of honor.
Bloodriders filled the lower seats.
Servants hurried between cushions carrying food and drink endlessly.
Daenerys searched the crowd carefully.
But she could not find Viserys anywhere.
"Where is my brother?" she asked Ser Jorah Mormont quietly.
"He should be here."
Jorah frowned slightly.
"I saw him earlier today."
"He said he was going to the western market for wine."
The feast continued late into the night.
Jorah told Daenerys stories about Westeros and even revealed that Viserys had once attempted to steal her dragon eggs.
Daenerys listened in silence.
Part of her felt angry.
Another part simply felt tired.
Then suddenly—
Doreah grabbed her arm tightly.
"Khaleesi…"
"Your brother…"
Daenerys looked toward the far end of the hall.
A tall figure staggered into view.
The music slowly faded.
Conversation stopped.
Every eye in the hall turned toward the newcomer.
Viserys Targaryen stood there in filthy crimson silks stained with dust and sweat.
His black cloak looked faded and worn.
His boots were cracked.
His silver hair hung tangled around his pale face.
Most dangerously of all—
A longsword hung at his waist.
And in Vaes Dothrak…
Bringing a blade into the sacred city was punishable by death.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)