Synopsis: In the wide plains of the Dothraki Sea, there was a great khalasar led by a wild warrior. Those who survived the encounter say that he is the most vile, inhuman monster, worse than any vile madman, and is said to be like a Demon in human form.
But that is only to the outside world. To his khalasar, he is a great leader who has done many great things for his people; to his family, he is a kind, caring man, for a Dothraki.
All of that is thanks to him being different, to both man and beast. The House of the Dragon, the Targaryens, are said to be closer to the gods than men; then Vladimir could be called closer to the Devils than men.
Chapter 1: Birth Of A Devil And His Lilim
It was a stormy night. Wind howled across the Dothraki Sea, bending the tall grass and raising clouds of dust, forcing some of the Dothraki warriors to gather what they could, weigh it down, or hide it away.
Inside a birthing tent, a fire burned in the middle while smoke rose through the opening above. The hole allowed some of the cold air to pass through, but it also allowed the smells of iron, sweat, leather, and blood to escape into the night.
"ARRGH! GET HIM OUT OF ME!"
A woman lay on her back upon layers of horsehide, screaming as her fingers tightened in the black mane of a mare she had ridden for most of her life in Essos as a Dothraki.
She could not help but think of the past. Once, long ago, she had worn silk dresses and run through carved stone halls, free and unafraid, even though she had never truly known her father.
Yet she still remembered the carved stone halls, her mother using a silver brush to comb through her hair. Even when she had first come to Essos, she had found the land strange, new, and interesting.
But now those memories felt as though they belonged to another woman. While out riding, the Dothraki had taken her. They had forced their language and customs upon her, and she had been able to do nothing but endure it.
In time, however, she had grown used to it. The frightened girl she had once been slowly disappeared. Now her hair was worn in a braid, after many years of being broken down and changed.
The khal who took her had eventually made her his khaleesi. She had gained a place among the khalasar that no one dared disrespect.
"AAAH! It's happening again!"
Yet when another contraction came, followed by another scream of pain, she was neither Targaryen nor Dothraki. In that moment, she was only a mother trying not to die.
"You must push, my Khaleesi," the dosh khaleen said, crouched behind her. "The child will come soon, so you must be ready."
"AAAH! Gods, it feels like I am being torn apart!"
Another cry escaped her as she threw her head back and looked toward the night sky. She tightened her grip on the mare's mane until strands of hair tore against the force of her fingers.
Pain coursed through her entire body. It was so great that she wished she could die. The other women chanted around her, calling upon the Great Stallion to make the child strong and keep him safe.
"I cannot!" she sobbed. The pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced, worse even than the first time she had been taken.
"You can, my Khaleesi. You only have to push harder." Another woman tried to comfort her Khaleesi in the best way she knew how, but her words were clearly the wrong ones.
"I am pushing, you old fool! Get this child out of me!"
Then, after several more hours of labor, the pressure finally broke.
As a newborn's furious wail filled the tent and reached the Dothraki outside, the Khal looked toward the entrance with a slight smile on his face. He raised his head proudly as his khalasar celebrated with him.
"It's a son, my Khaleesi," one of the women announced.
The mother collapsed back against the horsehide. Her body was spent, filled with exhaustion, and trembling as the child was lifted into the firelight.
The cord still dangled from the newborn's body. It was cut, and once he had been cleaned, they placed him against his mother's breast. She stared down at him through strands of sweat-dampened hair.
His skin was incredibly pale, similar to her own had been before she had been changed. Though there was little of it, she could still see dark silver hair clinging to his head.
She had hoped the child would have something that reminded her of her old home. But when he opened his eyes, they were neither violet nor black like his father's.
They were blood red.
They stared at her with a calm, steady gaze, and his screaming stopped for a moment as he looked at the mother who had given birth to him.
'What have I given birth to? He... he is my son, but he seems wrong. No, wrong is not the right word. Odd. That is more correct.'
She did not know why, but something about those eyes unsettled her. After a moment, however, she pushed the feeling aside and pulled her child close.
After a while, she leaned back. Though she was still in agonizing pain, she looked long and hard at her son. She did not see a helpless infant.
She saw two immense wings unfolding behind him. She saw a dragon with dark red scales soaring beneath a blood-red moon, its jaws spreading fire across the world and drowning everything in blood and flame.
"Vladimir Drakul," she whispered to herself as she looked at her son, even though she saw something else within him.
The child tilted his head, seeming confused by the sound of the name. Then he went to sleep in her arms.
The woman did not know where the name had come from. It belonged neither to the Dothraki Sea nor to the broken home she had once known, nor even to that place's language.
"Vladimir Drakul Khan."
She did not know why she spoke all three words in such quick succession, but she had given him the name of his father as well: Khal Khan.
"Drakul?" an older woman repeated, unfamiliar with the word. She did not seem to care much for the boy's first name.
The older woman knew where the mother had come from, however, and she could understand why she had given him the Khan name at the end. She simply did not understand the meaning of Drakul.
The new mother touched the dark silver hair upon her son's head, gently stroking it. She did not know why that name had come to her.
She only knew that whenever she looked at him, she saw something she could not explain and could never fully understand. Still, she was certain that something great would come from the boy.
"Because there is a dragon in him," she said, giving the only reason she could for naming him.
She did not explain further. The pain was too overpowering, and she did not want to tell them about her home or reveal the truth of her heritage.
Before anyone could answer, agony seized her once more. She screamed and curled protectively around Vladimir as the women hurried to take him from her arms.
Terror filled the tent again. It was obvious that the birth was not finished. The dosh khaleen moved closer and tried to help her as best they could.
"Another child," the dosh khaleen said. "Push!"
"What do you mean, another child?" Blood and other fluids spread across the horsehide beneath her as the other women tried to help.
"Push!"
"A second one?" Fear filled her body, but it was worse than fear. Dread showed itself on her exhausted face and in her trembling voice.
"No. No, NO! I cannot!"
The pain gave her no mercy.
"AAAH! Get it out! Get it out of me!"
She pushed until her throat was hoarse and sore, while darkness crept into the edges of her vision.
At last, after a few minutes, much shorter than the first, a second cry sounded throughout the tent. It was not as loud as her brother's, but it carried a surprising distance.
"A daughter."
The girl had more hair than her brother. Unlike his, however, hers was black, and her eyes were like her mother's: a deep, striking purple. They opened almost immediately.
Her fair little face was unmistakably like that of her Dothraki father, and her tiny hands clenched as though she already intended to seize the reins of the world.
The mother laughed weakly as she watched the girl being placed beside her brother. Then the two children were given to her, and she pressed them against her breasts.
"Qoyi," she murmured. "Qoyi Khan."
Her daughter bore few traces of old Valyria. The only things that made her even somewhat Valyrian were her deep purple eyes and fair skin.
But deep in her heart, the mother could feel that the girl belonged to the endless grasslands, to the open skies, and to the sound of thundering hooves.
Where Vladimir seemed touched by the shadow of a dragon, Qoyi possessed the unyielding spirit of a horse.
Then the mother noticed that the women had stopped celebrating. The dosh khaleen pressed both hands between her legs, but blood continued to flow around her fingers.
"She is bleeding too heavily," one of the dosh khaleen said as she reached for more towels. The ones already being used to absorb the blood had become soaked through.
"Then stop it," the new mother whispered.
She did not say it because she expected an answer. She said it because she was that weak. The birthing process had exhausted her, and the blood loss only made it worse.
Her voice sounded distant even to her own ears. Coldness slowly seeped into her limbs despite the heat of the tent. She understood what the frightened silence meant.
Vladimir was still asleep, even after his mother's loud screams, but Qoyi continued crying, her small fists beating against the air. The mother looked down at her daughter.
"Do not weep, my little rider," she whispered to her daughter.
The girl stopped crying.
"The world will give you reasons enough when you are older. For now, smile and be happy."
She moved one hand toward Qoyi. The girl looked at it with shock and curiosity, but then her tiny fingers closed around one of her mother's.
"You are the blood of the horse, but there is fire in you as well. Never let them make you ashamed of either." Her breathing became shallow.
"Be fierce, Qoyi. Ride beneath no one's shadow." She glanced toward Vladimir, who was still sleeping beside his sister.
"Protect your brother when his fire consumes him. Remind him that even dragons must return to the earth." A faint smile stretched across her bloodless lips as tears gathered in her eyes.
"And make him protect you, though I think the world will need protection from you both." Her shaking hand passed over Qoyi's black hair, just as she had done with Vladimir.
"Daughter of my blood. Son of my blood," she whispered. "Remember that you were loved. Loved by your mother, absolutely and completely."
Her fingers slipped from Qoyi's grasp. The girl let out a sudden, piercing cry.
Vladimir awoke, looking around with wide, blood-red eyes. When he saw the lifeless expression on his mother's face, he began crying beside his sister.
Their voices joined together as their mother's final breath escaped her.
Outside, the khalasar celebrated the birth of twins, unaware that the woman who had brought them into the world was gone.
The dosh khaleen saw the life leave the mother's eyes. Slowly, she walked over and closed the woman's violet eyes. Then she gathered the newborns from her still-warm body.
Vladimir Drakul Khan, the son of fire and blood.
Qoyi Khan, the daughter of grass and thunder.
Their mother had died without songs or glory, but her final words would follow them across the Dothraki Sea. One day, the world would learn to fear both of their names.