The ride back to the new capital of Narnia was quieter than usual.
Every warrior riding beside Harry looked at him differently now. There was admiration in their eyes. Even among the hardened Skagosi veterans, the atmosphere had changed completely after what they witnessed inside the Khalasar.
Because Harry had not merely won.
He had dominated them.
Khal Rhazdar had been feared across the eastern plains for years. Villages burned at his command. Caravans vanished when his riders crossed the grasslands. Entire tribes bent the knee simply to survive.
And Harry had killed him in less than a minute.
Effortlessly.
Then, before anyone could even process what happened, Harry killed four blood riders without allowing a single Narnian warrior to interfere.
The story alone would spread through Essos like wildfire.
Ragnar rode silently beside Harry for most of the journey back. Dust rolled beneath the horses while the distant walls of Narnia slowly appeared against the horizon. Behind them, the grasslands stretched endlessly beneath the dying light of sunset.
Eventually Ragnar glanced sideways toward Harry.
"You knew this would happen," he said quietly.
Harry smiled faintly. "The Dothraki respect strength."
"That's not what I meant."
Ragnar's expression hardened slightly as he adjusted the reins of his horse.
"You knew the Khalasar would fall apart once the Khal died."
Harry stayed quiet for several moments before finally nodding once.
"Dothraki don't follow blood," he said calmly. "They follow power."
A cold wind swept across the plains around them.
"And the strongest power in that camp," Harry continued quietly, "just lost his head in front of twenty thousand witnesses."
Several nearby warriors overheard the words and exchanged uneasy looks.
Harry had not challenged the Khal out of pride.
He had done it deliberately.
Ragnar exhaled slowly through his nose. "You planned for the Khalasar to break."
Harry did not deny it.
"A divided Khalasar is easier to negotiate with than a united one."
One of the Skagosi warriors nearby let out a low whistle.
"That's cold."
Harry glanced toward him briefly. "No. Necessary."
And perhaps that was the most frightening thing about Harry Gryffindor.
Not the dragon.
Not the magic.
Not even the sword.
It was the fact that he no longer hesitated when making difficult decisions.
The Narnians finally returned to the city shortly before sunset.
The moment Winter's distant roar echoed from the walls, people immediately realized Harry had returned safely.
Cheers spread through the unfinished streets almost instantly.
Workers stopped carrying stone. Merchants abandoned half-unloaded wagons. Children ran excitedly through the roads trying to glimpse the returning riders.
Even the Essosi shepherd tribes looked visibly relieved.
The Dothraki terrified them.
And Harry had ridden directly into the center of their Khalasar before returning alive.
That alone felt impossible.
As the riders entered through the outer gates, voices rose from every direction.
"The king is back!"
Several giants laughed thunderously from near the harbor while lifting massive support beams onto unfinished towers.
Meanwhile, far beyond the magical barriers surrounding the city, the Khalasar descended into chaos.
Because Dothraki culture was brutally simple.
There were no royal successions. No inheritance laws.
Only strength.
And once the strongest died, everything fractured apart.
At first many riders had accepted Harry's victory. Especially after Khal Rhazdar's own son publicly bent the knee before him.
But once the foreigners departed and the reality settled over the camp, the balance began breaking apart rapidly.
The Khalasar no longer had a leader.
And leaderless Dothraki were dangerous.
The first challenge happened before midnight.
Two riders fought beside one of the larger fire pits while hundreds gathered around them screaming for blood. Arakhs clashed violently beneath torchlight while horses panicked nearby.
One warrior died with his throat cut open.
The second challenge happened less than an hour later.
Then another.
Then another.
By midnight fourteen warriors were already dead and hundred more wounded.
Inside the largest tent several powerful riders argued loudly while armed guards stood near the entrances watching nervously.
"We should have attacked when we got the chance!"
"The witch king only brought one hundred men!"
Another warrior slammed his fist violently against the table.
"Are you blind?" he roared. "He killed Khal Rhazdar like a child!"
"He used tricks!"
That silenced several of them immediately.
Because every single warrior present had witnessed the duel personally.
Harry had not struggled.
A younger warrior snarled immediately. "Then we kill the wizard before he reach his kingdom."
More arguments exploded throughout the tent. Everyone wanted power, but nobody wanted to die first.
A scarred warrior finally stood to his feet.
"Enough."
Gradually silence spread through the tent.
The warrior pointed eastward toward the distant magical glow surrounding the Narnian capital.
"The magical kingdom sits on our grasslands."
Murmurs spread immediately.
"They bring foreigners."
"They steal land."
The warrior's grin became vicious beneath the firelight.
"So why fight each other now?"
Another rider frowned suspiciously. "What are you saying?"
"We wait."
Then slowly several expressions began changing.
"We let the wizard open the barriers," the scarred warrior continued. "The city grows richer every day. They bring food. Gold. Weapons."
"And women," another rider added greedily.
The idea spread rapidly after that.
"We raid them first."
"Take their riches."
"Then the strongest among us becomes Khal."
That idea united them far faster than loyalty ever could.
Many Dothraki still could not imagine truly serving under foreigners permanently. Especially not peacefully.
So they convinced themselves they would pretend to obey for now.
Then strike once the opportunity appeared.
But not everyone agreed with that plan.
Far from the central fires of the Khalasar, a large group rode quietly through the darkness beneath the moonlit sky.
Khal Rhazdar's son rode at the front.
Young. Frightened. And intelligent enough to understand exactly what was happening behind him.
His mothers rode beside him along with younger siblings, several loyal riders, and hundreds of slaves carrying what little they could escape with.
Because the young rider knew the truth.
The moment the power struggle truly began, he would die first.
Every rival would try to kill him simply because of his bloodline.
His mother finally broke the silence after nearly an hour of riding.
"We should have stayed."
The boy shook his head immediately.
"No."
"They followed your father."
"They followed his strength," he corrected bitterly.
The older woman fell silent again after hearing that.
Because deep down—
She knew he was right.
Jhogo glanced backward only once toward the distant fires of the Khalasar before looking ahead again toward the glowing barriers surrounding Narnia.
By Dothraki standards, he was still young. Not yet fully shaped into the ruthless brutality most Khals eventually became. He had fought battles, ridden through raids, and seen villages burn, but somewhere inside him there still remained something many older Dothraki had long since lost.
The ability to feel fear.
Jhogo had watched the foreign king walk calmly into the center of the Khalasar and kill his father without struggle. He had watched four blood riders die moments later like they were nothing more than training dummies.
And in that moment, Jhogo understood something the older warriors refused to admit.
The world was changing.
So he left.
At first, only a handful of loyal riders were told. Men who had served his father for years and knew exactly what would happen once the Khalasar split apart.
Then more riders joined quietly throughout the night.
And after that—
The slaves began whispering among themselves.
Because slaves listened carefully. They watched everything. They survived by noticing what others ignored.
The slaves of the Khalasar had lived terrible lives. They were beaten for amusement, traded like livestock, and killed over the smallest mistakes. Children disappeared without warning. Families were separated permanently. Women were treated like spoils of war rather than people.
To the Dothraki, a slave was barely human.
So when word spread quietly that the young khal's son planned to abandon the Khalasar entirely, the slaves began making decisions of their own.
Because to them, almost anywhere was better than remaining Dothraki property.
Especially if the destination was the kingdom of the man who killed Khal Rhazdar.
The Witch King.
That name had already begun spreading across the khalasar.
By midnight, a strange procession moved silently across the moonlit plains.
Nearly three hundred Dothraki riders traveled together beside thousands of slaves, children, livestock, and wagons carrying whatever little people managed to take with them before fleeing the Khalasar.
And all of them rode toward Narnia.
Most of the Dothraki expected death long before reaching the city. The magical barrier surrounding Narnia had already become legendary among the horse lords. Stories spread constantly through the camps about invisible walls rejecting them from entering.
Some warriors claimed they heard voices whispering in their heads when they approached too closely. Others swore the barrier filled them with overwhelming terror until even their horses refused to move forward.
The magical kingdom frightened them.
And now Jhogo rode directly toward it.
His horse slowed instinctively as the glowing barrier appeared beneath the moonlight ahead of them. Several riders tightened their grips on their arakhs nervously.
One muttered quietly, "What if it kills us?"
Another spat onto the ground. "Then we die."
Jhogo himself remained tense. Despite leaving the Khalasar, he still did not truly trust foreigners. But he trusted the Dothraki even less.
Slowly, the procession crossed the invisible boundary.
And nothing happened.
The horses continued walking calmly as though nothing existed there at all.
Several riders immediately looked around in confusion while some slaves began crying softly from relief.
"We crossed…" one old woman whispered shakily.
More and more people slowly realized what had happened.
The magical barrier had accepted them.
That realization deeply unsettled the Dothraki.
Because many warriors from the Khalasar had already tried forcing their way through earlier. None succeeded.
Yet now—
The kingdom itself allowed them passage freely.
As they traveled deeper into Narnian territory, the land itself began changing around them.
Moonlight revealed endless farmland stretching across the plains. Irrigation canals shimmered silver beneath the stars while windmills turned slowly in the distance. Small villages rested peacefully beneath the night sky.
Everything looked… new.
The roads shocked them even more.
Actual roads.
Wide stone roads built properly across the plains.
One older rider muttered quietly beside Jhogo, "How can people build so much so quickly?"
Nobody answered him.
The farther they traveled inward, the more beautiful the settlements became. Warm lights glowed from windows while wells, granaries, and watchtowers stood beside carefully maintained roads.
And perhaps most shocking of all—
Nobody stopped them.
No soldiers rushed to block the roads. No armies formed at the sight of armed Dothraki entering the kingdom.
People simply watched curiously.
That confused the riders more than anything else.
Eventually mounted patrols approached them from the western roads.
Narnian riders.
Unlike the Dothraki, they wore proper armor of fur-lined leather reinforced with iron plates. Spears rested across their backs while shields hung beside their saddles.
No weapons were drawn.
One rider calmly approached Jhogo and asked, "You are the son of Khal Rhazdar?"
Jhogo nodded carefully. "I am Jhogo."
The rider inclined his head respectfully. "The king expected some of you would come."
That unsettled several Dothraki immediately.
Expected?
The rider gestured toward the road ahead. "You may continue safely."
Jhogo frowned deeply. "That is all?"
The Narnian looked genuinely confused by the question. "What else would there be?"
Jhogo stared suspiciously at him. "You are not afraid of us?"
That actually caused the rider to laugh softly.
"No."
Several Dothraki immediately looked insulted, but before anyone reacted badly, the rider continued calmly.
"Narnia is protected by magical barriers."
He pointed toward the plains behind them.
"Anyone carrying true hostile intent toward the kingdom cannot cross."
Jhogo's expression slowly shifted. "So if we entered…"
The rider nodded. "Then the kingdom itself judged you no threat."
One slave woman whispered softly while holding her children close. "The gods judged us…"
Jhogo himself fell silent after that.
Eventually the patrol escorted them toward a massive open field outside the main districts of the capital.
Hundreds of marked camping spaces already existed there alongside wells, storage sheds, animal pens, and supply stations.
Temporary refugee grounds.
The Narnians had prepared for newcomers long before they arrived.
Tents slowly rose across the grounds while exhausted families collapsed beside small fires. Children fell asleep almost instantly after eating.
Narnians began arriving voluntarily carrying food, blankets, water, and medicine.
No payment was requested.
They simply came to help.
Several Dothraki looked utterly confused by the kindness.
One elderly slave woman burst into tears after being handed warm bread because nobody had ever given her food freely before.
The nearby shepherd tribes remained more cautious. Most kept their distance entirely after realizing Dothraki occupied the refugee grounds.
And honestly—
The Dothraki understood why.
Their people had spent generations terrorizing shepherd villages.
Trust would not appear overnight.
Still, nobody attacked them. Nobody insulted them. Nobody spat at them.
By the time the camp finally settled, Jhogo sat quietly beside a small fire staring toward the glowing capital in the distance.
The city looked unreal beneath the moonlight.
A kingdom being born from nothing.
Author's Note:
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