Lilith fell from her horse, but the injuries weren't severe—she, like Dany, rode a low-slung mare. The fall had, however, triggered premature labor.
Premature labor wasn't the real issue; her due date was just days away. The critical problem was that the fall had caused the fetus to shift into an improper position, getting stuck in the womb.
The Dothraki Hairless Men, who relied on the "Horse God" even for the simplest knife wounds, were utterly incapable of assisting with childbirth—a task requiring advanced skills. They had condemned Lilith to death.
"Take her to my palace," Dany said, her violet eyes flashing with a deep light. She turned to Eli, the maid behind her. "Eli, isolate a corner of the palace. Absolutely do not disturb the Khaos."
Drogo's tent palace, used for KhaLS leader meetings, was vast—over two hundred square meters. There was ample space to accommodate a pregnant woman.
The Black slave women and the horsemen weren't surprised by the Khaleesi's actions. After all, Daenerys had once offended a group of Dothraki warriors for defending Lamb People women who had been raped.
Lilith, at least, was one of their own.
*Well, when you marry a chicken, you follow the chicken. When you marry a 'horse,' you follow the 'horse.'*
"She made a mistake and said things she shouldn't have. She deserves punishment, but she is also carrying a new seed for the KhaLS."
"Tell Jhaqo that if this woman bears a strong boy, her crime will be forgiven. If it's a girl, I'll have her whipped twenty lashes and enslaved."
The slave woman, having received the Khaleesi's command, hurried down to inform Jhaqo.
As soon as Daenerys returned to her tent, Ser Jorah dismissed the attendants and said gravely, "Rumors are spreading everywhere—the entire KhaLS is buzzing with the news that Khal Drogo fell from his horse."
"He didn't," Dany retorted.
"Because you caught him. I saw it, his Bloodriders saw it, the Khas tribesmen behind you all saw it." Sweat streamed down his bear-like face. "You know his condition better than I do. Even if you fool everyone today, what about tomorrow? The day after? He'll soon be unable to even climb onto a horse, and then..."
A Khaos who couldn't ride was a Khaos who couldn't rule. Even a lively and strategically brilliant Khaleesi would be useless then.
"I have my own plans," Dany said. "Stop suggesting we flee—leaving would only lead to death." After a pause, she met Ser Jorah's eyes. "Sir, you are my sworn knight. I hope you will protect my safety during the coming turmoil."
"That goes without saying," Jorah Mormont nodded solemnly, his voice firm. "No one will harm you before I lose my life."
He then added with concern, "But without Drogo, his KhaLS will fall into immediate chaos. I fear I alone may not be enough..."
"It's alright. My Khas tribe will support you."
Dany studied him from head to toe: a bleached, faded Dothraki painted vest, skin flushed crimson from the relentless sun, loose, patterned silk trousers, riding sandals tied at the knees that revealed his toes, and his sword hanging from a braided mane-like strap.
Except for the absence of bells in his braid, he looked every inch the horseman.
"From this moment on, you must wear knight's armor," she commanded.
"I understand," the bear nodded in agreement.
Faint cries for help from Lilith came from the innermost corner of the grass-curtained palace. Daenerys sent Jorah to change into his armor while she lifted the cowhide curtain and stepped outside.
On the hill beside the grass-curtained palace, Kohoro stood at a higher vantage point, his expression grim as he loudly directed the tribe's camp setup.
It was clear he was deeply worried about Drogo's injuries and in a foul mood.
Dany beckoned him down. "Kohoro, go and fetch Mirri Maz Duur."
"The witch?" he spat. "I won't. Khaleesi, you have no right to command me."
Though Daenerys had saved Mirri Maz Duur, her status as a slave remained unchanged. At that moment, she should have been among the other "Lamb People" in the long slave train.
"For Lilith," she said. "Our Hairless Men can't heal her. Let Mirri Maz Duur try."
Kohoro glared at her from atop his horse, his eyes as hard as flint. "Witches are women who mate with demons. They are cruel, soulless, and practice the darkest, most terrifying sorcery. At night, they hunt for men, draining their life force until death. Trusting one is the greatest folly in the world."
*Respect the gods, but keep your distance.*
The Dothraki may not have mastered dark magic, but their thousand-year evolution had forged clever, practical traditions.
If not for the outsider Daenerys's intervention, it was far from certain that Drogo would have survived his infected wound.
Dany patted her belly and reasoned, "I don't trust her, but if she could save Lilith even in her difficult labor, surely she can keep my child safe."
The old Bloodrider opened his mouth, cast her a pitying glance, and left without a word.
*He thinks I don't know the Dothraki traditions,* Dany thought.
Her eyes darkened as she watched the old man disappear into the clusters of yurts. She turned and called for Eroeh—the first woman Dany had rescued outside the Lamb People's mud-walled town, a shy Lamb People girl.
After bathing and changing, Dany sat quietly by the roaring campfire at the center of the tent. The heat was oppressive, and her handmaidens couldn't bear it, so she sent them away. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun blazed fiercely in the sky, making the weather unbearable.
A moment later, Kohoro strode in, holding the small Lamb People witch by the arm.
Mirri Maz Duur's clothes were torn, her face swollen, blood trickling from her lip, and one of her front teeth was missing. It was clear she had been severely beaten before being brought here.
After ordering Ser Jorah to prevent anyone from entering, Dany handed Mirri Maz Duur a cup of mare's milk and asked, "You said before that you were skilled in childbirth?"
Mirri Maz Duur wiped the blood from her lips, took the bull's horn cup, and drank it dry with a series of gulps. Only then did she gasp for breath and say, "Silver Lady, my mother was a priestess. She taught me the songs and incantations to appease the Great Shepherd, and how to prepare sacred incense and salves from leaves, roots, and berries.
When I was young and fair, I traveled with a merchant caravan to Asshai, at the edge of the shadows, to learn from their mages. Ships from countless kingdoms gathered there, so I stayed for a long time, studying the healing arts of foreign peoples.
A Moon Singer from Jogosnai taught me her childbirth song, and a woman from your horse-riding folk taught me the magic of grass, grain, and horses.
And Maester Marwyn from the Sunset Lands—Westeros, you call it—he dissected corpses and revealed to me all the mysteries hidden beneath the skin."
*So she's a study abroad alumna, a scholar with several medical "doctorates."*
Mirri glanced at Drogo, who lay on the bed two丈 away, and explained with a helpless sigh, "I know many healing arts, but Drogo abandoned my poultices seven days ago."
Daenerys interrupted her, pointing to a screen in the corner of the room. "There's a pregnant woman there who fell from her horse. She is the one you are to treat today."
"Another Silver Lady?" Mirri Maz Duur seemed to have heard of Lilith's situation. She looked up and nodded toward Drogo on the bed, asking, "Shouldn't this great horse warrior be treated immediately?"
Daenerys lowered her gaze, stroking her belly. "You don't need to worry about Khaos. My child is about to be born. You must use Lilith to prove your obstetric skills."
"As you wish, Silver Lady," the witch replied obediently.
To avoid disturbing Drogo, Lilith was placed on a grass mat in a separate structure adjacent to the main palace.
This was a small tent of woven reeds with only an entrance, built next to the hall and positioned so as not to pass by Drogo's bed.
Through the thick reed curtain, a wooden screen from the Summer Isles stood, carved with hundreds of lifelike, colorful exotic birds and beasts—a gift from the Trade Federation to Drogo.
Mirri Maz Duur began chanting in a strange, unfamiliar language. Her voice rose and fell in a melodious, winding rhythm, like a maiden's song yet also like a passionate poem.
Was it the Moon Singer of Jogosnai who taught her the birthing song?
Or the Wizard's spell from Asshai?
As the chanting filled her ears, Dany once again checked the items around her: the Black Dragon Egg, the crossbow with its string taut and loaded with a metal-tipped bolt, Drogo's dragonbone dagger, the needle and thread the Hairless Men had promised for suturing the wound, poppy wine, and large pieces of cotton cloth boiled in water and dried in the sun.
She smeared poppy wine on her belly, the cool liquid soothing. Gritting her teeth on a piece of soft wood, she found that the dagger's cut through her skin didn't hurt as much—at least it was easier than the charcoal-roasted beauty's leg from last night.
"Dragon Baby, you are the ultimate power of the world. The spiritual energy of heaven and earth will be revived by your arrival. You are a god in this world. I need you. Give your mother strength."
The blanket beneath her was soaked in viscous blood, her face pale as wax, her forehead glistening with beads of sweat. Her gaze seemed distant, and the piece of wood in her mouth slipped from her parted lips.
Suddenly, the warm fossil dragon egg between her knees became as hot as burning coals. The searing heat jolted her mind into a clarity she had never known before.
In a modern hospital, a C-section typically takes about half an hour, including the initial anesthesia.
Dany drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, but the procedure was completed in roughly twenty minutes. Then, a bloody male infant was placed in her arms.
Covering his blood-streaked mouth, Dany hardened her heart and forced a small cup of poppy wine down his throat.
"Riding the world's greatest steed, even a little anesthetic won't harm you," she whispered.
The little one fell asleep, clutching the White Dragon Egg in his hands. The egg burned with heat.
Another fifteen minutes passed. The witch next door continued her chanting. Dany held the Black Dragon Egg in her left arm, using her right hand to wipe away the blood from her body. She tossed all the blood-stained cloths and blankets into the roaring bonfire beside her.
"Thank you, Dragon Baby!" Dany tenderly stroked the fine scales of the Black Dragon Egg, her heart overflowing with gratitude and affection. Just as Bran Stark could sense the emotions of Summer, his direwolf, she too had forged the closest soul bond with the Black Dragon in the face of death.
Daenerys could now consciously enter the Dragon Dream at will.
(End of Chapter)