Drogo's reed palace, though walled with thick layers of reed, had roofs and fronts sewn from multiple layers of silk and coarse cotton. When dismantled and folded, these materials could fill ten carts.
In the modern world, they would be nearly worthless. *Well, actually, they'd be extremely valuable.* Adorned with dozens of animal hides—gleaming golden sable, thick buffalo hides, and the unique white lion pelts of this fantasy world—they could fetch several apartments within Beijing's Third Ring Road.
But back in the world of ice and fire, the greatest Khal naturally resided in the finest palace. Drogo's reed palace was undoubtedly the premier structure along the Dothraki Sea.
"Khal, it's getting late. We'll have to camp here tonight," Mago said to Jhogo.
Jhogo pondered for a moment, then called out to stop Quello and the others. "Leave. The palace is mine. I'll host the Kals warriors tonight. And I know Drogo has ten chests of gold medals and fifty chests of silver medals. Hand them over. They all belong to me now."
The Dothraki had no monetary system or cash economy, but this world wasn't inhabited solely by horsemen.
The Horsemen weren't even the strongest race.
When they arrived at the Nine Free Cities—with their high walls, deep moats, and heavily guarded trade routes—they still had to obtain necessities through gift exchange.
Gold and silver were the hard currency of the world of ice and fire, and the Dothraki needed them too.
They melted down gold, silver, and bronze into medallions and awards, which could be linked together to form belts. From time to time, the Khal would unfasten a medallion from his waist and bestow it upon a deserving individual as a reward.
The most powerful, Drogo, possessed the strongest Kals and the greatest wealth.
His "luxurious" grass-tent palace, over two hundred square meters in size, had nearly half its space piled high with heavy wooden chests. Aside from clothing and other daily necessities, gold and silver made up the bulk of the contents.
"You're too late. You're not the only one coveting Khal Drogo's wealth."
Jhogo rudely interrupted her. "Not 'coveting.' I am Jhogo Khal."
Daenerys's eyes held contempt as she continued, "To prevent the soldiers from storming the tents, I had everything thrown out long ago. Besides, the Dosh Khaleen are fully supported by Vaes Dothrak. I have no need for gold or silver."
"Really?" Jhogo's expression darkened with anger and disbelief—he didn't want to believe her.
"We all carried the chests out together. Sixty of them. Everyone knows that," Ser Jorah said.
"Everyone knows," Aggo echoed.
"Everyone knows," the Kasbunu muttered in a jumbled voice.
"Damn it! Get out now!" Jhogo shouted, waving his whip in a frenzy.
The Khaleesi's dowry, the Khal's weapons, and his horses—no one would dare seize them. That was a tradition all Dothraki knew.
Inside the twenty-square-meter linen tent, a corner was piled with a dozen wooden chests, most likely wedding gifts for Daenerys.
When they were carried out of Drogo's palace, Mago had dismounted to inspect them.
The newly erected tent was too small to dig a fire pit, so the flap was pulled open to the sides, and a blazing fire was lit just outside.
Under the flickering, amber light, Qotho's cold face was illuminated. He had been standing vigil by Drogo's bed, awaiting the moment when "Blood of My Blood" would rush toward the Land of the Night.
Haggo lay sprawled on the ground, drunk and dejected, his dull eyes staring blankly at the tent ceiling.
"We should leave the child with Blood of My Blood... wait for the final moment together. Cohollo shouldn't listen to her," he slurred.
The tent was too crowded, so Daenerys sat at the entrance, ignoring Haggo's words. Her face was deathly pale as she lowered her head and began stuffing cotton into a rag doll.
The doll, which she had just sewn from pale yellow silk, had no head.
Jhogo had said he threw the child's torso to the wild dogs.
Under the starlit sky, the camp atmosphere was oppressive, the silence so heavy it seemed to have frozen. In the small group of two or three hundred Khas, only the crackling of the wood fire could be heard.
Ser Jorah, still fully armored, gazed at his princess with pity. He opened his mouth several times, as if to speak, but his throat seemed to seize up, and no comforting word would come out.
*Perhaps no words could ease the pain in her heart,* the knight thought sadly.
Unbidden, a scene from King's Landing flashed through his mind.
It was fifteen years ago, the night before the complete downfall of the Targaryen Dynasty.
As the heir to the Earldom of Bear Island, he had been chosen as the personal guard of Lord Ned Stark, Duke of Winterfell and Warden of the North.
When he led the northern troops into the Red Keep alongside Duke Stark, he had seen a scene similar to this night: the three-year-old princess, her head severed, and the infant prince, less than a year old, reduced to a bloody smear on the wall.
*Clip-clop, clip-clop.*
The sound of approaching hooves startled the silent group.
Quello rode ahead to investigate and quickly returned to report to Daenerys, "Khaleesi, it's Jhogo's Khaleesi, Lady Lilith. She says she wishes to thank you in person."
Daenerys sat cross-legged on the ground, a folded wool blanket lying before her. She gazed down at the infant's corpse within the bundle for a long moment before croaking, "Please invite her in."
"I'm here," a woman's voice called out from the darkness, followed by a procession of knights holding torches.
Without waiting for Daenerys's command, Lilith's entourage burst into the small circle.
"You—" Daenerys began, then stopped.
The dancing flames illuminated a face twisted with triumph and mockery.
Even a fool would know she hadn't come in peace.
As Daenerys quietly slipped the cleaned male infant's head onto the neck of a cloth doll, she said in a muffled voice, "I saved you."
"See? I'm riding a horse too," Lilith said awkwardly, tugging on the reins and making her mount circle in place. "A silver-maned mare, just like yours."
In truth, they weren't the same. Daenerys's little silver horse had a mane like shimmering silver threads, while Lilith's was a white horse.
Unlike the Milse dress she'd worn last time, Lilith had adapted to local customs and changed into a colorful Dothraki vest.
Daenerys covered the bundle with a blanket, looked directly into Lilith's eyes, and repeated, "I saved your life."
Lilith pressed her lips together and waved behind her. Two agile Dothraki horsewomen approached and helped her dismount.
Though she could have remained on horseback, Lilith was still in her postpartum confinement, her limbs weak and her body uncomfortable. She needed a maid to support her even when walking.
She couldn't compare to Daenerys, who spent her days cradling her dragon eggs, "Dragon Dream."
Stumbling over to Daenerys, Lilith also sat cross-legged on the magic carpet spread on the ground. Leaning close to Daenerys's ear, she covered her mouth and whispered with a laugh, "I hate you."
"Clearly," Daenerys nodded seriously.
"Heh heh heh," Lilith leaned back slightly, propping herself up on her hands, her gaze drifting to the gem-like stars twinkling in the sky. She sighed, then said cheerfully, "Ah, I'm a Khaleesi now too. I have my own little silver horse, my own Kasbunu—they're right there. And most importantly, I have a son as strong as a dragon."
As she spoke, she put more force into her hands, shifting from leaning back to leaning forward and lifting the cloth bundle covering Daenerys's front.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, what a pitiful little thing. He's not even half the size of my Django. Is he stitched together with cloth below the neck? That makes sense; his original body was eaten by dogs."
To her surprise, Daenerys felt a wave of relief. The heavy guilt that had weighed on her heart was lifting, making it easier to breathe.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
"Thank...?" Lilith froze. "What are you talking about? Are you crazy?"
Daenerys grinned, her tone dripping with venomous mockery. "Even though you're a disgusting bitch, you at least came to visit me. That's far more than I ever expected from you."
*How low were your expectations of me before?*
Lilith stared for a moment before fully understanding her meaning, her face twisting in fury.
"I..."
Before she could explode, Daenerys cut her off with a warning: "The Dothraki cannot harm the Dosh Khaleen, or they will face the curse of the Horse God. Everyone knows that."
She then turned to Lilith's Dothraki maid, who immediately responded: "Everyone knows that."
"Everyone knows," Eli and Ji Qi chimed in.
"You..." Lilith glared at Daenerys, then suddenly burst into laughter. "It doesn't matter. I was a whore to begin with, and you're not much better."
"I saved your life!" Daenerys reminded her for the third time.
"I'm grateful, but that's all," Lilith said. She scanned the crowd until she spotted the Witchmaiden peeking out from behind the onlookers. Pointing at her, Lilith sneered, "You saved her too, yet she still killed your Khal and your child."
"That's not true!" the Witchmaiden protested, shaking her head vigorously. "Lady Silver, you've forgotten—I used the Song of the Moon to help you give birth!"
Lilith ignored her, turning back to smile wickedly at Daenerys. "Drogo was your man. You know better than anyone how many scars he bore. Many wounds were far more severe than the broken skin on his chest, yet he remained the most powerful Khal in the Great Grass Sea, his name even whispered in the brothels of Lys—a name stained with blood and death."
"I believe her," Daenerys said calmly.
She then asked, "Why do you hate me so much? Is it just jealousy? And the Khaleesi isn't exactly a status worth envying."
Lilith gently stroked the silver strands hanging down her chest, her pale purple eyes glaring as she gritted her teeth. "Because I absolutely, utterly, most of all hate being someone's substitute!"
"What do you mean?" Daenerys asked, puzzled.
Western Essos was full of silver-haired, purple-eyed women. Even Drogo had dozens of such female slaves.
"I was originally Illyrio's woman. He wanted to... *have* you, but couldn't break the membrane that belonged to Khal Drogo, so he bought me from a Lysene brothel." Lilith leaned close to Daenerys's ear, her voice venomous as she whispered, "That fat pig—when he was fucking me, he kept shouting your name!"
"That's it?" Daenerys's eyebrows arched, her expression showing no sign of concern.
In modern society, what beautiful woman hadn't been fantasized about?
When men masturbate, do they really stare at themselves in the mirror while doing it?
The Targaryen family was blessed with exceptional beauty; all its members were handsome and beautiful. Take Daenerys's late brother, for example. His character was utterly vile, but his appearance... well, his appearance was the polar opposite of his character.
Daenerys was naturally stunning, but perhaps more importantly, she carried the prestige of being the last princess of the ancient Valyrian royal family. Just the thought of it was enough to make one's heart race!
Seeing that her words hadn't affected Daenerys, Lilith grew displeased. Gritting her teeth, she continued, "My status is low. Illyrio and his ilk never took me seriously, often using me to entertain guests.
The night before you married Drogo, your 'Beggar King' brother, Viserys, tried to sneak into your bedroom.
Illyrio stopped him, warning him that angering Drogo would not only prevent them from using the Khal's Dothraki warriors to restore the throne, but it would also endanger both your lives.
Then, the Beggar King... he took me, all while screaming your name."
(End of Chapter)