During the high-speed charge, Margo and his mount took a direct hit from a Soul-Extinguishing Strike.
The horse's soul shattered. Blood poured from its seven orifices as it collapsed and died.
Margo's willpower was strong enough to keep him from turning into an idiot under the soul attack, but he was thrown from the saddle, his spine snapped, and his lungs were punctured by broken ribs.
Within moments, dark blood frothed from the corners of his mouth.
"She's called Elroya, a fifteen-year-old goat girl. My handmaid," Dany said, and thrust her sword downward, pressing hard against his groin.A clean cut.
"No, she's mine! You took her—my spoils—ah—gah—"
Margo's body convulsed like a leaf in the wind. He howled, spitting out large clots of black blood. His neck twisted to one side, and he was dead.
Afterward, Jogo ordered the newly subdued horsemen to gather the corpses of both men and horses nearby. He then called for Drogon to descend and burn everything to ashes.
Of course, Tepkao and his bloodriders, along with Dzhako's bloodrider Margo, were each given separate pyres.
Their warhorses and weapons were burned with them, so they could ride together into the Night Lands.
"You saw everything?" Dany walked to the riverbank and asked Rego, who was still staring wide-eyed at the dragon spewing flames.
"I saw it. He's huge," the boy nodded.
The wound on Rego's chest, shaped like a pair of lips, had already healed, leaving only a faint pink scar. But he had lost a great deal of blood—something even sacred healing couldn't restore.
He now looked listless, his face pale as paper.
Dany gave a silent laugh and shook her head. "I defeated Tepkao's twenty-five hundred screamers, then killed him and his bloodriders in the 'Khal Duel.' You saw all that too?"
The boy's round face turned slightly blank.
The earlier "Unrivaled Dance" had been so surreal that it had left an indelible mark on his young mind.
"So the Witch Queen is really that powerful," the boy murmured in awe.
Dany's face darkened slightly. "Do you understand what that means?"
"What?" the boy asked, confused.
"It means you and your sister will both join my khalasar. Your sister will serve as my handmaid, and you will begin as my stable boy. When you grow up, you'll become one of my screamers and fight across the world for me."
"Oh." The boy blinked, then quickly nodded in agreement.
"Now, tell me—who are you?" Dany repeated the first question she had asked him when they met.
"I'm Django, your stable boy."
"And who am I?"
"You are my Khaleesi."
"Good." Dany nodded with satisfaction.
It wasn't that horse children were easy to deceive; rather, the Dothraki were simply that honest, that straightforward.
Just like Jhiqui, Irri, Rakharo, Jogo, Aggo, and Qhoro—Dany's six most loyal and trusted horsemen—all had once been prisoners captured by Drogo from other khalasars. Most of their parents had died at the hands of Drogo and his screamers.
Yet after joining Dany's khalasar, none of them ever wavered in loyalty, nor did they harbor thoughts of vengeance for their old tribes.
That was the nature of life in the Dothraki Sea.
If it weren't, Dany wouldn't have been able to perform her "Unrivaled Dance" before two thousand horsemen without being cut down.
If she had simply summoned Drogon, those two thousand screamers would have surrendered instantly.
But Dany needed to establish herself as a peerless warrior—even without dragons—to command both the screamers' loyalty and her son's respect.
Indeed, tonight's entire performance had been for Rego.
She had noticed the boy's surprising maturity. Barely four years old, he was calm, well-spoken, clear-headed, and remarkably logical.
By comparison, that "fool" Grisa—who could only cry and couldn't form a full sentence—was what a normal four-year-old should be.
So Dany decided to treat Rego the way she would treat an adult.
Rego was a good little horseman, and just like Jogo and the others, he would one day be fiercely loyal to his Khaleesi—ready to die for her.
That was enough.
"From today onward, forget the name 'Django.' I'll give you a new one."
Dany frowned in thought.
What name would be meaningful yet not arouse suspicion?
Maybe she could follow the naming pattern of his "brothers"—Big Black, Little White, Little Green, Little Gold, and Little Red. She could call him Little Silver since his hair was silver; or Little Purple for his violet eyes; or maybe Little Round, since he had such a round face?
Hmm, technically Rego had been born earlier, so he was the "big brother" to Drogon and the others.
But since Rego was born by caesarean section, if one counted from the moment of consciousness, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion were actually older.
No, Little Silver, Little Purple, Little Round—all sounded too intimate. Someone might get suspicious.
Dany shook her head and began recalling ancient emperors of the Celestial Empire.
None seemed to have an experience quite like Rego's.
Maybe she could borrow from Genghis Khan, Nurhaci, or Aguda?No, those would sound too foreign, too strange among the Dothraki, drawing even more attention.
"Ah, I've got it—you'll be Simba!"
At last, drained of inspiration, Dany helplessly chose the name of the little lion—Simba from The Lion King.
Afterward, Dany pulled Jogo aside and sternly instructed him, "Almost no one knows about Simba's injury, and you must not mention that I healed him.
If anyone asks what happened tonight, say that a blood plague appeared in the Great Grass Sea, and I came out to investigate the situation.
Tell them that running into Simba and those screamers was pure coincidence.
And report to me immediately if anyone asks about it."
"Why?" Jogo asked in confusion.
Daenerys frowned and thought for a moment. Jogo might not be as wise as Quaro, but he wasn't entirely without sense. At the very least, he had the ability and temperament of a khalasar leader.
Moreover, she needed someone to secretly look after, protect, and train Simba.
For safety's sake, Simba would continue to conceal his true identity and grow up among the Dothraki of Khalasar LS, while Jogo—who had always been her chosen leader of that khalasar—would serve as his protector.
Thus, she decided to tell him the truth. "He is Rhaego!"
"Who?" Jogo looked puzzled.
"Jhanggo," Daenerys repeated patiently. "The child of Drogo and me—Rhaego."
Jogo's almond-shaped eyes widened. He murmured, "Khaleesi, you must have missed Prince Rhaego too much. That's not your child. Rhaego had black hair and a small head, but Simba, he—"
"Rhaego was born two days earlier. I deliberately used a feather pillow to make myself look pregnant. After Lilith's child was delivered by the maegi, I swapped Rhaego with Jhanggo.
The real Jhanggo had silver hair too. I dyed it black, to make them appear distinct and prevent others from drawing dangerous conclusions."
Daenerys told Jogo in detail about that day when she had switched the children.
The Dothraki's large, dark-and-white eyes nearly popped out of his almond-shaped sockets.
"You're not joking, are you? This sounds even more far-fetched than the ballads sung at the docks," Jogo stammered.
This kind of wild trickery was far beyond what a Dothraki mind could comprehend.
"What's so far-fetched about it? How do you think Aegon survived?" Daenerys said irritably, giving him another example.
Varys had used a tanner's son to replace Rhaegar's child and take the fall. Compared to that, the Khaleesi's act of using Jhanggo to take Rhaego's place in front of Drogo was even bolder.
Jhanggo was Drogo's own son, and that—
Jogo froze in shock.
What kind of place was Westeros, really, to produce so many such stories?
He immediately withdrew his disrespectful thoughts toward the Khaleesi and said thoughtfully, "Khaleesi, do you think it's possible that Prince Aegon is also a fake? That Varys replaced him with one of his relatives' children to claim the Iron Throne?"
Now Jogo was beginning to see everyone as possibly fake.
"It's good that you can think this deeply," Daenerys said sincerely, praising him. "But whether Aegon is real or not doesn't matter. I never cared about the Iron Throne.
What matters is that I now stand against the whole world—and the world sees me as an enemy to be destroyed.
Look at General Wildfire and Aegon; they were both assassinated not long ago.
I'm not afraid of those petty assassins, but Simba is still too young. Protecting him too closely would be like growing a flower in a greenhouse—it would only stunt his growth.
Let my enemies believe that Aegon is my only surviving kin.
Let them hate me, and let them target only him.
Aegon will serve both as a decoy and as a magnet to draw out all my enemies—just like what happened in Qarth with those so-called 'Regretful Guests.'
And Simba will be free to live like an ordinary person—under the sun and rain, without fear or shadow in his heart, growing strong and unburdened."
"Khaleesi, you're truly cunning!" Jogo said with genuine admiration.
Daenerys did not take offense. She merely sighed. "Don't blame me for being cunning—the world simply leaves me no choice."
Then she continued, "Now that you know Simba's true identity, you must train him well. Teach him archery, horseback riding, swordplay, how to lead the screamers, and how to manage a khalasar.
Don't make it too obvious. Choose a few exceptional Dothraki boys to grow up alongside him. They'll be both his future companions and his cover."
"Don't worry, Khaleesi. I'll train Prince Rhaego well, and I'll protect him with my life," Jogo said with sudden, burning fervor, as though filled with divine purpose.
"The Dothraki are simple. Within the khalasar, no one will question your special attention to Simba. But when dealing with outsiders…"
Daenerys sighed. "City people are treacherous and full of schemes. You must be cautious. If you're not good at lying, speak little. If you can't hide your expressions, keep your face blank."
The excitement on Jogo's face instantly vanished. He said expressionlessly, "Understood."
"And one more thing—don't tell anyone about this. Not Aggo, not Quaro, not Rakharo," Daenerys warned again.
Jogo looked puzzled at first, as if he had just remembered something, then quickly straightened his face and asked stiffly, "Why?"
"Because you are all my blood of my blood, and I would trust you with my life.
But the Three-Eyed Raven of Westeros is terrifying. He can steal secrets silently from a person's mind.
The Long Night is coming, and when I go to Westeros to face the White Walkers, any secret you know could be known to him immediately.
That's why you must stay in Slaver's Bay. Only Aggo and the others will follow me to Westeros."
Daenerys did not hide her truest thoughts from her bloodriders.
She had absolute faith that the Dothraki would never betray her—no bloodrider had ever betrayed his khal.
As for the White Knights, she also trusted Jorah and Barristan completely in Rhaego's matter.
After all, Rhaego was the Dragon Queen's heir, and the White Knights had no reason to harm him.
But, as she said, the Long Night would come one day. She would not let Slaver's Bay be dragged into Westeros's cesspit, though she herself would lead the White Knights and bloodriders to guard Dragonstone.
"I understand," Jogo said flatly.
(End of Chapter)
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