Gorro was a powerful Dothraki Khal. He would not claim to lead the largest or most fearsome khalasar, but he was certainly one of the more prominent among the Dothraki. And, more importantly, his rise had only just begun. In another half a decade, he was certain that his khalasar would stand among the greatest that roamed the Dothraki Sea.
As the Khal of such a formidable host, Gorro had travelled far and wide.
From the coasts of the Narrow Sea to the distant borders of Yi Ti, the hooves of his horse had fallen over much of Essos. Though he had never ventured into Yi Ti or the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, he had seen enough of the world to consider himself a man who could no longer be surprised. He had witnessed the strange arts of shadow binders and their eerie tricks. Fascinating as they were, Gorro had found them more curious than dangerous. He had believed, with the arrogance of a conqueror, that nothing in this part of Essos could truly shock him.
But here he was and he had been utterly wrong.
The desert of the Essos was crawling with beasts, and not just any beasts. And being the dwellers of the desert just as these beasts, he recognised every one of them. The Dothraki were no strangers to the wild things that haunted the great grasslands and dunes. Even the legendary Essosi Scorpion, he had seen them a couple of times before in his life.
But he had never imagined a day when all of these wild creatures, predators of the desert, would move as one. As an army.
That they would fight under the command of a single man. That he, Khal Gorro, would find himself leading his khalasar in battle not against men, but against a living army of beasts.
He and his three bloodriders had managed, after great effort, to bring down a wild wolf. The fight had been fierce. It had taken the combined strength of all four men and their coordination to slit its belly open. And even then, victory had come after a lot of effort. The wolf had torn apart a chunk of flesh from the thigh of one of his bloodriders.
The scorpions were far beyond their reach. Their pincers could crush a horse in half, and their venomous tails would impale anyone even before they could reach it.
Killing the smaller creatures, wolves, dogs, hyenas was all they could do. But even that was taking its toll.
Khal Gorro was about to lunge at another beast when something strange happened. The creatures, all of them, began to pull away. A small clearing was formed with them at the centre and the creatures were now focusing on other men.
Gorro stood in confusion, an expression of frown appearing on his face. And then he saw why.
The horde was parting, making way.
Through the opening in their ranks, a lone figure was walking forward with measured calm. His presence was looming and suffocating. The beasts bowed their heads, as if in submission.
Lord Aeos.
The man whose city Khal Gorro had been paid to pillage.
Khal Gorro's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around his arakh. Lord Aeos approached and stood at some distance away from the Khal.
The two men stood facing each other.
For the first time in his life, Khal Gorro felt the stir of something unfamiliar.
It was not rage. It was not pride. It was fear. He realised that probably his declaration of cutting Lord Aeos' head was not easy.
Standing before the Khal, Jon's hand moved to his waist as he unsheathed the sword tied at his side. The grey ripples of Valyrian steel shimmered faintly under the faint moonlight. It was Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of House Targaryen. For the first time since claiming the two ancestral swords of the House Targaryen, Jon was going to wield it in battle.
Khal Gorro's sharp eyes narrowed. He recognised that weapon instantly. Among the Dothraki too, Valyrian steel was a legend. A few of the most powerful Khals owned arakhs forged from Valyrian steel.
No words were needed between the two men. His presence itself carried the weight of their understanding. Lord Aeos was honouring his promise to give the Khal his chance to make good on his threat.
Khal Gorro let out a low, guttural grunt, then roared as he spurred forward, his muscles coiling under the momentum. His arakh sliced through the air with deadly speed, glinting under the stars.
Jon moved to meet him, calm and silent.
When their blades met, the noise of the battlefield, the screams, the roars of beasts seemed to vanish.
Gorro swung again, his arakh moving in a blur of polished motion, each strike faster and more furious than the last. But Jon's movements were effortless, smooth, almost lazy. Every blow that came at him, he met and deflected with a motion so fluid it looked preordained.
Steel rang against steel. Sparks burst.
Jon's steps were light, precise. He turned his wrist, adjusted his stance, and countered with a measured grace that made it seem as if he already knew what Gorro would do before the Khal himself did.
It was not a duel. It was a master toying with a child.
Khal Gorro grunted in fury and swung again, this time bringing his arakh down in a vertical motion meant to split Jon cleanly in half.
Jon did not even flinch. He lifted Blackfyre as though moving in slow motion, meeting the strike with a single, effortless parry. Their blades met with a loud clang, and then Jon twisted his wrist just slightly.
The motion was small, subtle but the result was devastating.
The force that rippled through the impact sent Khal Gorro stumbling backward several steps, his boots digging furrows into the sand. His arm trembled under the pressure.
His eyes widened.
He could not comprehend the strength packed in that single flick of Jon's wrist. His mind screamed that this was impossible. No man could have such power, such speed, such control.
For the first time in years, Khal Gorro doubted his own strength.
And for the first time in his life, he wondered if he was even fighting a man at all.
"You disappoint me Khal Gorro," Jon mumbled with a shake of his head. Jon understood that he was abnormally strong for a normal man but even after giving Gorro even more time, Gorro did not try another method. He was continuing with the same brutish method and did not try anything else.
Jon was about to cut down Khal Gorro when his instincts flared, and he moved. A sword passed through the spot where Jon had been standing.
Jon turned around to see a man standing just behind him. Ser Harry Strickland. Jon's face curled into a smile of amusement as his gaze landed on his new opponent.
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