A loud crash echoed from outside the tent, breaking the late afternoon silence. Daenerys, sitting cross-legged near the blazing fire, a dragon egg clutched in her hand, flinched at the sound. The heat from the flames had been intense, but she welcomed it.
The fire was a form of self-disinfection. Temperatures above a thousand degrees were more effective than any antibiotic or penicillin—and far cleaner, without side effects. Clenching her fists, Daenerys felt her body become lighter and stronger than before.
She emerged from the fire, washed away the remaining soot and ash with boiling water, and wrapped herself in a feather-filled bundle she had prepared earlier—a pillow made of soft duck feathers. Slowly, painstakingly, she lifted the cowhide curtain of the tent. Her belly was enormous, yet she moved with determination, stepping out into the warm, windless evening.
The sun hung low behind the hills, casting long shadows over the camp. A band of Dothraki warriors huddled in the shade, shielding themselves from the dying light. Outside Drogo's wicker palace, a circle of guards stood at attention like spears of living metal, while Ser Jorah remained slightly apart, tense and immovable, his presence rigid as a tin can.
The Dothraki muttered insults at him, their Arakhs pointed threateningly. "The coward! The Andal hides behind his tin armor!"
The Ma People referred to Jorah as an "Andal"—a Westerosi term for the invaders from Essos who had brought iron civilization and the Faith of the Seven.
The story of A Song of Ice and Fire was vast and layered, with three main arcs: the Northern Border of Westeros, where the Great Wall stood against the Others; King's Landing, the seat of the Iron Throne and political intrigue; and Essos, where Daenerys pursued her path to free the slaves of the Nine Free Cities.
Westeros was inhabited by four main groups:
1. The indigenous peoples, including the Children of the Forest and giants—magical, primitive, stone-tool-using races living mostly beyond the Wall.
2. The First Men, who migrated from Essos twelve thousand years ago, bronze-age settlers now largely north of the Wall.
3. The Andals, invaders from Essos eight thousand years prior, who brought iron tools and knighthood.
4. The Rhoynar refugees, led by Lorina, who had fled the collapsing Valyria with dragons and magic. Unable to establish a kingdom in Westeros, they integrated into Dorne.
Thus, the title "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men" reflected the history of the realm. Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island in the north, belonged to the First Men. He had full knightly training, wore armor, and rode a warhorse, but technically, he might not have been officially knighted, as knighthood required the blessing of a Septon and a sworn oath.
The Dothraki, whose culture revolved around horses, considered steel armor a sign of cowardice. "Wearing iron armor equals fear of death," they believed.
When Daenerys stepped into the camp, the Dothraki's mockery intensified. Jorah's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his other pointing, and he shouted, "Primitive tribal trash! You horse-raised fools know nothing! This armor I wear is worth a hundred of your dog's heads!"
He cursed freely in Dothraki, venting his fury at the warrior before him, and then switched to the Common Tongue, Northern accent thick, cursing the entire Dothraki nation.
The Dothraki warrior tensed. Anticipating the end of his guard duty, he drew his Arakh with a sharp 'knock' and advanced. The Horse People, however, had waited, restrained by the camp's rules—any trespass risked a deadly volley of arrows.
The duel was blindingly fast. Jorah's two-handed sword danced like a silver curtain. Despite the weight of his dark-gray steel armor, his movements were fluid, precise, and devastating. Sparks flew as sword met Arakh, glinting against armor like fireflies in the dusk.
In mere seconds, Jorah took three hits but remained unharmed. The Dothraki warrior, though skilled, faltered at the final moment. A sword pierced his chest, and he collapsed onto the cracked red earth, blood pooling beneath him.
"Khaleesi!" Jorah called, then saluted along with the Khas guards. The Dothraki who had mocked him earlier now relaxed, acknowledging the warrior's prowess. They showed no sympathy for their fallen comrade, only respect for strength.
"Khaleesi, did you leave the Witch alone in the Khal's palace?" Ko Moro's voice cut through the lingering tension.
"He's not with the Khal," Daenerys replied. "He's assisting Lilis with childbirth. Haven't you heard the Childbirth Song?" She gestured to Aggo, instructing him to lift the grass curtain outside the delivery room.
Inside, Mirri Maz Duur's melodic chanting filled the space, guiding Lilis as she labored. The woman's belly gleamed with sweat and tension, her face pale, silver teeth clenched, sideburns damp, and soft moans echoing faintly. The scent of blood drifted out, faint yet unmistakable.
While a Caesarean might last only half an hour, a natural, difficult birth could take four to five hours. Mirri had been singing and aiding Lilis for over an hour. When she noticed the curtain lifted and all eyes on her, she nodded at Daenerys, her song never faltering, then quickly lowered the screen again.
The onlookers, realizing no dark magic was involved, averted their eyes, returning to their duties.
Nearby, a wounded Dothraki warrior pleaded, "Water… water…"
Daenerys, limited by her pregnancy, could not bend down, but she tossed a bag of mare's milk to him. "Ili, untie his vest," she instructed. "The sword struck his breastplate, sparing internal organs. Use the cotton cloth to press against the wound. Quelo, call the hairless man to stitch him."
Quelo protested in Dothraki, "Khaleesi challenged the Andal and failed. The Horse God will decide his fate. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone knows," Ili confirmed.
Daenerys' gaze hardened. "Do you want everyone to know you disobeyed Khaleesi's orders?"
Quelo's eyes widened. Muttering incoherently, he moved aside.
The sun bled red over the barren land, dipping below the horizon. Mirri Maz Duur's expertise, honed across countless lands, earned Daenerys' newfound respect. By nightfall, the first child had been born—a boy with Dothraki bronze skin, silver hair, almond-shaped eyes, and pale purple irises.
Daenerys leaped over a wooden fence, slashing through the thick grass curtain to reach the baby.
"Khaleesi, twins," Mirri Maz Duur whispered. "There is another."
"Go ahead," Daenerys replied, lingering for a brief moment before crossing the screen again.
"Wash him with hot water," she instructed Ji Qi, handing him the second baby wrapped in a wool blanket.
Jhogo arrived at the wicker palace just as the second child entered the world. "Hahaha! A boy and a girl! The boy is older, the girl younger—Sun and Stars! The Horse God blesses us!"
Jhogo's bells jingled as he held both children. The boy gazed toward the setting sun, the girl toward the first star of evening. Their auspicious birth symbolized hope and prosperity for the Khalasar.
Mirri Maz Duur, witnessing the skill she had displayed, realized her status had shifted. She would serve Daenerys personally, remaining with her until the children grew strong, never leaving without permission.
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