Is inbreeding good or bad?
Popular belief holds that inbreeding between close relatives tends to produce children with genetic defects, which is detrimental to the principles of eugenics. This, however, is a scientific fact.
Since humanity's earliest days, the harsh forces of nature eliminated most genes that caused dominant diseases. Over millions of years, as civilizations advanced, most genetic diseases became recessive. These recessive traits only manifested if both parents carried the same defective gene, giving their children roughly a one-in-four chance of developing the disease.
It is important to note that these genes must be identical.
Close blood relatives, sharing genes derived from a common ancestor, were more likely to carry the same recessive defects. Consequently, children born of such unions were at greater risk of suffering dementia, deformities, or other hereditary disorders.
However, the process of inbreeding is far more complex than simple genetic hazard. If inbreeding is sustained over dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of generations, all recessive defective genes within a lineage eventually become expressed. Those children who inherit "paired" defective genes are eliminated—through death or infertility—leaving behind offspring with fewer defective recessive genes than previous generations.
In other words, through this harsh natural filtering system, inbreeding can reduce genetic defects, achieving a form of long-term optimization.
Yet, genetic optimization has two components. One is the elimination of inferior genes; the other is the promotion of superior genes, a more practical form of hybridization. Here, the focus is on the first: reducing defective genes through the disciplined, sustained practice of inbreeding.
True optimization takes centuries. Even a single introduction of a new bloodline carrying untested recessive genes can undo generations of effort, forcing the process to start anew. Without millennia of intermarriage among close relatives, the notion of a "noble bloodline" is impossible.
For this reason, in China and most of humanity's societies, inbreeding is a permanent taboo. Across thousands of years, only the ancient Egyptian pharaohs attempted to maintain such a system. Even they ultimately failed; introducing "inferior" bloodlines destabilized the lineage, producing heirs who were physically or mentally unfit, and their dynastic authority crumbled.
European aristocrats tried similar experiments. Consider hemophilia in royal families, which threatened direct inheritance and required occasional infusion of new blood to maintain survival.
Yet what Earthlings cannot achieve, the bloodlines of Essos have accomplished. Families like the Targaryens have perfected genetic optimization over centuries.
The Valyrian Freehold, long before the Targaryens, developed a rigorous practice of inbreeding. The Targaryens themselves are a minor offshoot of this ancient, inbred lineage. Their power, beauty, and intelligence are living evidence of the effectiveness of such selective practices.
Take Daenerys Targaryen, for instance. Her appearance, intelligence, and resilience reflect centuries of calculated lineage management. By contrast, the dukedoms of Westeros—once royal but reduced to secondary nobility after Aegon's conquest—engaged in comparatively superficial intermarriage. Their lineages, while still noble, are a pale reflection of true genetic refinement.
The Starks, the protagonists of this story, have maintained their lineage for at least 8,000 years, showcasing an incredible historical depth that rivals the Targaryens. The Freys, by comparison, are a mere 600-year-old marquisate. Wealth alone cannot compensate for a lack of generational depth.
Thus, while Viserys's desire to sleep with his sister may appear grotesque and morally questionable to outsiders, within the context of Essos, it is a continuation of centuries of tradition. The Targaryens have long upheld brother-sister unions. Aegon I, the dynasty's founder, married two sisters: elder Visenya and younger Rhaenys. Even Daenerys's parents, "Mad King" Aerys and Queen Rhaella, were siblings. Her grandparents, too, shared the same union.
Had Daenerys been born just a few years earlier, it is likely she would have been wed to her eldest brother, Rhaegar. "And then?" she asked Lilith calmly. "Viserys is a bastard—I already knew that."
Lilith stared at her, surprised by the nonchalant tone. Her rage grew when she realized she could not provoke Dany with words. Frustrated, she spun, pointing at Ser Jorah, who watched warily. "He… he touched me, too. He didn't say your name, but the way he looked at me… it was as if he penetrated my soul."
Ser Jorah's gauntleted hands twitched, his face flushed. "You slander me. I did nothing of the sort. I have never harmed Princess Daenerys, nor would I."
Lilith's laugh was sharp and mocking. "I have seen many people in my life. You cannot fool me."
Dany, composed yet firm, interjected. "You are a Khaleesi now, not a favorite in Lys's brothels. I don't think Khal Jhaco would appreciate your words."
She knew, of course, of Jorah's silent devotion and desire for her—an awareness she had acquired long before crossing into this world. Tales from Westeros—like Tyrion visiting brothels in Volantis and the story of the silver-haired, violet-eyed prostitute cosplaying as Daenerys—served as subtle but telling lessons.
Lilith, ignoring Dany's calm demeanor, leaned close to whisper in her ear, "Why do you think I followed him?"
Dany felt a strange tension in her chest, as if she were Helen of Troy, caught in the center of a storm of desire and power. "Is he in love with me too? I doubt it," she whispered internally, unashamed of her curiosity.
Lilith sneered, her voice cutting. "He wants the same things I do. He wants the same things as the khal. You, Drogo's steed, the tent—they are all the same to him."
"Then you're worse than Drogo's tent?" Dany snapped, pushing her head away. "Go. I do not want to discuss this nonsense any longer."
Lilith huffed, rising from the ground. "Fine. The khal returns to Horselord's Castle every year anyway. We shall see if you remain as proud when you join the ranks of the Dosh Khaleen crones."
The next morning, the mist over the Red Waste was thick and cold. Jako's khalasar slowly moved northward. Water and hay were depleted, and firewood had vanished days ago. The Red Waste, blistering during the day, plunged below ten degrees Celsius at night, the typical cruel climate of the Gobi-like desert.
Stepping outside the dim tent, Dany squinted at the blinding sunlight. The sun rose like molten gold, spilling its searing light across the earth, scorching the soil into cracked, dry hollows.
Despite the harsh heat, life continued. From a nearby thatched hut came the cough of an old man. Children ran barefoot across the open grounds, shrieking with laughter. Women went about their daily chores, carrying buckets and bundles. A hundred unsaddled horses grazed listlessly, occasionally neighing in protest at the barren land.
Seeing Dany, her maids quickly brought water, wine, fruits, and roasted meats. After a brief meal, she instructed Aggo and the others to lead the khas back to their former thatched palace. Though desolate, its hills provided some shade and shelter from sun and wind.
Qotho and Haggo remained with the dying Drogo, ensuring no harm came to him. Dany summoned Aggo, Quarrod, Jhogo, Kalalor, and Ser Jorah to sit in a circle in the shade of a nearby mound. This was her first expanded political council.
"Drogo's khals are gone," she stated bluntly.
"A khal who cannot ride is no khal," Jhogo replied matter-of-factly.
"The Dothraki follow the strong," Ser Jorah added. "I am sorry, Princess, but we cannot keep them. Starting with Bonokol, warriors have left in droves, day after day."
"How many men and how many supplies remain?" Dany asked.
"Khaleesi, not a single one of your khas has left," Aggo said solemnly. "We swore our allegiance to you, not the khal. We remain."
Dany felt pride. The Dothraki, barbaric as outsiders called them, possessed moral integrity far exceeding that of the so-called civilized peoples of Westeros, who discarded sacred oaths like worthless scraps.
"Who else remains?" she asked.
Jhogo answered, "The elderly with limited mobility stayed behind, as did the weak, the sick, and the cowards. The new khals refused to take them along."
Dany nodded. For her, the Dothraki were more than subjects—they were her people. Her identity had long shifted. No longer merely the wife of a khal, she now belonged to the Grass Sea itself. And the horsemen had always treated her as one of their own.
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