After her bath, Daenerys Targaryen gathered her people at the foot of the hill. The air was scorching, but the desert wind carried a strange anticipation, as though the very earth sensed the change about to unfold.
Dany mounted her small silver mare, the gift Drogo had once given her. She sat tall in the saddle, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight, ash-white against the sky. A young dragon coiled in her arms, its scales glistening with an oily sheen of black. The other two clung to her shoulders, wings fluttering, claws pricking lightly at her skin.
Her horse trotted past the gathered men, hooves crunching on the dry red sand. All eyes were on her — the Khals of her tiny host, their families, their captives, their slaves. What remained of Khal Drogo's once-mighty khalasar stood at attention, ragged and weary but bound together by awe and fear.
Raising her voice so all could hear, Dany declared, "From this moment forward, my Khals will be reorganized into the Khals. I will not ride to Vaes Dothrak to join the dosh khaleen. I will not sit among the crones, whispering of dead men. My path is different. My path is fire. Will you follow me into the future—into the unknown?"
For a heartbeat there was silence. Then one voice called out: "I do."
Another echoed: "I do."
Then a chorus, rough and chaotic, but resounding: "We all do!"
The shout rolled like thunder across the camp. Dany nodded, satisfaction burning in her chest. She raised her chin proudly and called again, "Jhogo. Aggo. Rakharo."
The three stepped forward at once, their faces alight with excitement. There was no fear, no hesitation. They already knew what was coming.
But behind them, Quarro's face fell. He had not been named. His shoulders slumped, his eyes clouded with envy and hurt. In that moment he cursed the "known" traditions of the Dothraki — the immutable law that a khal had only three bloodriders.
---
The Bloodriders
Dany dismounted from her silver and approached the three. She reached to her saddle and drew forth a silver-handled whip, gleaming in the sunlight.
She placed it into Jhogo's hands and said solemnly, "This silver-handled whip was my bride-gift. I give it to you now. I appoint you my knight, and I swear you shall be blood of my blood. You will live and die with me, fight at my side, and guard me from all danger."
Jhogo received the whip reverently. He fastened it at his waist, then drew his arakh in one smooth motion. Dropping to one knee, he pressed the curved blade to his forehead.
"Blood of my blood," he cried, his voice ringing.
Dany bent, took the arakh from his hands, and then lifted him to his feet herself. "Blood of my blood," she echoed, sealing the vow.
Aggo stepped forward next. For him, Dany had the great double-curved dragonbone bow, taller than a man, strung with horsehair. He accepted it with a warrior's pride, vowing in turn.
Then came Rakharo. To him she gave the gilded arakh, its hilt glittering like sunlight. He swore with equal passion, kneeling before her.
These three weapons had been her own bridal gifts once, presented by Drogo's bloodriders at her wedding feast. Cohollo had given the whip, Haggo the scimitar, and Qotho the bow. Now they had come full circle, re-gifted to new champions in a world remade.
So much had changed in a single year. Drogo gone. Her son gone. The khalasar shattered. Yet here stood three new bloodriders, swearing their lives to her.
When they were done, they stepped behind Dany, their faces fierce, proud, ready.
---
The Dragonguard
But Dany's gaze sought another.
Quarro stood among the others, his expression dim, his eyes pleading silently.
She looked at him steadily and said, "Quarro. I have a different mission for you."
His head snapped up, hope rekindling in his dark eyes.
"Do you see my dragons?" She lifted the white hatchling from her palm. Its translucent wings fluttered clumsily, fragile and small, like parchment stretched over bone.
"One day they will be mighty. One day they will rule the world. But for now, they are weak. Too weak even to fly. They need protection. I need someone loyal, fearless, and strong to be their Dragonguard. Will you swear this oath?"
Quarro fell to his knees instantly, unsheathing his scimitar. "It is my honor, Khaleesi."
Dany inclined her head. "Then rise, protector of my children. Guard them with your life, as blood of my blood guards me."
His face shone with joy, his envy burned away, replaced with pride.
---
The Exile Knight
Dany turned then to Ser Jorah Mormont. The old bear stood in his Dothraki garb, sweat staining the cloth, but his eyes steady on hers.
"You, ser, have already sworn to me," Dany said softly. "But know this: one day, from my hand, you shall receive a sword unmatched in this world. Forged not by smith, but by dragon fire. Valyrian steel reborn."
Jorah bowed his head deeply. He did not speak the words again. His silence was pledge enough.
---
The Path Forward
The sun climbed higher. Heat shimmered on the sand.
"It is midday," Dany announced. "The heat grows cruel. Go now to your tents and rest. At dusk, we march."
"Where shall we go, Khaleesi?" Aggo asked.
Dany hesitated. In the tales, she remembered, they had followed the comet. The red streak across the sky had been their guide.
But she frowned. Has anyone ever seen a comet with a fixed direction?
Comets appear without warning. They blaze across the sky unpredictably. The Dothraki called this one the Bloody Star. Last night it had been no more than a coin-sized speck on the eastern horizon. By dawn it had shifted, climbing higher, its tail drifting south.
If they tried to follow such a thing, they would wander endlessly. In the Red Waste, such wandering meant only death.
She remembered, too, how in the tale her people had suffered. The old, the weak, the children — all perished along the way. Even Doreah had died. Their journey had been less a march than an elimination, the desert itself testing who was fit to survive.
Yet Daenerys Targaryen, widowed, childless, betrayed, had endured. The dream of dragons had carried her through.
Now she had more than a dream. She had dragons in her arms.
---
Counsel of the Riders
"First," Dany said at last, "tell me where we cannot go."
Ser Jorah spoke immediately. "North is closed to us. Ogo's khalasar lies in that direction. Even if we evade them, others in the Dothraki Sea will fall upon us. They would kill the warriors and enslave the rest."
He paused, then continued. "Nor can we turn south of the river, into the lands of the Lhazareen. Even they, peaceful as they are, would not welcome us. The shepherd folk hate the Dothraki too much."
He looked to the east. "There remains Slaver's Bay — Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor. If we follow the river southeast, we may reach the ports."
Rakharo cut in quickly. "But Khal Bono drives thousands of slaves there even now. He means to sell them in the markets of the Bay."
Another rider, Martin — newly sworn but once of Drogo's khalasar — added, "Those slaves were Drogo's spoils. Bono disdains mere gold medallions. Slaves bring more coin."
Dany listened. The men spoke truth, but their words narrowed her choices.
Finally she said, "Then south it must be. Across the Red Waste. Only there lies hope. If we reach the coast, we may trade, or we may settle. We may farm."
"Farm?" Ser Jorah frowned.
"My dragons are small," Dany murmured. "Too small for conquest. For now, we must endure. Build. Grow strong."
Doreah's face blanched. "Khaleesi, that land is cursed! The Red Waste is a place of demons. Merchants from Lys say whole caravans vanish there, swallowed by its heat and its spirits."
Dany smiled faintly, stroking the dragon in her arms. Its heat seared her skin like an iron fresh from the forge. "I fear no demons. Follow me, and you need not fear them either."
The maid lowered her eyes, comforted.
---
The Question of Armies
Dany turned back to her riders. "Our khalasar is small. But even a small host can grow strong if well ordered. Tell me: what is the most important thing in an army?"
Aggo answered first. "Courage. To face death without fear."
"Khal strength," Rakharo countered. "The might of the leader. Khal Drogo was strongest, so he conquered all."
"And numbers," Jhogo added. "An army's power lies in its size. The greater the khalasar, the greater the victory."
Their words echoed the wisdom of all Dothraki — simple, brutal truths.
Quarro frowned, thinking long, but said nothing.
Ser Jorah, however, stepped forward. "In Westeros, Khaleesi, armies are not only courage, nor only numbers. Discipline matters most. Training. Tactics. From boyhood, knights are taught sword, spear, bow, and horse. Maesters teach arithmetic, history, astronomy, the lay of the land. Lords teach the art of command. That is why their armies do not scatter like the Dothraki."
Dany's eyes narrowed. "And you, ser? Have you commanded such men?"
Jorah hesitated. "I have led no more than two thousand. And that was…" His face shadowed.
"That was when you followed Eddard Stark," Dany finished, her tone even. "When you helped overthrow my father's throne."
Jorah flinched. "My apologies, Princess."
"You served your lord," she said, waving it aside. "What matters is what you know now."
---
The Dragon's System
"I believe the strength of an army lies in its system," Dany said.
The riders looked puzzled.
"Listen," she explained patiently. "From this day, all men who ride with me will abandon their scattered banners. We will bear one banner — the dragon. When a boy turns fourteen, he will join the ranks."
She did not flinch at their surprise. I am fourteen myself, she thought. If I demanded eighteen, I would have no men at all.
"Ten men will form a squad, with the strongest as captain. Five squads make a cohort, with one leader chosen among them. Five cohorts…"
She paused. Their faces were blank, confused.
"What troubles you?" she asked.
Aggo scratched his head. "Khaleesi, I can understand ten men making a squad. But how many is five squads? And five cohorts?"
The others nodded, equally baffled.
Dany laughed softly. The road ahead would be long indeed. But it was hers to walk.
---