Walking towards five hundred Dothraki warriors was, in Marcos' humble opinion, one of the stupidest things he had ever done in his life.
And that included dying for a plaster Napoleon.
Daenerys whispered , clinging to his hand as if it were a lifeline. "I can feel their eyes. Everyone is watching us."
"Yeah, well, we're the show of the day." Marcos kept his voice calm even though his heart was pounding like a war drum. " Keep your head high. Don't show any fear."
—I'm terrified.
—Me too. But they don't need to know.
The Dothraki parted like a sea, creating a corridor to the center where Khal Drogo waited on his horse.
Marcos could see them up close now. Warriors with sun-tanned skin, long braided hair, bodies covered in scars and tattoos. Some wore arakhs (the Dothraki curved swords), others bows, others simply stared with expressions that promised violence.
And they all looked at Daenerys with particular intensity.
Finally they arrived in front of Drogo.
Up close, the Khal was even more intimidating. It wasn't just his size (though that was enough). It was his presence. The way he sat on his horse as if it were an extension of his own body. The way his dark eyes assessed everything like a predator sizing up its prey.
Her braid reached the ground, falling down the side of her horse. Decades without losing a fight, condensed into that single symbol.
Marcos had to remind himself to breathe.
" Khal Drogo," he said in Dothraki. Thanks to his automatic language acquisition, he could speak the language perfectly. "It's an honor to meet you."
Drogo's eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn't expected the stranger to speak his language.
When he spoke, his voice was deep, resonant, like distant thunder:
—You're the one who stole what's mine.
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
"With all due respect, Khal , she was never yours." Marcos maintained his respectful but firm tone. "An arranged marriage without her consent is not valid."
"Magister Illyrio promised the blood of the dragon." Drogo pointed at Daenerys . "He promised a wife with fire in her blood. And you stole her."
"I didn't steal her. I gave her a choice. She chose not to marry someone she didn't know." Marcos paused. "Do you want a wife who was forced? Who hates you? Who's with you only because she had no other option?"
Drogo remained silent, processing.
One of his bloodriders (the Khal 's bodyguards/battle brothers ) spoke with contempt:
—Khalassars do not negotiate with thieves ! We must take what belongs to us !
"Shut up, Qotho ," Drogo ordered without taking his eyes off Marcos. "The stranger speaks boldly. He deserves to be heard before he dies."
"How generous," Marcos murmured in Spanish before returning to Dothraki. " Khal Drogo, you come here with five hundred horsemen. You can attack. You would probably win. But it would cost you. My walls are strong. My defenses, unusual. And I have magic you've never seen."
He gave a simple demonstration: he raised his hand and created a floating orb of fire above his palm.
The Dothraki murmured. Some stepped back.
But Drogo didn't move.
" Maegi, " he said. Sorcerer. In Dothraki, it wasn't a compliment. It was an acknowledgment of dangerous power. " A weak Maegi dies easily. A strong Maegi ..."
" A strong Maegi is more useful as an ally than as an enemy," Marcos finished. "That's why I propose an alternative."
—What alternative?
"You left the plains with five hundred of your best riders because Illyrio promised you a wife of royal blood. But he didn't just promise you a wife. He promised you something more, didn't he?" Marcos wagered, based on his knowledge of the canon. "He promised you an alliance. A connection to Westeros. A path to greater conquest."
Drogo's eyes darkened dangerously.
—How do you know that?
Illyrio thinks . He's a snake. He uses you. He promises you things he can't deliver." Marcos gestured toward Daenerys . "She's just a tool to him. He doesn't care about her well-being. He doesn't care about your honor. He only cares about his plan."
—And you 're different. —It wasn't a question. It was a challenge.
"Yes." Marcos looked directly at him. "I offered her a choice. I didn't use her. I didn't sell her out. I gave her shelter. And now I'm protecting her. Because it's the right thing to do."
Drogo dismounted.
It was a fluid, graceful movement despite its size.
She walked straight towards Marcos, until they were just centimeters apart.
Marcos was tall by normal standards (1.80m), but Drogo easily towered over him. He had to look slightly upwards to maintain eye contact.
" You have courage, maegi . Or stupidity. I haven't decided which yet." Drogo then looked at Daenerys . " Khaleesi betrothed. Is what she says true? Did you choose to be here?"
Daenerys trembled but did not back down.
"Yes, Khal ." Her voice was soft but clear. "I don't know you. I didn't choose to marry you. My brother and the Magister chose for me." She paused. "Marcos offered me something no one else did: the freedom to choose my own path."
—What if your path was to be my wife?
"Then I would choose to get to know you first. As a person, not as a transaction." Daenerys looked up to meet his gaze. "The Dothraki respect strength. But forcing marriage is not strength. It is cowardice hiding behind tradition."
The silence was absolute.
Marcos was pretty sure that Daenerys had just indirectly called Khal Drogo a coward in front of five hundred of his warriors.
Which was brave. Or suicidal. Again, hard to tell.
But then, something unexpected happened.
Drogo laughed.
It was deep, genuine laughter that echoed throughout the field.
" Fire in the blood!" she declared aloud. "The Magister wasn't lying about that! The dragon girl has fangs!"
The other Dothraki began to laugh as well, banging their arakhs against their shields in approval.
Drogo turned towards Marcos.
—Proposal, maegi . Combat. You and me. If you win , I'll leave. My khalasar returns to the plains. The dragon child is free.
—And what if you win ?
"If I win, I take the girl. Not as a forced wife." Drogo smiled. "As a prize won in battle. The Dothraki respect strength. If I win her with my strength, she'll respect that strength. And perhaps she'll learn to respect me."
Marcos looked at Daenerys .
She was pale but nodded slightly.
It was a better option than a massive battle. And at least there was implicit respect in the proposal.
—I accept —Marcos said—. But with conditions.
" Conditions?" Drogo raised an eyebrow. "What conditions?"
—First: if you win and take Daenerys , you swear on your braid that you will treat her with respect. No violence. No forcing her. You give her time to get to know you before any... marital obligations.
—Second: if I lose but die in honorable combat, my people in Astoria will rest in peace. There will be no vengeance against them.
Drogo considered.
—I accept both. Anything else?
—Third: unarmed. Hand-to-hand combat. Pure strength and skill.
That surprised Drogo.
- Because?
"Because if I use magic, it's cheating. And I want this to be fair." Marcos smiled. "Besides, I trust my abilities."
It was a partial lie. Marcos still had his physical reinforcement from Anos, but without active offensive magic, at least it seemed fairer.
Drogo smiled slowly.
—I like you , maegi . It's a shame I have to break you.
— You can try.
A circle was formed.
Five hundred Dothraki surrounding a cleared area approximately twenty meters in diameter.
From the walls of Astoria, everyone watched. Garrett had the telescope, narrating to the others.
—The boss is going to fight Drogo. Hand to hand. Without weapons.
" ARE YOU CRAZY?" someone shouted.
"Probably," Garrett admitted. "But he's our crazy guy."
In the circle, Marcos and Drogo were getting ready.
Drogo removed his decorated vest, leaving his torso bare. It was pure muscle mass, battle scars crisscrossing his skin like a war map.
Marcos took off his jacket. Compared to Drogo, he looked... normal. Athletic, yes, thanks to the passive magic boost. But not intimidating.
"Last chance to surrender, maegi, " Drogo offered as he stretched.
—Same to you, Khal .
Drogo laughed.
A blood horseman stood between them.
—Fight until one surrenders or can no longer continue! Death is not necessary but it is acceptable! BEGIN!
Drogo attacked immediately.
It was an explosion of speed and power. His fist flew towards Marcos's face with enough force to shatter stone.
Marcos dodged it by centimeters.
The fist passed by his ear with a hiss of displaced air.
Marcos counterattacked with a punch to Drogo's stomach.
It connected.
And it was like hitting a concrete wall.
Drogo didn't even move.
—Weak blow, maegi .
"I was testing." Marcos jumped back, dodging another blow. "Now I know you don't have any obvious weak points."
—I have absolutely no weaknesses!
Drogo charged.
What followed was a brutal exchange.
Drogo was a fighting machine. Years of life-or-death battles had perfected his technique. Every move was efficient, lethal, tested in hundreds of battles.
Marcos, on the other hand, had theoretical knowledge of Anos and magical reinforcement that made him stronger and faster than a normal human.
But he wasn't an experienced fighter.
Drogo landed a blow to Marcos' ribs.
Marcos felt the impact like a hammer blow. Without his magic reinforcement, his ribs would have burst.
He gasped, stepped back, and blocked the next attack.
" First blood!" someone shouted.
Marcos touched his lip. It was bleeding.
— Okay , that hurt.
"It's going to hurt a lot more before it's over." Drogo smiled.
He attacked again.
This time Marcos didn't just dodge. He used Drogo's momentum against him, just as he had taught Daenerys . He grabbed the Khal 's arm , twisted it, and used his own strength to send him crashing to the ground.
Drogo fell.
The Dothraki remained silent.
His Khal never fell.
Drogo stood up slowly, with an expression of genuine surprise.
—Interesting. Nobody's knocked me down for... years.
"First time for everything." Marcos spat blood. "Shall we continue?"
Drogo smiled. But it was a different smile now. It was the smile of someone who had finally found a challenge.
—Now I fight seriously, maegi .
And he did.
What he had been before was Drogo testing. Playing.
Now it was Drogo fighting for real.
It was like facing a storm.
Punches from all angles. Kicks. Grabs. Fighting techniques that Marcos recognized from Anos's knowledge but had never personally executed.
He landed a few punches. Drogo landed more.
Marcos felt his nose break. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His vision blurred momentarily.
But he didn't fall.
He used his magical reinforcement to the fullest. Not to attack. Only to survive.
He blocked. He dodged. He absorbed blows that would have killed a normal man.
And slowly, he began to understand Drogo's fighting pattern.
He was brilliant. He was lethal.
But he had a boss.
All fighters have it. It's inevitable.
Marcos waited for his moment.
Drogo unleashed a combination of punches. Right, left, high kick.
Marcos blocked the first two.
And when the kick came, he caught it.
It twisted.
Drogo lost his balance.
And Marcos channeled all his magical power into a single blow to the solar plexus.
The impact was like an explosion.
Drogo flew backwards three meters and landed with a thud.
Absolute silence.
Marcos was panting, bleeding, with at least three broken ribs (he could feel them slowly regenerating thanks to his magic), but he was standing.
Drogo was on the ground, looking up at the sky, with a shocked expression.
"That..." Drogo coughed. "That hurt."
He sat down slowly.
He looked at Marcos.
And then, incredibly, she smiled.
"You win, maegi ." He stood up, though it was clearly in pain. "Fair fight. Real strength. I respect that."
He extended his arm.
Marcos looked at him, unable to believe what was happening.
He took her arm.
And Drogo pulled him into a warrior's embrace, hitting his back so hard that he almost fell again.
" You are strong! Stronger than you look!" Drogo laughed. "My khalasar respects strength. And I respect your victory."
The Dothraki began banging their weapons together, creating a roar of approval.
Drogo turned towards them.
—MAEGI WON IN FAIR COMBAT! HIS VICTORY IS HONORABLE! WE WITHDRAW!
Then he looked at Daenerys , who had watched everything with her hands covering her mouth.
"Dragon child. You will not be my wife. Not today." He smiled. "But perhaps one day we will meet under better circumstances. When you choose to come, not when you are forced."
Daenerys nodded, speechless.
Drogo mounted his horse, still clutching his ribs where Marcos had hit him.
" Maegi . We'll meet again. And perhaps then, we'll fight again. For sport, not for a prize." He paused. "Also, your walls are impressive. Whoever built them understands defense. My khalasar respects that, too."
—I built them —Marcos admitted.
—Just you?
—With magic. And lots of coffee. Well, tea. There's no coffee here. It's a tragedy.
Drogo looked at him without understanding the reference but laughed anyway.
— You're strange, maegi . I like you. If you ever need help, send a message. Maybe Drogo will remember this fight and come to return the favor.
—I'll keep that in mind.
With that, Khal Drogo and his five hundred horsemen turned and left, disappearing into the eastern plains.
Marcos stood there, bleeding, with broken ribs, probably with a concussion, processing what had just happened.
" Did I just... win?" he murmured.
Daenerys ran towards him.
—YOU WON! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WON!
"Me neither." Marcos laughed, then winced. " Ouch . No, laughing hurts. A lot."
— You need medicine. Now.
"I have potions. I'm fine." But when she tried to walk, her legs gave way.
Daenerys caught him before he fell completely.
—No, you're not okay. You're an idiot. A beautiful, brave idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.
—Did you call me handsome?
— Focus on the idiot part. —But she was smiling, with tears in her eyes—. You could have died.
"But I didn't die." Marcos smiled at her. "And you're free. It was worth it."
The gates of Astoria opened and Garrett came running in with half the settlement behind him.
—BOSS ! THAT WAS THE MOST INSANE THING I'VE EVER SEEN!
"Thanks. I think so." Marcos coughed up blood. "Oh, yeah, I definitely need healing potion."
They took him inside while everyone celebrated.
They had survived.
They hadn't just survived. They had won.
Against mercenaries . Against Dothraki. Against Khal Drogo.
Astoria had proven that it was not just a refugee settlement.
It was strength. It was community. It was power.
And the name of Marcos Vidal began to spread beyond its walls.
The maegi who built fortresses out of nothing.
The foreigner who defeated Khal Drogo in combat.
The madman who defied Pentos and survived.
Legends were beginning to take shape.
And in Pentos , Illyrio Mopatis received reports of everything that had happened.
And for the first time in her life, she felt something she hadn't felt in decades:
Fear.
[END OF CHAPTER 12]