𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

𝐎𝟐 . 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍

━━･ ❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━

V A E S   D O T H R A K,
V  I  S  E  R  Y  A

  A FEW PACES BEHIND THE KHAL and his bloodriders, Viserya Targaryen rode beside Ser Jorah Mormont and her maiden's strode aside the silver filly with her belongings strapped across their backs and gathered in their hands. Vi was dressed in fabrics similar to the people in the khalasar, men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings. Vi was bearing the same patterns on her cropped vest and leggings, but made out of soft linen instead.

  When Vi picked at the string at the hem of her leggings that were cinched by a bronze belt, she asked her advisor what had been troubling her mind at this current hour. " Do the Dothraki buy their slaves?"

  The Westerosi middle aged man was buff shouldered, sporting short, blonde hair that had small patches of silver strands from nearing old age. Jorah placed his horses reins in one hand while the other wiped away sand that kicked into his eyes from the stallions ahead of them. " Most of their slaves were given to them as gifts."

  " From whom?" Vi quickly asked. " If you rule a city and you see the horde approaching, you have two choices, pay tribute or fight. An easy choice for most." Viserya glanced at the man, shocked by the truth he provided her with. Her brother did little of telling her harsh tales about her husband ever since they have been wed. As far as Vi was aware, all Viserys cared about now was Drogo giving him the crown he was promised. He had no time to spare his little sister any more of the truth she was bound to face.

  " Of course, sometimes it's not enough. Sometimes a Khal feels insulted by the number of slaves he's given," Jorah supplanted. " He might think the men too weak or the women too ugly. Sometimes a Khal decides his riders haven't had a good fight in months and need the practice."

  At this moment, one of the khas raises his whip into the air and barks orders in the Dothraki tongue as he cracks the leathered rope over the skin of a male slave who struggled to walk beside the man's reddish horse. The whip pierces into the slave's flesh and Vi could see splatters of his blood land onto the swaying tall grass on the left side of the path.

  Vi was visibly disgusted by this act. She could not stop herself from flinching as she imagined Viserys was the man holding the whip, and she was the tired, shoeless slave slowly walking beside the horse.

  " Tell them all to stop," Vi heard herself say. Before she can even process that her words were said aloud, Jorah whips his head in the Khalessi's direction. " You want the entire horde to stop? For how long?"
She did not have to pull at the reins for the horse to stop, Vi's silver seemed to understand her intentions on its own and stopped trudging through the path the khalasar made.

  " Until I command them otherwise." The entire horde paused since the Khalessi and her advisor blocked them from continuing. And the knight smiled. " You're learning to talk like a queen."