Chapter Text
The tent went up fast.
Several maidservants scrambled to carry him inside. Drogo was too heavy, and they all stumbled under the weight.
The jolt made the stitched wound feel as if someone had torn it open raw.
Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
Dany saw it. She only thought he was gravely ill.
He kept the root the healer had given him tucked between his teeth. The stuff could spike a fever, burning the whole body scorching hot. Taken in large doses, it could muddle a man's mind completely.
Perfect.
He twitched occasionally, letting a few garbled words spill from his mouth.
"Dragon-mother... hatch... only then can..." He said it deliberately for Dany to hear.
Dany leaned close to listen. Only then did she catch the words.
She seized his hand and held it tight.
Dany had someone fill a large basin with cold water and lowered his whole body into it. Mint leaves had been added to the water.
Drogo soaked in it, his body cooling down, comfortable enough that he nearly groaned aloud.
He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the top of the tent.
The blankness was deliberate. He worked to hold it, fixing his gaze in place, letting his eyes go unfocused.
But the longer he kept it up, the more wrong it felt.
He could feel her eyes resting on his face. If she caught some tiny twitch, some small slip...
He stopped performing altogether and closed his eyes.
Dany knelt beside him and began undoing his braids.
One by one, slowly working them loose. The bells she freed, she set aside one at a time, each placed carefully in a row.
When the last one was down, she lifted her head and looked at him.
"You must recover," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You need to tie these bells back on yourself. Let them ring out and announce your coming to your enemies."
Drogo lay there with his eyes shut, listening.
The water was cool. But something in his chest went warm.
Jorah Mormont had come early and was waiting outside.
He listened to the water and the maidservants moving in and out. No one invited him in, so he stayed where he was.
Only after Dany had finished bathing Drogo did someone pull back the tent flap and let him through.
The tent was thick with the smell of mint and herbs. Drogo lay on his side — wounds front and back left him no other option. Several maidservants had rolled blankets into bolsters and wedged them against him to keep him steady.
Jorah walked to the bedside, crouched down, and peeled back the herbal poultices to examine the wounds.
He leaned in close. His brow furrowed.
The flesh was black. The edges had gone a grayish-white. A stench of rot hit him straight in the face, so thick it wouldn't disperse.
He coughed, then coughed again, covering his mouth with his hand.
The smell had already filled the whole tent.
Dany stood nearby, watching him.
Those wounds, though, they had only been made to look that way by the healer the night before.
Jorah straightened up and turned to face her.
"Princess," he said. "Your khal is as good as a dead man."
Dany went pale.
"No," she said. "He cannot die. He must not die. These are only minor wounds."
Jorah looked at her and said nothing to argue.
"We have to run before he's gone. Once that happens, it'll be too late."
Dany stared at him.
"Why would I run?" she asked, her voice unsteady. "If he dies... I am khaleesi. I carry his child. After his death, the child will succeed him as khal..."
Jorah cut her off.
"Do you actually believe the dosh khaleen's prophecy?" He held her eyes. "What if it's a girl?"
Dany had no answer.
"And they won't wait for you to give birth. The moment Drogo's last breath leaves him, they'll cut you open, pull the child out, and feed it to the dogs."
Every last trace of color left Dany's face.
Drogo lay on his side, listening.
He had the khal's memories. He knew what came next. But knowing and hearing it were two different things. Those words still made his skin crawl.
A commotion erupted outside the tent.
Jhogo had brought Mirri over. She hadn't even reached the entrance when Haggo surged forward.
"Witch! This is all your doing!"
His blade swung at Mirri.
Jhogo's arakh knocked it aside.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jhogo roared.
"Get out of my way! I'll gut this whore!"
Steel rang against steel. Sparks flew.
Dany burst out of the tent.
"Stop! No one touches her!"
Haggo turned his head, blade still up.
"Woman, you have no right to give me orders." He angled the blade toward her. "Watch yourself, or you're next."
Dany didn't move. She held her ground, belly out, eyes locked on Haggo, not blinking.
Cohollo and Qotho hit him from both sides and pinned his arms.
"Haggo! She is khaleesi!"
"Have you lost your mind?"
Haggo wrenched twice. Couldn't break loose.
"All of this is because of these two women." The veins stood out on his neck as he bellowed. "When the khal dies, we all follow him into the grave!"
Qotho pressed down on his shoulder.
"Drogo isn't going to die."
"And who's going to guarantee that?"
Cohollo spoke. His voice was flat and even.
"He won't die. You put a blade in someone now, and when he wakes up — what are you going to tell him?"
Haggo held his gaze for a long time.
Then he turned to Mirri and spat in her face.
"You'd better pray the khal pulls through," he said. "Because if he doesn't, you two whores are first."
Dany watched the bloodriders stride away. Then she turned and faced Jorah and the three Dothraki riders Drogo had set to protect her: Quaro, Jhogo, and Rakharo.
"The khal lives and dies with his bloodriders," she said, her voice steadier now. "Haggo can see his own end coming. That's why he's acting out. A dead man is afraid of nothing."
She paused.
"Be ready to fight."
Even as every part of her refused to accept that Drogo was dying, the words still came out.
Calm. Foreign even to herself.
She put everything on Mirri. She took her hand and led her into the tent.
Mirri knelt at the bedside and examined the blackened wounds with care. She worked slowly, pressing the edges with her fingers, leaning in to smell the rot.
Drogo lay still, eyes closed.
After a long while, Mirri straightened up.
"He is beyond saving," she said.
Her gaze moved from Drogo to the swell of Dany's belly and stayed there.
Drogo's eyes were shut. He felt the look anyway.
He knew exactly what was turning over in that fat old witch's mind.
For Dany, those words were the sky caving in.
All her strength left her at once. She crumpled to the floor.
She had only just tasted love. Had only just closed her fingers around something that felt like hope. Was it all going to be taken away this fast?
"You have to have another way." She grabbed Mirri's hand and gripped it hard. "They all call you a witch. You know magic — you can save my husband."
Mirri's eyelids lifted.
"There is a blood magic. But it requires a life for a life."
"A life for a life?" She turned the words over. "Mine?"
Mirri didn't answer. She just looked at Dany the way you look at a fish that's already swallowed the hook.
"I'll do it," Dany said. "I'm willing to die for him."
"Not your life." Mirri's voice was quiet and even. "Not your death, khaleesi."
Dany shuddered with relief.
"Then do it."
Drogo lay there with his nails cutting into his palm.
This foolish girl. Her head was completely gone. Why hadn't she asked whose life would be taken?
He wanted to leap up and shake her.
"Wait."
It was as if Dany had heard him.
She looked at Mirri. "Whose life? One of the bloodriders'?"
Mirri didn't answer the question directly.
"Bring in Khal Drogo's horse."
Several men turned and went out to fetch it.
Drogo lay there with no interest in cursing the fat old woman.
He only wanted everything to go according to plan. No mistakes. No slipping off course.
Mirri was using Dany.
But then again.
So was he.