"Are you sure this method of yours to deal with the Dothraki will work?" Melisandre asked, doubt lacing her voice.
It had been fifteen days since their visit to the new capital city under construction. Jon's hair and beard had grown even longer, covering almost the entirety of his face. He was dressed in brown and leather strapped clothes. Dothraki attire, to be exact.
He was almost bare-chested, his arms and chest thick with bulging muscles. His long hair was braided, the mark and pride of a Dothraki warrior. His entire persona appeared to have changed. Aside from those who had spent a great deal of time closely with him, hardly anyone would be able to recognize him. That this uncivilized and savage looking man was the majestic and glorious Lord Aeos.
He was perched on a large boulder overlooking the almost limitless stretch of land before him, somewhere in the Disputed Lands. Melisandre was sitting just next to him on the same boulder looking across the same stretch of land. She, too, was dressed in Dothraki garb.
Resting a short distance away beneath the shade of the trees were a few dozen individuals, around one hundred men in total. The majority of them were members of the Supreme Shadows. Just like Jon, they too had grown out their beards and tied their long hair into braids, fully adopting the Dothraki attire.
"You have doubts?" Jon responded to Melisandre's question.
"I am just not very sure about it," she remarked with a little embarrassed face.
"Being unsure is what we call having doubts, Melisandre," Jon remarked with an amused chuckle.
A smile broke out on Melisandre's face as well.
"I understand most of it," she said.
"You have dressed as a Dothraki. You are posing as a Dothraki khal," she continued, gesturing toward the men under the trees, "with your own khalasar of one hundred men."
"Now," she said, "you will go and find other Dothraki khalasars, smaller ones at first, defeat them, and merge them into your own. And in no time, you will have the greatest and most powerful khalasar in the entire Dothraki Sea, and you will be their khal."
"Something like that," Jon responded.
"I have no doubt up to this point," she said. "And neither do I doubt your abilities to achieve all of this. I have full confidence in your strength. You probably do not even need a khalasar to defeat the other khalasars."
"What I am failing to see is how this is going to solve our problem," Melisandre continued.
"I mean, defeating the Dothraki or subduing them was never our problem," she said. "With our military strength and capabilities, there is no khalasar in the Dothraki Sea that could pose even the slightest challenge to us."
"Our problem has always been their way of life," she continued. "Their savagery, their brutality, their lack of fixed rules and laws. All of this makes integrating them into our way of life impossible. A society like ours cannot coexist with them."
"Indeed," Jon nodded. "You have pointed out the real problem."
"I want to, or rather, I will establish the greatest empire this world has ever seen. I will conquer the entirety of Essos, and the Dothraki Sea forms a massive part of it."
"Defeating and subduing them externally is not difficult," he said. "Ruling over them with a set of rules and regulation is. They have no regard for laws. They enjoy bloodshed and savagery. They cannot coexist with the society we belong to."
"I had two options before me," he continued, a thoughtful look on his face.
"The first was for me to forcefully alter their way of life," he said. "You know, enforce my rules, laws, and customs by the edge of a sword."
"But these kinds of methods rarely succeed. We might keep them subdued and in line for a few months, maybe even a few years, but they will always harbor resentment in their hearts. They will always hate the ruling regime. They will never become a part of it wholeheartedly. They would rise in continuous revolt. People would be killed in the thousands. Be it Dothraki or our own people. Doing something like this would be like committing a massacre without any substantial result."
"And the second option is doing what you are about to do?" Melisandre asked.
"Yes," Jon nodded.
"Tell me," he asked. "What is the thing the Dothraki respect the most?"
"They worship the Horse God, The Great Stallion," she replied. "And they respect warriors. Powerful warriors. A man with the longest braid is the most respected among them."
"Correct," Jon said with a chuckle. "I can literally control horses. I do not think there is a Dothraki khal who would be able to defeat me. I will have the longest braid."
"What is the prophecy they believe in?" he asked.
Melisandre's eyes widened slightly in surprise before she answered.
"They believe in the Stallion Who Mounts the World," she said. "He is a prophesied leader who will unite all the Dothraki into a single, giant khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth."
"And will I become the Stallion Who Mounts the World?" Jon questioned.
"Yes," she murmured. "You will."
"With me as their leader," he explained. "I can introduce changes to their way of life. It will obviously not be sudden, and neither can it be achieved overnight. It will be a slow, but highly effective, process. They will follow my lead when they have the greatest respect for me."
"Melisandre," he sighed. "I do not want them to change their entire way of life. I have no problem with their tribal society and nomadic existence. They can continue living their way."
"All I want is for their brutality to be reduced," he continued. "In fact, I do not even have a problem with the violence they indulge in. But it should be measured, kept under the ambit of a certain broader framework."
"I just want to make a few small changes to their style, and that will be all," he added.
Melisandre nodded slowly in understanding. She was about to say something when a couple of riders dressed in Dothraki attire approached the duo. They were the scouts Jon had sent ahead.
"The khalasar has entered the valley," one of them reported. "They are setting up their camp."
"Great," Jon smiled.
He jumped down from the boulder as his own khalasar prepared for battle. Jon's hand moved to the arakh tied at his waist, his fingers gripping the hilt. It was time to take down his first khalasar.
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