The air in the courtyard was thick with tension, a palpable current of fear and awe that flowed from every Dothraki warrior towards the silver-haired figure and the cow-sized dragon at his side. Khal Drogo, the fearsome horselord, sat utterly still, his dark eyes fixed on Balerion, then on Maegor. He had faced countless foes, seen a hundred battles, but never had he encountered power like this. This was not a blade, nor a man on a horse; this was a force of nature, a living god.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant whinny of a terrified horse and the occasional, nervous clink of an arakh against its scabbard. Every Dothraki eye, from the lowest warrior to Drogo's fearsome bloodriders, was on their Khal, awaiting his decision.
Then, Drogo moved. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted on his cushion. He raised a hand, not to draw his arakh, but to gesture to his bloodriders. Their weapons, which had been half-drawn, were sheathed with soft clicks.
Drogo's gaze, now devoid of arrogance, met Maegor's. He spoke, his voice a low, guttural rumble that Illyrio, still trembling, strained to interpret. "I have heard tales, silver-haired one. Old tales. Tales of winged shadows and fire that burns the very earth. I thought them old women's whispers. Now, I see them. I see the living spirit of fire."
He looked at Balerion, who still stood guard beside Maegor, a silent, powerful sentinel. "The Dothraki ride the plains. Our strength is the horse. Our gods are the Great Stallion and the sun. But no horse can fly. No horse can breathe fire. You speak truth. No Khal, no matter how strong, can stand before a dragon."
He then looked towards the door where Daenerys had vanished, a flicker of understanding, perhaps even shame, in his eyes. "The girl… the Mare Who Mounts the World. She is fire. She is blood of the dragon. I saw her as a trophy, a means to an army of weak Westerosi. But she is more. She is of your blood, of your fire. I am not worthy of the blood of the dragon. My blood is of the horse, not of the sky, not of fire."
Khal Drogo, the undefeated, the proudest of Khals, then did the unthinkable. He rose slowly from his cushion. He took a single step towards Maegor, then another. The Dothraki watched, utterly silent, their eyes wide.
And then, Khal Drogo, the mighty Drogo, knelt.
He sank to one knee before Maegor Targaryen, head bowed, his long, magnificent braid sweeping the dust of the courtyard. The bloodriders, after a stunned moment, followed their Khal's lead, dropping to their knees, their faces etched with awe and absolute submission.
"Maegor Targaryen," Drogo rumbled, his voice echoing with genuine reverence, "you are the fire. You are the sky. You are the true Khal of Khals. My life, my horse, my arakh, my blood. All that I am, all that is mine, is yours. My Khalasar, my warriors, my wealth. We will follow your fire. We will fight for you. We will die for you. You are our god now. You are our king."
A collective gasp, then a low murmur, went through the assembled Dothraki. This was not a forced submission; it was a profound, almost spiritual surrender to an overwhelming power. Maegor had not just intimidated Drogo; he had broken his world and rebuilt it with himself at the center.
A chime resonated in Maegor's mind, the System's notification.
[ Mission Complete: Reclaim the Kin ]
Objectives Fulfilled:
Travel to Pentos. (✓)Extract Daenerys Targaryen and Viserys Targaryen from Magister Illyrio Mopatis. (✓)Note: Diplomacy successfully achieved extraction with zero Dothraki casualties.
Reward Granted:
Ability Upgrade: Draconic Persuasion (Tier 2) - Enhanced ability to influence groups; subtle control over fear/awe.Access to Targaryen Royal Guard (Minor Unit - Requires Recruitment) - Recruitment requirements for unit unlocked!Reputation Gain: +200 (The Dragon's Shadow) - Total Reputation: 400Event Unlock: Dothraki Blood Ceremony (Potential for Alliance) - Khal Drogo's complete submission and swearing of oaths achieved!
Maegor felt a surge of cold satisfaction. The ease with which he had shattered Drogo's pride, the swiftness of his triumph, was intoxicating. The rewards confirmed the magnitude of his victory. Draconic Persuasion was now even more potent, and the prospect of Dothraki Bloodriders, the fiercest warriors on the plains, filled him with a grim thrill.
He looked down at the kneeling Khal. "Rise, Khal Drogo," Maegor commanded, his voice firm. "You have chosen wisely. This alliance will bring you glory beyond the grass. You will water your horses in seas you never dreamed of, and your arakhs will taste the blood of kings."
Drogo rose, his face grim, yet a flicker of fierce devotion in his eyes. He was no longer just a Khal; he was a vassal to a power he could not comprehend, yet fully acknowledged.
The System chimed again, displaying the next step.
[ New Quest: ]
Objective: Forging the Khalasar
Participate in a formal Dothraki Blood Ceremony with Khal Drogo to cement your alliance.Gain control of a significant portion of Khal Drogo's Khalasar (minimum 5,000 warriors).
Reward:
Ability Upgrade: Flame Adaptation (Tier 2) - Minor fire manipulation fully unlocked; increased heat resistance.Special Unit Access: Dothraki Bloodriders (Tier 1 - Requires Oathbound Recruitment)Reputation Gain: +300 (The Fire and Blood Lord)3 Game of Chance Cards
Maegor's vision narrowed. This was not merely about Daenerys or Viserys anymore. This was about power. About building the force that would reclaim Westeros. A Khalasar of 5,000 warriors was a formidable start, a terrifying spearhead for his ambitions. And three more Game of Chance cards meant more advantages.
He looked at Illyrio, who had watched the entire exchange, his fat face slack with a mixture of terror and dawning, opportunistic awe. The Magister had clearly underestimated this "A.M."
"Magister," Maegor said, his voice cold, "my terms are met. The dragon eggs, the gold, my kin, and these guards. They are all on board my ship, as agreed." He paused, a dangerous glint in his purple eyes. "You have played your part. Do not attempt to play another. Your life, and your city, remain unburnt for now. Consider it a testament to my… mercy."
Illyrio, with an obsequious bow that nearly brought him to his knees, seemed to age ten years in that moment. "As you command, my lord," he stammered. "My house, my resources… are at your disposal. Anything."
"I will require a large tent," Maegor stated, turning his back on the Magister and addressing Drogo. "Suitable for the Blood Ceremony. And all that is required for the rituals. Tonight. And I will require a selection of your finest horses. For my men. And for my royal guard."
Drogo merely nodded, already barking orders in his guttural tongue to his stunned bloodriders. The Khalasar, still reeling from the appearance of Balerion and their Khal's submission, began to move, a newfound discipline replacing their wild abandon.
Maegor walked back towards Kaeto, a silent understanding passing between them. The game was no longer confined to hidden whispers and subtle maneuvers. It had exploded into the open, with fire and blood. He had come to reclaim his kin. He had left with an army, a terrified Magister, and a world that would soon know the meaning of the Dragon's return