Before dawn, the plains outside Pentos were awakened by the sound of hooves. The Dothraki trod on the morning dew, dismantling their tents; black animal-skin tents were rolled into tight bundles and tied to the backs of horses; slaves herded mares laden with food and waterskins, moving back and forth along the edge of the camp; Blood Riders patrolled on their steeds, their arakhs gleaming coldly in the faint morning light—the Khalasar was about to depart, heading towards the Dothraki Sea.
Illyrio rose early, standing on a slope watching his people busy themselves. Kohol rode over, holding a crumpled piece of parchment, a route map drawn by scouts. "The small path to the east is confirmed safe, with no Lannister ambushes," Kohol reined in his horse, his voice gentler than at the wedding. "Scouts reported that two of the three assassins in Pentos have been found, beheaded and hung on the city gates. One escaped, possibly fleeing east, but he shouldn't dare to trouble us again."
"Still, we must be careful," Illyrio took the route map, his fingertip tracing the area marked "Red Grass Fields"—that was the only way to the Dothraki Sea, and the plains were often frequented by nomadic tribes, occasionally attacked by wolf packs. "Have the scouts go ten more miles ahead. Report any anomalies immediately."
Kohol nodded and rode off to relay the order. Illyrio turned to look at the center of the camp, where Daenerys was holding Silver Wind's reins, learning to ride with Drogo. She had already changed out of her Pentos silk dress, wearing Dothraki leather trousers and a vest, her long hair tied back with a leather thong. Although her riding skills were not yet proficient, her posture was much straighter than when she was at the manor, and her eyes held less timidity, replaced by a certain sharpness befitting a child of the plains.
"Illyrio!" Daenerys saw him and waved with a smile. "Drogo said we can reach the Red Grass Fields today and camp there tonight."
Illyrio walked over and helped her adjust the saddle strap—Dothraki saddles had no stirrups, relying entirely on the rider's legs to grip the horse's belly, which could easily chafe the skin during long rides. "Pay attention to your posture when riding. If your legs get tired, tell me, and we can stop and rest for a while," he lowered his voice. "Also, drink plenty of water; the wind on the Red Grass Fields is strong, and you'll get thirsty easily."
Daenerys nodded, poured a little water from the waterskin on her horse's back, and handed it to him: "You drink too. You helped check the tents yesterday, so you must not have rested well."
Illyrio took the waterskin, feeling a warmth in his heart. He tilted his head back and took a sip; the water had a faint taste of mare's milk, a unique Dothraki drinking custom (adding a small amount of mare's milk to water to prevent diarrhea). "Thank you," he returned the waterskin to Daenerys. "You should learn a few more Dothraki phrases recently, such as 'my people' and 'need help.' When you encounter ordinary tribesmen, speaking a few words in their language will make them recognize you more as their Khaleesi."
Daenerys noted it down seriously, repeating after Drogo's pronunciation: "'Khaleesi's people'… Is that right?"
Drogo, hearing this from the side, a rare smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he said in broken Common Tongue: "Yes, my wife, you speak very well." He reached out and patted Silver Wind's neck; the pony gently rubbed his hand, clearly having accepted him as its master.
Just then, Viserys stormed over, his face grim: "Drogo! We've been traveling for three days! When will we reach the Dothraki Sea? And once we're there, when will you march? I can't wait any longer!"
Drogo's face instantly darkened, his eyes sharply fixed on Viserys, his hand unconsciously resting on the arakh at his waist. Illyrio quickly stepped forward, grabbing Viserys's arm: "Your Grace, calm down! Khal Drogo said that once we reach the Dothraki Sea, he'll prepare for half a month and then march. We're on the road now; if you anger him and delay the march, it will be a loss rather than a gain."
"I don't care!" Viserys shook off his hand, his voice rising. "I am the King of Targaryen! He should listen to me, not make me run around on the plains with him!"
The surrounding tribesmen heard the quarrel and all looked over, their eyes filled with displeasure—the Dothraki most abhor anyone being disrespectful to their Khal. Drogo's fingers were already gripping the hilt of his arakh. Illyrio's heart tightened, and he quickly stood in front of Viserys, saying to Drogo: "Khal, he just misses Westeros too much; he means no harm. Rest assured, I will talk to him properly and won't let him disturb you again."
Drogo stared at him for a moment, then slowly released his arakh, saying something to Kohol in Dothraki—Illyrio could roughly understand that it was, "Keep an eye on this madman; don't let him come near me again." Kohol nodded, signaling two Blood Riders to come and stand beside Viserys, ostensibly for "protection," but in reality, for surveillance.
Viserys still wanted to argue, but seeing the wary eyes of the Blood Riders, he finally backed down, glaring fiercely at Illyrio, then turned and walked to the edge of the camp, sulking by himself.
"Thank you, Illyrio," Daenerys walked over, her voice filled with worry. "Viserys is always like this; I'm afraid he'll cause trouble again later."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Illyrio sighed. "The most important thing now is to reach the Dothraki Sea and let Drogo organize his army. Once he marches and has something to do, he should be less impatient."
When the sun rose, the Khalasar finally set off. Hundreds of steeds trampled the green grass of the plains, heading east, their hooves echoing rhythmically across the plains like a magnificent song of the grassland. Illyrio rode a brown horse, following behind Daenerys and Drogo, his gaze occasionally sweeping across the front and back of the procession, wary of potential dangers.
Around noon, the procession entered the Red Grass Fields. The grass here was sparser than on the previous plains, and the wind was stronger, kicking up hot dust that stung their faces. Daenerys's forehead was beaded with sweat, and her face was somewhat pale. Illyrio quickly poured some water from his waterskin and handed it to her: "Drink some water; don't get heatstroke."
Daenerys took the water, sipping it slowly, and whispered: "The wind here is so strong, much hotter than Pentos."
"The center of the Dothraki Sea is even hotter, but there are rivers and oases there," Drogo, hearing this from the front, turned and said, "Once we reach the Mother River (the main river of the Dothraki Sea), we'll have cool water."
In the afternoon, a scout suddenly rode back, his face tense: "Khal! A wolf pack has been spotted ahead, about twenty or more, heading towards us!"
Drogo immediately reined in his horse and raised his right hand—the entire Khalasar instantly halted. The Blood Riders drew their arakhs, forming a circle around the outside of the procession, protecting the women and slaves in the center. Illyrio's heart tightened; Dothraki plains wolves were more ferocious than ordinary wolves and preferred to attack in packs. If they broke through, there would certainly be casualties.
"Have the tribesmen light torches and form a circle," Illyrio said to Drogo. "Wolves are afraid of fire. We'll use torches to force them back, then have the Blood Riders flank them from both sides, kill a few to deter them, and the rest will flee."
Drogo thought for a moment, nodded in agreement, and gave orders in Dothraki. The tribesmen quickly lit torches, and the red flames formed a circle on the plains, like a barrier. Before long, green wolf eyes appeared on the distant plains, and the wolf pack lingered outside the torchlight, emitting low howls.
"Now!" Illyrio shouted. Kohol, with five Blood Riders, rode out from the left flank, their arakhs flashing with cold light in the firelight. A wolf tried to pounce but was struck in the neck by Kohol's blade, blood splashing onto the grass. The other wolves, seeing their companion killed, hesitated for a moment, then turned and ran deeper into the plains.
"Good, they've run off!" Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief, her complexion also recovering somewhat.
Drogo looked at Illyrio, a hint of approval in his eyes: "Your method was good, Illyrio."
Illyrio smiled: "Just a small trick; it was still the bravery of the Blood Riders." He changed the subject, looking at Drogo's arm—earlier, when Drogo was preparing for battle, he had accidentally scratched himself on a metal buckle on the saddle. A little blood had seeped from his arm, but he hadn't paid attention at the time, and now the blood had dried, sticking to the leather. "Khal, your arm is injured; do you want to tend to it?"
Drogo looked down at it, saying nonchalantly: "Minor injury, no need to bother." Dothraki people rode and fought all year round; a small injury was nothing to them.
Illyrio was about to say more when Kohol said from the side: "Illyrio, don't worry, Khal's body is very strong; this small injury will heal quickly."
Illyrio had no choice but to drop the matter, though he still felt some worry—he knew that in the original story, Drogo's small injury was treated with contaminated herbs by a maegi, which led to the wound worsening and ultimately his death. Although it was just a small scratch now, he still needed to be careful and prevent the tragedy from repeating.
In the evening, the procession camped in a hollow with a water source. The tribesmen lit bonfires, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air. Daenerys sat by the bonfire, learning Dothraki astronomical terms with Drogo. Drogo pointed to the stars in the sky, telling her which was the "Warrior Star" and which was the "Mother Star." Daenerys listened intently, occasionally asking questions, their interaction warm and natural.
Illyrio sat not far away, watching this scene, silently praying—he hoped Drogo's injury would heal quickly, that the escaped assassin would not reappear, and that they would successfully reach the Dothraki Sea, organize the army, and return to Westeros soon.
Viserys sat alone at the other end of the bonfire, holding a waterskin, drinking mare's milk wine in large gulps, his eyes full of discontent and jealousy. Illyrio walked over and sat beside him: "Your Grace, don't drink too much; we have to travel tomorrow."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Viserys pushed him away. "When Drogo marches and I reclaim the iron throne, the first thing I'll do is get rid of people like you who only know how to flatter barbarians!"
Illyrio did not get angry, but calmly said: "Your Grace, everything I do is for Targaryen. When you reclaim the iron throne, you can get rid of me, but for now, we need Drogo's help; we need unity."
Viserys snorted, said no more, and continued drinking. Illyrio knew that arguing with him was useless; he could only try to keep him stable and prevent him from causing more trouble.
As night deepened, the bonfires gradually dwindled, and most of the tribesmen had fallen asleep. Only the Blood Riders patrolled the outer perimeter of the camp. Illyrio lay in his tent but couldn't sleep. He touched the dragon-sigil necklace beneath his collar, thinking of Drogo's wound from earlier, of the escaped assassin, and of the Dothraki Sea they were soon to reach—the road ahead was full of unknowns and dangers, but he could not shrink back.
He sat up and drew today's route on paper, marking the location where they encountered the wolf pack. He also wrote down "Pay attention to Drogo's wound," "Beware of the escaped assassin," and "Teach Daenerys more Dothraki," then folded it and put it into his inner pocket.
Outside the tent, the wind of the Dothraki Sea howled, carrying the scent of the plains. Illyrio knew that tomorrow would be a new day, and they would continue their journey towards the Dothraki Sea, getting closer to the goal of Targaryen's revival, and also closer to the hidden dangers.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he saw Daenerys diligently studying by the bonfire, Drogo's figure wielding his arakh, and the magnificent scene of the Khalasar advancing across the plains. He silently said to himself: Daenerys, Drogo, just a little longer. We will reach the Dothraki Sea soon, we will have our own army soon, and we will go home soon.
As night deepened, the wind on the Red Grass Fields gradually subsided. Only the sound of patrolling hooves echoed slowly and steadily across the silent plains.