Sorry, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's gotten worse these past two days. I can't write much, so please bear with me. I'll catch up as soon as possible in the next few days. Thank you.
Daenerys touched her forehead. The fever was gone, and the skin beneath the sweat felt cool. She forced herself to sit up. Although she felt a brief dizziness and a deep ache in her legs, she felt her strength returning. The maidservants rushed in when they heard her stir. "I want water," she told them. "Bring me a bottle of water, as cold as possible. And bring some fruit, I want dates."
"As you command, Khaleesi."
"I want to see Ser Jorah." As she spoke, she stood up. Jhiqui brought her a gauze silk robe and draped it over her. "I also want a warm bath. Call Mirri Maz Duur as well, and..." Memories flooded her all at once, and she couldn't continue. "Khal Drogo," she forced herself to say, looking at their faces in terror. "Is he—"
"The Khal lives," Irri answered quietly... But as she spoke, Daenerys saw a flicker of darkness in her eyes. As soon as she finished speaking, she hurried out to fetch water.
So she turned to Doreah: "Tell me what happened."
"I... I'll go find Ser Jorah," the Lysene girl said, bowing before fleeing the tent.
Jhiqui was about to run too, but Daenerys grabbed her wrist, holding her back. "What in the seven hells happened? I must know. Drogo... and my child." Why was she only thinking of the child now? "My son... Rhaego... Where is he? I want to see him."
The maidservant lowered her eyes. "The child... did not live, Khaleesi." Her voice was just a terrified whisper.
Daenerys released her wrist, letting Jhiqui escape the tent. My son is dead, she thought numbly. Somehow, she seemed to have known it already, even before she first woke up and saw Jhiqui in tears. No, she knew it even before she woke up. The dream suddenly rushed back, vivid and clear. She remembered the tall man with bronzed skin and silver-gold braids being consumed by flames.
She knew she should cry, but her eyes were dry as ash. Because she had already cried in the dream, and her tears had turned to steam the moment they touched her cheeks. All the sorrow has evaporated within me, she told herself. Though she grieved, she... she only felt Rhaego drifting further away from her, as if he had never existed.
A moment later, when Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered the tent, Daenerys went to check the other two Dragon Eggs. The two eggs were still in the box, but they were as hot as the one she had slept with, which was very strange. "Ser Jorah, please come here." She took his hand and placed it on the black Dragon Egg with the vivid red stripes. "What do you feel?"
"The shell is hard as stone." The knight's expression was cautious. "And scaly."
"Is it hot?"
"Not hot. Cold stone." He withdrew his hand. "Princess Daenerys, are you all right? You are still so weak. Is it wise to be up now?"
"Weak? Jorah, my body is strong." To reassure him, she sat down on a pile of cushions. "Tell me how my son died."
"Princess Daenerys, he never lived at all. The women said..." He stopped speaking. Daenerys realized that he was utterly broken. He limped when he moved.
"Tell me, tell me what the women said."
He turned his head away, his eyes seeming to hold some guilt. "They said the child was..."
She waited patiently, but Ser Jorah couldn't speak. His face was pale with shame, looking like a walking corpse.
"The child was a monster," Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. Though the knight was skilled in combat, Daenerys understood that at this moment, the Maegi was more powerful, more cruel, and unimaginably more dangerous than he. "He was twisted and deformed. I birthed him myself. He was covered in scales like a lizard, his eyes were blind, he had a short tail on his backside, and a pair of small wings like a bat. When I touched him, his flesh peeled from his bones, and he was full of maggots, giving off the stench of decay. He had been dead for many years."
That was the darkness, Daenerys thought, that was the horrifying darkness that pursued her, wanting to devour her. If she turned back, everything would be over. "When Ser Jorah carried me into this tent, my son was healthy and strong," she said. "I could feel him kicking and struggling, eager to be born into the world."
"Perhaps," Mirri Maz Duur replied, "but what came out of your belly was what I just described. Khaleesi, this tent was filled with death at that time."
"They were just shadows," Ser Jorah hissed, yet Daenerys could hear the doubt in his voice. "I saw the Maegi with my own eyes. I saw you here alone, dancing with shadows."
"The shadows cast by the Iron King's tomb are long," Mirri said, "long and dark, until no light can stop them."
Daenerys understood. Ser Jorah had killed her son. Out of his reverence and loyalty to her, he had carried her into a place no living person should enter, feeding her precious child to the darkness. He knew it himself; his ashen face, his empty eyes, his limping foot all spoke of his regret. "Ser Jorah, you were also harmed by the shadows," she told him, but the knight did not reply. Daenerys turned to the Priestess. "You warned me: only death can pay for life. I thought you meant the horse."
"No," Mirri Maz Duur said, "that was just a lie you used to deceive yourself. You knew the price very well."
Did she know? Did she truly know at the time? If I turn back, everything will be over. "I have paid the price," Daenerys said. "I paid with the swift horse, my child, and Qhono, Cohollo, Haggo, and Qhoro. I paid many, many times over." She suddenly stood up from the cushions. "Where is Khal Drogo? Take me to see him. Whether you are a Priestess, a Maegi, or Blood Magic, I want to see him. I want to see what I exchanged my son's life for."
"As you wish, Khaleesi," the old woman said. "Please follow me. I will take you to see him."
Daenerys was far weaker than she thought. Ser Jorah reached out and put his arm around her, supporting her as she stood. "Princess Daenerys, there will be time later," he said quietly.
"Ser Jorah, I want to see him now."
Having grown accustomed to the dimness inside the tent, the world outside was blindingly bright. The sun burned the earth like molten gold, the parched ground cracked and empty. The maidservants waited with water, wine, and fruit. Qhogo came forward to help Ser Jorah support her, while Ago and Rakharo stood behind. The strong sunlight reflecting off the sand made it difficult for her to see. Only when Daenerys raised her hand to shield her eyes did she see the embers of a campfire. Dozens of horses wandered listlessly, searching for a bit of green grass. Beyond that, there were a few tents and sleeping bags. A small group of young children gathered to look at her. Further away, some women were doing their daily chores, and a few hunched old men with tired eyes stared blankly at the blue Sky, weakly swatting away bloodflies. Counting carefully, there were only about a hundred people. That was all. The camp that had once held forty thousand Warriors was now just wind and dust.
"Drogo's Khalasar is gone," she said.
"A Khal who cannot ride is not fit to be a Khal," Qhogo said.
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