The land was red and dead and parched, and good wood was hard to come by. Her foragers returnedwith gnarled cottonwoods, purple brush, sheaves of brown grass. They took the two straightest trees,hacked the limbs and branches from them, skinned off their bark, and split them, laying the logs in asquare. Its center they filled with straw, brush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass. Rakharochose a stallion from the small herd that remained to them; he was not the equal of Khal Drogo’s red,but few horses were. In the center of the square, Aggo fed him a withered apple and dropped him inan instant with an axe blow between the eyes.
Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It isnot enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the wordsto make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? Youcall me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance.
Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”
“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that thegodswife kept silent.
Over the carcass of the horse, they built a platform of hewn logs; trunks of smaller trees and limbsfrom the greater, and the thickest straightest branches they could find. They laid the wood east towest, from sunrise to sunset. On the platform they piled Khal Drogo’s treasures: his great tent, hispainted vests, his saddles and harness, the whip his father had given him when he came to manhood,the arakh he had used to slay Khal Ogo and his son, a mighty dragonbone bow. Aggo would haveadded the weapons Drogo’s bloodriders had given Dany for bride gifts as well, but she forbade it.
“Those are mine,” she told him, “and I mean to keep them.” Another layer of brush was piled aboutthe khal’s treasures, and bundles of dried grass scattered over them.
Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. “Princess …” hebegan.
“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was henot?”
“He was, my lady.”
“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is minenow.”
“My … queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours, Daenerys.
And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight, and I have nothing tooffer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You shall not be alone. I promise you,no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish to go. You need not join the dosh khaleen.
Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wondersyet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what youintend. Do not. Do not.”
“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”
“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my ladywife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me tostand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”
“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”
“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”
“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.
The third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and covered withdry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and piled them high with softcushions and sleeping silks. The sun had begun to lower toward the west by the time they were done.
Dany called the Dothraki around her. Fewer than a hundred were left. How many had Aegon startedwith? she wondered. It did not matter.
“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off yourcollars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbandsand wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see the children, women, thewrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am a woman. Tomorrow I will be old. Toeach of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you.” Sheturned to the three young warriors of her khas. “Jhogo, to you I give the silver-handled whip that wasmy bride gift, and name you ko, and ask your oath, that you will live and die as blood of my blood,riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
Jhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. “Khaleesi,” he said hesitantly,“this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.”
“Aggo,” Dany called, paying no heed to Jhogo’s words. If I look back I am lost. “To you I givethe dragonbone bow that was my bride gift.” It was double-curved, shiny black and exquisite, tallerthan she was. “I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you should live and die as blood of my blood,riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
Aggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. “I cannot say these words. Only a man can lead akhalasar or name a ko.”
“Rakharo,” Dany said, turning away from the refusal, “you shall have the great arakh that was mybride gift, with hilt and blade chased in gold. And you too I name my ko, and ask that you live and dieas blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
“You are khaleesi,” Rakharo said, taking the arakh. “I shall ride at your side to Vaes Dothrakbeneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with thecrones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise.”
She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions.
“Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no bride gift to give you,but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has everseen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel. And I would ask for your oath as well.”
“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serveyou, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”
“Whatever may come?”
“Whatever may come.”
“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet.
Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of myQueensguard.”
She could feel the eyes of the khalasar on her as she entered her tent. The Dothraki were mutteringand giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought hermad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.
Her bath was scalding hot when Irri helped her into the tub, but Dany did not flinch or cry aloud.
She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Jhiqui had scented the water with the oils she had found inthe market in Vaes Dothrak; the steam rose moist and fragrant. Doreah washed her hair and combed itout, working loose the mats and tangles. Irri scrubbed her back. Dany closed her eyes and let thesmell and the warmth enfold her. She could feel the heat soaking through the soreness between herthighs. She shuddered when it entered her, and her pain and stiffness seemed to dissolve. She floated.
When she was clean, her handmaids helped her from the water. Irri and Jhiqui fanned her dry,while Doreah brushed her hair until it fell like a river of liquid silver down her back. They scented herwith spiceflower and cinnamon; a touch on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her milk-heavybreasts. The last dab was for her sex. Irri’s finger felt as light and cool as a lover’s kiss as it slid softlyup between her lips.
Afterward, Dany sent them all away, so she might prepare Khal Drogo for his final ride into thenight lands. She washed his body clean and brushed and oiled his hair, running her fingers through itfor the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first time she had touched it, the night oftheir wedding ride. His hair had never been cut. How many men could die with their hair uncut? Sheburied her face in it and inhaled the dark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth,like smoke and semen and horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought.
Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, toohigh …tfor the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first time she had touched it, the night oftheir wedding ride. His hair had never been cut. How many men could die with their hair uncut? Sheburied her face in it and inhaled the dark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth,like smoke and semen and horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought.
Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, toohigh …Dany braided his hair and slid the silver rings onto his mustache and hung his bells one by one. Somany bells, gold and silver and bronze. Bells so his enemies would hear him coming and grow weakwith fear. She dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, buckling a belt heavy with gold andsilver medallions about his waist. Over his scarred chest she slipped a painted vest, old and faded, theone Drogo had loved best. For herself she chose loose sandsilk trousers, sandals that laced halfway upher legs, and a vest like Drogo’s.
The sun was going down when she called them back to carry his body to the pyre. The Dothrakiwatched in silence as Jhogo and Aggo bore him from the tent. Dany walked behind them. They laidhim down on his cushions and silks, his head toward the Mother of Mountains far to the northeast.
“Oil,” she commanded, and they brought forth the jars and poured them over the pyre, soaking thesilks and the brush and the bundles of dry grass, until the oil trickled from beneath the logs and the airwas rich with fragrance. “Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voicemade them run.
Ser Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night lands.
Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the Free Cities. Sell allthree and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”
“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.
She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart,under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold downbetween his legs. When she kissed him for the last time, Dany could taste the sweetness of the oil onhis lips.
As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” thegodswife said hoarsely.
“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her tothe pyre.”
“To the … my queen, no, hear me …”
“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever mightcome. Rakharo, help him.”
The godswife did not cry out as they dragged her to Khal Drogo’s pyre and staked her down amidsthis treasures. Dany poured the oil over the woman’s head herself. “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” shesaid, “for the lessons you have taught me.”
“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked herclothing.
“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you toldme. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As shestepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place wassomething that might have been fear. Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and lookfor the first star.
When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. Thebodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place amongthe stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.
Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east.
The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have askedfor a stronger sign.
Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once,the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice,skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward.
The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. Theflames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itselfseemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri MazDuur. Her song grew louder, shriller … then she gasped, again and again, and her song became ashuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.
r’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward.
The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. Theflames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itselfseemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri MazDuur. Her song grew louder, shriller … then she gasped, again and again, and her song became ashuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.
And now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing took fire,and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils of curling smoke,grey and greasy. Dany’s lips parted and she found herself holding her breath. Part of her wanted to goto him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames to beg for his forgiveness and take him insideher one last time, the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, forever.
She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit. Thepyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri MazDuur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smokegrew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their bannersin that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float awayinto the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving theDothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of thedragon, and the fire was in her.
She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration,but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who haddanced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils,fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skinflushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. Thegodswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.
Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through hersandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, wheretears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the firemattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcererrobed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions andgreat yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters,wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, agreat grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sunand-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.
Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The paintedleather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streamsof milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant sheglimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. Hesmiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.
She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass beganto shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showeredwith ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at herfeet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled theworld, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.
Only death can pay for life.
And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirledaround her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heardthe screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror,and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, donot fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons,mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reachedthirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany steppedforward into the firestorm, calling to her children.
The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.
When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burntbones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash,her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt.
tbones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash,her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt.
The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Herarms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its longsinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyesas red as coals.
Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was thefirst to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smokingearth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.
And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women andchildren, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today andtomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.
As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth andnostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucentwings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alivewith the music of dragons.
Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It isnot enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the wordsto make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? Youcall me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance.
Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”
“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that thegodswife kept silent.
Over the carcass of the horse, they built a platform of hewn logs; trunks of smaller trees and limbsfrom the greater, and the thickest straightest branches they could find. They laid the wood east towest, from sunrise to sunset. On the platform they piled Khal Drogo’s treasures: his great tent, hispainted vests, his saddles and harness, the whip his father had given him when he came to manhood,the arakh he had used to slay Khal Ogo and his son, a mighty dragonbone bow. Aggo would haveadded the weapons Drogo’s bloodriders had given Dany for bride gifts as well, but she forbade it.
“Those are mine,” she told him, “and I mean to keep them.” Another layer of brush was piled aboutthe khal’s treasures, and bundles of dried grass scattered over them.
Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. “Princess …” hebegan.
“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was henot?”
“He was, my lady.”
“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is minenow.”
“My … queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours, Daenerys.
And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight, and I have nothing tooffer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You shall not be alone. I promise you,no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish to go. You need not join the dosh khaleen.
Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wondersyet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what youintend. Do not. Do not.”
“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”
“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my ladywife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me tostand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”
“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”
“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”
“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.
The third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and covered withdry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and piled them high with softcushions and sleeping silks. The sun had begun to lower toward the west by the time they were done.
Dany called the Dothraki around her. Fewer than a hundred were left. How many had Aegon startedwith? she wondered. It did not matter.
“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off yourcollars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbandsand wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see the children, women, thewrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am a woman. Tomorrow I will be old. Toeach of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you.” Sheturned to the three young warriors of her khas. “Jhogo, to you I give the silver-handled whip that wasmy bride gift, and name you ko, and ask your oath, that you will live and die as blood of my blood,riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
Jhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. “Khaleesi,” he said hesitantly,“this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.”
“Aggo,” Dany called, paying no heed to Jhogo’s words. If I look back I am lost. “To you I givethe dragonbone bow that was my bride gift.” It was double-curved, shiny black and exquisite, tallerthan she was. “I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you should live and die as blood of my blood,riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
Aggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. “I cannot say these words. Only a man can lead akhalasar or name a ko.”
“Rakharo,” Dany said, turning away from the refusal, “you shall have the great arakh that was mybride gift, with hilt and blade chased in gold. And you too I name my ko, and ask that you live and dieas blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”
“You are khaleesi,” Rakharo said, taking the arakh. “I shall ride at your side to Vaes Dothrakbeneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with thecrones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise.”
She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions.
“Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no bride gift to give you,but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has everseen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel. And I would ask for your oath as well.”
“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serveyou, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”
“Whatever may come?”
“Whatever may come.”
“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet.
Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of myQueensguard.”
She could feel the eyes of the khalasar on her as she entered her tent. The Dothraki were mutteringand giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought hermad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.
Her bath was scalding hot when Irri helped her into the tub, but Dany did not flinch or cry aloud.
She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Jhiqui had scented the water with the oils she had found inthe market in Vaes Dothrak; the steam rose moist and fragrant. Doreah washed her hair and combed itout, working loose the mats and tangles. Irri scrubbed her back. Dany closed her eyes and let thesmell and the warmth enfold her. She could feel the heat soaking through the soreness between herthighs. She shuddered when it entered her, and her pain and stiffness seemed to dissolve. She floated.
When she was clean, her handmaids helped her from the water. Irri and Jhiqui fanned her dry,while Doreah brushed her hair until it fell like a river of liquid silver down her back. They scented herwith spiceflower and cinnamon; a touch on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her milk-heavybreasts. The last dab was for her sex. Irri’s finger felt as light and cool as a lover’s kiss as it slid softlyup between her lips.
Afterward, Dany sent them all away, so she might prepare Khal Drogo for his final ride into thenight lands. She washed his body clean and brushed and oiled his hair, running her fingers through itfor the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first time she had touched it, the night oftheir wedding ride. His hair had never been cut. How many men could die with their hair uncut? Sheburied her face in it and inhaled the dark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth,like smoke and semen and horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought.
Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, toohigh …tfor the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first time she had touched it, the night oftheir wedding ride. His hair had never been cut. How many men could die with their hair uncut? Sheburied her face in it and inhaled the dark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth,like smoke and semen and horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought.
Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, toohigh …Dany braided his hair and slid the silver rings onto his mustache and hung his bells one by one. Somany bells, gold and silver and bronze. Bells so his enemies would hear him coming and grow weakwith fear. She dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, buckling a belt heavy with gold andsilver medallions about his waist. Over his scarred chest she slipped a painted vest, old and faded, theone Drogo had loved best. For herself she chose loose sandsilk trousers, sandals that laced halfway upher legs, and a vest like Drogo’s.
The sun was going down when she called them back to carry his body to the pyre. The Dothrakiwatched in silence as Jhogo and Aggo bore him from the tent. Dany walked behind them. They laidhim down on his cushions and silks, his head toward the Mother of Mountains far to the northeast.
“Oil,” she commanded, and they brought forth the jars and poured them over the pyre, soaking thesilks and the brush and the bundles of dry grass, until the oil trickled from beneath the logs and the airwas rich with fragrance. “Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voicemade them run.
Ser Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night lands.
Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the Free Cities. Sell allthree and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”
“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.
She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart,under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold downbetween his legs. When she kissed him for the last time, Dany could taste the sweetness of the oil onhis lips.
As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” thegodswife said hoarsely.
“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her tothe pyre.”
“To the … my queen, no, hear me …”
“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever mightcome. Rakharo, help him.”
The godswife did not cry out as they dragged her to Khal Drogo’s pyre and staked her down amidsthis treasures. Dany poured the oil over the woman’s head herself. “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” shesaid, “for the lessons you have taught me.”
“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked herclothing.
“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you toldme. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As shestepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place wassomething that might have been fear. Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and lookfor the first star.
When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. Thebodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place amongthe stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.
Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east.
The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have askedfor a stronger sign.
Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once,the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice,skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward.
The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. Theflames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itselfseemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri MazDuur. Her song grew louder, shriller … then she gasped, again and again, and her song became ashuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.
r’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward.
The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. Theflames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itselfseemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri MazDuur. Her song grew louder, shriller … then she gasped, again and again, and her song became ashuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.
And now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing took fire,and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils of curling smoke,grey and greasy. Dany’s lips parted and she found herself holding her breath. Part of her wanted to goto him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames to beg for his forgiveness and take him insideher one last time, the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, forever.
She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit. Thepyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri MazDuur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smokegrew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their bannersin that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float awayinto the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving theDothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of thedragon, and the fire was in her.
She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration,but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who haddanced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils,fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skinflushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. Thegodswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.
Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through hersandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, wheretears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the firemattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcererrobed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions andgreat yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters,wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, agreat grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sunand-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.
Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The paintedleather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streamsof milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant sheglimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. Hesmiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.
She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass beganto shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showeredwith ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at herfeet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled theworld, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.
Only death can pay for life.
And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirledaround her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heardthe screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror,and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, donot fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons,mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reachedthirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany steppedforward into the firestorm, calling to her children.
The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.
When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burntbones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash,her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt.
tbones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash,her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt.
The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Herarms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its longsinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyesas red as coals.
Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was thefirst to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smokingearth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.
And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women andchildren, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today andtomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.
As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth andnostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucentwings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alivewith the music of dragons.