Lilith fell from her horse. The injury itself wasn't serious—like Daenerys, she had been riding a low, gentle mare—but the fall triggered premature labor.
Premature birth in itself wasn't a big problem. Her due date was only a few days away anyway. The real issue was that the fall had caused the fetus to shift out of position, leaving the baby stuck in the womb and unable to come out.
The hairless Dothraki women relied on the "blessing of the Horse God" even for the most common knife wounds. Midwifery—such an advanced task—was far beyond them. In their eyes, Lilith had already been sentenced to death.
"Send her to my palace."A deep, unfathomable light flashed through Daenerys's violet eyes. She turned to the handmaid behind her and said, "Irri, have people isolate an area in one corner of the palace. Make absolutely sure Khal is not disturbed."
Drogo's grass-curtain palace had to accommodate the khalasar's daily councils. With over two hundred square meters of space, it was more than large enough to house a pregnant woman.
Neither the black slave women nor the Dothraki were surprised by the khaleesi's actions. After all, Daenerys had once offended an entire group of Dothraki warriors just to save a raped Lhazareen woman.
Lilith, at least, was one of their own people.
Well—marry a chicken, follow the chicken; marry a horse, follow the horse.
"She made a mistake and spoke words she shouldn't have. She deserves punishment. But she has also conceived new seed for the khalasar.
"Tell Jhaqo: if this woman gives birth to a strong boy, her crime will be forgiven. If it's a girl, I will have her whipped twenty times and reduced to slavery."
Upon receiving the khaleesi's command, the slave women hurried off to report to Jhaqo.
As soon as Daenerys returned to the tent, Ser Jorah had her dismiss the maids and servants. With a grave expression, he said, "Rumors are everywhere. The entire khalasar is saying that Khal Drogo fell from his horse."
"He didn't," Dany retorted.
"Because you held him up. I saw it. His bloodriders saw it. The khalasar behind you all saw it."Sweat covered his black-bear-like face. "You understand his condition better than I do. Even if you fool them today, what about tomorrow? The day after? Soon he won't even be able to climb onto a horse. And then…"
A khal who cannot ride cannot rule. No matter how lively or wise the khaleesi may be, it would all be meaningless.
"I've already made my decision. Don't bring up the idea of running away again—leaving would only lead to death."She paused, then met Jorah's eyes directly. "Ser, you are my sworn sword. I hope you can protect my safety in the coming turmoil."
"That goes without saying. No one will harm you before they take my life."Jorah Mormont nodded solemnly and made his vow.
Then he said worriedly, "But once Drogo is gone, his khalasar will immediately fall into chaos. I alone may not be enough—"
"It's fine. My khas will cooperate with you."
Daenerys looked him over. He wore a bleached and dyed Dothraki painted vest; his exposed skin was reddened by the poisonous sun. Loose, patterned silk trousers, riding sandals tied at the knees with toes exposed, a sword hung from a twisted horsehair belt.
Aside from the lack of bells in his hair, he looked entirely like a Dothraki.
"From this moment on, you must change back into knight's armor," she said.
"I understand," the big bear nodded.
From the innermost corner of the grass palace came Lilith's broken cries for help. Daenerys sent Jorah off to change his equipment, then lifted the cowhide curtain herself and stepped outside.
On a hill beside the palace, Qotho stood at a higher point, his expression grim as he shouted commands, directing the tribe to set up camp.
It was clear he was deeply worried about Drogo's injuries and in a foul mood.
Daenerys beckoned him down and said, "Qotho, go bring Mirri Maz Duur to me."
"The maegi?" He spat. "I won't do it. Khaleesi, you have no right to command me."
Although Daenerys had saved Mirri Maz Duur, her status as a slave had not changed. At this moment, she should have been with the other "Lhazareen," among the long line of captives.
"For Lilith," Daenerys told him. "Our women can't treat her. Let Mirri Maz Duur try."
Qotho sat astride his horse and glared at her, his eyes hard as flint."The maegi are women who lie with demons. They are evil, cruel, and soulless, practicing the darkest and most terrifying sorcery. At night they seek out men, draining them of their strength until death. Trusting them is the stupidest thing in the world."
Respect the spirits, but keep your distance.
The Dothraki did not study dark magic, yet over thousands of years they had developed traditions that were both clever and practical.
If not for Daenerys, this outsider, it was far from certain whether Drogo would have died from an infected wound.
Daenerys rubbed her belly and persuaded him softly."I don't trust her either. But if she can even save Lilith from a difficult birth, wouldn't that better guarantee the safety of the child in my womb?"
The old bloodrider's mouth opened and closed. He looked at her with pity, said nothing, and rode away.
He thought she didn't understand Dothraki traditions.
Daenerys's gaze grew deep as she watched the old man's figure disappear among the clustered tents. Then she turned and called for Eroeh—the first woman Daenerys had saved outside the mud walls of a "Lamb Man" town, a shy Lhazareen girl.
After bathing and changing clothes, Daenerys sat quietly by the fire at the center of the tent. The flames roared, heat pressing in on her. The maids couldn't endure it and were all dismissed by her. It was afternoon; the great sun hung high, and the heat was unbearable.
Before long, Qotho strode in, carrying the short Lhazareen maegi in his hands.
Mirri Maz Duur's clothes were torn, her face swollen, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, one of her front teeth missing—clearly she had been beaten badly before being brought here.
After instructing Ser Jorah to allow no one inside, Daenerys handed Mirri Maz Duur a cup of mare's milk and asked, "You said before that you are skilled in the art of childbirth?"
Mirri wiped the blood from her mouth, took the horn cup, and gulped it down in one go. Only then did she gasp and say,"Silver Lady, my mother was once a priestess. She taught me the songs and spells to please the Great Shepherd, and how to use leaves, roots, and berries to prepare holy smoke and holy ointments.
"When I was young and beautiful, I followed caravans to Asshai-by-the-Shadow to seek instruction from their sorcerers. Ships from countless lands gather in Asshai, so I stayed there for a long time, learning the healing arts of foreign peoples.
"A moon-singer from the Jogos Nhai taught me her birthing songs. A woman of your horse-riding people taught me magic belonging to grass, corn, and horses.
"And there was also a maester named Marwyn from the lands of the Sunset Sea—Westeros—who cut open corpses and showed me all the secrets hidden beneath the skin."
So she was a well-traveled scholar—someone with several "medical doctorates," so to speak.
Mirri glanced helplessly at Drogo on the bed a few paces away and explained,"I am skilled in many healing arts, but Khal Drogo abandoned my poultices seven days ago."
Daenerys interrupted her, pointing at the screen in the corner."There is a pregnant woman who fell from her horse. She is the one you are to treat today."
"Another Silver Lady?"Mirri Maz Duur seemed to have heard of Lilith's situation. She lifted her chin toward Drogo and asked, "Does the great horse-warrior not need immediate treatment?"
Daenerys lowered her eyes and stroked her belly."The khal's affairs are not for you to worry about. My child will be born soon. You must use Lilith to prove your obstetric skill."
"As you wish, Silver Lady," the maegi answered obediently.
To avoid disturbing Drogo, Lilith was placed on a grass pallet separated from the main hall of the palace.
That is, in an adjoining chamber, a small grass-curtain room with only a doorway had been erected, avoiding passage through the khal's resting area.
Between them hung a thick grass curtain and a wooden screen from the Summer Islands, carved with hundreds of lifelike, vividly colored exotic birds and beasts—a gift from the trading federation to Drogo.
Mirri Maz Duur began to chant strange songs in a language Daenerys had never heard. Low and soft, winding and melodious, it sounded like a maiden's song, yet also like a passionate epic poem.
The birthing song taught by the Jogos Nhai moon-singer?
Or a sorcerer's incantation from shadowed Asshai?
As the chanting echoed in her ears, Daenerys once more checked the items beside her:the black dragon egg;a hand crossbow with its string taut and a metal-tipped bolt loaded;Drogo's dragonbone dagger;needle and thread taken from the hairless women for stitching wounds;poppy wine;large pieces of cloth boiled in water, then dried under the blazing sun.
The poppy wine smeared over her belly felt cool and refreshing. Her teeth clenched down on a piece of cork. As the dagger cut into her flesh, it didn't seem so painful—at least far easier than roasting a beauty's leg over charcoal last night.
"Little dragon," she whispered,"you are the ultimate power of this world. Heaven and earth's vital essence revives with your coming. You are a god made manifest. I need you—give your mother strength."
Sticky blood soaked the fur blanket beneath her. Daenerys's face was pale as wax, sweat the size of beans covering her forehead. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and the cork fell from her slackened lips.
Suddenly, the fossilized dragon egg pressed between her knees grew scorching hot, like burning charcoal. The searing heat shocked her into a clarity she had never known before.
In a modern hospital, a normal caesarean section takes about half an hour, including anesthesia.
Daenerys drifted for a while—about twenty minutes—then found a bloody baby boy in her arms.
Covering his blood-streaked mouth, she steeled her heart and fed him a small cup of poppy wine.
"You will ride the finest horse in the world," she whispered to him."A little anesthetic won't hurt you."
The little one fell asleep, both hands clutching the white dragon egg. The egg was burning hot.
Another quarter-hour passed. In the next room, the maegi was still chanting. Daenerys held the black dragon egg in her left hand. With her free right hand, she wiped the blood from her body and threw all the blood-soaked cloth and blankets into the roaring fire beside her.
"Thank you, little dragon."She gently stroked the fine scales on the egg, her heart filled with gratitude and love.
Just as Bran Stark could always sense Summer's emotions, at the brink of death she too had forged the closest soul-bond—with the black dragon.
Daenerys Targaryen could now consciously enter the dragon dream.
(End of Chapter)