Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Jorah was right. To accomplish Dany's "three-stage water retrieval" plan, the riders tasked with fetching water would face significantly increased physical labor. Whether digging deep pits on the hard, rocky ground or transporting water back to the khalasar, the riders' rest time would be drastically reduced. In turn, the grueling work under the relentless sun would push them to their limits.

Still...

"This is my tribe. Regardless of whether they are young, old, sick, or weak, they are my people, and I have a duty and responsibility to protect every single life," Dany declared firmly.

"But what about your warriors? They might die on the journey to find water."

Dany hesitated for only a moment before her expression grew resolute once more. "To die in service to the people is the most glorious and noble sacrifice a warrior can make."

"Service to the people?"

Jorah was stunned. It was the first time he'd heard such a concept. It seemed to make sense—at least more sense than two fools overeating and then stabbing each other to death in a drunken brawl.

Still, Jorah cared nothing for the lives or honor of the Dothraki. His sole concern was for his princess and what would benefit her the most.

Clenching his jaw, Jorah lowered his voice and tried again. "Your Grace, your water retrieval method is brilliant. If it were just you and those 80 elite warriors, we could surely cross the wasteland unharmed. Perhaps..."

His eyes darkened, his tone turning cold and calculating. "Perhaps we could leave during the night, while they sleep. We take the supplies and go. Saving a hundred lives is better than the complete collapse of the khalasar.

You have gold. Once we reach the coastal cities, you can purchase a ship to take you to any Free City—or even buy a quiet estate where you can wait for the dragons to grow."

Dany shook her head and sighed. "Ser, I am their Khaleesi. Do not speak of such things again."

"Fine," Ser Jorah relented, his expression shifting from somber to almost indifferent, as though resignation had stripped him of care. "But, Your Grace, you should prepare yourself. The people will begin to die soon. You are not a god; you cannot save everyone."

"How much farther do we have to go?" Dany asked, her worry evident.

"Three-quarters of the way, maybe two-thirds, and that's assuming we continue in a straight line. In reality, we've had to deviate due to riverbeds and other obstacles," Jorah replied uncertainly.

By now, Dany understood the gravity of their situation.

The deeper they ventured into the Red Waste, the more scarce water sources became—decreasing almost exponentially. Today, their water supply was stretched to the limit. Tomorrow...

"We should abandon some of the old horses," Dany decided.

Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she smiled. "I almost forgot about a very important source of water."

"Where?" Jorah asked, surprised.

"Never mind," she waved dismissively, still smiling. "We're not at that point yet."

Of course, she was thinking about urine!

If Bear Grylls could drink his own urine multiple times, why couldn't they?

For someone like Bear, drinking urine was child's play. Once, he even drank turtle blood and gagged so hard he nearly threw up—turtle blood being so foul that it required the large intestine to absorb the water content.

It was disgusting, yes, but compared to survival, pride was trivial.

When the situation grew dire, drinking horse blood or even storing it in the large intestine would be worth a try. In any case, as Khaleesi, Dany was the last person who would run out of water.

As this thought crossed her mind, she glanced at Jorah with a peculiar look in her eyes.

"What?" The seasoned knight instinctively felt a chill creep from the back of his neck down his spine.

"Nothing," Dany replied, turning her gaze away and heading toward her tent. "I'm going to train the dragons."

She had just slung a basket over her shoulder and lifted the flap of her tent when she heard the sound of hooves. Turning, she saw Afaq riding an old horse that plodded to a halt in front of her tent.

"Khaleesi! Wahson is dying! He's going to die!" Afaq shouted anxiously.

"Alright, I understand," Dany sighed and prepared to leave.

Afaq hurriedly asked, "Khaleesi, how should we arrange Wahson's funeral?"

Dany paused, puzzled. "He's from Volantis. I don't know their customs. Why don't you ask him?"

"He wants to be cremated, with burial offerings. I couldn't decide, so I came to seek your instructions," Afaq explained quickly.

Dany finally understood. In the resource-scarce plains, charcoal was used mainly for filtering water. Even cooking horse meat was done communally in large pots to save firewood.

As for burial offerings...

Dany had no choice but to carry her three dragons and follow Afaq to Wahson's tent.

The Dothraki tents, though small, were shared by three to four people. They required little furnishing—just enough space for mats, straw bedding, or sleeping bags.

When the others saw Dany approaching, two elderly men greeted her politely before leaving, giving her space to speak with Wahson.

Hearing Dany's question about the funeral rituals, the toothless old man spoke with difficulty, "Volantene nobles originate from the ancient Valyrian Freehold, just like your Targaryen family. They favor cremation. But I was born a slave by the banks of the Rhoyne, so I should have chosen a river burial or an earthen one. However..."

The old man coughed, his weathered face showing a trace of longing. "But my Haggo was a Khal. Like Khal Drogo, he was a great Dothraki warrior who rode a fiery steed into the Night Lands of the Great Stallion. I wish... cough... cough..."

Dany, moved with pity, interrupted him gently. "Say no more. I understand. I have already freed you from your slave collar. You are no longer a slave but a Dothraki. I will bury you according to Dothraki traditions. The Great Stallion will welcome you."

The old man was both thrilled and apprehensive.

His frail body arched as he struggled to sit up, his hopeful blue eyes fixed on Dany. "Truly? The Great Stallion will let me enter the Night Lands? But I..."

Dany's eyes darted thoughtfully before she replied solemnly, "You've seen the comet in the sky, haven't you? Do you know its meaning?"

The old man hesitated, then nodded weakly. "I heard it said that it is Khal Drogo, leading his bloodriders and five hundred warriors, and... your son, the little Khal, staining the heavens with their blood."

The mention of her son's supposed "bloody skies" soured Dany's mood, but she held back her resentment. She couldn't blame a dying old man.

Instead, she cast a sharp glare at Afaq, silently adding his name to her mental list of troublemakers. Surely, this nonsense had started with him.

"Here's what will happen," Dany said, improvising. "You will ride your fiery steed to join the Khal in the heavens. When we escape this wasteland, Khal Drogo and his warriors will enter the Night Lands and take you with them. Drogo is the greatest Khal, and the Great Stallion will never deny his men."

"That's wonderful!" The old man exhaled heavily, his arched body sinking back onto the straw mat.

Just as Dany let out a breath of relief, Wahson suddenly sat upright again, clutching her wrist tightly. "But Khal Drogo doesn't know me. Will he accept me?"

"Well..." Dany grimaced, pondering for a moment. Then, with a bright smile, she said, "Don't worry. When we cremate you, I'll shout to the heavens for Khal Drogo to take you in. He's watching us and will surely hear me."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" The old man released her wrist and lay back down, his posture now completely relaxed.

Dany propped her hands on her knees and slowly straightened her back—but not fully, as the old man grabbed at her pant leg, his bony fingers clutching tightly.

"What's wrong?" Dany knelt again, taking his withered hand in hers.

"Khaleesi, you are a kind soul. I'm leaving and won't be able to serve you anymore to repay your kindness. All I have left is my life's work..." Wahson's head turned as he searched the tent with cloudy eyes. Finally, he raised a trembling hand to point at a tattered brown leather pouch in the corner. "There's a handwritten book bound in parchment there. It contains all the knowledge I've accumulated in my life. It's yours now, Khaleesi."

A life's work?

Dany couldn't forget this old man's profession. While the five ancient Valyrian "Spring Songs" techniques might qualify as a cultural heritage—like medieval Europe's exquisitely illustrated erotic art that could be passed down for generations—she, as the Mother of Dragons with a promising future, had no interest in promoting such a specialized skill.

Afaq, still uneasy from Dany's earlier glare, had been reflecting on what he might have done wrong. Now, seeing a chance to redeem himself, he hurried to the corner of the tent without waiting for instructions. Deftly untying the leather pouch, he pulled out a gray sheepskin-bound book the size of an A4 sheet and as thick as a dictionary.

When he presented the "treasure" to her, Dany shot him a piercing look.

Startled, Afaq's hand trembled, and the hefty book fell to the ground with a thud.

He widened his eyes, teetering on the brink of despair.

The book landed by Dany's feet, flipping open to reveal its contents. Curious, she glanced down and, sure enough, the first thing she saw was an evocative illustration.

It wasn't just a sketch; it was a full-color painting, accompanied by charcoal-pencil outlines.

The scene depicted a pose that would challenge even the most seasoned gymnast. Beside it, dense Valyrian text provided what seemed to be an incredibly detailed explanation.

Quickly, Dany slammed the book shut with a loud snap and cleared her throat. "I'll accept your gift. Thank you."

Old Wahson nodded weakly. His fading eyes, now glinting with a faint spark, caught sight of the white dragon climbing to Dany's shoulder. Gasping for breath, he said, "Khaleesi, this book took me over sixty years to complete. I had thought... but now I see it was meant for you. Only you can truly make the best use of it."

Dany was torn between embarrassment and fury. If it were anyone else or a less solemn situation, she would have punched them without hesitation.

This wily old man! How dare he think of her in such a way!

She couldn't bear to stay any longer. Offering a few vague words of acknowledgment, she hastily gathered the thick sheepskin book and stood to leave.

"Wait, wait," the blue-eyed elder rasped, his skeletal hand clawing at the strap of her sandal. "Khaleesi, I almost forgot... the burial offerings!"

"I didn't forget," Dany replied quickly. "Your horse threw you from its back—it's far too unruly. Later, I'll select a gentler one to sacrifice as your companion.

"If you need it, I'll also prepare a sack of gold medallions and a warrior's scimitar and bow to accompany you."

"Tha—" The old man couldn't finish his word of thanks. His head tilted, his hand slackened, and he was gone.

The look of joy and anticipation froze on his shriveled, dried-fig-like face.

(End of chapter)

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09