A/N: I won't say I'm sorry…I really had no intention of finishing this story. But I do want to thank all of the people who reviewed and favorited this story because you all are the reason I updated again. :) I can't promise anything quick, I have a lot of other stories. But after my friend (who still watches GoT) told me Khal Drogo was on, I had to watch the episode! He was so cute I wanted to pick up on this story.

Chapter 10

The Dothraki Way

Khal Drogo had killed thousands of people, burned villages and led the largest horde in Essos. But this banquet was the most uncomfortable experience of his life. The hall was filled with men and women dressed in gaudy colorful clothes speaking in the common tongue. The nobles eyed him arrogantly, if they dared acknowledge him at all. Fortunately, Drogo sat inbetween Daenerys and Jorah and could speak to both of them. Prince Addai was at the head of the table, next to the khaleesi. Something about the prince made Drogo uneasy, he just couldn't figure out what it was.

Daenerys broke off her conversation with Prince Addai to look at her husband. He looked so uncomfortable, he hadn't even eaten anything. Drogo was talking to Jorah on his other side and it gave the khaleesi a minute to watch him. Wearing a dark blue tunic and black pants, Drogo didn't look out of place. He was freshly shaven and his hair was pulled back from his face, he looked like a knight- like royalty. The khal turned back to Daenerys, giving her an uneasy smile.

"Ino told me about a dream she had last night. I think it was a vision," Daenerys confessed confidentially, laying a hand on his tan arm. Drogo frowned.

"I have had enough magic," He replied dismally. If it wasn't for the khaleesi, the other maegi would be dead too!

Daenerys smiled warmly, it was so easy for her to forget sometimes that he was born and bred Dothraki and that he had a deeply rooted hatred of maegies. "My sun-and-stars, please just listen to her, I really think it could pertain to Rakharo and the khalasar."

Drogo sighed, quickly scanning the long table. This was supposed to be a feast in Rhaego's honor, but none of the nobles cared about the khalakka; they all just wanted to befriend the princess so once she retook the throne, they would be on the right side. He hated this form of rule: this lying, backstabbing game of power. Drogo was raised to solve problems out right, often with violence, but never with deceit. He nodded and they both rose from their seats.

"'Princess Daenerys, Khal Drogo, where are you going? Is the feast not to your liking?" Prince Addai asked in Dothraki with concern, looking up at the khaleesi. Drogo knew the prince wasn't really asking him. Daenerys put on her pleasant, emotionless face and gave him a sweet smile.

"No, Prince Addai, this feast is one of the best I have seen and I thank you for hosting it in our son's honor, but there is an urgent matter we must attend to."

The prince tried to hide his disappointment and even looked to Illyrio Mopatis for support. As if an old magister could stop me, Drogo thought with disdain, glaring at Addai.

"Excuse us," Drogo asked, although it sounded like more of a command. The table fell momentarily silent at his statement in common tongue. The nobles gaped at him tactlessly, concerned that the khal understood more common tongue than he let on.

Daenerys and Drogo met up with Ino in Rhaego's nursery. The khaleesi sat on the plush oriental couch holding Rhaego in her arms. Drogo smiled at his son's cooing, allowing himself a moment of familial bliss before turning to the maegi standing out on the balcony on the other side of the room.

"My khal, believe me when I say I would not bother you with my dreams if I did not think they were important," Ino began, hoping to convey her respect for Drogo, of which she had quite a lot. He nodded, trying to keep an open mind.

"Two stallions were fighting in the desert. One was very weak, almost dying it seemed. There were bones of humans and horses covering the sand. Rakharo stepped in front of the weak horse, stopping him from fighting. That is all."

Drogo paused, mulling over the information. Suddenly it occurred to him what was going on. The desert that separated the two largest khalasars…was Qotho thinking about trying to cross it and confront the other horde? That would be suicide. But what about Rakharo? How did he fit in? According to the maegi's dream, he must have kept his word and taken control of the khalasar, keeping Qotho from destroying it.

"What are you thinking?" Daenerys' quiet question brought Drogo back from his train of thought. She stood next to Ino, Rhaego wrapped in a navy flannel blanket in her arms.

"There is a desert, wider than the sea, it divides the two largest hordes in Essos. If Qotho is trying to challenge the other khalasar, he would have to cross it. Most of the horde would not be able to survive that sort of journey," The khal explained gravely.

That night, Drogo pled to the Mother of the Mountains that Rakharo was able to take over the horde before it was too late.

Qotho heard the roar of the blood riders. Almost the same sound as when he had claimed the khalasar as his own; it seemed like an eternity since that day, even though it had been only a few weeks. This sound was louder, deafening even, to the mostly blind khal. It was the sound of a new khal rising to power, or an old one being reinstated. No doubt Rakharo was going to bring the half-dead horde to Khal Drogo. Qotho didn't care. Nothing mattered to him anymore. Laying on the bed of furs in Mago's hut, he took another drag from the pipe, allowing the herbs and opium- "soma" as the Dothraki called it, to fill his lungs. The khal waited until the numbness flowed through his whole body, relishing the peace it gave him. Qotho hadn't felt this good in a long time, not since Mago was killed; a Dothraki warrior should never be altered, never be at peace, that was a sign of weakness. The khalasar would tear him to pieces. Well, he wouldn't give them the chance. Even with the fogginess of his mind, Qotho focused long enough to pick up the dagger laying next to him on the bed- Mago's dagger. He ran his hand lovingly over the worn horse bone handle before slicing open his wrist, trading hands with the pipe to make another on the other arm. The khal felt nothing, and laughed bitterly. Laying back on the furs, Qotho took a final drag and eyed up the grass mat on the floor of the hut. Tossing the still-glowing pipe with skilled accuracy, he relished the smell of smoke that quickly spread throughout the small room. No one could get him; not Rakharo, not Drogo, not any of the blood riders. Qotho would meet Mago in the Nightlands on his own terms.

Rakharo knew there was no time to waste. As soon as he was given the power, he had everyone rushing to pack up camp so they could flee back to the forest before they lost more people or horses. From his vantage point on a sand dune, the blood rider could see smoke rising from one of the huts, thick black smoke billowed out of the door and the small opening in the top. Before his eyes the hut collapsed, fire exploding in all directions.

"Rakharo!" A blood rider who Rakharo immediately recognized as Ioane galloped up to him on a small chestnut stallion. "Mago's hut has been burned to the ground!"

Rakharo knew what that meant. Whenever they made camp, the khal had had the fallen blood rider's hut set up and he would arrange Mago's things just as if he were still there. The only way for it to burn down would be if Qotho had done it. And Qotho would not have done it if…

"We have reason to believe Qotho was in the hut, I saw him go in, but not come out and he is nowhere to be found," Ioane explained seriously. Rakharo nodded, not allowing his frustration to overwhelm him. How badly he wanted to face Qotho, make him pay for what he had done to the khalasar, to Khal Drogo. But that was not what the Great Mother had in mind, and right now, they had more pressing matters to attend to.

"You could just have him killed," One of the knights, a middle-aged man with dirty-blonde hair offered.

Prince Addai shook his head, shooting down the idea from his seat at the head of the small table in his study. "The princess has nothing without Khal Drogo, and we do not have the soldiers to take back the Westeros without his help, what do you think, General Rian?"

The red headed mad nodded thoughtfully, scratching his beard, "I think you are right my prince, we need the Dothraki. I think it would even be wise to employ the khal's help with training soldiers. The man is a gifted killer and we might as well use his knowledge."

"If something is not done about the khal, we have no claim to the throne! He will be king alongside Daenerys," The blonde knight retorted emotionally. Rian eyed him suspiciously, unsure of where the knight's anger came from.

Illyrio Mopatis smiled condescendingly, "My prince. We will allow Drogo to win us the throne and then have him killed."

Prince Addai frowned, he fancied himself in love with the beautiful princess, but didn't feel like killing her husband was the right thing to do. He knew he was attractive, highly educated and had a lot to offer a bride. Addai wouldn't interfere with Daenerys marriage unless she wanted him to. "We will not kill the khal. My family has served the Targaryens for centuries and that is what we are doing now, putting the rightful heir back on the throne!"

General Rian smiled respectfully, the prince did have a backbone after all. Although the meeting had gotten little accomplished, Prince Addai had confirmed what their place was concerning Daenerys. They were helping her get her throne back, that was it. Everyone seemed to accept that, even the magister. No doubt Illyrio would try to change the young prince's mind, but he seemed firm in his desires to not make a play for the princess's hand. Rian had been brushing up on his Dothraki and from what Jorah had told him, he was eager to meet Khal Drogo.

Drogo stared blankly out at the setting sun, leaning on the stone railing of the balcony. He thought of his horde, and how he was powerless to help them as they braved the desert- hopefully back to him. Tomorrow he would meet with the Andal's friend, General Rian- who had hoped he could help train the soldiers. Drogo had been eager to accept, glad to be of some use. Mother of the Mountains! How did it come to this? If someone would have told him a year ago that all of this was going to happen, the khal would have laughed. Then he would have killed the person who said it. Never would Khal Drogo, the fiercest man in Essos, give up his horde and cut off his own braid to follow some foreign woman. Nope.

"Drogo?" Daenerys called from inside the room. He turned to look at her and was instantly reminded why all of this had happened. She was not just some foreign woman, she was khaleesi, the little moon of his life. And now, seeming impossibly beautiful in a long, off-the-shoulder gown of hunter green velvet and her hair braided intricately away from her face, Daenerys stood waiting for him.

"I know you didn't eat at all, so I brought you something."

Drogo smiled, unable to help himself. Walking in from the balcony, he realized she had set out fur throws on the marble floor and put the food out the Dothraki way. Most of the food was foreign to Drogo, but that didn't matter. Daenerys began walking over to the furs, completely unaware of her husband's train of thought. The khal scooped her up, kissing her soundly on the mouth. Daenerys laughed, but regained her composure enough to protest.

"We are eating."

Drogo sighed exasperatedly, as if she were being impossibly difficult, causing the khaleesi to giggle again.

"You can wait," Daenerys said pointedly, trying not to crack a smile as she sat down across from him. Drogo frowned at her.

The khaleesi purposefully ate painfully slow, but eventually finished. The moment she looked up at him, Drogo picked her up, walking over to the bed. Daenerys laughed whimsically, allowing herself to be swept up in her husband's demanding passion.

A/N: Don't expect regular updates…but I will keep this story in mind as I work on the others! I think this story may change to M. probably by next chapter

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