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"Whenever a Khal dies, another worse than the previous one rises…" spat Mirri Maz Duur to the ground with disdain, looking at Satoru as if he were no more valuable than the sand beneath their feet.
Satoru smiled with amusement as he turned his head toward Daenerys.
"Can you believe it?" he said with a hint of mockery, slowly shaking his head.
Daenerys took a step forward. Her gaze, direct and sharp, fixed on the eyes of the maegi.
"My husband saved you from Khal Ogo. You should show gratitude."
Satoru had led the Dothraki as their general to the outskirts of the Lhazareen hometown: Lhazar.
Since the scouts had failed to find Mirri Maz Duur on their own, as ordered, he himself had decided to ride to the city to find her.
There, he discovered that Khal Ogo, leader of a small rival khalasar, was preparing to attack and raze the city.
The men would have been mercilessly executed, one by one, like cattle for the slaughterhouse.
The children, too young to understand what was happening, would have been condemned to a life of servitude: caring for horses, carrying water, and cleaning their masters' waste.
But the women… they would have suffered the worst. They would be taken as spoils, reduced to sexual slaves, forced to please the warriors who would claim them as theirs.
But fortunately for the Lhazareen, Satoru arrived just in time.
He faced Khal Ogo and annihilated his forces without mercy.
The Dothraki under his command wanted to take the city as loot, just as Khal Ogo planned, but Daenerys intervened.
Her order was firm: Lhazar would not be sacked.
Some warriors frowned at that decision, ready to rebel… until they saw Satoru at her side. They then remembered how Drogo's Blood Riders had ended. And they backed down.
Thanks to Daenerys, Lhazar was once again saved from destruction. Had she not intervened, the men would have been executed, the women raped, and the children enslaved.
Her compassion saved them.
Satoru spoke again, slowly approaching Mirri Maz Duur.
"And to clear something up… I am not a Khal."
He stopped a few steps from her, his eyes shining with a dangerous spark.
"Although I don't deny being worse than Drogo," he added with a half smile.
Then he gestured toward the three Dothraki Daenerys had named her Blood Riders: Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo.
Rakharo, tall and muscular, with long curved mustaches. Aggo, just as big and imposing, with a thick beard and a braid hanging down his back. And Jhogo, still young but brave and agile, with an easy laugh—something rare among his people.
The three nodded upon receiving Satoru's signal and approached Mirri Maz Duur with firm steps.
A funeral pyre already rose in the center of Lhazar, built by Dothraki hands under the orders of their Khaleesi.
No one yet knew exactly what would happen there… not even Daenerys herself.
As usual, Satoru had not told her.
She had tried to pry the truth out of him more than once, but he always answered with an amused smile… before ignoring her.
Mirri Maz Duur was dragged and tied to the center of the pyre, alongside Khal Ogo, still alive, and several of his surviving riders.
Satoru had considered using Drogo's men as sacrifice but ultimately discarded the idea.
If he did, he could lose the loyalty that both Daenerys and he had earned among the Dothraki.
Now, the Dothraki followed them. And as long as they were not given a reason to punish them… they would be forgiven.
It didn't matter if in the past they had followed Khal Drogo.
Even the warriors and riders who survived Khal Ogo's khalasar ended up joining them, further increasing the size of their army.
The army that once served Khal Drogo numbered forty thousand riders. Now, under Satoru's command, their number had grown to almost fifty thousand men.
There was a time when Satoru seriously considered getting rid of the Dothraki, abandoning them altogether. But now, with almost fifty thousand men under his command, he began to think that maybe keeping them wasn't such a bad idea.
And certainly, Daenerys wouldn't want to leave them. Those barbarians were her people now, they followed her with devotion, and she, deep down, had accepted them as her own.
It was then that the pyre was lit.
The fire began to crawl among the dry branches, devouring everything in its path. The flames grew violently, dancing under the night sky while the heat intensified rapidly.
Khal Ogo and his men, along with Mirri Maz Duur, watched in terror as the fire approached. Fear was reflected on their faces as the scorching heat drew near their skin.
Then came the screams.
Their harrowing screams echoed throughout the city of Lhazar, filling the air with a horror that made the skin crawl.
Satoru turned to Daenerys, the three petrified dragon eggs in his arms.
"You must enter the fire, Dany."
She looked at him, surprised.
"But…" Daenerys tried to speak, confused, but Satoru gently interrupted her.
"Only a Targaryen can bring the dragons back. Fire cannot kill a dragon."
Those words were enough for her.
Daenerys understood instantly. Comprehension and determination shone in her eyes. She nodded slowly.
"Trust me. Nothing will happen to you."
But Satoru no longer needed to say anything else. Daenerys trusted him beyond any doubt. Without hesitating a second longer, she began to walk toward the flames, her gaze firm and determined, like a queen marching toward her destiny.
Which was completely true.
"No… You have to stop her! You can't let her go in there!" Ser Jorah ran toward Satoru, his face distorted with worry.
He tried to grab his arm, demanding he do something, but his hand couldn't touch him no matter how hard he tried.
"Ser Jorah, trust her. Stay out of the way. Don't be a nuisance."
The fire of the pyre roared like a hungry beast. The flames rose to the sky, illuminating all of Lhazar with an orange and furious glow. Yet, Satoru did not take his eyes off Daenerys, who calmly walked toward them.
Despite everything, despite knowing she would be fine… his chest still felt heavy with worry.
Daenerys finally entered the heart of the flames. Her figure was engulfed by the fire… and not a single scream was heard.
Satoru sighed deeply, closing his eyes briefly.
In recent days, without her knowing, he had tested her.
He had served her boiling tea, hotter than any human throat could bear. She drank it without blinking. Without even noticing the temperature.
Another night, he created a small flame with his Divine Gift and brought it close to her skin while she slept. There were no burns, not even a grimace of discomfort.
She was immune to fire. Not just resistant. Immune.
After that, he kept testing her, just to be sure. No matter what he did, there was no reaction.
Because it was not a metaphor when it was said that fire cannot kill a dragon.
Daenerys was a true Targaryen. Dragon's blood ran through her veins. And she was about to be reborn as such, in the center of that fire.
And with her, her children… the first dragons born in over a century.
They would be the ones to transform her, marking the beginning of a new era.
From that day on, the whole world would know her as… the Mother of Dragons.