Thread: GoT: Blood And Fire (kingofshadows & darkangel76)

He was fluid grace as his muscles worked over bone, hands familiar with his weapon and his eyesfierce and all-seeingnot missing a single thing. He was khal. He knew his riders, his men who'd stood with him, rode and followed, cut through the Dothraki Sea as they deemed necessary. He was khal. He'd earned this title not because of some declaration, but because he'd seen much, done much...because he always won. He was khal because he was the one all turned torider, woman, child and slave. And, as Sephalo's head severed from his spine, Kess knew he always would be. She nodded her head in acknowledgment. Victory belonged to Jhaqo. She waited a moment, her lungs stopping as the breath burned in her chest and the blood pounded in her ears. Would another rise to challenge? The silence was deafening. Kess allowed her blue eyes to drift over the sea of men as the looked upon their fallen, the one who'd chosen to stand up against their khal. No. No other would dare speak out again. Not after so much death had already weakened their numbers. No. Jhaqo was khal. This night was his. The silence continued as Jhaqo turned away from the bloody scene, his body taut with the tension of his challenge. It would take special attention to ease those knots away. She could see the fury, the aggression lingering in his eyes. But he said nothing. He just made his way to his tent, while his men moved to retrieve the fallen Sephalo. Kess slowly backed away from the scene, her eyes fixed upon the riders as they carried the corpse awaynot a wasted loss, a necessary one, a needed one. When she felt the flaps of Jhaqo's tent brush against her arms, she turned her blonde head and felt a small smile tug at her lips. The sun was low on the horizon, soft purples and oranges marking a darkening sky. She could smell the fires as they burned, the flames crackling as she lifted the flap and entered . Her blue eyes fixed upon Jhaqo, a man much like her Arrokko. Yes, Jhaqo was khal. Shh... Dany hissed, almost demanded. She brought up a slender finger as if to hush the old man, though his whitened eyes could not see. She strained her ears as she listened to the sound of metal on metal. There were shouts as the fight wore on outside and how she wished she could watch. She was Khaleesi, widow to the late Khal Drogo. Blood never bothered her, not when such challenges were necessary. She understood the ways of the Dothraki far better than these men realized. They thought her soft, weak. But she rode with Drogo once, her body accepting the heart of the stallion! She might not have approved the fighting pits of Meereen, but she understood when death was necessary. Then Dany heard it. She heard the loud thump and the grave silence that followed. Her face was solemn and she turned to gaze at the old man. A victor had been declared. Was it Jhaqo or someone new? She sucked in a breath, held it and closed her strange violet eyes. Jhaqo has won, Dany whispered. The khalasar remains his. Oddly, she began to smile. Defeat falls with the challenger. Her eyes fluttered open and she felt her cheeks begin to warm. Thoughts of the past, of a time with Drogo, entered Dany's mind. She'd been so frightened the day that Viserys had promised her to that wild Dothraki man. He'd grunted and stared, large hands prodding her like a prize. Little had she known the man that truly resided beneath such a proud exterior. She missed him, but he'd taught her much in the ways of the world. For that, she'd always be grateful. Jhaqo, Dany continued, her eyes looking upon the old man. Will take me back to Meereen as requested. Soon, I'll be going home. Missandei watched Tyrion down the wine. For a man of nobility, he had absolutely no reservation or care in how he was perceived. Perhaps it was his being far from home or the fact that he was a rarity amongst the fine folk of Westeros. No matter, she found it oddly charming and bringing a smile to her face while they faced dark times and had to make difficult decisions. She hung forced herself to look away, not wanting to offend, but soon found her eyes widening at his twist on her own words. Immediately, Missandei found her face growing warm though she refused to let on the such words would spark a reaction. Instead, her dark eyes remained fixed on the floor and she let Varys chastise, while her thoughts took a turn for Grey Worm. He hadn't been among the Unsullied choosing to take their leave to the brothels when time permitted. Ever proud and diligent, the man did not give in to such temptations. It had surprised her that he'd even glanced her way at the river, had accepted her chaste kiss in the infirmary. Was he like the others? Did his needs go beyond that of mere friendship? It was hard to say and so much was stirring that it made it difficult for Missandei to dwell on such things. They all had larger issues to worry about, after all. Missandei finally felt her cheeks cool and she looked up, Tyrion already pouring himself more wine. The scouts and Second Sons serving to create this common enemy would work in their favor. The dwarf was right. It wouldn't take long for the masters to seek council and meet...if only Dany were there. Still, she knew Tyrion wouldn't let Meereen fall back to the way it was. Too much was at stake and too much was to be gained. How will you get this gold? Missandei then spoke up, her voice a soft contrast compared to the dwarf and the eunuch. Her eyes rested on Tyrion as she finished her question, her footfalls light as she took a few steps in his direction. There was a tiny smile on her lips before she cast her gaze back down to the floor. I should like to know how you plan to acquire it.