Chapter 94: Chapter 93: Going Home
Viserys led his army away from Pentos.
After a night had passed, the sky finally began to lighten.
The great fire in Pentos had been extinguished, and it seemed that the struggle for the title of Khal had come to an end.
In the early morning, the gates of Pentos finally opened.
The frightened citizens of Pentos mustered the courage to leave their homes, the air filled with the stench of death and the scent of burnt remains.
At this moment, the ancient Valyrian road that led from the east of Pentos to Norvos was littered with corpses.
It was a feast for the carrion-eaters.
Vultures swooped down from the sky, eager to partake in the feast, only to be chased away by the surviving Dothraki. The carrion-eaters circled in the sky, crying out mournfully.
Last night, this once powerful Khalasar had fractured in the wake of Khal Borbo's death.
Several leaders of their respective khas, along with Drogo, who remained loyal to his father, engaged in a fierce battle to claim the title of Khal according to the ancient traditions of the Dothraki.
At the same time, two khas escaped the chaos, unwilling to let their people be drawn into the cruel grinder of violence.
Under the leadership of their respective Khals, these two khas left the Khalasar and set off into the night, returning to the Great Grass Sea to form new tribes or join other Khals.
The struggle for the title of Khal concluded with Borbo's son, Drogo, emerging as the sole surviving contender.
The other leaders of the khas had been personally killed by Drogo.
In the brutal traditions of the Dothraki, failure allowed for no options other than death.
Drogo killed all his competitors with his own hands, reassembling the shattered remnants of his father's Khalasar and becoming Khal Drogo.
After a night of chaos, the once-powerful Khalasar was in tatters, with only a tenth of its former strength remaining. However, Khal Drogo did not immediately leave Pentos to return to his homeland and find a place without other Khals to quietly nurse his wounds.
Instead, he led his newly reassembled Khalasar with great momentum to the north of Pentos, seemingly intending to plunder the army of Andalos to make up for the previous night's losses.
However, when Khal Drogo arrived with his Khalasar, he learned that Viserys and the Andalosian army had already broken camp and left the area the night before.
Although the Dothraki were a swift horse-riding people, capable of pursuing the Andalosian army even if they began now, Drogo, who had just become Khal, ultimately decided against chasing them.
After inheriting his father's Khalasar of tens of thousands of warriors, only about three thousand remained after the brutal night of fighting. With fewer men than a minor king, and having just experienced a night of combat, chasing after the well-rested and strong Andalosian army would have been a foolhardy endeavor.
Despite his confidence in his troops' morale and fighting ability, Drogo had to consider the possibility of failure and losses.
He knew that even if he won, he would be left with nothing but the title of Khal.
So, Khal Drogo had no choice but to abandon the idea of plundering Andalos, although he had hoped to regain some of his losses through a surprise attack.
Sitting atop a powerful and shaggy black-maned horse, Drogo's eyes were deep and inscrutable.
...
His shoulder was still wrapped in a bandage, with a faint trace of blood seeping through, a souvenir from the skirmish the night before. He then swung his whip fiercely in the air.
Crack—
It sounded like a clap of thunder. He then turned his horse around and bellowed in the guttural, rough Dothraki tongue.
"Home!"
The newly-formed Khalasar erupted into deafening cheers.
"Roar, roar, roar!"
Dothraki warriors rode on horseback, raising their arakhs in celebration.
Dothraki people generally had no permanent home, and wherever they went became their home. To them, 'home' naturally meant returning to their homeland, the vast Dothraki Sea.
...
Some time later.
The small king led his army on a forced march back to Andalos, and finally saw the shadow of the city with its simple walls.
Boom, boom, boom—
The castle gates opened.
Viserys had just returned to the castle, removed his armor, and had not even had time to take a hot bath when Rhaenys and Daenerys hurried over.
"Brother, you're finally back!"
The brown-haired girl, holding a little girl's hand, barged straight into Viserys' bedroom.
Viserys had just removed his outer garment, his soft hair cascading down his back, revealing the well-proportioned muscles beneath. Hearing the voices behind him, he turned his head slightly, exposing his perfect facial features beneath his silver hair.
Viserys didn't look very strong, just having a well-balanced figure without large muscles and even appearing a bit slender.
Yet he could unleash powerful strength, knocking Bessie off her horse and not wavering in the slightest as his legs gripped the horse's belly. This strong core strength was indeed enviable.
"Ah..."
The girl blushed upon seeing Viserys changing clothes.
But she still showed a disdainful expression.
"Rhaenys, how many times have I told you?"
"Don't barge in without knocking."
With his back to Rhaenys, Viserys found a clean shirt to put on before turning around to face the girl behind him, speaking calmly.
"Tsk, it's not like I haven't seen it before. Why the secrecy?"
Hearing Viserys start to lecture her again, Rhaenys pouted slightly.
Members of House Targaryen had difficult lives. After Queen Rhaella's death, Viserys and Rhaenys relied on each other for support.
The two even had to jointly raise a younger child, as if raising a daughter of their own.
Rhaenys grew up quickly in this process, taking care of her younger aunt.
Not trusting servants to do it, Rhaenys even changed her aunt's diapers, taught her to walk, talk, clean herself, and dress.
While the two were talking, little Daenerys, who had been holding Rhaenys' hand, hesitated to speak up several times.
Finally, unable to hold back, she timidly raised her small hand in protest.
"Hey, Rhaenys, he...he's my brother."
"Not your brother."
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