Game of Thrones Iron Stark

In Sheep Village, a crowd had gathered around Daenerys. They stared at the infant in her arms and the three tiny dragons nestled against her.

Warm Sheep walked up carrying several bottles of sheep's milk.

"Princess, we don't have cow's milk here, but sheep milk is richer. Let your little dragons drink some. Raising four children on your own is too hard."

Daenerys gave her a tired but grateful smile. "Thank you, Warm Sheep."

The three hatchlings were no bigger than lizards. One was black and red, one emerald green, one gold and white. They couldn't breathe fire yet. They couldn't eat meat. They could only drink milk.

Daenerys handed each dragon to a handmaid. The women fed them with bottles while the baby girl nursed at her breast.

"Khaleesi," Beautiful Sheep asked, eyes wide with curiosity, "are the dragons boys or girls?"

"I don't know," Daenerys admitted. "I'll raise them as sons anyway. My family hasn't hatched dragons in over a hundred years. My brother once told me dragons might not even have separate sexes. They can lay eggs on their own. If these three grow strong, they can rebuild our house without anyone else."

A Dothraki warrior stepped forward and dropped to one knee.

"Khaleesi, you have three dragons. One day you will need dragonriders. I want to be one of them. I will ride for you."

Others followed, kneeling in the grass.

"I will too!"

"Me as well!"

Daenerys looked at them coldly. "You don't understand what you're asking. To ride a dragon you need the right blood. Targaryen blood. Silver hair. The ability to walk through fire. Without it, the dragon will eat you or burn you alive."

The warrior who had spoken first lifted his head.

"We are willing to die trying."

The others echoed him.

Daenerys shook her head. These men were drunk on dreams of flying.

Happy Sheep and Boiling Sheep pushed through the crowd.

"Princess," Boiling Sheep said, "we have news. Khal Drogo is swallowing the other khalasars whole. He wants to give you and your child an empire."

Daenerys's expression tightened. "Is he safe? The Dothraki are proud. They've never accepted one man ruling them all. Before, he only killed them. He never tried to rule them."

Boiling Sheep grinned. "Maybe you and the child gave him new strength. He's winning. Fast. A few more moons and the grass sea might belong to one khal again."

Daenerys closed her eyes and whispered a quiet prayer.

"May the horse god and the dragon god protect my sun and stars."

---

Far out on the Dothraki sea, a pride of lions made a kill.

They moved with perfect grace, golden coats bright under the sun. The lioness they had brought down still twitched as the pride tore into it. For a few minutes the only sounds were the wet ripping of flesh and low, satisfied growls.

Then the spears came.

They flew out of the tall grass in a sudden rain. One took a lioness through the ribs. The rest of the pride scattered, roaring in confusion.

Warriors rose from the grass. They looked like Dothraki—broad, dark-skinned, braided hair—but they carried long spears instead of arakhs and they did not ride horses. These were the Masai, an ancient offshoot of the horse people who had been driven into the harshest parts of the grass sea generations ago.

They had learned to survive where others died. Poison snakes. Scorching sun. Drought. And lions.

The Masai walked straight to the dying lioness. One warrior finished her with a spear thrust to the heart. Then they began butchering the carcass on the spot, drinking the hot blood and cutting thick strips of meat.

To them, lions were not kings of the grass.

They were food.

---

That night Drogo's growing horde made camp.

Thirty thousand screamers now followed him. He had taken slaves from every khalasar he crushed, and the column stretched for miles. Around the central fire, Drogo sat with his bloodriders and a few trusted kos, tearing into roasted meat and passing skins of fermented milk.

Cohollo wiped grease from his mouth. "Khal, we have too many slaves. They slow us down. Sell them in Yunkai or Meereen. We'll lose weight and gain gold."

The other bloodriders nodded.

Drogo took a long drink, then shook his head. "Not yet. My army is still too small. I need more warriors."

One of the kos leaned in. "There is a place, Khal. The most dangerous land on the grass sea. Guatemala. The Masai live there. They don't ride horses. They hunt lions on foot with spears. They drink lion blood and eat the heads. Every one of them is a killer. Stronger than any ordinary Dothraki."

Drogo went still.

He remembered his father's voice from when he was a boy.

"The strongest warriors among the horse people live in the worst place on the grass. They are called the Masai. They eat lions and drink their blood. They are not like us."

Drogo stared into the fire, eyes reflecting the flames.

He had already cut his braids. He had already put on armor. He had already started ruling instead of just raiding.

Now he knew where to find the next piece of the army he needed to give Daenerys her empire.

The Masai.

He smiled, slow and hungry.

"Tomorrow we ride for Guatemala."