Marpoxy had hoped to earn Drogo's favor, but had miscalculated. Flustered, he bowed and said, "I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me, Your
Marpoxy had hoped to earn Drogo's favor, but had miscalculated. Flustered, he bowed and said, "I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me, Your Grace."
Drogo waved dismissively and picked up a coil of hemp rope he had prepared. He then tied the wildly resisting Snowball securely.
Seeing the bewildered looks from everyone present, Drogo explained, "This beast only obeys my orders. If I don't tie him up, you won't be able to take him anywhere."
He paused, then looked at the scout. "Carry him. Once you're about ten leagues from the Khyzai Pass, let him loose. Then your task will be complete."
As long as he didn't enter enemy territory, it would be safe. What was once a perilous mission now seemed like walking a lion on a leash.
The scout, who had looked as if he'd eaten something rotten, instantly perked up. He eagerly picked up the surprisingly heavy Snowball and left the tent.
Drogo's plans were always enigmatic. Though Marpoxy and the others found this bizarre, they dared not question him again.
"How long will it take to reach the Khyzai Pass from here?" Drogo asked.
Eager to display his knowledge, the scholar quickly replied, "Roughly five hours, Your Grace."
Drogo muttered, "Five hours, huh… then how should I kill the time?"
This was outside Aggo's wheelhouse, but seizing the rare opportunity to be useful, he blurted out, "My blood of my blood, the physician Ang Kratzny recently took in a beautiful apprentice from Qarth. Pale skin, stunning features. Would you like her company tonight?"
Drogo's expression darkened. In his heart, no woman compared to Daenerys. This suggestion reeked of the old days—and he was no longer that man.
"Aggo, how many times must I say this? No one, not even a king, has the right to force a woman."
Aggo, thinking the girl resembled the Khaleesi and might be welcomed, looked genuinely disappointed. "But my blood of my blood, with your charm, I swear every girl in Astapor would throw themselves at your feet. How do you know she wouldn't be willing?"
Drogo was tempted, but he wouldn't go back on his word. "As a Ko leading two thousand warriors, you should know better. This is your first offense, and you only ran your mouth, so I'll go easy on you. For one month, you are banned from entering any woman's tent."
To a virile young warrior like Aggo, this was a death sentence. But he had no choice. "Thank you for your mercy, my blood of my blood."
Sensing the air was tense, Drogo lightened the mood. "Jogo, tell the supply quarter to bring food and wine. We're staying up tonight."
"Yes, my blood of my blood."
They had only sipped lightly at dinner, but with this order, the warriors lit up with glee. They drank and praised their Khal into the night. However, what puzzled them was that Drogo—famed for holding his liquor—didn't touch a single drop.
As time passed, Drogo guessed the scout should've reached his destination. He raised a hand for silence, leaned back in his chair… and rolled his eyes completely back.
Feeling slightly insulted, the others obeyed without complaint. They didn't even dare breathe too loudly.
Two hours passed.
Drogo's eyes remained rolled back.
People began to worry. No one in the world—except perhaps the blind—could roll their eyes back for hours without blinking.
Marpoxy muttered, "I feel like I've read about this before…"
"Khal... he's not...!" Aggo began, only to be interrupted by Jogo: "Shut up. Look—his chest is moving."
That confirmed he was alive, but the situation remained alarming. Marpoxy rushed out and returned with the physician Ang Kratzny.
After a careful examination, Ang marveled, "His Majesty's physical condition is the best I've ever seen. He's just asleep—his heartbeat and pulse are unbelievably strong, like a wild beast. You might think I'm exaggerating, but I swear on the Seven, it's true."
Had it been anyone else, they wouldn't have believed it. But this was Drogo—a man who had tamed dragons, survived fire, and defied death. No one doubted it.
Rakharo, ever observant, asked, "But the Khal has never slept with his eyes rolled back. And it's been almost three hours now. Is that really normal?"
Ang admitted, "No. But… I've seen something similar mentioned in my master's scrolls."
He frowned. "Still, I don't think His Majesty could be one of those people. He doesn't have First Men blood."
"You mean… a warg?" Marpoxy asked.
The two exchanged a glance and answered in unison, "A skinchanger. One who can enter the mind of an animal, even control it."
Aggo blinked, utterly confused. "Never heard of that."
"That's normal," the scholar said kindly. "They're extremely rare."
"Right," Ang nodded. "As rare as dragons."
Aggo scoffed. "Dragons are divine. If they're rarer than dragons, then they don't exist."
The two scholars sighed and turned back toward the sleeping king.
With no remedy available, they could only wait.
As dawn broke, the tent flap stirred. Snowball ran in.
Both scholar and physician gasped—Snowball's eyes were rolled back too.
But they quickly cleared, and at that moment, Drogo stirred and woke up. He frowned, muttering just loud enough to hear:
"At least fourteen, maybe fifteen feet tall. Bigger than a white elephant. Covered in long fur. Creatures like that only exist beyond the Wall… so what the hell are they doing here?"
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