Chapter 24 - Chapter 23: The Dying Grandfather Presents the Divine Manual

Jorah was right. To carry out Dany's new "three-stage water-drawing" method, the two groups of knights bore crushing physical burdens.Whether hacking deep pits into the hard gravel under the punishing sun or hauling water skins back and forth to the camp, their rest shrank to almost nothing. Sleep came in snatches. Their hours of labor grew ever longer, their bodies trembling under the desert's cruel heat.And yet Dany refused to waver."This is my tribe," she said firmly, her young face solemn beneath the glow of the Bleeding Star. "No matter how old or weak, they are still my people. I have a responsibility and an obligation to protect everyone's life and safety."Jorah's brow furrowed, heavy with worry. "But what of your warriors? They may die of exhaustion, searching endlessly for water."For the briefest moment, Dany hesitated. The image of her horsemen—bronzed, proud, fierce—collapsing one by one into the red dust gnawed at her heart. But the hesitation vanished as quickly as it came. Her violet eyes hardened with resolve."A warrior's death in service to his people is the most glorious and noble end."Jorah blinked. That was not the Dothraki way, not even the Westerosi way. The words rang strange in his ears, yet they carried the weight of truth. It was a vision he had never heard spoken aloud: the duty of the strong to shield the weak, not for conquest or glory, but for the survival of the whole.And still, in his heart, Jorah cared little for the horsemen. Their lives, their honor, meant little to him. Only the young woman before him—his silver queen, his khaleesi, the last hope of House Targaryen—mattered.His voice dropped low, almost conspiratorial. His eyes darkened with something uncomfortably sharp."Princess," he whispered, "your method is clever, yes. If it were only you and eighty of the strongest, we could cross the wastes unscathed. Why not…"He leaned closer, his tone colder, deadlier."…while they sleep, we take the supplies and slip away. A hundred survivors are better than a thousand corpses. You have gold. Once we reach a coastal city, we could buy a ship to any Free City. Or…" His gaze lingered. "…a quiet manor, far away. You could wait in peace for your dragons to grow."Dany's breath caught. For a heartbeat, temptation whispered at the edge of her mind: escape, safety, freedom from this endless desert of death. But then the vision of her people returned—the tired women, the wide-eyed children, the horsemen who still believed in her.Her jaw set. She shook her head."Ser, I am their khaleesi. Never again speak such words."The rebuke fell like a whip crack.Jorah's face stiffened, then softened into something between resignation and sorrow. "As you wish, princess. But be prepared. Your people will die soon. You are not a god. You cannot save them all."Dany turned her face away. She hated his words, not because they were false, but because they might be true."How far?" she asked quietly."At best? We've crossed a third. At worst, less." Jorah's shoulders slumped. "The riverbed twists and turns. Perhaps two-thirds remain."The truth weighed on her like iron. Each step deeper into the Red Waste, each mile conquered, only made the next mile harder. The devilweed thinned. The bitter pits grew rarer. Their waterskins were emptier now than yesterday, and tomorrow they might hold nothing at all.Something had to give."We abandon the old horses tomorrow," Dany said at last, voice tight.But even as she spoke, an absurd thought flashed like lightning through her mind. Her lips curved into the faintest smile."I almost forgot about another water source."Jorah looked up, startled. "Where?"Her eyes sparkled with a secret she would not share. "Never mind. Not yet."Of course, she meant urine.Bear Grylls, that madman she once glimpsed in memories of another world, had drunk his own piss more times than she could count. Turtle blood too—choking down the foul liquid until his face twisted in agony. Compared to that, horse blood was nothing.Yes, disgusting, but far from the worst. Life was worth more than pride.Dany's gaze slid toward Jorah, and a strange little smile tugged at her lips."What?" The knight stiffened under her eyes. A shiver crawled down his spine."Nothing." She turned, heading for her tent. "I'm going to train the dragons."She had barely pulled the leather curtain aside when the sound of hooves rattled across the hard ground. An old man reined in sharply. Avanti, grizzled and lean, slid from his saddle, panic etched into his weathered face."Khaleesi!" he gasped. "Watson's dying!"Dany sighed, weariness rolling over her. "I know." She made to step past him.But Avanti blocked her path, wringing his hands. "What about his funeral? How should it be done?"That gave her pause. "He is Volantis-born. I don't know their customs. Why don't you ask him?"Avanti's words tumbled out in a rush. "He asks for cremation, to be buried with his body. I cannot decide such things. Only you can, khaleesi."Dany exhaled slowly. Charcoal was precious—more often used for filtering sewage than cooking. Horseflesh was boiled in great pots to save wood. And yet now a dying old man begged her for fire enough to burn his body.She followed Avanti into the cluster of tents.Watson lay curled on a thin mat, his body shriveled, his breath rattling like dry reeds in the wind. The other elders rose respectfully, murmured greetings, and slipped away, leaving khaleesi and dying man alone.His pale lips cracked into a smile when he saw her."The nobles of Volantis trace their line to Valyria," he whispered hoarsely. "Like your kin, they burn their dead. But I… I was a slave, born by the Rhoyne. For me, the river burial was custom. And yet…" He coughed, his frame wracked with pain. "…my Hago was a khal, a warrior among warriors. In the end, he rode a fiery steed into the night kingdom. Should I not follow?"Dany's heart softened. She knelt beside him, her hand warm on his skeletal fingers."I freed you of your slave's collar. You are no longer chained. You are a horseman. And you will be buried as a horseman."Tears welled in Watson's faded blue eyes. His thin body convulsed as he tried to sit. "Truly? Truly the horse god will accept me?"Dany's eyes darted toward the blood-red comet blazing above. Her mind worked quickly, weaving comfort from words."You saw the star," she said. "Drogo rides across the sky with five hundred warriors at his side. He waits for us. And when we are safe, he will welcome you as well. No god would deny such a man."Relief lit Watson's face like dawn. "Yes… yes…" He slumped back, breath easing.But then, with sudden desperate strength, he gripped Dany's wrist. "But Drogo does not know me. Will he still take me in?"Dany smiled gently, forcing cheer. "He will. For when I burn your body, I will call to him. And Drogo will hear. He will not refuse one who rode so bravely."Watson's chest rose in one last trembling sigh. "Good… so good…"Dany thought it was over. She rose, but his clawlike fingers clutched her trousers, dragging her back down. His eyes, dim yet fierce, searched hers."Khaleesi… I cannot serve you longer. But my life's work… lies there." He lifted a shaking hand toward a battered leather bag in the corner. "Take it."Avanti, eager to redeem himself, rushed forward and unfastened the bag. He produced a heavy volume, bound in gray sheepskin, thick as a brick. The weight of sixty years' work.The book tumbled into Dany's hands. She opened it—and froze.The first page revealed a charcoal sketch of two entwined bodies in a position so acrobatic it made her cheeks flush crimson. Notes in careful Valyrian script crowded the margins, diagrams of technique and pleasure.She snapped the book shut with a cough. "I… accept your gift. Thank you."Watson's face lit with pride. "Khaleesi, this book… cost me sixty years. I see now… it was meant for you. Only you can use it best…"Her blood boiled with fury. This wicked old man! To thrust such filth upon me!If not for his frailty, she might have struck him. Instead, she mumbled a farewell, clutching the obscene tome.But Watson's hand clawed her leg once more. His final whisper rasped from cracked lips."Khaleesi… the sacrifices…"Dany sighed. "Yes, yes. Your horse will go with you. I'll choose a gentler one for the pyre, and weapons, too. Gold if you wish. All will be done."His eyes closed, lips curling in contentment. The last word died on his tongue. His hand fell limp.And so ended Watson—slave and horseman, schemer and dreamer, leaving behind a legacy she never wished to claim.The withered smile on his face lingered, carved into the stillness of death.---