Some of the guards began to argue in low voices, fear tightening around their throats.
"If we surrender," one whispered, "what will happen to our families and our homes?"
Another, with sunken eyes and a dry voice, answered with brutal honesty:
"If handing over our wives, our children, and our wealth allows us to keep breathing tomorrow… why not do it?"
The words fell like stones.
They all knew it. Surrender could buy them time—nothing more. They would save their lives, yes, but at the cost of their dignity, their freedom, everything that made them free men.
The silence became unbearable.
Then one of the guards stepped forward. He was young, his armor ill-fitting and his hands shaking, but his eyes burned with desperate resolve.
"Anyone who wants to escape, follow me!" he shouted hoarsely.
He clenched his teeth, as if he had just accepted his own death, and ran along the wall.
His gesture was like a spark in a dry field.
Some hesitated. Others followed him almost immediately. Nearly a hundred men ran after him, driven more by panic than by hope.
They descended the wall with clumsy but determined steps, opened the city's southern gate, and rode out at a gallop, mounting half-saddled horses and throwing themselves into a desperate flight.
From a distance, Khal Kerse watched the scene with unsettling calm.
There was no anger on his face. Only calculation.
He turned to Molegro and the other bloodriders.
"Do not harm the old man who surrendered," he ordered firmly. "And as for those who flee… try to capture them alive."
The orders spread swiftly, from mouth to mouth, like a lethal whisper rippling through the Dothraki ranks.
By then, the battle for Lhazareen was already over.
Not with fire.
Not with massacre.
But with submission.
…
That same night, Khal Kerse held a feast in the conquered city.
The central square burned with great bonfires, and the aroma of roasted lamb filled the air, thick and tempting. There was laughter, singing, clashing cups, and deep guffaws.
But beneath that thunderous joy hid silent tears.
The tables overflowed with sheep and goats prepared in every imaginable way: slowly roasted, stewed with herbs, boiled until the meat fell from the bone. The Sheep People had handed over more than a thousand shepherd-warriors as a sign of submission, along with enough provisions to feed the khalasar for days.
They also sent women.
The girls sat beside the Dothraki, on their laps or at their feet. Some stared at the ground. Others smiled with a docility learned through blows of fear. No matter how crude the gestures or the hands, none resisted.
"When I grow up, I'll defeat all my enemies like my father," Maegor laughed, raising a small toy sword. "No one will be able to block my blade."
Kerse laughed with him—a brief, sincere laugh… before his expression hardened.
He stood and spoke to the warriors around him:
"These shepherds have shown courage," he said. "Not all of them fled. They did not kneel without thought. They will join us. They will be part of us."
The Dothraki responded with laughter, chest-beating, and shouts of approval. Kerse's authority was being reinforced, not only by victory, but by the way he had achieved it.
Just then, the old man who had led the surrender appeared before him.
He advanced hunched over, accompanied by several shepherd girls. He knelt awkwardly, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"Great Khal of the Great Grass Sea… Chosen of the Horse-Headed God Thor," he said. "On behalf of the three principal clans of Lhazareen, we offer you the most beautiful girls of our people."
Kerse observed the group.
Short hair, filthy and torn woolen clothes, thin bodies marked by labor and hunger. None compared to Daenerys or Rhaenys.
Instinctively, he looked toward his wives.
Rhaenys watched him with an empty, distant expression, as if the decision did not belong to her. Daenerys, on the other hand, was not looking at him.
She was looking at the girls.
Her eyes were filled with pity, with deep sadness, and with an emotion she herself could not name. Some of the girls smelled of manure and sweat. Others could barely keep their heads raised.
Kerse was silent for a moment.
Then he spoke:
"You may divide these women among yourselves," he said to the khals and bloodriders. "But do not harm them. Treat them well."
The response was immediate.
The Dothraki warriors surged toward the girls with laughter and shouts, raising cups and weapons.
"Thank you for your generosity, great and powerful Khal!" they cried. "We will remember your kindness!"
Daenerys closed her eyes.
She knew that was not kindness.
But she also knew that, in that cruel world, it was the closest they had ever come to it.