Her memory stoked the flames that burned in her heart, the urgent need to continue on the path that they had both once begun, she, her mysterious maid, the most beautiful woman of all Westeros and the free cities, the silver-haired woman who had Enchanted to all the men of the Khalasar ... Even when they claimed that she was a foreigner in their land, taking their property, sharing their food, sleeping with their women ... And their Khal.

All had fallen before the tenderness of the girl, the young queen and mother of dragons, the light of his path and the moon of his life ... Which had been nights and nights watching, in the most terrible of the darkness, when loneliness accompanied him, when the cold penetrated to his bones and he swore, he could hear the cries of his late son. Life for life, he would not have survived if Dany had not paid the high price of his offspring's life, only to see Drogo alive again, some day ...

They had given him for dead, they had all left him like an old dog, feeling pity and hatred for his sad and pathetic ending, which had been at the hands of his wife, to whom he had no grudge ... Well, Drogo, like her, had been reborn from the flames.

The odious witch did not lie, he would return to life, when everyone would consider him dead and the moment of his end would come, when his heart stopped beating ...

How much time had passed since Drogo had opened his eyes again? Accustomed to the heaviness of his "new" dead body, to apathy and silence ... Everything had been something new for the man who had once held so much power. Now he could move, though he felt he had not done it in so long that his bones had become weak like those white Westeros men he used to joke about with his men, like Daenerys' brother ... He folded and stretched his fingers while remembering his death, as he had given a "dignified" end to the opinion that everyone kept of him.

His brown eyes scanned the darkness, where he could see several boats swaying in the slight waves that shook the harbor, Drogo had been weeks following the trail of his young wife (praying to their gods that he had not taken another man instead), but he did not know where he was or where he was going. Most of the time he did not know the faces that tried to mediate with the Khal, he did not understand his strange languages ​​and he communicated with gestures, trying to compile some of the words that were said and repeated, learning the odd phrase to survive in the cities that he stepped almost by mistake. He knew that Daenerys was addressing Qarth. He had heard it from several sailors, who seemed to understand some of the Dothraki language, and had told him how a beautiful woman with beasts had passed by, accompanied by "others like him", in search of boats to take her to the city. So, with the money he had been getting from different jobs, the Dothraki tried to get a ticket to the city, for that same night. The only thing he got was that the sailors laughed at his meager budget and tried to spit at his feet, as a sign of distrust and mockery.

They should never have done that. Perhaps he did not understand the coarse comments that barked amid loud laughter but he did understand the gesture of the sailors, as well as those looks full of disgust and superiority. Neither short nor lazy, Drogo stretched both arms towards them, grabbing the necks of the little men, who stopped laughing at the moment. From his mouth came a thousand words, none of them would be understood by them, but he hoped that the gesture was enough for both of them to agree to take Drogo. Both of them. The Dothraki required both ships to charge once there with his khalasar, an army and his precious wife, whom, no doubt, he would find ... He could not stop thinking about her ...

That same night, as he had foreseen and demanded, the Khal was on his way to Qarth, resting in one of the most comfortable cabins available to the ship, keeping the crew at bay, instilling fear in all those who looked at him.

During the morning, when there were only a few hours left to reach the mainland, the Khal walked to the bathroom and after meditating for what seemed like hours, grabbed a blade, taking his braid with one hand and closing his eyes. A firm cut was enough to notice the weight of her hair in her hand, firmly gripped. He let go of his pride and his courage, his prestige and everything that for so long he had endured, his power ... He had lost, everything had been taken away from him and he was not worthy of that Dothraki crown. He disposed of it, throwing it away He then took a hot bath, combing the hair that now reached his shoulders, his punishment and symbol of shame. Hours later, the sailors shouted that they had seen land, the island was waiting for them, and Drogo was ready to step on it. He wore fine white pants that he had previously bought in the hot free cities, his chest bare, his scars exposed. He had not changed in the least, except for his hair ... His long braid was gone, forever. Would you want to see your khaleesi? Would she have gone mad with love like him during this long and endless wait? Drogo jumped into the harbor as soon as the ship stopped by the bay, looking around with curious and deep eyes, as if waiting for a reception, by anyone. Nobody