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The wound from the dagger wasn't deep, but it chilled Drogo to the core — the blood that trickled from it was blue.
There was no doubt. It had to be the Nightshade Water — the magical brew the warlock Paiya Puli had tricked him into drinking.
The poison had spread through his bloodstream. It didn't hurt or itch, but Drogo could feel it — a silent threat lying dormant within.
With such a magical liquid in his veins, all it would take was a single incantation from the warlock, and Drogo would fall again into illusion, gripped once more by the nightmarish hallucinations — maybe even wake up clutching that repulsive heart again.
Desperate, he sought a solution and found one through a wise man of Qarth.
The poison could be expelled by converting the Nightshade Water into magical energy and forcing it from the body using sorcery. But that path was closed to the strongest Khal — Drogo knew nothing of magic.
The other method was far more drastic: bloodletting. Draining every last drop from his body would remove the poison entirely.
It was little better than suicide. Left with no real options, Drogo had no choice but to take things one step at a time.
As for the prophecy concerning Quaithe's death, Drogo didn't hide it from Daenerys.
When she heard the news, Dany shed not a single tear. Instead, she ordered the assassin guild's leader to be flayed and hung from the gallows in the square of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones — a cruel and public vengeance.
It was brutal, yet satisfying in its own way. Still, Drogo had hoped his wife would break down in tears, mourning Quaithe like any ordinary woman.
But it was the quiet grief that unnerved him most. Her silence hit harder than any scream.
The shallow cut didn't concern Drogo much, but Dany, who had nearly lost her "sun and stars" once to a similar injury, would not let it go. She sent Missandei to summon a Golden Company surgeon renowned for miraculous recoveries.
During the treatment, Drogo whined like a child. Dany scolded him, calling him a bald-headed baby, until he finally gave in and let the healer clean the wound with vinegar, stitch it up, and wrap it in cloth soaked with burning spirits.
Wrapped up like a mummy from his past life, Drogo looked at himself and couldn't help but laugh and cry at once. Women's thoughts, he realized again, were delicate — prone to worry and fuss.
Still, her attentiveness warmed him. He wanted to take her in his arms, but for the first time, the grieving tigress refused his embrace.
So Drogo went out to patrol the streets of Qarth, looking for warmth with his eyes instead.
Qarth was sealed on all sides. The slavers who had fled here from Slaver's Bay, dreaming of regaining power, were now trapped like fish in a barrel. Under the Unsullied's sweeping search and betrayals by fearful nobles, Drogo captured every last one of those soulless devils.
When he ordered the executioners to nail their bodies along the coastal roads, the conflict between him and the Sons of the Harpy came to a close. The children once slaughtered on slavers' orders could now rest in peace.
In this, Dany found some measure of comfort.
Three days later, the Qartheen aristocrats who had resisted the army from Slaver's Bay were all executed. Every valuable treasure they had was looted clean by the Khalasar.
Gazing upon the mountain of jewels now stacked in the council chamber, Drogo's ambitions burned brighter than ever.
The world had turned on its head. The oppressed now cheered, while the former lords tasted bitterness for the first time.
Led by the Bloodriders, former criminals roamed unchecked. Their brazen cruelty soon stirred resentment from the upper classes.
But Drogo turned a blind eye. His silence spoke clearly: he believed in fighting fire with fire, evil with evil. That was his judgment on Qarth.
These Qartheen had strutted around with pride, trampling the weak. Drogo's response was a reminder of the horse lord they once feared.
Seeking an audience with the Breaker of Chains got them nowhere. In desperation, the Qartheen nobles turned to the legendary kindness of the Mother of Dragons.
Every day, noblewomen and maidens braved the square before the Hall of a Thousand Thrones to cry out for justice. But Dany, still grieving Quaithe, ignored them all.
The Bloodriders quietly sighed in relief. Luck had spared them punishment — they had returned to their true selves at just the right time.
Everything was unfolding just as Drogo had foreseen. More good news soon followed.
Eager to prove himself, Kerry succeeded in persuading the pirate lords of the Tourmaline Brotherhood to fold most of their crews into the Golden Company. He also secured five hundred merchant ships that could be converted into warships.
With that, every major power in Qarth had been brought to heel by the Khal — all except the one that troubled him most: the House of the Undying.
With his power growing, Drogo was in high spirits. He gathered the finest food and drink, and the whole army feasted for three days and nights.
The king was both regal and approachable, striking a perfect balance. Even the newly sworn Golden Company warriors were beginning to admire him.
Two weeks passed in a blur. During that time, the warlock Paiya Puli — who had been so eager to lure him to the House of Dust — never showed again. That surprised Drogo.
Still, if the shadowy warlock wouldn't come to him, then he would go to the warlock — he was still anxiously waiting for the wild child who could suppress monsters to return.
Quaithe's death had left Daenerys shut in her chambers. Without her guidance, the three dragons had grown wilder by the day, flying across the Qarth Strait to hunt in unknown lands.
But the moment the Mother of Dragons stepped out again, they returned — as if drawn by an unspoken bond. There was something between mother and children, a kind of psychic link that stirred Drogo's jealousy.
In many minds, the House of the Undying was a place of evil — a haunt of ghosts and warlocks. They said it had swallowed the morning light, hiding in shadow to perform twisted rites.
One Bloodrider had warned him: "Blood of my blood, many have entered the House of Dust, but few ever come out."
Drogo agreed. Still, he had to go. He believed in the prophecy of the Undying.
Most people feared the warlocks and visited them only when the sun was high. But Drogo went the other way, choosing a night bright with stars and a crimson moon.
It wasn't arrogance. He had a reason — he wanted Snowball to come with him.
The white lion's vertical eye, capable of seeing hidden things cloaked in shadow, only opened under a full moon. Drogo hoped it would be of great use.
Dany, too, longed to visit the House of the Undying in search of truth. Worried for her safety, Drogo resisted — but in the face of her relentless pleading, he eventually gave in.
Drogo had seen the warlocks' power firsthand. No army could contain them. Still, he brought enough force to reduce the House of the Undying to ashes if needed. And when the time came, he would burn the Nightshade Trees — those sinister blue-leaved trees that fed the warlocks' magic, the same shade as their cursed lips.
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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