"Move fast! Move fast!" Khal Trago roared at the top of his lungs.
He stood directing his men, his khalasar, as they set up their camp in the valley. Khal Trago was a massive man. He stood at around six and a half feet in height, with a bulky and heavily muscled frame. He possessed immense, raw physical strength and was an equally impressive and skilful warrior.
Trago's khalasar was not very large or powerful. The strength of his khalasar stood at five hundred Dothraki warriors and around three hundred women.
It was not comparable even to a random lower level khalasars roaming the Dothraki Sea. But he was not worried about this fact.
It had only been a couple of months since Khal Trago and his followers had defected from a massive khalasar of twenty thousand.
He had spent quite some time under a great khal and knew all the strategies and tricks needed to strengthen his own forces. It was only a matter of time before his rise truly began. And he firmly believed that in the years to come, he was going to be one of the most formidable powers in the Dothraki Sea.
Trago and his khalasar had just looted a merchant caravan. It had been a good haul overall, and therefore, Trago had decided to give his men and horses some much needed rest.
It would also allow the men injured in the skirmish against the caravan's mercenaries time to recover. But little did he know that his fortunes had just taken a sharp turn for the worse.
The camp had barely been set up when the sound of approaching hooves caught Trago's attention. He snapped his head toward the far end of the valley to see a few dozen riders, more specifically, a few dozen Dothraki, riding toward their camp.
He did not need to shout or scream. Trago's men immediately scurried and arranged themselves into a tight defensive formation. This was the benefit of splitting from a powerful, disciplined khalasar. You did not need to spoon feed every command to your men.
There was not an iota of worry on Trago's face. The khalasar approaching them definitely numbered no more than a hundred men. They were of no concern to his five-hundred strong force.
In fact, he would not be surprised if they were here to surrender and beg him to take them into his khalasar. Survival for such a small group was difficult, and it was common for tiny khalasars to willingly submit to a larger one.
Khal Trago moved to the front of his men. The incoming khalasar halted before him, and Trago gazed intently at the two riders leading the group.
One was a young looking man. Though he was chiseled and muscled, he was nothing compared to Trago's bulky frame. Trago contemplated whether he could crush the head of this pretty Dothraki with his bare hands. He did not even know, this man became a Khal.
Next to him riding was a beautiful middle aged woman. She was indeed beautiful, but nothing more remarkable. She was the only woman in the entire group.
"Who are you?" Trago demanded, his voice deep and hoarse.
"I am Khal Aero," Jon replied with a small smile.
"What is your purpose in approaching this valley?" Trago asked, his tone condescending. "Was it a coincidence, or did you come here knowing we were here?"
"It was intentional, of course," Aero replied.
"Oh?" Trago grunted. "And what do you want? To beg me to merge your khalasar into mine?"
Aero laughed aloud.
"You really had me there," he said.
"I want something like this," he continued. "I want you to merge your khalasar into mine, and I will be the new khal."
Trago and a few of the men standing next to him burst out laughing.
"You, with a hundred men, want me to merge my khalasar with yours and bow before you?" he chuckled mockingly. "Very bold of you."
Aero jumped down from his horse and took a couple of steps forward, closing the distance to Trago. Both of them knew a conflict was imminent.
"I am indeed bold," Aero said. "But are you?"
"Let us settle this," he continued. "You and me. Whoever wins keeps both khalasars."
Trago laughed again.
"Why would I do something like that?" He asked. "You might beat me. Maybe I beat you. But why would I take the risk? I know for certain that my khalasar can easily crush yours."
Aero sighed deeply.
"You know what," he said. "I was fated to hear that exact line a few years from now. I thought I changed that fate. But it looks like some things never change, no matter whose mouth it comes from."
"What do you mean?" Trago asked, his face twisting in confusion.
"Nothing," Aero shook his head. "The readers will get it."
"So," Aero said. "You refuse my challenge?"
Trago did not respond. He drew his arakh and raised it high in the air. His entire khalasar followed suit.
"I propose a new challenge!" he roared. "Your khalasar versus my khalasar!"
"And as a reward," he added, pointing his blade toward Melisandre. "I will keep her."
"Perhaps it is for the best," Aero shrugged. "I would not want another khal in my khalasar anyway."
"Do it," he commanded loudly.
Before anyone could understand what he meant or what was happening, the sharp whistle of pierced air echoed through the valley. A moment later, a spear drove cleanly through Trago's heart, a heavy spurt of blood erupting from his chest.
Trago looked at Aero in sheer shock, then cast his gaze toward the crowd to find his assailant. His eyes had barely spotted the young, dark-skinned man before his body gave way, and he collapsed heavily onto the ground.
Trago's entire khalasar froze in sheer shock. No one reacted for several long moments. They could not even comprehend what had just happened.
But then two of them, Trago's bloodriders, snapped out of their stupor. A loud roar erupted from their lips as they lunged toward Aero, their arakhs drawn.
But that was all they managed to do. They did not even register the flash of the arakh in Aero's hand before their heads were cleanly severed, their lifeless bodies collapsing into the dirt.
Three more Dothraki charged at him, but the result did not vary. Three more severed heads and torsos hit the ground.
Before anyone else could jump, Aero raised his free hand, bringing them to a halt.
"Your khal has been killed," he declared. "You do not have a khal. And jumping toward me is only going to get you killed."
"Think," he said, his voice echoing over the silent crowd. "Think carefully. I can be the khal you need, or the death you seek."
No one moved for a few tense moments, until finally, one warrior lowered his arakh in submission. One by one, the rest followed suit, bowing before their new leader.
"Great," Aero smiled.
"Now, if you wish, you can prepare a funeral pyre for your comrades," he said. "The rest of you, continue setting up the camp."
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