Khal Kerse, after leaving Daenerys resting in her chambers, decided to hold a banquet. Only his eldest son, Maegor Targaryen, accompanied him, who was barely four years old.
However, due to his abnormally strong and developed physique, the child appeared to be at least twelve.
The banquet not only celebrated the fulfilled prophecy, but also marked the beginning of preparations for the war that was approaching.
The air of the hall was saturated with the aroma of roasted meat, hot grease, and fermented mare's milk. When Kerse entered, the place was already boiling with life. Warriors, riders, and lesser khals filled the space with laughter, hoarse voices, and the clash of cups.
All conversations revolved around Daenerys.
The Dothraki enthusiastically commented on her swollen belly, applauded the small life growing within her, and spoke fervently of the future Son of the Prophecy, the one destined to ride the stallion of the world.
Many khals of lesser khalasars began making decisions right there. They resolved to temporarily settle in Vaes Dothrak, bring their best warriors, and follow Kerse in his next endeavor.
Kerse raised his voice:
"My son Rhaego will be the prince who, according to the prophecy, will ride the stallion of the world and rule all the Dothraki!"
The reaction was immediate.
Cups were raised, tables were struck, arakhs were waved in the air. The hall erupted in cheers.
"Ride the stallion of the world!"
"Ride the stallion of the world!"
The eyes of many shone with longing, filled with faith in Khal Kerse and in the future he promised.
However, not everyone shared the same enthusiasm.
One of the khals, with a relaxed expression and an apparently casual voice, asked while drinking:
"And your eldest son?"
The murmur slowly faded away. All eyes focused on Kerse.
The khal's face hardened. He replied firmly:
"The god Thor Horse Head has foretold that his reign is not found on the continent of Westeros, but here, in Essos."
Then he stepped forward. His voice boomed like thunder.
"I, Kerse! Will not only guide you to the conquest of all Westeros, but also to the conquest of all Essos."
He paused, letting his words sink in deeply, and then continued in a tone charged with ambition:
"We will conquer new lands! We will plunder greater riches!"
The hall erupted once more. The warriors roared, the arakhs gleamed under the firelight, and Dothraki blood boiled with excitement.
…
Meanwhile, in a room steeped in absolute silence, only Daenerys's measured breathing could be heard.
A faint smile formed on her face as she tenderly caressed her belly.
A sudden noise brought her back to reality.
When she looked up, she saw a woman standing beside the bed.
She recognized Rhaenys's face and could not hide her surprise.
During the journey, Kerse had spoken to her of her existence. She would be lying if she said it did not bother her. Although she knew the Dothraki customs, she could not help feeling jealous upon learning that Kerse had another wife.
And at the same time, she could not help feeling relief and joy upon discovering that she still had living family. Two more relatives, if she also counted Rhaenys's son.
Rhaenys, noticing the whirlwind of emotions reflected on Daenerys's face, stepped forward with concern and gently embraced her.
Daenerys tensed at first, but soon relaxed when she felt the closeness of her blood.
Rhaenys could not help smiling at how quickly her expressions changed.
"At last we meet, my dear aunt."
…
In another room, anger burned in Viserys's heart like an unleashed storm.
He wore a newly purchased crimson tunic, embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. It was comfortable, luxurious, worthy of a king.
But neither luxury nor good food managed to calm him.
His rage burned more fiercely than any bonfire.
He grabbed a bottle of wine and smashed it against the wall. The glass exploded into a thousand fragments.
"Damn barbarians!" he roared.
His face was red, the veins on his forehead throbbed with fury.
"Damn barbarians! How dare that bitch who pretends to be my niece and her little bastard strike and humiliate the great King of the Seven Kingdoms!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room.
Ser Jorah remained to one side, silent, his brow furrowed.
"Your Majesty," he finally said cautiously, "it may be that what that woman said is true. Perhaps… she really is your niece."
Viserys turned toward him, furious.
"That bitch cannot be my niece. And if she is, then she must divorce Kerse and marry me."
He clenched his fists.
"Kerse already married my sister, and now they say he also secretly married my supposed niece."
Jorah tried to speak, but Viserys interrupted him with a sharp gesture.
"Kerse is treating the noble King and my Iron Throne as if they were a joke."
Ser Jorah fell silent.
He knew that, no matter what he said, he would only succeed in further stoking Viserys's fury.