The Undead Horde Of The Great Grass Sea (GOT)

Pentoshi Council Room

In a large, open courtroom, a council of men convened. These men, the magisters of Pentos, were deep in discussion about the growing hordes in the Great Grass Sea. Amid the incoherent grumblings, a man adorned in a yellow turban and silken golden robes rose to speak.

"We have paid our gifts to the savages, and if that fails, we will hire sellswords to fight them. I do not see a problem," he declared, twirling his mustache as he took his seat.

"Calm yourselves," another voice cut through the noise. "You all speak the truth, but one matter we forget is that a city has fallen. When was the last time the Dothraki took to burning cities? Not since the Century of Blood. Drogo has been somewhat of a shield, but now there is another—and he does not play by the same rules. This undead Khal, Rohan. The information trickling down to us says his horde rides in the night. You hear nothing until the burning and looting begin. Qohor is no more. They fell for killing three of his women. A city of tens of thousands was put to death. Something has changed, my fellow magisters."

The speaker, a young man unusually calm for someone discussing impending doom, looked around the room. The murmurs grew louder until a man with a yellow beard interjected, "We could hire sellswords and send gifts before he decides to come to our gates."

Manse in Norvos

In a lavish manse in Norvos, a girl with silver-white hair and striking purple eyes practiced walking with impeccable posture. Women surrounded her, showering her with compliments on her beauty. Nearby stood a young man with the same hair and eye color. Slim and with a sword at his waist, he stood beside an older man in green robes, whose hands were tucked into his sleeves.

"When are we meeting this Drogo and getting my army?" the young man demanded impatiently.

"My prince, Drogo seems busy dealing with another rival," the older man replied. "This rival, another Khal, could also be a good match for your sister."

"This other Khal? Why isn't he here?" the young man snapped.

"The undead Khal is in Qohor, a few days from here. If you wish, we could send a message to him. But if you truly want this cooperation, I believe Khal Rohan is the one we should approach. He is more likely to sail to Westeros for you and your sister."

"What do you mean by that?" the young man asked, glancing at his sister, who continued her elegant practice.

"The undead Khal reportedly burned Qohor for his women. Your sister, while young, is a rare beauty. If a city was worth three women, what would he do for a beauty like her? I doubt even the sea would stop his horde from burning Westeros."

The older man's words planted a thought in the young man's mind. He could keep his sister for himself. What man would not want a woman as rare as her? But knowing he had already sent a letter and gifts to Qohor in hopes of softening this new power in Essos, he grinned.

"Yes, you are right. She would finally be useful. Make plans for us to meet this savage. Even though I think it lowly to sell the blood of the dragon to these savages, I need their armies. Once the throne is mine, I will take her back, kill whatever spawn she sires, and she will bear me pure-blooded Targaryens."

The delusional young man's vision of his future brightened by the second, while the dark-skinned merchant beside him thought silently, *How can a man be so lacking? The gods truly played a cruel joke, leaving the hope of a dynasty in such hands.*

---

 Vaes Rhaeshisofrak, Horse Palace (Formerly Qohor's Old Palace)

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the grand quarters of the newly named Horse Palace. A lean, muscular man with wiry Muscles thrust into a petite platinum blonde woman lying on her side, one leg draped over his shoulder.

*My mornings have become feasts of the flesh,* the man thought as her pale skin glistened with sweat. Her moans of ecstasy filled the room. She was called Helena, the daughter of some noble from the city. It mattered little. His thrusts grew more vigorous and intense. She had climaxed thrice during the session. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled inside her before withdrawing and finishing on her stomach.

He gestured for her to move to the bathing area before turning his attention to Maria, his favorite. She was always his first and last woman in the mornings. Crawling towards him, Maria spoke in a language he did not understand but said was Yitish, her mother's tongue. Whatever she said, she never explained. Her lips and tongue wrapped around him, moving with reckless abandon. Her choked and slobbering sounds filled the air as Helena crawled weakly to the bath.

Before the session dragged on, he pulled Maria off and repositioned her. Taking a sitting stance, she mounted him. Locking eyes, she impaled herself, her thick hips slamming down. They rutted like beasts until his instincts took over. Pinning her onto her back, he raised her legs into a mating press and drilled into her. Her cries grew louder as she climaxed around him, her walls tightening. With a primal grunt, he released deep inside her.

I died young once and left nothing behind in my old world. Here, I will leave hundreds, he thought as his climax subsided. Picking Maria up, he moved toward the bath. His leg stung, but he ignored it. The four other women glanced at him, their awe mixed with fear. Few could endure his presence without succumbing to terror. Whatever ominous nature his rituals had awakened, it worked.

As he washed, the door burst open. The twins Braga and Bejan entered, dragging a man in colorful clothing. Braga spoke first. "Men have arrived."

Bejan finished, "Bearing gifts from the princess."

Braga spat, "They come from the river."

The man in colorful garb glanced at the women, his inadequacy evident in his expression. The Khal gestured for his women to stop. Maria rose from the water, addressing the man in the common tongue. "Who sent you?" she asked.

After a brief exchange, she translated. "He says he was sent by a merchant in the service of Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys Targaryen. They wish to meet the great undead Khal."

The Khal turned, his presence silencing the room. He walked out of the water, Bejan assisting him with a robe. Turning to the colorful man, he spoke in broken common. "Let them know we trade with all who come in peace." Maria giggled at his attempt at the language. Returning to Dothraki, he commanded, "Tell your masters that Vaes Rhaeshisofrak is open to trade, but only if you come by boat. If you approach by land, you will be killed."

Maria translated, and the man's face paled. "I will accept your gifts. Leave now. Your prince and princess have ten days to meet me. After that, only more gifts will do."

The man nodded, relieved to be leaving alive, desperate to escape the presence of the man who reeked of death itself.