The Kingdom of His Forefathers
The wind was biting cold, as a silhouetted figure stood outside the balcony basking in the pale light of the rising sun. The figure was hulking, perhaps six and five feet tall and could easily weigh eighteen stones of what could only be pure muscle. Thick furs covered him, the shiny hairs gleaming in the growing pale sunlight that was seen through the encroaching dark clouds filled with what he could only presume was more of the frozen water that had been coating this land ever since he first stepped onto it's wet soil near seven years ago.
Khal Drogo, the Greatest Khal to ever roam the Dothraki Sea, was who looked over the near frozen wasteland with contempt and annoyance as the first flakes began to fall from the sky and find it's way into his dark ebony hair. Should I have known this land had been as it is... I would have taken more khalasars under my rule. The thought was one that crossed his mind more times than naught as he looked over the world in the early morn, the world he had promised to hand to his Khaleesi and their unborn son ten years prior. If I known what awaited me... Would I have still come? Dark eyes glanced down from the nearly hidden sun to the men who had risen from their beds to begin their duties for the day. He could barely tell who was Dothraki and who was not anymore. The once bare nomads had conformed to the style of clothing befit for the weather, just as he himself had, if only to stave off the cold that bore itself down into their bones. In truth, only the barely visible jahak upon their heads could be used to cast them apart from the Westerosi men that now lay under his command.
I may have control over these men...but so many more I have not conquered. Since they had stepped onto this land with over forty thousand dothraki, eight thousand unsullied, and three dragons they had faced nothing but a battle upon all sides. Be it human or otherwise. That thought forced a chill down his spine. Before coming to this land there was little he could name that evoked even the tiniest sliver of fear from him. He laughed in the face of death, fought the Great Stallion to be returned to his wife and son that he had left behind, and had trained temperamental dragons with out a second thought to them killing him with barely any effort. Yet corpses with eyes of ice, blackened hands, and a body that would not die by normal means . . . Even the strongest of men should have the smallest ounce of fear for those things. The beasts born of ice, only destroyed by the flame.
The dragons were the only reason they had survived thus far within the war, and the major factor in getting many of the 'kingdoms' within the land of Westeros to bend the knee to them. It was the beasts who had secured their current home, Highgarden, and won them the Walker infested North. Only Kings Landing, Casterly Rock, The Eyrie, and Dragonstone. . . It was a comforting thought to know only they remained . . . it was far easier to concentrate upon the war beyond the wall when those who were left would rather hold themselves up within the confines of their walls hoping that they, or the beasts from the wall, would not come upon them.
A sigh slipped from wind parched lips before the copper skinned man removed himself from the balcony railing and returned through the large bay doors to the warmth of the room he shared with his slumbering Khaleesi. Within the silken sheets of their large bed she lay, the troubles of the day absent upon her beautiful face. "Jalan atthirar anni..." He whispered mostly to himself, waking her was not something he desired. Not now. The Goddess born mortal that lay with him at night needed her rest. Feet carried him closer to her as if drawn by her beauty before he bent at the waist, lips brushing against her own in the lightest of kisses.
Pulling away, Drogo turned making his way from the warmth and inviting bedroom. He knew if he stayed he would not leave... He would find himself within the arms of the Mother of Dragons and there he would drift away to a world without the threat of demons of ice wanting to rip his throat from his body. I promised my son I was his today.
The thought of his son, the Stallion who Mounts the World, the Khal of Khals, and soon to be King of all the Lands eased the rest of the tension that had welled up inside of his body. Only ten years he had lived yet the boy was far fiercer than men twice his age with a blade. Smarter, faster, stronger and with his mother's gentle heart when it called for it. A King and Khal he was born to be. Making his way through the torch lit hallways, Drogo counted the similar doors as he passed them until he reached the one his son occupied during the evenings. Without knocking he let himself in, dark brown eyes dancing around the room to see if the boy was already awake . . . He was not surprised to see him dressed and staring out the window towards the training field below his window.
Slipping inside and behind the boy he placed his large hand upon his shoulder speaking lightly now. "Erin aena Khalakka anni. hash yer remeki chek?" His voice was gentle as he looked upon him now, a soft expression saved only for his son and wife upon his scared face. Glancing down at what his son was looking at moments before, Drogo smiled faintly. "They are only boys who barely know what to do with a sword."