The Pale Khal
~~~(Location:The Dothraki sea,Essos)~~~
~~~(Date:23AC)~~~
A year passed since Aerys' exile began. He spent this time traveling between the major Free Cities, such as Volantis, Lys, and Myr. On the surface, Aerys seemed to immerse himself in the lavish feasts and pleasures each city had to offer. while Maegor was nowhere to be seen.
Word of Aery's arrival and exploits would precede him as he moved between locations. Merchants, moneylenders, and aspiring allies sought favors or alliances with the young dragon prince. However, Aerys was careful not to get entangled with any one faction or scheme.
He knew well that rumors of his behavior would find their way back to Aegonfort. By now, his father the king had likely grown tired of reports detailing Aerys' apparent whims and excursions. The purposeful pattern of disappearances and reappearances helped cement the impression Aerys wished to give.
In truth, Aerys spent much of his private time learning all he could about the cultures, histories, and power structures of the Free Cities. He mingled with merchants and well-traveled folk to expand his knowledge. While seen as indulgent, Aerys was quietly gathering insight and contacts for what was to come next.
After a year, Aerys calculated that the king had stopped paying heed to the reports of his son's activities long ago. It was time to embark on the second move of his plans beyond the king's notice.
~~~(Location:The Dothraki sea,Essos)~~~
~~~(Date:23AC)~~~
Khal Jommo POV:
The screams had faded into the night. Jommo surveyed the smoking ruins before him, remnants of yet another settlement conquered by his khalasar. His bloodriders approached atop their mounts, dragging struggling captives.
"These will make suitable slaves, Khal," said Qorro, gesturing to gagged women and children of the village. Jommo nodded, disinterested. Spoils of war meant little to him now - only the thrill of conquest held any allure.
Jommo turned to his bloodriders. "We make camp here tonight. Burn what remains of the village - let nothing be left for the scavengers."
As the campfires were lit, dark clouds rolled in and fat drops of rain began to fall. The wind picked up rapidly. Jommo could sense a powerful storm approaching.
He ordered his men to secure the wagons and tie down any loose equipment or livestock. The Dothraki scrambled to prepare as the rain turned into a downpour. Thunder rumbled in the distance, soon followed by flashes of lightning on the horizon.
As the storm reached its height, the thunder sounded almost continuously. During one particularly loud clap, a massive shadow moved across the sky momentarily. But in the next flash of light, nothing was there.
The storm raged through the night. As dawn broke, Jommo rose, restless from troubled dreams. His bloodriders were eating by the fire when a strange cry rose from the watch.
Jommo turned around and saw a man standing alone, dressed in Dothraki attire but not a part of the Dothraki tribe. This man was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. He had pale skin and blood-red hair, and when their eyes met, Jommo saw nothing but flames in the stranger's amethyst gaze.
"Khal Jommo, my name is Rakharro, and I challenge you here before this host to be the new khal," said the stranger.
Khal Jommo had ruled his khalasar for nearly four decades, an unprecedentedly long reign for a leader of the Dothraki. Though age had silvered his once coal-black hair and put wrinkles around his keen dark eyes, his muscled frame remained as dense and powerful as ever.
At well over six feet tall, Jommo towered even above his largest bloodriders. He carried himself with the unbending pride and authority expected of a true khal. His face, weathered from decades in the sun and grass, still retained its strong features.
All who gazed upon Jommo knew they beheld a warrior. Scars crisscrossed his tanned flesh where blades and beasts had tested him. His massive hands could wield an arakh effortlessly or crush skulls like eggshells.
Even in his advancing years, none dared question Jommo's ferocity or right to lead. He remained a living legend among his tribe, just as feared and admired as in his prime. It was said that when Jommo rode into battle many years ago, even the clouds fled before his fury.
Now in his waning days, the Dothraki way demanded that only the strongest rule. And so Jommo had come to terms with his time ending, facing the challenger Aerys with dignity befitting the great khal he was.
A thrill rose from the assembled khalasar as a challenge against the khal was issued.
"Blood of my blood, allow me to dispatch this outsider for you," demanded Qorro, one of Khal Jommo's fiercest bloodriders.
The Khal considered Qorro's request, meeting his gaze. After a paused, Jommo gave a slight nod of approval.
Rising from his place, Qorro unsheathed his arakhs and strode toward the stranger, eager to prove his worth. The spectators withdrew to the perimeter, clearing a wide circle in anticipation of violence.
The pale man withdrew his blade - a slim, supple sword. Spying this, Qorro broke into gruff laughter. "No stone walls to hide behind now, sheep!" he bellowed, ruthlessly drawing his curved arakh.
The combatants approached one another across the dusty arena. Qorro struck a confident figure, armed with the brutal Dothraki blade. The pale man seemed doomed against such an opponent, with only his slender foreign steel as protection.
Yet when they met in a fury of clanging metal, a remarkable turn unfolded. The pale man wielded his sword with astonishing speed and precision. Qorro found his arakh sliced clean in two, the halves sent spinning through the air.
Simultaneously, the pale man's follow-through caught Qorro across his midsection. The bloodrider stood dumbfounded, stunned body halved to match his ruined weapon. Two grisly pieces toppled apart as the crowd roared in disbelief.
The victor turned to the Khal, who still gazed in astonishment from where sat. "You demonstrate great weakness, Khal Jommo, by relying on others to fight your battles," he called loudly for all to hear.
"Do you lack the courage to face an opponent yourself, without sending your men first to die in your place? Or have you simply grown too frail to uphold the traditions of mortal combat among leaders?"
"A true khal would meet a challenge head-on like a man, not cower behind the flesh of his riders. Your demise exposes you as either a craven...or a spent force unfit to rule this khalasar any longer."
Slowly, Jommo pushed himself up from where he sat. With steady strides, he approached the pale stranger eyeing him impassively.. This day he had expected since his hair turned silver.
"For too long your kind have flapped tongues where steel should speak," Jommo said evenly. "Today the outsider's empty claims will be answered in the arena, as the old ways demand."
He rested a hand on the pommel of his arakh. "Your victory was hard-won and has earned you an honorable demise. But a Khal's reign ends only when he can no longer answer the call of combat."
Jommo drew himself up to his full height. "Leave boasts behind. Now let actions be your voice, pale rider, and we shall see who leaves these sands alive."
At Jommo's signal, the combatants gripped their curved arakhs and began to slowly circle one another, eyes locked in wary assessment. Without warning, the Khal feinted and launched a lightning assault.
But Aerys parried the blow with effortless precision and immediately countered with a strike of his own. Their blades sang as the exchange began, blows raining fast and furious. Jommo pressed his relentless attack yet found no openings in Aerys' poised defense.
While sweat poured from the aging Khal's muscles as they protested the duel's demands, Aerys continued fighting with inexhaustible grace and skill. Seeing an opportunity, he executed a dazzling feint that caught Jommo off balance. A killing thrust followed and the great Khal crumpled before him, gazing up in stunned defeat.
Aerys wasted not a moment to deliver the deathblow. With a forceful swing he severed Jommo's head in a single clean arc. It struck the dust amid a hush that fell over the assembled horde, as the bodies of conqueror and conquered alike registered what had just transpired.
The Khal's remains slumped backward in the dirt while his lifeblood soaked the sands. Aerys held the severed head aloft by its braids, meeting thousands of eyes across the silent crowd with a look of defiance and triumph. A new era had begun on the Dothraki sea.
Aerys threw Jommo's head to the ground with finality. "A new khal rides tonight!" He pointed his bloody blade skyward. "I have defeated Jommo in combat, as is the Dothraki way. By right of victory, this khalasar is mine to command!"
His bloodriders cried out in rage and charged as tradition demanded. But Aerys overwhelmed them even more handily than Jommo. Within moments, four bodies lay still in the dust.
Aerys stood over the fallen khal and met his eyes. "You fought with honor, Khal Jommo. Your riders now ride the Nightlands as well."
Aerys grabbed an arakh. With a clean slice, he felled Jommo's stallion. Its body would carry the fallen khal in the nightlands.
Aerys then built Jommo's funeral pyre according to Dothraki's rite. The Khal's body and treasures were placed on the third level, facing west towards the setting sun. His slain mount lay below.
That evening, as the first star twinkled in the darkening sky, Aerys lit the wood ablaze as was tradition. Flames consumed Jommo and his riders upon the pyre.
The riders of the khalasar looked to Aerys now, this unusual stranger who had bested their leader in fair combat. He had honored Jommo with the proper rites of a great khal passed. And so the leadership of this tribe was rightfully his to claim.