Chapter 41 - First Blood

A/N: This will be the first interlude focusing on one of the MC's children, being his eldest daughter. Thanks to FieryMatter and Ascalon451 on SB for beta-ing this chapter.

If anyone is curious on the current state of Dorne under House Rada, go to DeviantArt and sarch for "Map of Dorne from 'Master of Dorne (Rhoynish SI)'" by JaimelelConquistador.

Chapter XLI: First Blood

7 AC

Rhoyehom

Azella Rada

Being the eldest child and heir to the Grand Dukedom of Dornia (Dorne), whose father's achievements eclipsed everything else under the sun - some treacherously whispering that they even eclipsed the glory of the dragonlords - Azella had countless expectations foisted on her ever since she was a child.

Everyone expected her to be the perfect successor to her father's legacy. To continue his work of turning Dornia into a powerhouse capable of standing toe-to-toe with lands like the Reach - or Tegonia as they now called it in High Valyrian - and to be as talented at statecraft, espionage and warfare as he was. How she missed the simple days she buried herself in books all day long with her sister Ismerei, without a worry in the world…

Of course, that did not mean she shirked her training in the martial arts. From a young age, she was instructed in Water Magic by Archmage Garen of the Hydromancers himself, and in the art of combat. Apart from using her arms and legs, she also learned the sword and shield, how to wield a Saoidhar [1] and a shield, and shooting with bow and arrow on foot and horseback.

Not that she necessarily liked her training, but it was a good way to de-stress everytime she felt the expectations get to her, or that her other lessons were becoming unbearably boring.

And now, at the age of ten-and-nine, she was to embark on her maiden battle abroad.

"Father, why do I have to go fight in a war?" Azella asked with concern, "In all honesty, we both know I'm better at clerical work."

"That may be true, but it is also important that you learn what war is really about," Arin gently pointed out, "You do not always have to lead from the front or be a great warrior, but nevertheless there will be a time when you do have to lead. And in the world we live in, war is never far away."

Azella simply sighed; while she did not enter the army or enrol into East Point, due to expectations she had to learn about military strategy and command on the likely possibility that she had to command troops in battle. In Dorne during the rule of House Martell, while women were not necessarily encouraged to fight, there were times when female Dornish generals took to the field and displayed sagacious strategy or intrepid bravery.

Perhaps she would be forced to fight for her life one day, perhaps not. Regardless, she decided to follow her father's famous maxim: 'You are never too prepared unless you are over-cautious'.

"Is it really that important?" Asked Azella.

"Well, I admit I'm loath to send you to war," Arin said, heaving a heavy sigh, "I don't want to see you in grave danger at all. But… being my eldest daughter…"

"I know, Father. I know," Azella nodded in understanding.

Arin nodded, more to himself than to Azella.

"Where am I going?" Azella asked.

"Daeria," Arin answered, "Some Dothraki Khals have begun mustering their khalasars to invade its lands and test its defences. And, while their raids have been sporadic, they are beginning to increase in intensity. I need you to accompany General Doratarn on his duties and learn everything you need to know about war."

"He is one of your best generals," Azella smiled.

"And one of the few I'd entrust with the lives of my children," Arin agreed, "I cannot force you to accept, but I strongly suggest it."

There were few times when Arin asked a request of his dear children, and faced with such earnest desire, what could Azella do but want to make him proud?

"When do I leave?" Asked Azella.

IIOII

Daeria (Volantis)

Stepping off her ship in the renamed capital of Siglissiās (Volantis City), Azella could feel the port itself was alive in ways she did not believe possible.

Stories of Volantis often varied in content, and in one story, taskmasters in the past would cruelly drive slaves to their utmost limit, uncaring if they died during work, and an air of dispirited gloom and doom took hold over the population. Another story said that the shining docks often held a crimson tinge, presumably from the deaths of countless slaves, and in the sunset glow the crimson colour became even more prominent, lending an eerie atmosphere to visitors.

Here the docks shone with a fresh glow, and all its people worked industriously to build a brighter future. They wore clothing akin to a king's wardrobe in their minds, in spite of their simplicity and austerity, and their superiors worked them hard but within reasonable limits. Some workers were lined up at certain buildings, eager to collect their daily wages.

She soon saw a small party of heavily armed men approach her and her escort, recognising the famed General Franklyn Doratarn at the centre.

"My Lady Rada, we have awaited your arrival," Franklyn bowed, then so did his guards, "Please, follow me. The war council is due to begin soon."

They mounted their horses and trotted towards the Archonite Palace. Wherever they went, people would quickly bow in respect and clear their way, something that initially made Azella uncomfortable due to her youth, though she quickly got used to it. People gossiped and whispered at the sight of House Rada's banner fluttering in the wind.

"Look, that's House Rada's banner!"

"One of the great liberators of our country!"

"Conqueror of the Black Walls! [2]"

"Is it true he raised giant towers of wood from wood shavings and conquered the Black Walls?"

Azella resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how absurd stories of her father had become. Sure, exaggeration was often considered a highly treasured talent among storytellers, but there was a fine line between embellishment and outright absurdity. Yet another reminder of the expectations that came with having an overachieving father.

Soon they reached the Archonite Palace, and she had to admit it was artfully built; marble fluted pillars supported the roof at the front as part of the front porch, and atop the columns were arches supported by intricately carved capitals [3] done in the Aemidonian [4] manner - a bell-shaped chalice surrounded by dragon scales and palmettes. There were four such porches serving as the entryway to a central structure with a high domed roof coloured a striking emerald green, the walls painted a cool azure blue and the four gable roofs a warm orange sunset.

Countless Paletillian and local bureaucrats travelled to and from the building under the guards' watchful eye. The guards themselves were dressed in immaculate armour, a steel breastplate with segmented pauldrons, plate greaves and gauntlets, and ridge helms [5] with metallic crests. In their hands were long pikes - ceremonial… but also functional. These were the Kivezakinadian Guard [6], the most elite of the Daerian military, serving as both an honour guard for the Sigligon Archonite Palace and as a frontline shock trooper unit.

The guardsmen bowed to Azella's entourage and parted as they entered the building, Once inside, she found the interior to be equally magnificent, with bright-coloured glazed tiles comprising the flooring and lined by immaculate rugs tailored with intricate patterns. Lanterns kept the entire palace lit, allowing the Dornian party to easily find their way towards the War Room where the other generals were gathered.

Compared to the rest of the Palace, the War Room was spartan in both furnishing and decor, not surprising given its primary function. On a large table was a map of Daeria and the surrounding region, and surrounding the map were several Westerosi and Daerian captains, and the new Archon of Daeria, Saenyra Nohgaris.

As Druselka's close colleague she graduated from East Point with the rank of Second Lieutenant. Though she only held the rank of captain whereas others expected the bearer of the rank of general, she was selected by Aegon Targaryen himself as the new Archon of Daeria.

Many held no doubts he wished to leverage her training and experience in the Dornian Army, both for the benefit of Daeria and Paletillia (The Crownlands). Also, due to her extensive bureaucratic training in the Dornian academies - which included apprenticeships to governors and mayors - she was the one who helped hold the fledgling Archonship together once Arin Rada laid the groundwork.

The fact she was personally endorsed by Arin Rada himself proved a primary contributing factor.

As a result, her family, once a landless family of merchants and bureaucrats, were catapulted into becoming overlords of a country thanks to their eldest daughter's dedication and talent.

And in the two years since the Daerian military was established, they have made significant progress in training waves of eager recruits and officer cadets, all freed slaves. They handled themselves well against roving bandits but fought no other enemy. Furthermore, it took years to train up enough officer cadets to form a proper military High Command, and Daeria lacked the number of officers to do so without relying on Westerosi help.

"My Lady Archon, Her Ladyship Azella Rada," Franklyn bowed as she introduced her.

"Ah, you are Grand Duke Rada's eldest daughter?" Asked Saenyra as she offered a hand.

"The very same," Azella nodded while shaking the offered hand, "Might I know your war council?"

Saenyra nodded, "You already know General Doratarn, so here are my captains: Syrynno Stassaar and Vaeranah Baerrolis."

The man and woman - both bearing patches of pink skin where slave brands used to be - bowed to Azella with respect in their eyes and body language. One good thing about her father's reputation, Azella found.

"I learned from Lord Rada's letter, but are you sure you wish to accompany General Doratarn on this campaign?" Asked Saenyra.

"Yes, Archon Saenyra," Azella answered curtly.

"Very well. Captain Stassaar, if you would begin?" Saenyra beckoned.

"Of course, My Lady," Syrynno spoke, his voice a soft lilt and his body slightly skinny but filled with energy, "Our scouts report that the Dothraki khalasars are amassing into a greater horde that is slowly gathering strength, and it will not be long before they concentrate their strength for one mighty push at the nearest fortress to the northeast of here. I say horde, but in reality it is three separate khalasars."

"They will soon reach the fortress in two days, and in that time we must quickly rush a cavalry and chariot force to the fortress and anticipate their vanguard," Vaeranah added, the young woman bearing a large vertical scar across her milky white left eye, "Once the main army arrives, we will then surround them and finish them off."

"And if there are more khalasars arriving?" Asked Azella.

"There may not be anymore, given that they number close to thirty thousand in total, but we have already sent a request to His Grace to lend us his family's dragons," Saenyra answered.

Thirty thousand was no trouble for the armies of Daeria in terms of size, but the problem was that their military had yet to truly be established; their high command still needed more time to fully take form as their officers accumulate experience, and their troops needed to acclimatise themselves to their new tactics and training, ensuring they would no longer be reliant on Westerosi aid when the time came to withdraw it.

"What about their women and children, and their slaves?" Questioned Azella.

It was a fact that every khalasar was not an army but a roving nomadic clan, each housing warriors and their women and children, and all the slaves they captured on their raids.

"We will free the slaves and welcome them, but regarding the women and children…" Vaeranah's face darkened severely at the mere mention.

"We believe it too much of a risk to take any Dothraki into our nation, for any reason," Syrynno added, glancing at Vaeranah's behaviour, "We will not enslave them, yet we will not welcome them either. They will be forced to return to the mercy of the Great Grass Sea; whether their kin will be merciful to them after defeat is beyond our power."

"They are right, in a way," Saenyra pointed out, "The recent Dothraki raids have left too few desiring them to remain, most especially alive. Many believe it is best to get rid of them before they become a problem."

While Azella would love to put forward her own points, Vaenarah's simmering displeasure at the Dothraki made her question if she should speak.

"Lady Rada, what is your opinion?"

Saenyra decided to give her the opportunity, and so she spoke.

"I believe that after defeating them, we should take in their women and children, and any menfolk who submit to us," She answered bluntly.

Vaeranah's eyes twitched at Azella's answer, though she held her tongue and settled for bottling her simmering emotions while maintaining a facade of civility. Syrynno's face was incredulous, while Franklyn and Saenyra held questioning looks.

"Out of the question; these monsters should never be given an inch of our soil or a place to live," Vaeranah firmly denied, "And you suggest taking them in?"

"Frankly, My Lady, that just sounds illogical in the extreme," Syrynno agreed, "And even if we do take them in, who is to say mobs will not lynch them to the last survivor? Or rather, who is to say they will not cause friction with our people due to their customs?"

Azella had to admit, it was the first time she faced such firm and stubborn refusal for her ideas; most times when her father brought her to meetings, people would either readily agree in support, be it out of genuine belief or to curry favour, or be evasive in their answers.

It shook her, but she remained firm and stoic, determined in the face of opposition.

"Would you mind elaborating, My Lady?" Asked Franklyn, the general sounding more curious though similarly dismissive.

Azella nodded, "The Dothraki respect strength above all else, and without their khal to maintain unity they will crumble apart. As such, when we defeat them in battle and decapitate their leadership, while their bloodriders are oathbound to avenge him or die in the process, and should they live they will try to escort their respective Khaleesis to Vaes Dothrak."

"There is that," Franklyn conceded, "But as Syrynno said, the cultural differences between the Dothraki and the Daerians are as wide as a bottomless chasm. There is also the matter of the countless atrocities they have inflicted on the Essosi long before the Doom of Valyria and during the Century of Blood. The Volantenes of old have also died in droves to their raids, men, women and children alike."

"Perhaps if you simply said to reduce the number of Dothraki we need to fight, I would support your idea," Vaeranah put forth, "But I firmly stand against your idea of taking in the defeated."

"May I ask why?" Asked Azella.

"The Dothraki gave me this scar," Vaeranah said, her eyes turning distant as her face twisted into a visage of dark hatred, "And took my parents from me."

Azella knew better than to pry further into such matters.

"I do not deny the past histories and atrocities of the Dothraki, yet I believe there is benefit to turning the Dothraki to our side," Azella insisted, much to the War Council's displeasure, "They are skilled riders, and if turned to our side, they can prove exceptional cavalry to throw at our enemies while preserving the lives of our own troops. Combine them with our modern tactics, and they will be a force to be reckoned with."

"Those tactics can simply be used against us, My Lady, respectfully speaking," Saenyra pointed out, "And disregarding their potential use, should a khal be defeated in battle by us and choose to submit, what would happen then? I heard that a khalasar's unity only lasts as long as the khal himself remains undefeated."

"Then he will cut his own braid and throw it at our feet, and will submit to our mercy. Although I admit, according to my studies, they prefer death over dishonour, and as such they consider surrender to be the utmost shame," Azella answered, her words articulate and her eyes clear, "Once the khal is dead or surrenders, his remaining riders will fight among themselves to lead their own subsidiary khalasars, reducing the number of Dothraki we need to fight. If we remove the fighting men, the khal and the bloodriders, where else do the women and children have to go? And as I said earlier, the Dothraki respect strength; there will be Dothraki menfolk who may be more amicable to the idea of submitting to our mercy, if they find no reason to fight on or rebel or betray us. Depending, of course, if they find the prospect favourable."

Although there was clear logic in Azella's words and historical evidence of khalasars disuniting after the khal's defeat lent credence to her idea, the War Council remained firmly unconvinced.

Only Franklyn seemed to show a curious yet cautious interest in her plans.

"If the captured warriors prove rebellious, traitorous and such?" Asked Franklyn.

"Then we deal with them accordingly," Azella shrugged, drawing a hand across her neck.

"How do we ensure their loyalty, for that matter?" Franklyn pressed harder, "If they rebel no matter what, then I am sad to say your idea will not work, My Lady."

"We place men of fighting age on the frontlines and have them fight," Azella answered, "The widowed womenfolk, we can marry them to our soldiers and have them raise their children within the safety of our city walls rather than chance the unknown. Those same children will be more likely to repay that gratitude with their inherent horsemanship once they are grown, and come to see themselves indebted to the city that took them in. In the eventuality another khalasar comes demanding tribute or blood, those same children will likely be among our defenders."

"This relies on far too many unknown factors that we have no control over, Lady Azella," Vaeranah interjected, "I do not support such a risky proposal."

"Neither can I, Lady Azella," Syrynno nodded.

"We won't know until we try," Azella offered.

"Perhaps, My Lady," Franklyn cut in, "But this is all mere theory with no proven results."

"General Doratarn is right, My Lady, and considering that the lives of our people are at stake, I also cannot lend my support to your plan for the Dothraki," Saenyra gently informed, to which Azella could only wordlessly nod, "We shall postpone this matter for now until the Dothraki are dealt with. Is that acceptable for you, My Lady?"

"Yes, Archon Nohgaris," Azella answered, holding back her sigh of disappointment.

Saenyra nodded, "This council is dismissed. Make your preparations; we must depart after our luncheon."

Azella had to admit, it was hard to deal with people not truly accepting her idea despite her status and the logic of her argument.

What she did not tell them was that from young, she grew up with stories of warrior nomadic peoples told to her and her siblings from their father; the Sarmatians who served as Auxilla of the Roman Empire; the Jurchens and Mongolians who invaded the Empire of China - a country much like Yi-Ti; the Hunnic mercenaries employed by the Eastern Roman Empire against their rivals, the Persians.

She heard tales of how their nomadic traditions, combined with modern technology and tactics, served to turn these once-primitive peoples into forces of nature on the battlefield, and particularly in the case of China, the Mongolians sowed such widespread destruction and mayhem that they conquered much of the known world before their empire inevitably collapsed, and the total death toll they inflicted in a short few decades totalled between thirty-and-seven to sixty million, far more than all the Dothraki raids in recorded history.

Could anyone blame her for wanting to put them to use for the benefit of their ally?

And yet, such was the reality of politics.

IIOII

The cavalry rode hard and fast, straining their horses until they neared exhaustion to cover as much time as possible on their trek towards Fort Kaslock, where the Dothraki khalasars were going to attack.

Along the way, they changed horses at relay stations, allowing them to cover much more distance without any delay and avoid wasting precious steeds. Soon they made their way towards the fortress where the local garrison received them.

Franklyn was the first to greet the garrison commander, "Arelos, what is the status of the garrison?"

"Well-stocked in provisions and ready for a siege, milord," Captain Arelos answered, "The men await your command."

Hearing this, Franklyn gave his command, "Get them building a triple line of spiked barricades and prepare the infantry to take positions behind. We charge once the Dothraki charge is broken."

"Yes, milord!" Arelos saluted and went off to perform his duties.

"Watch the preparation process carefully, My Lady," Franklyn suggested, "It could be the difference between life and death."

"Of course, General," Said Azella.

The men were hard at work chopping wood into sharpened spikes before fastening them to logs. These obstacles, which Arin called a cheval de frise [7], were then placed in triple rows in front of a group of infantry. The cavalry took a detour and took cover in a nearby forest, ready to ambush the Dothraki in the rear.

Entrusting the cavalry to a Dornian captain, Franklyn and Azella took their place in the centre of the troop formations, where they awaited the arrival of the Dothraki.

The Daerian (Volantene) men were tense, sweat dripping down their foreheads both in anticipation and fear. The Dornian men, on the other hand, were calm and composed in the face of the encroaching danger, all of them veterans with years of experience.

Then they heard a distant rumbling like the slow thumping of earth, followed by the distant screeching and screaming - a war cry of savages.

"Here they come!" Franklyn shouted hurriedly, "All troops in positions!"

A soldier blew a crisp note on the horn, and shields were locked as spears were aimed at the encroaching cloud of dust.

Azella felt her legs trembling, shaking like jelly.

From the dust cloud poured three thousand Dothraki. Bronze-skinned, half-naked barbarians screaming with bloodthirst. Azella felt her legs trembling, shaking like jelly, as she contemplated what the Dothraki did with their captive women. She resolved to never be captured.

"Archers prepare!" Franklyn ordered.

"Nock!" The captains ordered.

Arrows were nocked on bowstrings, strung on long, powerful composite bows crafted with Dornian expertise.

"Draw!"

Bowstrings were pulled back, and the force required amounted to as much as seventy kilograms [8] - more than enough to puncture most forms of armour save plate.

"Loose!"

At once the twangs of bowstrings filled the air as arrows flew towards the Dothraki with unerring accuracy, and dozens of screamers were felled in the initial volleys, mounts tripping over and crushing themselves and riders by sheer momentum.

If the Dothraki had any tactical sense or simple logic, they would have realised that their lack of armour meant they were easy prey to projectile weaponry for both rider and mount, and with the sheer momentum of their charge dragging down scores of their number they effectively lost momentum in their charge. As a result, they would need to move and flank around their foes' defenses instead, harassing their enemy with arrows and dancing in circles while they employed other tactics to get rid of the cheval du frises.

If their archery was as good as their horsemanship, if they wielded the same composite bows with high draw power and equally durable arrows, they would have been able to find purchase in the new sets of half-plate armour most troops were outfitted with, perhaps even scoring some kills by landing arrows in weak spots.

But the Dothraki have none of those ifs. So they charged, and they died.

With unerring courage and determination, the Dothraki screeched again and continued their charge, eager to wet their blades with Daerian blood, but the Daerian and Dornian archers continued loosing volley after volley, their harsh training bearing fruit.

Scorpions launched bolts that fell Dothraki in twos and threes, while catapults slung barrels of Tucosar Fire that immolated hordes of Dothraki packed tightly together. Screams of agony filled the air as did the smell of roasting flesh, and many immolated Dothraki danced in unnatural rhythms while struggling and failing to put themselves out. Their suffering was mercifully cut short soon after by trampling.

Then the Dothraki attempted to jump past the first obstacle, landing straight onto the cheval du frises. Dozens were impaled upon the spiked traps; those who weren't killed at once were nevertheless stuck beyond hope. At Franklyn's signal, pikemen moved forward and began spearing the survivors to death at their leisure, while archers picked stragglers off at close range.

Once enough of the vanguard closed the distance with the spiked barricades, Franklyn gave his next order, "Send the signal!"

The horn blew again. This time there was the rumbling of horse hooves thumping on the ground, and the Dothraki cried out in alarm as some saw dust clouds rising behind them. The cavalry had arrived, ready to take the Dothraki vanguard head-on.

Lances and axes hacked the Dothraki to pieces, the new Daerian cavalry soullessly carving flesh and bone apart with scimitar and axe. One Dothraki raider tried to flee, terrified for his life, only for a Dornian cataphract to run him down as one horse hoof crushed his chest for good measure. Another tried fighting back, brandishing his arakh [9] in a desperate attempt to parry, only to bey beheaded with a half-hearted swing. A lance speared through another Dothraki rider and mount, and both were sent falling to the ground as the lance cracked from sheer strain. Faced with such a one-sided slaughter, the Dothraki finally lost their nerve and tried to flee. At this the Daerians were buoyed with courage, many banding swords on shields or thumping pikes on the ground as they chanted in unison as a choir, some even screaming as loudly as the Dothraki themselves.

"Die! Die! Die!"

"Die, Dothraki curs! Come and die at the hands of proud Daerians!"

"We are no slaves, we are Daerians, free and proud!"

It occurred to Azella that perhaps, having lived in fear of the Dothraki for so long in light of a lack of proper warfare and soldiery, no thanks to greedy Magisters and illogical sensibilities, the Daerians chanted these screams to banish their fear from their hearts and minds.

No, that was incorrect. They did so as they imagined the sight of Dothraki running down their family members, of the women being defiled and their children being slaughtered like cattle, etching that fear into their hearts, turning that fear into anger and hatred.

Franklyn then gave another order.

"Charge! Leave none alive!"

The Daerians proved most enthusiastic, slaughtering the Dothraki like cattle, just as the Dothraki themselves once slaughtered countless hapless Essosi villagers who had no power to resist them. Domineering warriors who once lorded their strength over the weak and hapless were themselves rendered powerless, butchered with an efficiency that put the Unsullied to shame. The Dothraki screamed with fear and agony as they died, and more than a few soiled their own pants and wept rivers of tears and snot, the smell of blood, piss and guts mixing to form a potent concoction of rancid air that made Azella want to gag so badly.

She saw a few Dothraki approach, their blades brandished, their eyes wide open and hysterical and spittle flying from their mouths. Brandishing her own scimitar and water magic, she cut down her fair share of enemies, and blood splattered across her armour and face.

This was the first time she killed other humans in her whole life. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to run away and clean herself of all this grime, blood and filth.

Was this what her father had to deal with during the War of Roses and Serpents and his rebellion against House Martell? Was this what he and countless Dornian soldiers experienced in their long years of service?

It was as Arin said: There was no glory and lustre in war, just slaughter and hell for the loser.

Before long the last of the Dothraki were slain. The victorious men let out a jubilant roar, for these fresh soldiers of Daeria scored first blood against the Dothraki, and with results that exceeded even the most optimistic expectations.

Franklyn cheered with his men, while Azella simply remained silent as she stared at the carnage, still shocked and struggling to comprehend it all.

"My Lady? Are you alright?"

Azella jumped slightly when Franklyn asked her.

"I-I'm fine, General," Azella reassured.

Franklyn did not seem convinced, but wordlessly nodded.

"This was just an advance party. We haven't seen the last of the Dothraki, so do expect more battles in the coming weeks," He gently informed her.

"I understand," Azella nodded, "I'll leave my life in your hands, General."

War. War never changes, no matter its face.

And if the Dothraki were willing to invade a nation simply for existing… she feared that war with their kind would continue for as long as the Dothraki themselves existed - a vicious, unending cycle.

She could only take comfort in the fact the men demonstrated great resolve and talent this day.

[1] Saoidhar - The Rhoynar term for the curved swords i.e. scimitars used predominantly by the Dornians. More specifically, they resemble the kilij, a curved blade of Turkish origin; a one-handed, single-edged curved scimitar that saw widespread use in the Ottoman Empire during its Islamization along with the Timurid, Seljuk and Mamluk Empires. It serves both ceremonial and pragmatic purposes in the Dornian army.

[2] Conqueror of the Black Walls - Another title that Arin Rada earned from breaching the top ramparts of the Black Walls using specially-made siege towers.

[3] Capital - In stone architecture, the capital of a column is the top section of a column, often enhanced with decorative details, and one basic style of column capitals is the Aemidonian style.

[4] Aemidonian Manner - A general term used to refer to the Targaryen-era architecture widely employed in the Targaryen domain during the Century of Blood. Named after the master architect Aemidon Maenareon who first served during the early years of Targaryen rule on Dragonstone.

[5] Ridge Helms - Named such after the longitudinal ridge that united the helmet's construction: A bowl made up of two or four parts. This included cheek guards that protected the cheeks from laceration by sharp objects.

[6] Kivezakinadian Guard - The elite guard of the new nation of Daeria, its members selected from veteran Daerians who passed their training with flying colours and excelled in battle. They serve both as ceremonial honour guard and shock trooper battalions in war.

The etymology of this word is derived from a mix of three words in High Valyrian: Kīvio (oath, pledge, vow) + Jakegon (to accompany, to join) + Nēdys (brave person), which together formed Kīvijakenēdys, its closest translation being 'Bravery joined in oath'.

After remodelling the word for ease of hearing and simplifying pronunciation, it morphed into Kīvizakenēdy (KEE-vih-ZAH-keh-NEIGH-dy).

Then the Westerosi reinterpreted it into the common tongue - or Westerosi, as Arin insisted - and it became Kivezakinadian. The name has since entered common use.

[7] Cheval de Frise - It exists primarily as a static anti-cavalry defense, but also a quick stopgap measure to close breaches. Its invention is attributed to ancient China, and historical records suggest it was used there as early as the 4th century BC and was used to protect cities, forts and other strategic locations from enemy attack.

[8] Kilogram - One of the SI (Standard International) units devised by Arin Rada and implemented province-wide across all Dornian lands. SI units themselves revolutionised logistics and trade, preventing people from fleecing others due to mismatched units that, more often than not, resulted in customers getting too much or too little cloth for a certain amount of payment for example.

[9] Arakh - The traditional sword of Dothraki soldiers, resembling the Egyptian khopesh.