Chapter 5, The Forests of Qohor

When he was a young child, Valandil's lord father often told him of the great majesty and beauty of the mallorn trees that had grown in the western provinces of Numenor, a gift to the Dunedain from the Eldar. In his youth, he had often dreamt of seeing a real mallorn, with its mighty silver trunk and golden blossoms. The great trees of the Forest of Qohor did not equal the mellyrn of his dreams, but still his heart was joyed to ride amongst the vast, wild, beautiful forest. He rode beneath a sun-lit golden canopy, along trails dappled with light streaming through the leaves above. Across the back of his saddle was slung a deer fawn's carcass. It lay limply across Velo's haunches, secured to the saddle by ropes, with a single puncture wound in its neck. Valandil was simply dressed for his hunt, clad in a green tunic with brown trousers, and his grey cloak secured around his shoulders, hood down, his head bare. His silver eagle broach glinted in the sunbeams of the forest.

All was silence while he rode. He was some distance from the khalasar yet, he judged. The approach of Drogo's horde had driven all animal life away in its path, he had had to ride far from the khalasar to find game. One arrow shot from a steelbow at a hundred paces had dispatched the fawn easily enough, but getting it back to the khalasar for the khaleesi's dinner was rather a more time-consuming task. Breathing deep of the fresh forest air, Valandil spurred Velo to a light trot down the trail. The gelding was surefooted and swiftly passed amongst the trees at a brisk pace.

The air was warm, the sun was shining, but as he rode Valandil found himself filled with thoughts. It had been some time since he had last written a letter to his family. Since Braavos at least… I should have sent them something in Pentos he thought. He had felt trapped in Minas Ithil, yet he could not help but miss his family. He missed Aratan, his constant companion in the sparring yard or on the hunt. He missed Ciryon, bright-eyed and quick to mirth, and Elendur, who had always been the wisest just as he was the eldest. He missed dour, ever-faithful Ohtar, and his crooked, oft-broken nose. He missed his lord father Isildur with his booming laugh and kindly smiles. He missed all of Elendur and Ciryon's children, his nephews and nieces. I left to see the world, and found that I miss my home more and more every day, despite the wondrous places I have seen he mused. I left in search of adventure, in search of a cause for my sword, and what have I found? A boy who calls himself a king, heir only to a toppled dynasty of madmen… If only his sister had been born elder, or born a man. Yet I swore an oath, and I cannot throw that aside. Nor can I abandon a friend, and Jorah is a good friend and true. Perhaps though, with the counsel of a Numenorean, these Targaryens may be shown the path of wisdom. There were fair and just Targaryens kings once, it may be that there shall be again.

There had been a singing of birds amongst the gold-clad branches, but it soon disappeared. As he rode, Valandil heard the sounds of the khalasar drifting closer through the air. There was the steady clop of thousands of hooves, and beneath it the relentless, neverending tramping feet of the thralls. Drawing closer, the smell of the khalasar wafted through the trees. A smell of sweat, horseflesh and manure, thick,and overbearing. Valandil nudged Velo into a brisker trot. He was close now, the khalasar could not be far.

"Who goes!?" cried a voice in the harsh tongue of the Dothraki. Valandil reined his horse in as the brush to his right erupted with a trio of Dothraki, arakhs and bows in hand, mounted atop large, snorting horses. Out-riders, the picquets of the khalasar, deployed ahead and on all sides of the main column to ensure the khalasar could not be ambushed… And to search for foes or plunder.

"Thorongil!" Valandil shouted, putting up a hand. "It's Thorongil! Friend!" he added in what little of the Dothraki speech he knew.

The foremost rider studied Valandil's face closely, almond-shaped eyes flicking across Valandil's features and down to the carcass secured by his saddle. He exchanged a few words with his fellow riders, and then waved Valandil on. Nodding to the out-riders, Valandil spurred his horse on.

It was only a short time before he finally rejoined the horde.

The vast main column of Drogo's horde stretched out as far as the eye could see in either direction. Jorah had told him that it numbered over forty thousand warriors, and Valandil believed it. Forty thousand riders, and their families and children, their slaves and thralls, and many camp followers beside it all. Over a hundred thousand people welded together by the strength and will of Khal Drogo, and all on the move. There was great power in this khalasar, Valandil could tell. This was the great tidal wave of men and horses which Viserys Targaryen intended to use to engulf the Eight Kingdoms and reclaim his father's throne. With this vast force, Viserys would bring fire and slaughter, terror and war upon the kingdoms of the West. And yet, Valandil noted, they marched east in accordance with Dothraki custom, not west following Viserys' will.

Reining Velo around, Valandil rejoined the khalasar's line of march. Two of the slaves immediately began to unburden his horse, untying the fawn's carcass from his saddle. In broken Dothraki, Valandil told them that the venison was for the khaleesi tonight, and the slaves both nodded silently. The slaves of the Dothraki were always silent to him, he had noticed, like dogs that had been beaten too much and cringed at the mere sight of people. Poor souls he thought sadly Children of Iluvatar deserve better than thralldom.

Valandil reflected on the two Targaryens while he rode up the column at a leisurely walk, looking for his wards. It had been over a month since he had come into their service as their protector, and he was beginning to know them very well.

The elder was Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, and the self-styled rightful Lord of the Eight Kingdoms, though more men knew him as the Beggar King. Viserys was a proud man that much Valandil knew for sure. He was proud, ambitious and looked back on a mighty heritage that stretched back for centuries, yet he was also impatient and swift to anger. He called his wrath "waking the dragon". The dragon is a light sleeper Valandil mused, thinking on the many times he had had to speak soft words of counsel to the would-be king, to avoid his anger over this or that foolish thing. He seemed to have utterly no regard for the Dothraki who he intended to use as his army. With every passing day, Valandil could see Viserys' frustration continue to grow at their eastward march, and with frustration came his temper and its inevitable foolishness. He will undermine all his ambitions by himself if I do not stop him. Perhaps I should help him fail; even if he was not in exile he would not be kinglike. But he may yet become so, he is young, and he has not been given the counsel that a king needs. Alas, were Elendur here, surely he could show this man to the path of wisdom. Iluvatar willing, I must help him.

His sister, on the other hand, was a different matter. Daenerys Targaryen, whom some named Stormborn, and Drogo's khaleesi. On the day of her wedding to Drogo, Valandil had seen her as a meek, young girl, newly come to womanhood, terrified of her husband, his people, her brother and everything about her new life it seemed. Yet, with every passing day on their ride into the east, she seemed to grow. There was an inner fire kindled in her, and her strength and confidence seemed to wax amongst the Dothraki. She took to their garb and learning their language with far greater ease than her brother, who still clung to his tattered tunics and cloaks from Pentos. Valandil could see her finding her place amongst these savage people in a way that her brother simply could not.

It was her brother that Valandil spotted first as he rode up the column. He wore a dark cloak, once fine but now travel-stained and mud-spattered. His long silver-blond hair was greasy and unwashed, slicked back on his head. He glanced at Valandil over his shoulder when he came to ride next to him. Viserys' eyes were hard and purple as a lilac, deep set in a gaunt, lined face. His customary sneer was set on his lips before Valandil said even a word.

"Thorongil" he said, without greeting.

"Your Grace" Valandil replied courteously. He knew that Viserys flew into a rage when he was being improperly addressed.

"I trust you found game for tonight, I weary of Dothraki horsemeat" Viserys said.

"Aye Your Grace, venison, I brought a fawn for the khaleesi's supper tonight" Valandil replied, and then immediately wished he had phrased it differently.

"My supper, you mean. What is hers is also mine" Viserys said sharply. Valandil resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes Your Grace" he said.

Amongst the trees of the forest, Valandil was surrounded by the songs of birds and insects. The forest seemed too quiet riding with the khalasar. He could hear only the neighing and whickering of horses, the calls in harsh Dothraki, and above all the incessant tramping of tens of thousands of feet and hooves. Valandil hated riding with the khalasar, the eyes of the slaves were miserable and downcast whenever he looked at them. He felt his heart sink to see so many, held in such appalling bondage. Whenever they looked at him, which they seldom did, their eyes were full of fear.

To his left and right, front and back, there were Dothraki riders. They had a certain admirable savage courage, he had to admit, and some had nobility in their own way. Despite their virtues though, Valandil couldn't stand them. He couldn't stand the arrogant disdain with which they looked at anyone not of their kind, he couldn't stand the bow-legged strut they affected when dismounted, and he couldn't stand their violence, their crudeness and their cruelty. The night of the wedding, he had saved some poor girl from the attentions of Dothraki riders, yet as their ride east wore on, he had come to realize that he could not stop all of their cruelties. He could not even stop any significant amount of their cruelties. It was a hard truth to accept.

Shouted commands came down the column, and suddenly the whole khalasar ground to a halt.

"What is it? Why are we stopping?" Viserys demanded loudly.

"Khaleesi say stop" said one of the riders in a halting, heavily accented version of the Common tongue.

"What!? She dares to command me!?" snapped Viserys. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and his purple eyes flashed in anger.

"Your Grace" Valandil said, bringing his horse up close to Viserys' mount "Patience, my King, this delay shall not be long"

"Patience? Patience!? The dragon takes no commands! The dragon waits for no man!" Viserys said.

"But a King knows the value of a patient mind, Your Grace. You have been waiting your whole life to take back your throne, my King, a short wait such as this surely would not try the patience of a king such as you" Valandil answered. I must be truthful, I must tell him what he needs to hear, but I must still flatter his ego or else he shall never listen to counsel and he will be lost.

It seemed to be working. Viserys' hand strayed away from his sword hilt.

"I suppose she only commands these savages, I may ride on if I please" he said.

"Of course Your Grace, or wait for your sister's men to continue on if it please you" said Valandil. "Worry yourself not my King, I shall find out what is the reason for this halt"

"Yes Thorongil, go on ahead and find out for me. Tell them the dragon king wishes to proceed" Viserys said, his tone growing commanding and his chin raising.

Just takes the right tone with this one, like an unbroken colt. Perhaps he shall learn something yet Valandil thought, setting the spurs to Velo and cantering forward up the column.

Much farther up the column, Valandil found Jorah, Daenerys' handmaidens and the warriors of her khas. Valandil glanced towards the lean, lethal-looking riders that were sworn to Daenerys' own household. His lord father had had a similar group of knights sworn to his house. In Gondor such men were known as housecarls.

An east wind was whispering in the leaves. Jorah looked to Valandil as he brought Velo to a halt. The Bear Islander wore only a white tunic, open at his throat, and brown riding breeches. His sword hung from his saddle. His face was flushed, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his balding head and his hairy arms and chest.

"Hail Ser Jorah" said Valandil, raising a hand in greeting "The 'dragon king' wonders what the delay is?"

"Dragon king" Jorah repeated, chuckling. "Thorongil, you know as well as I that he is less than the shadow of a snake"

"Perhaps, yet it is said even the merest grass-snake may grow into a mighty wyrm with time" Valandil replied. He did not tell Jorah that his father had told him that saying to warn him against underestimating a potential foe.

"Would that that could be true, but I fear Viserys is even less than a grass-snake" said Jorah with a shake of his balding head.

"In any case, he wishes to continue on immediately. Where is the princess?"

"She wished to walk in the forest a little, to stretch her legs" Jorah answered, nodding towards the forest to the right of the trail.

As if she had heard them, the khaleesi soon appeared from the brush. She was so young, yet Valandil was not made of stone like his uncle or steel like his father, he could not deny Daenerys Targaryen's beauty. Her once-pale skin was growing more and more golden, tanned by the sun each day, vividly contrasting with the violet of her eyes. She wore her white-golden hair long now, and she was dressed in the Dothraki fashion, with a horsehide vest and breeches. She had taken off her sandals to walk on the mossy forest floor with dainty bare feet.

"Thorongil" she said with a polite, kind smile "It is a pleasant surprise to see you. Are you not guarding my brother today?"

"Aye my Princess, the King merely inquires as to the reason for our delay" he replied. Her smile fell from her face.

"Oh… Have I done wrong? I have woken the dragon, haven't I?" Daenerys asked, her voice ashamed, almost fearful.

Waking the dragon. What a ridiculous term for wrath Valandil thought.

"Nay Princess" he lied "Your brother the King is just anxious to continue on"

"Very well Ser Thorongil, we shall go on. Ser Jorah, tell them that the khaleesi wishes to continue now" Dany said with a sigh, slipping her sandals back on and then lacing them back up.

One of her handmaidens dismounted and help Daenerys up onto her silver mare, which stood quietly and demurely as its rider swung up onto it. The handmaiden then smoothly mounted her own horse once again. Though he had been riding with the Dothraki for weeks now, Valandil still found himself surprised that women in the khalasar did not ride side-saddle as women in Gondor did. It took more than a little getting used to women of the Dothraki, for they were an odd study in contrasts. The ladies of Gondor that Valandil had known at home were proud, dignified women, educated and spirited, a match for the will of any Numenorean man, but they took care to dress themselves in a lady-like fashion. The women of the Dothraki, in comparison, dressed in the same breeches and vests as the Dothraki men, and rode as the men did, but were not afforded the same courtesies or respect as the women of Gondor were.

Ser Jorah shouted a few words in the Dothraki tongue, and then other Dothraki took up the shout up and down the column of the khalasar. With much shouting and the thumping of thousands of hooves on hard-packed earth, Khal Drogo's horde began to move once again. Bidding farewell to Jorah and Daenerys, Valandil turned Velo around and made his way to his charge.

Their journey through the forests of Qohor lasted for another fortnight. Each day, Valandil rode far afield of the khalasar, the black arrows of his steelbow taking elk, deer and pig for the supper of the khaleesi and the King each night. Alone and away from the Dothraki, beneath those golden boughs Valandil's heart was light. As he rode back to the horde each day, he would sing for joy in the tongues of Elves and Numenoreans alike. He sang until he reached the pickets of the khalasar, and then would sing no more so as not to draw too much attention amongst the superstitious Dothraki. Amongst the khalasar, he would ride beside Viserys for the most part, though on some lucky days he and Jorah would agree to trade off. On the whole, he found Daenerys' company more pleasant, her conversation more engaging, but Valandil knew that it was Viserys who needed his counsel more direly. The boy king could talk of nothing except "the Usurpers" as he called them, and how "the Dragon" would take his vengeance against them. Viserys would often speak of rapacious Robert Baratheon, whose greed and fury were unquenchable, and icy Eddard Stark with his cold eyes and frozen heart, and arrogant, ageless Isildur the traitor. It took all of Valandil's willpower to not strike Viserys for his insults to his father, but he managed to keep himself from loudly correcting his King. Having known all the men that Viserys spoke of, Valandil could tell that the King truly knew nothing about them.

Each night, Valandil would seek out Jorah after the khalasar had made camp. He and his friend would join one of the fires of the Dothraki warriors, and they would eat, talk and drink late into the night. Then Valandil would smoke a pipe, and then find a soft patch of forest floor to sleep on, and fall to a sound slumber beneath the stars.

Then one evening, near to the end of their time in the forest of Qohor, as Valandil and Jorah sat talking and jesting by a fire, one of the khaleesi's handmaidens came to them. She was the shorter, more finely featured one, Irri if Valandil recalled her name correctly.

"Khaleesi wish you come eat with her tonight" Irri said. Jorah and Valandil exchanged a confused look, they had not been summoned to the khaleesi's company before.

"Aye, we shall gladly" Jorah said, standing.

Valandil stood and followed Jorah, whilst the handmaiden led them through the camp to Daenerys' tent. It was a respectable sized tent of hide, and a thin plume of smoke rose from the top. Passing through the entrance of the tent, they found the inside was thick with the smell of fire, smoke and roasting meat. In the centre of the main space of the tent was a cooking fire, and above it was spitted the boar that Valandil had shot that day. Daenerys' other handmaiden was slowly turning the spit while the boar roasted, grease running over the crispy skin as it cooked. In a circle around the edges of the main space, were cushions, benches and stools. At the far end of the tent was Daenerys herself, looking as radiant as ever, her long hair oiled and seeming to glow golden in the dim light. All around her were a few of her sworn warriors. They looked at Jorah and Valandil with curious, unreadable black eyes. Daenerys looked up when they entered, a small smile on her face.

"Ser Jorah, Ser Thorongil, it is good to see you! I was wondering if you might like to join us to eat tonight, it seemed the least I could do after you have brought all this game to us this past fortnight" Dany said.

"It would be our honour, khaleesi" Jorah said with a humble bow, and Valandil matched it. They were bid to sit on the right side of Daenerys, amongst her Dothraki guardians, whilst her own handmaidens sat at her left and right hand.

The fare was simple, as most Dothraki food was, and accompanied only by the fermented mare's milk preferred by the horselords. The boar was divine, roasted to perfection and covered with herbs. Still, Valandil could not help feeling a little out of place. Jorah and the Dothraki talked and jested back and forth in the Dothraki tongue, and what they were saying Valandil could not guess. Despite that, it was hard not to feel welcome amongst the laughing, smiling, surprisingly friendly Dothraki. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that such men were capable of the cruelties the Dothraki were known for.

"Jorah the Andal" said one of Daenerys' riders, the one known as Rakharo, in his heavily accented Common Tongue "You are from Sunset Kingdoms, yes?"

"Aye, and Thorongil as well" Jorah replied.

"Tho-Ron-Gil" said another of the riders, Aggo "Strange name"

"A-g-oh. Strange name" Valandil retorted, and they both shared a chuckle.

"Tell me, Jorah the Andal, how they fight in Westlands?" Rakharo said, leaning forward intently. Jorah scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"Well different men have different methods. For my part, I prefer this" Jorah said, and then in one smooth motion he drew forth his sword. It was not an ornate weapon, but the blade was castle-forged steel, long, double-edged and sharp tipped, with a steel crossguard and a hilt wrapped in leather for grip. Unlike Valandil's sword, Jorah's blade was one-handed. He held it deftly in one hand, and then lowered it so the tip sat lightly in the ground and the flat of the blade rested against his leg.

"Straight. Not like arakh." Rakharo said, picking up his scimitar. He placed the long, sickle-like blade next to Jorah's arming sword. Jorah took it from him and held the arakh up to the firelight.

"Yes, on horseback the curved blade is better. Handles easier in the saddle, delivers a more powerful cut" he said, running his finger along the inner, unsharpened edge of the scimitar. Jorah put it back down and then held his own sword up again. "But in Westeros, where men are protected by steel, the arakh's cut won't penetrate, so the straight blade has the advantage, as it can thrust through gaps in the armour or the visors of helmets". He sheathed his sword again.

"Dothraki do not wear steel dresses" Rakharo said.

"Armour" corrected Jorah.

"Armour… This makes man slow?" asked Rakharo.

"Perhaps a little, but it keeps you alive"

"Oh enough of this war talk, I hear enough of that from my brother" Daenerys said, frustrated "How about a song? Irri?"

At her words, Irri began to sing a high, keening song in the Dothraki tongue. Despite knowing little Dothraki, Valandil could pick out words like "trample" and "burn" in her song. Daenerys waved her hand at Irri and the handmaiden stopped.

"No, thank you Irri, but no, I am so tired of songs about maiming and killing and raping. Ser Jorah, Ser Thorongil, have you any songs from the Eight Kingdoms? A song about Aemon the Dragonknight or Florian and Jonquil?" asked Dany. Jorah only chuckled.

"I'm afraid my voice isn't one for singing the great songs, khaleesi" Jorah said apologetically.

"And you Ser Thorongil?" Dany said.

"I confess my Princess, those songs are not known to me, but I do know a song that might be to your liking. A… friend from Gondor taught me the song of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel" Valandil replied. Daenerys' purple eyes seemed to glint with curiosity, and she sat forward a little on her seat.

"A song from Gondor? I have never heard any" she said.

"The folk of Gondor keep to themselves my Princess, but I spent some time in that realm, and this song I learned. Unfortunately, I haven't the old Elvish tongue to sing it as a Numenorean might" Valandil lied. He felt like his lie was utterly transparent, but Dany and her Dothraki companions seemed to accept it

"However, in the Common Tongue, it runs like this:" he said, and then he began to chant, slowly and melodiously, as his father used to on cold winter nights by the fire in Minas Ithil:

"The leaves were long, the grass was green,

The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

And in the glade a light was seen

Of stars in shadow shimmering.

Tinúviel was dancing there

To music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was in her hair,

And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,

And lost he wandered under leaves,

And where the Elven-river rolled

He walked alone and sorrowing.

He peered between the hemlock-leaves

And saw in wonder flowers of gold

Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet

That over hills were doomed to roam;

And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

Through woven woods in Elvenhome

She lightly fled on dancing feet,

And left him lonely still to roam

In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound

Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

Or music welling underground,

In hidden hollows quavering.

Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

And one by one with sighing sound

Whispering fell the beechen leaves

In the wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far

Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,

By light of moon and ray of star

In frosty heavens shivering.

Her mantle glinted in the moon,

As on a hill-top high and far

She danced, and at her feet was strewn

A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,

And her song released the sudden spring,

Like rising lark, and falling rain,

And melting water bubbling.

He saw the elven-flowers spring

About her feet, and healed again

He longed by her to dance and sing

Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came.

Tinuviel! Tinuviel!

He called her by her elvish name;

And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a spell

His voice laid on her: Beren came,

And doom fell on Tinuviel

That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes

Within the shadows of her hair,

The trembling starlight of the skies

He saw there mirrored shimmering.

Tinuviel the elven-fair,

Immortal maiden elven-wise,

About him cast her shadowy hair

And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,

O'er stony mountains cold and grey,

Through halls of iron and darkling door,

And woods of nightshade morrowless.

The Sundering Seas between them lay,

And yet at last they met once more,

And long ago they passed away

In the forest singing sorrowless."

The last word of the song died, leaving silence in the tent, broken by the crackling of the fire. Dany was looking at Valandil intently with her violet eyes.

"That was… wonderful Thorongil, I never knew a sellsword to have such a voice. Do you know any more about this tale, this Beren and Luthien?" Dany asked. Valandil smiled, feeling almost bashful.

"Alas my Princess, I fear that song does not equal how I heard it sung in Gondor" he said. "I know only little of the lore of the Numenoreans, but I know that Beren was a mortal man, and Luthien was an immortal elf-maiden, and forbidden was their love because of this. They say that Luthien was the daughter of an elf-king, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that they endured much sorrow and many trials before they could be wed, and their love was a tragic one, for she had to give up the immortal life of the elves to be with him. Beyond that, I know little more. The men of Gondor are a quiet bunch, they keep to themselves and tell little of their lore to outsiders"

"It is a stupid tale" declared Aggo with a note of finality in his voice.

"What? Why? I thought it was beautiful" Dany said.

"Khaleesi, if Beren chase this women, he need only take horse to catch her. Only a fool chase on foot. Beren is stupid" Aggo explained. Valandil burst out laughing.

"I suppose that's a point the old elf-poets didn't think of" he said between laughs.

"My lord" said the third of Daenerys' handmaids, a fair-haired young Lysene girl named Doreah "What is an 'elf'?" she asked shyly.

"In the lore of Gondor, the elves were an ancient race that is much like men, but… Greater. They say they are immortal, unless slain, wiser and stronger than any men, but just as they are greater, they also fall lower, and both their joy and their sorrow is deeper than mortal men, for the elves forget nothing. They dwell not in this part of the world, though the men of Gondor say that they once visited their homelands. They were beautiful… I am told" Valandil said, his voice distant.

He stared into the fire, melancholy. He and his brothers had all been born of Westeros; they did not have the memories of their fair homeland across the Sunset Sea as their father did. He had always wanted to meet an elf, one of the fair elf-lords or ladies that once visited his grandfather in Andunie, but his lord father had told him that no elves dwelt in these lands, or none that he knew of. Westeros and Essos were the lands of men, they bore no sign of the dwelling of elves, for no land forgets the elves if ever they dwelt there.

One of Daenerys' warriors, the thin, lithe one named Jhogo, made a hacking noise in his throat and then spit on the ground.

"I spit on Gondor and its tales. It is good they are trapped across the poison water, they are warlocks who cast spells on men's minds" Jhogo said, wrinkling his nose.

"It is known" agreed Jhiqui.

"I have never been there" said Daenerys "But some day my brother will rule Gondor and the rest of the Eight Kingdoms, and then I will know whether they are truly so evil or not"

Valandil kept his peace and said not a word, staring intently at the flickering fire.

"On that day, khaleesi, I hope your brother khal is wise enough to trample warlocks to dust" Jhogo said.

As the night deepened, Daenerys thanked Valandil and Jorah for their company, and then bidding them goodnight, retired to sleep. Her handmaidens stayed in the same tent as her, but her warriors along with Jorah and Valandil departed to find their own place to sleep for the night. As soon as Jhogo, Aggo and Rakharo were out of sight, Jorah suddenly pulled Valandil aside, in the darkness between two of the Dothraki tents.

"Who are you?" he demanded in a low, urgent voice.

"What?" Valandil said, confused.

"Dúnadan, I have travelled with you for many miles, you've never revealed your identity to me, and I've never asked out of respect for you, but after that display, I want to know now before I keep any more secrets: Who are you? No common sellsword, even a Numenorean, would know such ancient tales and lore and speak and sing as you do. Who are you?" Jorah pressed.

Valandil regarded his friend with his grey eyes. There was no other way to say it, so he said it plainly.

"I am Valandil Isildur's son. Valandil Isildurion of the House of Elendil" he said.

Jorah's face paled with shock.

"Valandil? The grandson of the Kingmaker himself? I don't believe that, you're lying" said Jorah, and then saw the intent seriousness on Valandil's face.

"Seven hells, you mean it? What in the name of gods old and new would bring a son of Isildur here? As a sellsword of all things? Your father helped overthrow the Targaryens, what are you doing-"

"Shh, keep your voice down." Valandil hissed, seizing Jorah by the shoulders "Listen Jorah, I know what my father did. I know what it has cost my family. And I can see hope for a better future… If the Targaryen boy is counseled properly. He mustn't know who I am. You have heard how he speaks about my lord father, and you know what the Dothraki think of my people. If I am found out, everything I am hoping for is lost"

"Seven hells Valandil or Thorongil or Strider, or whatever your bloody name is, how foolish are you? How long do you think you can keep up this mummer's farce?" Jorah asked angrily. "Viserys is a fool, but his sister isn't stupid, and neither are the Dothraki. You keep carrying on like this, you will be discovered, and the Khal will not look kindly on one of your kind in his horde, nor will Viserys look kindly on the son of one of the usurpers travelling next to him"

Valandil released Jorah, realizing that his grip had become viselike. He turned away, hanging his head.

"I know this, and so I must ask you to keep my secret Jorah." Valandil said. There was a long moment of silence, and then he was surprised to feel Jorah clap him on the back.

"As you wish. Though I frown on the deception, I feel you must have good reason. We must talk though, we must have a very long talk"

They found a dwindling fire unattended by the edge of the camp, surrounded by gloomy forest, a fair distance from the rest of the khalasar so as not to be overheard. Jorah brought a skin of wine from his own baggage that he had been saving, and they passed it back and forth as they built up the fire to a merry blaze. There was long silence between them as Valandil stared at the flames, wondering where to start, and Jorah waited for him to explain himself. Finally Jorah spoke:

"So why did you leave Gondor?"

Valandil sighed

"My father changed after the rebellion. Not Robert's, the Greyjoy rebellion. You remember it?" he said.

"Aye. I was one of Ned Stark's bannermen then, and he had called the banners to help King Robert put down that upstart Balon Greyjoy. Never made it to Pyke though, your father smashed the Greyjoys into dust before we could. The whole realm was shocked by what Isildur did" Jorah replied.

"I-I did it too Jorah. All my brothers and I, we were right there alongside my father, we fought too" Valandil said, hanging his head.

"Why?" asked the Bear Islander. Valandil was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was choked and broken.

"My mother and grandmother, they often travelled in the south during the summers, they loved the Arbor, the fields of the Reach and the forests of the Stormlands. They were to return to Gondor by ship from Lannisport… When the ironmen attacked. Many years ago, far before you were born Jorah, the ironmen had sworn an oath of friendship to my grandfather. When they burned the Lannister fleet, my mother and grandmother were taken captive… They endured great cruelties before their deaths, they were-" He stopped, seeming unwilling to say the word before he finally spat it out "Defiled" he said.

His mood seemed to change suddenly, and he looked up at Jorah with fiery eyes.

"Oathbreakers, murderers, traitors" he said spitefully, face full of hate. Then the shadow seemed to pass from Valandil, and he hung his head again.

"Led by my father, we sailed to the Iron Islands, with the whole White Fleet behind us. We sent their fleet down to the deeps, but Balon Greyjoy, his brother Victarion and a few of their bannermen escaped, though his brother Aeron was sent down to their drowned god. We pursued them to Pyke, we stormed and..." he stopped again, and then looked back to Jorah intently, intensely.

"We killed them all Jorah. My father killed everyone" he whispered "I saw my father drive his sword through Balon's heart, I saw my eldest brother slay Victarion in single combat, my brothers and I killed Balon's sons, and my father, who I had thought was the best of men… I saw him turn his blade on Balon's own wife. Only two Greyjoys are left now Jorah. Theon and Yara. I was the one who found them, scared and alone, in a bedchamber. The blood of their kin was still fresh on my sword, but those two scared little children, looking at me with those dark, terrified eyes, I finally found mercy inside myself, I gave them mercy when my father surely would have slain them. It was only afterwards that we learned that another had escaped, that scum Euron slipped through our fingers!" He finished in anger. Valandil took a deep breath, as if to calm himself.

"My father changed after that. He has a wrath in him, deep down inside, smoldering away, ready to burst into flame at any moment. None of us spoke of what happened at Pyke to anyone, not even to each other. My father and brothers seemed to want to forget it even happened, but I could not. I had to escape that, find something, find some cause, something that might erase my shame" finished the son of Isildur. Jorah regarded him with steady eyes, not unkindly.

"So here you are" Jorah said. Valandil couldn't help but chuckle bitterly.

"Yes, here I am, hoping to restore a rightful heir to his throne, perhaps to make him better than his father" Valandil replied. Jorah sighed.

"If you hold to that cause, my friend, then I will help you however I can. I will keep your identity a secret, though I know not how long you will be able to hide it if you keep carrying on as you have" Jorah said. Valandil couldn't hold back a smile as he looked up at the Andal.

"Thank you. You are a true friend, Jorah Mormont, and I swear I shan't forget it" Valandil told him, and he meant it. "But now, since you know all my secrets, I wish to know: What has brought you here?"

Jorah grimaced: "An expensive wife, little money and a longing for home"

"Tell me"

Jorah exhaled deeply, and his face became very still. Firelight reflected in his brown eyes.

"Lynesse Hightower was her name. After your father crushed the Greyjoys, the Lannisters held a great tourney in Lannisport" he said.

"I remember the invitation when we put in to Lannisport to resupply. We had no taste for it though after what we had done, and we sailed home rather than stay for it" Valandil replied. Jorah chuckled despite himself.

"Oh yes, they say that little rebuke ruffled Tywin Lannister's mane a great deal" Jorah said, but the jollity quickly passed and his mood grew grim again.

"My father had gone to the Night's Watch, I was the new young Lord of Bear Island, and the Northern forces were already in the South mustering for an attack on the Iron Islands when we learned that Pyke had fallen to Lord Isildur and Balon Greyjoy was dead. Lord Stark and most of the other bannermen started north again, but I was eager to prove myself, so I went to this southron tourney. That's when I met her: Lynesse Hightower, the daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met in my life; I fell for her then and there. She gave me her favour to wear and, by all the gods, I won" he continued.

"You won against?" Valandil asked.

"All of them" Jorah explained with a slight smile "Bronze Yohn, Lord Whent, the Strongboar, Ryman and Hosteen Frey, Lord Jason Mallister, even the Kingslayer himself. I broke nine lances on Lannister's shield to win the joust. I won myself a knighthood for it. I named Lynesse the Queen of Love and Beauty. That night, drunk on victory, knighthood, glory and far too much southern wine, I asked her father for her hand in marriage. To my astonishment, he agreed, we were wed, and for a while we were happy as we traveled back to Bear Island. When we got there however…" Jorah paused, lost in memory. Valandil said nothing, and a heavy silence filled the air as he waited for his friend to continue.

"My island is rich in bears, lumber, fish and stone. However, Lynesse did not like it. She hated living in a log hall, she hated the cold, and she was terrified of the forest and the bears. It was nothing like the rich southern life she had known. I tried to keep her happy, I showered her with gifts, brought singers and performers from the Free Cities, tried to recreate the life she was used toin the north, but I had never been rich, and the expense was too much to bear. I got so deep in debt, all I wanted was to keep her happy, and then I caught some poachers on my land. Out of desperation I sold them to slavers" Jorah said.

"You sold men into thralldom?" Valandil said sharply, shocked and disguted.

"Aye, to my lasting shame" Jorah replied with a grimace "Now Ned Stark wants my head, and here I am, thousands of leagues from my home and everything I love"

Valandil felt his anger subside seeing his friend hang his head in deep regret. He thought back on Eddard Stark, the cool, quiet second son he had known on visits many years ago to Winterfell, and the thought of the implacable, relentless, quietly efficient warrior and commander he became on the battlefields of Robert's Rebellion. A good man, no man could doubt his honour or his justice, but Valandil knew that as sympathetic as Ned might be to Jorah's plight, Eddard would do justice, and Eddard Stark would swing the sword himself.

"Where is your wife now?" Valandil asked, more gently.

"In another place, with another man" Jorah said, looking up, a hard edge to his voice, his words bitter and cold.

"The Targaryens might be my only chance for a pardon, just as they are your hope for redemption" finished Jorah.

"Then we best make Viserys into more than the worm he is" Valandil said with a small grin. Jorah looked at him and chuckled.

"Aye, I think they shall call him Viserys the Unlikely if he ever rules. Aegon the Unlikely ruled well enough, perhaps we may yet kill the boy in Viserys and let the man be born" said Jorah. Valandil was pensive as he replied:

"His fate shall be his own doing, yet we may yet counsel him to change his ways. All we can do is counsel and hope, though it is a fool's hope"

The next morning came after a light, fitful sleep for Valandil. His dreams had been dark after his talk with Jorah the previous night. He had dreamt that he was back in Pyke, the blood of the Greyjoys dripping from his blade, opening the door to the bedchamber with the two children inside. In the dream, however, he advanced on them, and against his will raised his sword to strike. The children laughed, and grew, and shed their skin, becoming vast, twisted, inhuman beasts with staring eyes, gnashing beaks and a forest of grasping arms, breaking the roof of the castle above them as they grew. Krakens, just like their sigil. One of them grasped him with a long, slimy limb, thick as a tree trunk, and lifted him up to stare at him with a vast eye as big as a horse. He had awoken suddenly in a cold sweat, his heart racing.

It was with a heavy heart that he rolled up his bedroll and made ready to leave that day. They would break out into the Dothraki Sea sometime today, Jorah had told him, and he found that he had grown fond of the forest of Qohor in their time there. He loved the songs of its birds, the smell of its air; he loved the way light played amongst the canopy and the branches. He had treasured the time riding its paths alone, singing as he went. Somewhere in his heart he felt that, no matter how far he may travel from this place, some part of him would always remain here, singing beneath the golden leaves of Qohor.

The Dothraki were fast and efficient at breaking camp, and no sooner had Valandil finished packing his saddle bags and emptied out the ashes of his pipe from his morning smoke, then the whole khalasar was ready to move again. Valandil swung up onto Velo, who snorted in displeasure and tossed his head willfully. However, with a stern word, Valandil quieted him and then lightly touched his haunches with his heels. Snorting again, Velo began to walk, the whole khalasar rumbling around them as it moved.

Viserys rode alongside Daenerys that day, and so Valandil and Jorah rode together behind them, amongst the riders of Daenerys' khas. The trees grew smaller and more distantly spaced, the undergrowth grew sparser, and the canopy became thinner and clearer as they rode through the morning and into the afternoon. Then at last, some hours after noon, they came to the edge of the forest, and leaving it behind they began up a small ridge.

Valandil had seen many wondrous sights in his years. He had seen the fair fields of the Reach covered in golden flowers as far as he could see, he had seen wintry mornings in Gondor where the whole world was covered in frost and ice and glittered in the sun like diamonds, he had seen icebergs in northern seas as tall as castles, he had seen the High Tower of Oldtown and the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, and the Titan of Braavos, and the White Tower of his grandfather Elendil in Annúminas. Yet still, when he set eyes upon the Dothraki Sea, he felt his heart leap.

As far as even his Numenorean eyes could see, a vast ocean of green stretched out before them. The rolling plains stretched out, immense and empty, no hills or mountains, roads or cities, trees or bushes, only endless fields of grass that rose and fell in long, low undulations. With even the smallest brush of wind, the tall grass would ripple and sway in long waves, like a windswept ocean. Above them, the sky was so vast and so blue it could make a man's spirit soar.

"The Dothraki Sea" Ser Jorah said, reining his horse around to stop at the crest of the ridge. He, Valandil and Daenerys had outpaced the rest of the khas, including Viserys who still struggled with the unfamiliar Dothraki saddle.

"It's so green" Dany said softly, a smile on her face as she took in the sight before her.

"Aye, here, at this time. When it blooms, it turns crimson with red flowers from horizon to horizon, in the dry season it is brown as bronze. In places, the Dothraki Sea is as colourful as the rainbow of light within a sept, for there are a hundred kinds of grasses, some as yellow as lemon, others as blue as indigo." Jorah said with a smile of his own.

Daenerys wheeled her mare around and then urged her on into a headlong gallop down the slope, laughing while she went. The descent was steep and rocky, yet her white mare was surefooted and did not stumble. The mare seemed to flow through the air like liquid silver as Daenerys rode her down the ridge. Her long silver-gold hair flew behind her in her speed.

"Grass" said the voice of Viserys Targaryen behind them. His tone was unimpressed, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the sight before him.

"It's nothing but grass, not a town in sight. This all is where these savages live?" Viserys snapped.

"They may live simply, my King, yet they are warriors beyond compare, it would not do to insult your allies" Valandil said.

"This is my army, not my allies, my kingdom waits for me in the west and we're going east. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army. If he intends to cheat me-"

"The Khal has promised you a crown, you will have it, but the Dothraki do things for their own reasons in their own time Your Grace" Jorah said diplomatically.

"If he does not pay me my price, that barbarian will feel the wrath of a woken dragon" Viserys said through clenched teeth, and he set his hand on the hilt of his sword. Jorah exchanged a knowing look with Valandil. Viserys set the spurs to his horse and started down the slope, much slower and with a great deal more cursing than his sister.

"The fool's hope" Jorah said with a shake of his head. They started down the ridge, followed by the rest of the khalasar. For all that he snorted and tossed his head in frustration, Velo proved surefooted on the descent, and it was not long before they were within the Dothraki Sea, riding amongst grasses so tall they brushed Valandil's calves from horseback.

Suddenly a long, piercing cry broke the air, echoing across the open plains. The whole khalasar turned their eyes skyward, and again the cry came, immensely loud and incredibly distant. Valandil scanned the huge mass of blue above him, and finally he spotted the source as a third cry echoed around them. Far above him, far higher than any normal bird could fly, floating on the wind was an eagle. The eagle let loose another echoing cry, it was circling overhead, soaring majestically on the air. With a skipped heartbeat, Valandil realized that for the eagle to appear so large from so far away, it had to be an immense eagle, larger than anything else had ever seen fly. Its feathers were coloured in a mix of bronze and gold, and it spread its wings wider than the span of any bird he had ever seen.

"A great eagle" Valandil said breathlessly as he watched it fly.

Thrice did the eagle circle above the horde, and thrice more did it give its ear-piercing cry, and then it veered off and flew to the west and they saw it no more.

Now out on the open plains, Drogo led the horde to a faster pace. For miles and miles they raced across the Dothraki Sea while the outriders ranged far afield in search of foes. The thralls were driven on mercilessly, jogging and running to keep up with the riders, whipped when they fell behind by cruel Dothraki whips. Daenerys did not notice the cruelties going on right behind her, but Valandil saw them, and he made note of Viserys' indifference and Daenerys' ignorance of them. They covered many miles before finally making camp as the sun set in a brilliant display of red and orange over the plains.

Night was gathering when Valandil went walking through the camp in search of a sleeping place for the night, bedroll under his arm. In the darkness around him, there were the shapes of Dothraki crowded around bright fires, laughing and singing and talking in the gloom. He passed by a larger tent atop a small rise off a distance to his right, but as he did the tent flap opened. His eye was drawn as he saw the pale figure of Daenerys leading the Khal outside. Something drew him to stay and watch while she led her husband out to the ground in front of their tent flap. To his left and right, Dothraki men and women watched with dark, curious eyes. The Dothraki believe that everything important in a man's life must take place beneath the open sky he thought suddenly. Daenerys stoop before her husband and all the waiting eyes of the Dothraki, pale, slender, naked and beautiful. She pushed Drogo's vest off his shoulders, and then undid his belt of heavy medallions and pulled down his horsehair breeches. Something within Valandil cried out for him to turn away, but he felt affixed to his spot. He finally regained his senses when he saw Daenerys lay her husband down upon the ground and swing her leg over his groin to mount the Khal. He turned aside suddenly and walked away as quickly as he could with long, driving strides. Behind him, the Dothraki continued to stare.

There was an odd lurch in Valandil's stomach when, weeks and many miles later on the far side of the Dothraki Sea, Irri announced that the khaleesi was with child.