When Viserys announced his plan to launch an expedition into the Great Grass Sea, the common people of Gohor not only showed no opposition, they supported it enthusiastically.
The previous war had ended less than three months ago.
But the results and the cost were completely disproportionate.
The people of Gohor had barely even felt any negative impact from the war before it was already over.
On top of that, Viserys had proven more than generous.
After the Dothraki were driven back, vast stretches of land were left waiting to be cultivated.
He deliberately strengthened the class of freeholding farrs by granting large amounts of land.
Warhorses captured in battle were rewarded to ritorious families, while others were sold at low prices.
At the sa ti, Viserys began using economic asures to tighten his control over the khalasar of Khal Ogo.
Tea, pottery, and cloth were all scarce goods on the grasslands. Most importantly, he began purchasing wool from them.
As sheep herding expanded, it inevitably squeezed the space available for breeding warhorses.
In effect, this gradually weakened the Dothraki.
It would not even take a decade. Within two or three years, Ogo's khalasar would beco economically dependent.
Viserys could even cultivate a group of collaborators among the Dothraki.
These people would beco his representatives within their society, ensuring greater obedience.
If Ogo ever harbored thoughts of rebellion, those sa people would beco the chains that bound him.
Ogo himself had only recently submitted and had not yet developed any real intent to rebel, when Viserys received news that his khalasar had been attacked.
And the timing could not have been worse—it happened just as Viserys was preparing to launch his expedition.
"Your Majesty Khal, Drogo... Drogo has returned. He attacked my khalasar."
"How heavy were your losses?"
"Your Majesty Khal, I have lost around fifty thousand people, along with countless supplies."
"I understand. Return and prepare your forces. I will personally kill Drogo. I will also send three thousand dragon cavalry to assist you."
"Yes, Your Majesty Khal."
To demonstrate his loyalty, Ogo had invented this strange new title.
In Dothraki culture, "Khal" signified respect for a ruler, while in the Free Cities and Westeros, "Your Majesty" carried the sa aning.
So he combined the two, calling Viserys "Your Majesty Khal."
Those around Viserys had corrected him several tis, but Ogo stubbornly insisted on using it.
"Your Majesty, this man Ogo is ambitious. He has not truly submitted to you."
Jon Connington spoke with concern, worried that Viserys might grow complacent.
"I know that. I've never truly trusted him. That's exactly why I'm building pro-Targaryen forces within the Dothraki."
Viserys's thods were far ahead of his ti.
While most rulers still thought in terms of bloodlines and marriage alliances, he was already thinking in terms of class and interests.
An individual might betray their class.
But a class would never betray its own interests.
Only when the Dothraki could no longer live without Gohor's goods would Viserys truly trust them.
"How is the allied army gathering?"
"Our twenty-five thousand are ready.
Pentos has sent ten thousand to the eastern bank of the Upper Rhoyne.
The Three Daughters have already crossed the Rhoyne with thirty thousand.
As for Braavos… they seem to be sailing south through the Shivering Sea."
Even though Drogo likely only had around twenty thousand n left, Viserys still planned with caution.
If the allied forces fully assembled, they would outnumber Drogo five or six to one.
"We won't wait for them. We march now."
Viserys knew that Braavos would never truly follow his command.
Relying on them was no better than expecting Robert Baratheon to kneel and beg forgiveness.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Just as Viserys was about to hand over administrative duties to Rhaella Targaryen, lisandre arrived with her.
"Your Majesty, you must not go to this battle."
lisandre's expression was as unreadable as ever.
Viserys did not bother looking at her. Instead, he turned to his mother. "Mother, what is this about?"
"I saw a vision in the flas. So did she."
Perhaps sensing sothing, lisandre had gazed into the fire to glimpse the future.
What she saw shocked her.
Viserys dying.
She observed the flas three separate tis.
In one vision, Arthur Dayne held Viserys's corpse, weeping bitterly. In another, all of Gohor mourned his death.
In the final vision, Rhaella herself perford the Targaryen funeral rites, sending away her last son in fire.
Three visions.
Three scenes.
All pointing to the sa outco.
Death!
lisandre had said enough. Rhaella dismissed her, leaving mother and son alone.
"Viserys, you are a drear. Have you seen anything?"
Viserys did not take the Red Priestess's prophecy lightly. More troubling was that her visions did not seem avoidable.
He thought of Renly Baratheon.
lisandre had foreseen soone wearing Renly's armor opposing Stannis.
So she assassinated Renly.
Yet in the end, the one wearing that armor turned out to be Loras Tyrell.
The outco had not truly changed.
It felt like a curse—sothing inevitable.
Viserys did not know whether refusing to march would actually let him avoid death.
Or if he would die regardless.
Originally, he might have lived to twenty. Now it seed he might not even reach seventeen.
What he could not understand was this:
Who could possibly kill him?
He would be leading ten thousand dragon cavalry. Arthur would be at his side. And he had recently grown even stronger.
Viserys did not hesitate long in front of his mother.
"Mother, Drogo only has twenty thousand n. We have over a hundred thousand. And I have Ser Arthur protecting . Nothing will happen."
"But the flas—"
"I haven't dread of my own death—"
He stopped himself halfway through the sentence.
No mother wanted to hear her child speak of death. To her, it was a cruelty no words could soften.
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