Betrayal

Drogo's tent

Drogo rested peacefully with his arms behind his head as he watched Nethmi prepare him a drink. Usually, he would either make it himself or have a slave prepare it for him but tonight Nethimi seemed hell-bent on making the drink himself. He was a brute of a man but he knew how to be gentle, he understood that Nethimi needed her rest, and had it not been the tradition for the baby to be born in the Dosh Khaleen he would have her rest all day.

"Here you go my love," Taking the cup Drogo took a sip before a small smile appeared on his face.

"How is it?" Nethimi asked with a worried look on her face.

"It's good," Drogo raised the cup up before proceeding to drink all that was in the cup.

Seeing him finish Nehtimi laid down next to him resting her head on his chest. "The Dosh Khaleen is a day's journey away. Soon I'll give birth to a boy and you will train him to be the next Khal."

"Mhmm," Drogo hummed in agreement, soon he would unite the last of the Khalasars and his son would take over everything he leaves behind. Without Aegon, he wasn't sure he would have been able to get this far.

"Too bad you won't get to see any of that." Nethimi surprised Drogo as she stood to her feet, it seemed even as a pregnant woman she was still quick on her feet.

Turning to look at her Drogo raised an eyebrow wondering what she was talking about.

"I'm sure you feel the effects of the poison I put inside your drink," looking at the cup Drogo came to an understanding. Standing up he looked at Nethimi with anger in his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" He could feel it, the hole that was slowly opening within his heart. He wondered if he would be forced to kill the love of his life.

"Your father killed my father and you and your brother put an end to my little brother's life. Of course, I would want revenge." Deep within her eyes, one could see the pain one felt from losing a loved one. Her own father had been best friends with Khal Bharbo, unfortunately, he was killed in battle by the Khal hand no less. Her hate had been building up for years, only for it to multiply with the death of her younger brother. Khaevgo was a fool for challenging Drogo but in the end, he was still her brother.

"Khaevgo," Drogo whispered.

"Unfortunately the only way to do that was to become your woman, who else besides your brother would you trust to make your pepper beer."

"Do you plan to take my life with your own hands? Drogo took a step forward as Nethimi took one backward.

"Of course not, they'll do that for me. Enter!" As she spoke two men dressed in dark clothes appeared.

"Kill him," Nethimi spoke with a smile on her face.

Grunting Khal Drogo reached behind his back pulling out two knives. Knives he had made it a point to carry no matter what.

"You think this Poison or whatever will stop me? I'll kill them and then I'll chain you up until my son is born." Drogo knew it was his child, he had been the one to take Nethimi's virginity and she hadn't left his sight since. Even while she was pregnant he watched over her making sure she was safe. He only wondered when she had time to contact these two who he could immediately tell were Dothraki.

"You're working with the other Khalasar?"

"Goodbye my love," Nethimi made her exit, throwing a cloak over her body she was escorted by two men wearing similar clothes to the two who had entered the tent.

Looking at the two men standing before him Drogo understood that he would have to play this smartly. Taking a step forward his body wobbled as if he would fall over at any moment. He kept his eyes on the two men as one stepped forwards raising a sword as if it was an arakh. Seeing his chance Drogo picked up his speed slipping under his attacker's guard bringing his knife up just enough so it would slide alongside his abdomen. He ignored the sound of guts slipping from the man's belly gripping his last remaining knife he hurled it at his remaining opponent.

Charging forward he ignored the lack of feeling in his left leg, his body was beginning to give out and he was running out of time to kill his last opponent. The knife he had thrown was easily dodged as it flew out of the tent. Drogo grunted as he stepped forward gripping the wrist of his opponent. Unfortunately, he overestimated the remaining strength in his body as his opponent seemed to be overpowering him.

Looking into the eyes of his opponent he threw his head back before bringing it forward forcing their skulls to collide. As he fell backward Drogo wrestled the sword from his grip before bringing it down into the chest of his opponent. The fatigue he had been fighting took full control as he felt himself fading away. His unconscious body rested next to the two men he had just killed.