The birth of the Crimson Dragon
Chapter 42 – The birth of the Crimson Dragon
The Battle Wages On
The Khal was dead. His bloodriders lay slain. His Kos had fallen.
Yet, the Dothraki did not break.
Aerion gritted his teeth as another wave of savages crashed into his lines. Their charge should have faltered, but instead, they fought with renewed fury, as if Drogo's death had only enraged them further.
Steel clashed against arakh, the battlefield a sea of blood and chaos. His men had fought with unyielding discipline, but now, the tide was shifting.
Aerion realized the truth.
There was another leader among them—a bloodrider who had not fought alongside Drogo. Someone still holding the khalasar together.
And then, his eyes drifted toward the left flank.
Monterys Velaryon – The Duel of Horsemen
Monterys and his Velaryon riders had held firm, but the Dothraki were slowly overwhelming them.
Unlike the disciplined Dragon Company, the Dothraki fought like a storm, their charges coming in waves, never relenting, never tiring. Monterys knew that if the battle continued like this, they would lose.
Then, he saw him.
A Dothraki warrior with a braid longer than any other, riding at the heart of the left flank, leading charge after charge.
A Ko.
Monterys knew what had to be done.
He turned to his men. "Hold the line. I will end this."
With a swift command, he rode along the flank, slicing through Dothraki warriors as he moved toward his target. His lance lowered, his horse thundering forward like a storm.
The Ko saw him coming and turned his steed, arakh gleaming under the sun.
They clashed.
Lance met steel, horses rearing and twisting as the two warriors struck at each other with deadly precision. Monterys spun his horse, narrowly dodging a vicious swipe, his own blade flashing out to strike the Ko's side.
The Dothraki warrior roared and came again, his arakh slashing downward—Monterys barely blocked, his arm numb from the force.
They circled, hooves pounding the earth, the battle raging around them.
Then, Monterys saw his opening.
As the Ko raised his arakh for another powerful swing, Monterys lunged, driving his lance through the man's chest.
The Ko's eyes widened in shock, blood spilling from his lips as he slumped forward. Monterys wrenched his lance free, and the Dothraki fell lifeless from his horse.
With their leader gone, the left flank collapsed.
The remaining Dothraki hesitated, and that hesitation turned into panic.
The Final Trap is Sprung
Suddenly, behind the Dothraki horde's center, flames erupted.
A wall of fire ignited, cutting off their retreat.
Aerion had prepared one final trick—oil-soaked trenches set alight at the perfect moment.
The flames spread fast, and the horde was trapped.
Aerion raised his blood-soaked sword.
"Fall back! Shield wall!"
His men obeyed, pulling back into tight formation. The momentum of the Dothraki charge was broken, their horses unable to push through the iron ranks.
Encircled. Leaderless. Dying by the thousands.
The End of the Khalasar
The battle lasted for hours, but from that moment on, the outcome was inevitable.
The Dothraki fought like cornered beasts, but with no direction, no unity, they were slaughtered.
By nightfall, the vast khalasar of 100,000 was no more.
A few thousand survivors fled, cutting off their braids in shame.
The battlefield was a graveyard of men and horses, corpses piled atop one another.
The Crimson Dragon Rises
Aerion fell to one knee, his sword plunged into the blood-soaked earth. His black armor was now red, so drenched in blood that not a single inch of its original color remained.
His soldiers looked at him, at the man who had led them to victory, and one by one, they too dropped to their knees.
They whispered his name.
They chanted it.
They called him the Blood Prince, the Crimson Dragon.
They called him their King!