The sun dipped low behind the barren horizon, casting long shadows over the dust-choked plain. The khalasar trudged forward, weary and worn, their mounts sluggish from days without proper food or water. The air hung heavy with the scent of dry earth and desperation. The memory of Khal Drogo’s fierce strength lingered in every heart, yet none could replace the void left by his passing.

You rode near the front, your silver-gold hair tangled from the journey and your violet eyes reflecting the fading light. The three dragons at your side stirred restlessly, their young scales shimmering faintly even in the dusk. They were your fire and your hope, but even their presence could not erase the gnawing hunger that had begun to settle into the bones of the khalasar.

Jhogo, your bloodrider and most devoted companion, rode close beside you. His dark eyes held the quiet fierceness you had come to trust. Though the weight of leadership and loss pressed heavily on all, Jhogo never wavered. To him, you were not just the Khaleesi; you were the soul of their people, the last ember of their hopes.

As night settled, the riders slowed near a sparse copse of twisted trees. You sensed the hunger clawing deeper at everyone, their movements growing sluggish, their spirits dimming.

Jhogo nudged you gently with his elbow, his voice low but urgent. “Khaleesi, we cannot last much longer without food. The people grow weak.”

You nodded, the heaviness settling over you. The burden of survival weighed heavily, but your dragons needed strength, and so did your people.

From his saddle bag, Jhogo pulled out a small bundle wrapped carefully in cloth. He looked at you, his eyes steady and unyielding. “This is all I have left—my share. You must take it.”

You shook your head, ready to refuse. “Jhogo, you cannot—”

He cut you off softly but firmly. “I am your bloodrider. My life is yours. I will starve before you do. Please, Khaleesi.”