The Prince that was Promised (Kris/Chanyeol) 4.5/?
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Yifan never broached upon the subject of their conversation when the khalasar moved east. Chanyeol noted how flushed Irizhea always seemed to be whenever Yifan came near, but never asked his liege anything, and they rarely spoke in the next few months. They were on the border of the Great Dothraki Sea and the beginnings of the Plains of Jogos Nhai one day when a cry of terror rang out from the front of the khalasar. Alarmed, Chanyeol spurred his horse towards the front and nosed his way past the warriors and between the Blood Riders. One spat when he noticed his presence, but Chanyeol ignored him.
Khal Bharqo had trouble guiding his red destrier straight, and his great lumbering form was slumping in his saddle. His long braid swished behind him, the bells in his hair ringing softly with every step the horse took.
“Blood of my blood!” Veezara cried, and before Chanyeol could move Bharqo, king of the Great Grass Seas, fell off his horse into the dirt with a great thud, a heavy cloud of red dust permeating the air. Time seemed to stop as Irizhea rushed from nowhere to her brother’s side, crying out his name. She removed the painted vest from Bharqo’s broad shoulders and Chanyeol noticed the red spots were oozing black and the great Khal was shuddering.
“My brother,” sweet Irizhea cried. “My brother, get up, please. A Khal who cannot ride is no true Khal. My brother, truest blood of my blood, Vaes Dothrak is so close. You can see the great stallions, and the Mother of Mountains my brother. You are so close, and we will all put away our blades and break bread under the great roof, and my lord husband will announce that I am with child.” Her words fell on deaf ears as Khal Bharqo’s gaze was forever fixed on the sun, unblinking, yet Irizhea never stopped calling out for her brother even as Yifan approached her, quiet and solemn, and whispered to his wife that her brother has rode off to the Night Lands.
The murmurs of the khalasar sounded a distant buzz to Chanyeol as he dismounted with the Blood Riders. The nine Riders unsheathed their arakhs and stuck them into the dry earth, standing vigil upon their lord’s corpse.
“A Khal who cannot ride is no true Khal,” Arroyo spoke up, and Bharqo’s red destrier shat in response. “He is gone to the Night Lands.” A clamor rose among the khalasar when news of the Khal’s death spread. The rest of the Riders immediately dispersed among the forty thousand, ordering to begin building a funeral pyre. “Be quick, our Khal needs his body and his mount to join his spirit!” The noise and bustle seemed distant and Chanyeol was frozen to the spot as he watched Yifan comfort his wife and take her to her handmaidens. The only thing he could think of was Irizhea is with child, and that discomforted him.
・
By dusk a great pyre, made of hunks of wood from a carriage and from dead branches, stood proudly at the center of the plains. Over twelve feet high and the piles of Illyrio’s gifts set precariously inside it, it only seemed to get bigger. Its flames will scrape the sky, Chanyeol thought as the Blood Riders wrapped Khal Bharqo’s corpse in a great Ibbeneese banner, a resplendent bolt of cloth of jade and silver. Chanyeol learned that Khal Bharqo sacked a great Ibbeneese hold by Ib Sar and after putting the stronghold to the torch, slaughtering the warriors and mounting the shaman queen in front of the overlord (before he severed the overlord’s head) he took their sigil. “It is the last thing left of this great hold, and now it goes with him.” Veezara proudly explained. Chanyeol fought hard to agree with the Rider. Now was not the time to show disdain. The Riders led Bharqo’s destrier into the center of the pyre, and it took five of them to subdue the magnificent steed as they slit its throat and watched it die noisily with gushes of dark blood dampening the earth. When the last slave placed the jar of oil among the branches, it stood back and nodded towards Irizhea, who was handed a torch. Her beautiful face showed no hint of her earlier sadness. Her black eyes were orbs of ebony, her hair unbraided and her back rigid. The wind picked up and the flame shivered in the breeze. “The flame, Khaleesi,” Arroyo said as the wind grew stronger, and Irizhea nodded, but made no move to throw the torch. Maybe she thinks that if she does not burn the Khal he will come back to life. Still naive. Chanyeol’s heart almost broke. It took Veezara to snatch the torch from Irizhea’s grasp and toss the flame onto the pyre.
The flames immediately erupted into a plume of inferno, the jars of oil splitting in a noisy clamor of ceramic creaking under heat. Tongues of red and yellow and orange lick at the wood, hungrily devour the costly gifts and the great red destrier and the cloth of jade and silver. Then the smell of flesh sizzling on open flame hit Chanyeol’s nose and he nearly gagged, and it took all the power in his body to not look away when several bed slaves and even some of Irizhea’s handmaidens flung themselves in despair into the flames, their cries shrill as the fire blackened their skin and reduced them to melted flesh and bones.
Arroyo began to speak. “Here is the great pyre of Khal Bharqo,” he began. “The Khal whose braid reached beyond his back, who took many slaves, whose khalasar grew to forty and thousand. Who owned the nine-tiered manse of Volon Therys. He lived long, killed countless foes, and never lost his braid. He dies with his braid, his soul carries on into the Night Lands.
“We shall never see his like again.” Masses of people; men, women, children, and the old toss little gifts into the pyre, before ambling back to the tents to rest. The fire seemed to grow even bigger, that even the Blood Riders had to back away. Irizhea, at the behest of her maids, left to the safety of her tent, and the Blood Riders lingered for several moments before backing away, but Yifan stayed put. In fact, he seemed to draw closer to the pyre, almost wanting to reach into the flames and grab at the charred remains of the Khal. And he was, his fingers reaching to grope the screaming bonfire.
Suddenly Yifan seemed so far away from Chanyeol, the Targaryen inching towards the flames. Aerys was known to love fire, in fact it aroused him. The memory of his father flashed through his mind and Chanyeol started to move-
Aerion Brightflame thought he was the blood of the dragon, and he drank wildfire to prove he was. He died screaming. His father once said, and Chanyeol found himself yelling out Yifan’s name over the roar of the fire, but the wind and the fire drowned out his bellows; if Yifan heard him he must have ignored it. Aerys wanted to burn down the city instead of stepping down from the throne, thought he would not die, just would rise from the ashes as a dragon. Chanyeol scrambled to Yifan, begging him to get back, when a lone cache of oil finally exploded and shards of clay pottery burst from the pyre in fiery shrapnel, exploding in the vicinity of the two. Chanyeol dove into the dirt, feeling tiny pinpricks of heat sear through his leathers. He cried out and all he could think about was Yifan a child, crying and scared and cowering under an upturned desk as fiery hands surround him.
“Chanyeol?” Yifan called out to him. A plume of fire burped out and licked at the Targaryen’s skin, and Chanyeol could hear his father in his head, telling him he should have protected the heir better, and listing off all the times the past Targaryens could not resist flame nor revive dragons, and he chanced to look upon Yifan’s exposed skin-
Yifan looked at him, confused, unperturbed, and unhurt.
・
The khalasar watched the last of Khal Bharqo’s smote ruins drifted off into the air, leaving only wispy tendrils of smoke, yet the ground was forever scorched. When the khalasar walked past it, the line and we shall never see his like again ringing through Chanyeol's mind as he looked back and watched the many horse hooves stomp the charred earth.
There was a moment of horrid confusion, when the Blood Riders came together and encircled Yifan. With Khal Bharqo no longer there, there was this air of discord- with no leader to unite the khalasar, anything could go. Hizhero's arakh seemed sharper to Chanyeol when there was no Khal to hold his ko back. Veezara's whip coiled in his fist, and Arroyo's sword was unsheathed, and glinting in the flames. With the Khal gone, they are free to kill Yifan. Chanyeol gulped. They will kill me first, they will slice my belly open and feed my entrails to the dogs. They will cut off Yifan's braid, they will rip off his jaw, or disembowel him, or quarter him. Or they will take Irizhea, rape her, then kill her and her silver husband all together. Then the last dragon will join his ancestors, and the talk of a Targaryen reclaiming the throne will die in the wind. If they kill me first, I will at least be spared from the sight. His bow was not on his person, but his sword was, and if he had to die fighting, at least that was honorable.
But Arroyo merely offered his sword to Yifan, hilt first, and solemnly spoke. “Khal Bharqo- may he ride valiantly in the Night Lands- has commanded us to follow the Targaryen dragon king. It is known that when a Khal dies, his Blood Riders would have happily died along with him, to ride him in the Night Lands. But we gave our word to blood of our blood, that we will give ear to your claim in Vaes Dothrak, where the Mother of Mountains will deem you a true Khal among Khals.” The other Riders nodded in acquiesce, and Yifan took Arroyo’s sword, as if to inspect it.
“I will lead this khalasar beyond places that no Khal has even dreamed of. To the shadowlands of Asshai, to Ulthos and beyond.” Yifan returned the sword to the Rider, turned on his heel and mounted his silver. Chanyeol followed suit, and within moments the khalasar was moving once again.
Vaes Dothrak was within sights once rivers and trees appeared, and by the evening the khalasar marched past the great stallion archway and into the sprawling expanse of the city. Chanyeol’s heart eased considerably, and he felt weight lift off his chest. In Vaes Dothrak, no man or woman may be harmed. It is the one place, the only place, where Dothraki will sit with other khalasar and share meat and drink and tales with one another. Despite having no walls, Vaes Dothrak had never been sacked, and it remains open and arrogant to the rest of the world. The khalasar settled near the godsway, closest to the Womb of the World. Three other khalasar, led by Khals Joggo, Teekeus, and Nattho, with respective khalasar in the thousands. If they felt slighted about a Westerosi Khal, they seemed to not show it, nor did they care. The midwives joined with the dosh khaleen, wives of past Khals who have long died. Irizhea left with the dosh khaleen and her maidens; before she left, she touched Yifan’s cheek, murmuring “I will dream of my sun and stars tonight.” Yifan’s violet eyes were gentle on her, and he kissed her hand.
Chanyeol wandered off to the Western Market, for he could get food other than horseflesh and goat. There were a myriad of fruits, dried and fresh, some he was familiar with back in the Vale, and some he could only find when he was staying in Pentos. He tried to give the traders some silver stags he still held onto his person- payment for the return voyage home, but they simply gave him the food, and only accepted his thanks in return. He returned to the khalasar, shared food with some of the children, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.
The next night they roasted lamb and goat over a hearty bonfire and bed slaves danced continuously. Chanyeol switched from his leathers to his House colors of cream and sky blue, and walked around weaponless. I have not felt this way since Pentos, he thought as he reached the khalasar feasting and sat beside Yifan and- his Blood Riders. Yifan wore his hair in a braid, and a new painted vest given to him by the dosh khaleen. Firelight danced in his eyes, and by his side was his lovely Irizhea, her belly beginning to show. It seemed brash to have a woman sitting in the Great circle, for wives were to sit with the children, the old, and the dosh khaleen, but here she was surrounded by their Riders and great warriors, being served by her handmaidens.
“Your Grace,” Chanyeol bowed. “My Khaleesi. You are the rarest and most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes on.” You look beautiful. But he was thinking on Yifan, how the fire looked so mesmerizing in his eyes.
“Sit, and let Eroeh fetch you fermented mare’s milk.” Irizhea snapped her fingers for Eroeh’s attention, who was trying to squirm out of Moqorro’s grasp.
“I will suffice for wine, Khaleesi, thank you.” Chanyeol focused his attention on Yifan, who was lending his ear to Hizhero talking to him about wild stallions that are farmed in Morosh, but the Targaryen’s eyes were on Chanyeol. Chanyeol flushed like a maid and looked away.
“His Grace will make his claim soon?” Chanyeol asked Veezara, and the Rider nodded, picking lamb out his teeth. He stood, and Yifan followed suit, with the rest of the Riders behind him. The khalasar fell into a scattered hush, and Arroyo brandished a belt jingling with bells.
“The Great Khal Bharqo has ridden off into the Night Lands!” He cried out.
“We shall never see his like again!” The khalasar shouted in unison.
“But another Khal, from the West, crowned with ambitions and ideals, seeks to lead this khalasar. To where? In Vaes Dothrak, in the Womb of the World, we give ear to his claim.”
Yifan abandoned his painted vest and his bare chest was an expanse of smooth, taut skin. Chanyeol tore his eyes away to look upon the tens of thousands of eyes staring back at them.
Yifan stalked about the giant firepit, bare feet scraping along the dirt floor. “I am to lead this khalasar,” he called out, voice deep in heavily accented Dothraki. “I will lead you to places where the Dothraki are only found in stories, stories that fat lords teach their children that terrify them at night.” Several hoots in the crowd sounded at this, but aside from the crackling of the fire, it was silent. “Where the Dothraki are feared most, are where they have never set their steeds.
“I will lead you to Westeros.” At this, shouting and cries of dismay erupted everywhere. The Blood Riders scowled and protested, but Yifan held a fist up, and the clamor ceased. “Man has achieved everything. He has built ships, some as large as islands, to sail across the black salt water. Horses can ride on wooden horses, these ships. They can go where man can go. I know of this.” Yifan looked down into the firepit, his face bathed in an orange glow. “I am Yifan of House Targaryen, the first of my name. I come from the first line of kings that ruled Westeros. My family has ruled for three hundred years, and had dragons.” A beat. “My House was taken from me when I was small, and the dragons are long dead.” Yifan inched towards the firepit, and nudged the fiery coals with his foot. He did not even flinch. “My brother Rhaegar was called the Last Dragon as they bludgeoned his face on the Trident,” Yifan pressed his foot into the fire and Chanyeol made to cry out and stop him, but when Yifan took another step into the fire, and saw not so much as a bead of sweat on the Targaryen, he faltered, and watched in awe as Yifan continued to stalk about in the coals, unharmed, unstoppable, and unburnt. “My House was destroyed by these fat Westerosi lords and their men in iron shirts. They raped my people, killed my line, and burned my city. But I lived. I have rallied across the Free Cities, declaring myself the One True King of Westeros.” Yifan’s voice grew louder. “I have killed men, and people sew dragon banners and cry for me to return. The Westerosi men have tried to burn me down, but fire cannot kill a dragon.” Cries of support rose in the crowds, scatters of the the silver dragon and the stallion who rides. “Your beloved Khal has ridden off to ride with his forefathers, and you shall never see his like again, but indeed you shall. The seed of my House lies within the womb of your Khaleesi, who is truest blood of her blood. The Stallion and the Dragon will become one, and we will sail to Westeros, and kill those fat lords who have stags, hounds, wolves and lions sewn across their chests.” He means to destroy the Lannisters, Baratheons, and Starks? Chanyeol’s face fell. He was cousins to the Stark children “We will bend the land to our will, and travel beyond the Land of Always Winter, and even beyond that. We will show the world what a true khalasar is, and they will know for the next thousands of years what fear is!” The fire grew, sparks spitting out and flames dancing as Yifan stomped at the fire at every shout of approval.
“I swear this in this sacred place, at the Womb of the World, with the Mother of Mountains as my witness!” Yifan yelled. “I swear this as Yifan, son of Rhaella and Aerys II, that I will sit your Khaleesi on the Throne, and she will be Queen.” The shouts of approval were non stop, and when Yifan calmly stepped out of the fire, unburnt, the entire khalasar, all forty thousand warriors, mothers, midwives, crones, slaves and children were shouting All hail Yifan King! Khal Yifan! Queen Irizhea!
Yifan walked over to his lady wife, who embraced him. “A stallion rides inside me, my sun and stars.” Chanyeol heard her say through the shouting.
Yifan chuckled. “No, my sweetling, not a stallion, a dragon.”
richard kirsch poker
-holy shit I finally finished!!!!! I am so sorry I took nine months to update but I don't know what consistent updates ar
-but it wasn't all for naught. I went and researched the history of the Houses, sat and looked up maps, watched a ton of game of thrones
-y'all the 4th season returns in a week by the Mother
-Athdavrazar means usefulness (in this context he means "he's got fire in him")