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˖*°࿐ chapter eight viii. AS YOU ARE MINE
LAELIA TRAILS BEHIND HER KHALASAR, Aenerys perched on her shoulder, his teeth chattering together to create little sounds of bone hitting bone. Her shoulder had a pad as his nails were sharp, and she giggles when he gives a small shriek. He flaps his wings, Laelia holding up a piece of meat to his lips but he refuses. Vita speaks up against the quietness of the group. "What did your brother say about them, Khaleesi?" Laelia wracks her brain in trying to find an answer for her. "He said they ate meat."
"He didn't tell you what kind of meat?"
"My brother didn't know anything about dragons," Laelia spits, "he didn't know anything about anything."
She holds out her hand to let Aenerys crawl on it, his wings flapping a little to give him some movement. "Ashur," she calls out the Enochian's name, who stops and lets her put her dragon in the cage strapped to his back. A white horse that leads the khalasar drops to her side, the man that held his reigns kneeling before her and quiets her down as best he can. Laelia watches as many gasp and Allister runs up to help. She runs, too, Vita taking the task of closing the door. She drops to her knees, telling the man to go, and checks over her horse's head. She looks at Allister worried.
The horse was the last gift he gave Laelia before she left for Björndottir.
He shakes his head in response. She pets her white mane, "she was Loki's first and last gift to me."
"I remember," Allister returns.
"I promised to protect them," Laelia exhalations, "promised them the enemies would die screaming. How do I make starvation scream?" Allister places his hand on the horse's powerful leg, his thumb caressing its fur. "A trick I never learned, I'm afraid," he counters. Laelia looks up and views the dry, gritty peaks around them. "Does it ever end?" "This is further east than I've ever been," Allister confesses, "but yes, Khaleesi, everything ends, even the Red Waste." "And you're sure there's no other way?" she challenges the man.
"Those south of the land of the Isaasrorah, the land man will kill us and take your dragons. We go west to the Enochian Sea, the first khalasar we meet will kill us and take your dragons."
"No one will take my dragons," she retorts, glimpsing at the blonde fellow. A moment of silence passing between them, Allister thinking of what to say. "They are too weak to fight as are your people," all around them are her khalasar, staring at things with calm, hungry eyes.
"You must be their strength," Allister states.
"As you are mine," she susurrates to him. "Zhey qoy qoyi! Zhey Ashur zhey Aggo, zhey Kovarro. Fichi hrazef zinayi kishi. Ma yer adothrae tith; ma yer heshtith; ma yer valshtith."(Blood of my blood! Ashur, Aggo, Kovarro. Take our remaining horses. You ride east; you southeast; and you northeast.)
"Fin kisha fonoki, zhey khaleesi?" One of the men who marched up to her asks, hand on his weapon. (What do we seek, Khaleesi?)
"Vaes, che thiri che drivi. Ma verakasaris ma voji. Che ashefaes che tozaraes che Havazzhife Zhokwa. Ezo athchilar Athasaroon Virzetha hatif kishi, ma reki vekha yomme moon." (Cities, living or dead. Caravans and people. Rivers, or lakes, or the Great Salt Sea. Find how far the Red Waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side.)"Varanno, gwe," they move to the horses, petting their manes before sitting down on their saddles.
"Ashur. Yer athzalar nakhoki anni, zhey qoy qoyi." (Ashur, you are my last hope, blood of my blood.)
"Anha vos oziyenek shafkea, zhey qoy qoyi."(I will not fail you, blood of my blood.)
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ALLISTER TAKES A SIP OF HIS DRINK FROM the leather sack he held, taking a deep breath as a fly circles his head. The sound of hooves hitting the dark sand wakes him his half-sleep stupor, staring at a blurry image of a horse making its way over to the camp. "Khaleesi," he says. Laelia, too, hears her title and the hooves, waking from her sleep with her arm thrown over her stomach. A black mare with red war-paint walks up to them, no rider on its back. Blood dripped from a bag strapped to its side; dark hair protruded from the open cover and flies swarmed the sack. Allister reveals a head, but only sees the ear and forehead, Laelia wandering over. He then pulls out a lock of hair; the lock of a khalasar rider that was defeated in battle by other khalasar. "Don't need to see this," he tells Laelia. "He's blood of my blood," Laelia retorts, "who did this?"
"Khal Pono perhaps, Khal Jia. They don't like the idea of a woman leading a khalasar."
"They will like it far less when I am done with them," she cautions.
An Enochian woman, who they believe was that rider's beloved, walks over and weeps, kneeling before the pouch. "Mori atthasish oakah moon!" (They killed his soul!) It was Paris, crying over Ashur's death. Laelia places her pale hand over Paris' tan cheek. "Affa, affa. Mori laz vos atthi oakah vosecchi." (Shh. . . They cannot kill his soul.) Paris sobs even more, "Jin tish mori! Mori ogish ven mae ven rho. Mori avvirsosh khadoes moon. Me laz odothrae kimi mae she Rhaeshi Ajjalani avvos."(They did! They butchered him like an animal. They did not burn his body. He can never join his ancestors in the Night Lands.)
"Affa. Kisha amariki vorsqoy ha maan. Majin anha astak yeraan asqoy, me-Ashur adothrae kimi mae ajjalan."(Shh. We will build him a funeral pyre. And I promise you, Ashur will ride with his ancestors tonight.) Laelia bends down in front of the weeping handmaiden, hugging her and running her hands soothingly through her hair. Paris hugs Laelia tightly. Paris screams as grief washes over her body once more.
