Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Dany understood that she was now the leader of the group and had to exude confidence and strength. She could not afford to show fear or weakness.

Just as a chief surgeon must never reveal doubt or concern before entering the operating room, she needed to maintain composure.

"Are the horses refusing to drink from the waterhole?" Dany asked again.

"Yes, they won't even go near it," Afanti replied with a fearful expression, his voice trembling. "That water is poison. Everyone knows that water livestock won't drink has been cursed by demons."

"Everyone knows," came a voice from behind Dany. It was Ago.

Dany's bloodrider stood there, shirtless and clad only in silk trousers, as the rainstorm cleared and sunlight returned.

Though the horse herders lacked formal knowledge, their survival instincts were still admirable.

"I'll show you a little trick to solve this problem," Dany said with determination.

Before long, she got to work. She ordered her massive red copper basin to be brought out of her tent.

It was larger than a modern family bathtub, standing two meters high and weighing over a hundred pounds. It had been used by Drogo for bathing.

At the waterhole, they dug a trench and placed the copper basin into it—its height made pouring water into it difficult if it was left on the ground.

Next, she covered the basin with a sheepskin blanket, cutting a bowl-sized hole in the center. The sheepskin would help prevent water from evaporating under the intense heat.

Above the basin, she erected a two-meter-high triangular frame with four tiers, each tier holding a cloth bag.

From top to bottom: the first bag was filled with coarse sand, the second with fine sand, the third half-filled with cotton, and the fourth packed tightly with charcoal.

Finally, because of the scorching heat, Dany had a tent erected over the triangular frame for shade.

"Now, fetch water from that stagnant pool and pour it into the topmost wide-mouthed bag. Do it slowly, and don't spill," she instructed.

Soon, water began to trickle through the layers. "Drip, drip, drip—plop, plop, plop." Initially, it was just drops, but as the materials inside the bags became soaked, the water below the final bag formed a near-silver stream, flowing cleanly into the copper basin.

Ago, lying on the ground under the frame, exclaimed in astonishment, "The water is so clean! Cleaner than what we fetch from the Sheepmen River!"

"This…" Ser Jorah, a man of wide experience, was left speechless. He had never seen such a simple yet ingenious method of purifying water.

Could it be that Her Highness truly was a once-in-a-generation genius?

He knew, however, that this brilliant idea had only been sparked by a casual remark from one of her handmaidens.

The Red Wastes were not true deserts; they were dotted with shallow mud pits and stagnant waterholes. What the region lacked was clean water.

If this filtration technique could truly dispel the "demon's curse," they might actually have a chance to lead most of Khalasar across the wastelands.

The thought filled Jorah with excitement. "Your Highness, we should melt down the copper basin and forge several large water tanks from it.

The wasteland is scattered with shallow waterholes and wet mud pits. A single waterhole can't fill such a large basin, and the distances between waterholes are too far to ignore. Fetching from each one would waste too much time and manpower.

Instead, we could select several dozen elite riders, grouping them in threes. One person with two horses, one group with a large water tank and several empty water bags. They could spread out as scouts, exploring the terrain while collecting water from across the wasteland."

Dany looked at the burly, bald, middle-aged man before her, who resembled a black bear. For the first time, she realized he possessed such a keen mind.

"Alright," she nodded, approving his idea.

"Khalessi, the water isn't flowing anymore. What's going on?" Rakharo, who had been pouring water into the top layer of the cloth bags, called out in alarm.

Dany stepped forward, approached the wooden frame, and pulled open a corner of the bag.

"What a stench!" She recoiled, taking three steps back, overwhelmed by the foul odor.

The once bright red gravel was now coated with a thick, filthy sludge. The filtration system had completely clogged.

"You'll need to replace the sand, charcoal, and other materials regularly," Dany instructed. "Cotton is limited. When it runs out, you can substitute it with grass."

She then recalled the tough demon grass that even horses struggled to chew and added, "First, crush the grass into a fibrous mass. Or, let the horses chew it for a while before pulling it out of their mouths."

"Can you pull it out, Afanti?" she turned to the old man.

"Yes, we can," Afanti replied after a brief hesitation, though his face twisted into a grimace. "A gentle mare will comply, but some of the stronger stallions are fierce enough to bite a lion."

"Handle it however you see fit," Dany said, leaving the task to them.

Even after filtering the water through the charcoal system, Dany insisted on boiling it before distributing it. This time, mindful of the minerals lost through sweat, she added salt and dried figs to the water.

The result was a subtly sweet and salty beverage that was refreshing and delicious. Doreah absolutely adored it.

By the second evening, Dany's Khalasar had covered only 80 kilometers, stopping around midnight.

While they happened upon a slightly larger stagnant water pool, Dany's primary concern was conserving the horses' strength.

Each person in her group had at least one horse. Traveling at a pace of 10 kilometers per hour, the exertion was manageable for both horses and riders.

The real challenge was resupply—no matter how strong, a horse couldn't sustain intense marching without adequate food and water.

That night, Dany made adjustments to their camp setup.

As the warriors filtered water in the latter half of the night, Dany directed a group of strong fighters to build a curved wall using rocks and mud. Though flimsy, the low wall managed to block 70% of the direct sunlight when the sun rose the next morning.

On the third day, as they prepared to leave, Dany introduced a change to the horsemen's hairstyles.

For horsemen, cutting their braids was a sign of defeat. The longer the braid, the more respect they commanded. Even Afanti, the elderly horse herder with his sparse bald scalp, had his few strands woven into a braid.

Though they had no cultural taboo against cutting hair, horsemen never trimmed theirs.

But in this scorching heat, with no way to bathe, the risk of bacterial infection and illness loomed. Besides, the greasy, unwashed hair was unbearable—not just for Dany, but for everyone nearby.

Dany could barely tolerate the smell and decided it was time for a change.

If not for her heat-resistant constitution, she might have considered cutting off her long silver-gold hair herself.

Thus, she suggested that Aggo shave his head. Well, Jorah, being already bald, didn't need a haircut—there wasn't much left to manage anyway.

"Cut off my braid? Everyone would look down on me," Aggo protested, shaking his head like a rattle drum.

"Then I'll make everyone shave their heads," Dany declared.

"Everyone knows the significance of braids to the Dothraki. Once we leave the Wastes, how will others view us? As defeated cowards? Slaves from Slaver's Bay?" Jhoqo firmly objected.

"I've heard that even enslaved Dothraki horsemen would rather die at the hands of their masters than have their hair cut—unless they were raised as slaves from infancy.

Long braids with bells are a more distinctive symbol of the Dothraki than even their arakhs," Jorah interjected, trying to persuade her.

Dany mulled over it for a moment and then gritted her teeth. "Fine. Just leave the hair around the braid intact!"

It wasn't the most attractive look, but it was certainly more hygienic and cooler.

The dagger moved painstakingly in Jorah's hands, scraping away layers of grime as if he were cleaning a clogged latrine without a proper toilet. The blade skimmed the scalp, peeling off a thick layer of blackened residue.

It was an odd concoction of hair oil, sweat, dandruff, dirt, and flea eggs, fermented for months into a crusty shell.

Aggo, whose hair on the top and sides was shaved clean, looked like a turtle shedding its hardened shell—it really was a solid layer!

"How does it feel?" Rakharo asked curiously from the side.

"How does it feel?" Aggo's face lit up with a relieved expression, as though he'd just been freed after two weeks of constipation. He murmured, "It's like taking off a heavy sheepskin blanket in the scorching summer—suddenly I feel so much lighter."

"It's not an illusion. Your head just shed at least three pounds of burden," Dany teased dramatically.

"The braid remains completely untouched!" Qhono exclaimed excitedly, pointing to the patch of hair preserved for the braid at the back of Aggo's head. "Look, the length of the braid isn't affected at all! This hairstyle is incredible. It's a gift from the Great Horse God through our Khaleesi. We should spread it throughout the Dothraki Sea."

"Khaleesi, can we also shave our heads like this?" Jiqi, one of the handmaidens, asked enviously.

Dany almost choked on her own spit.

"You'd better just go for a short haircut."

In the end, everyone in her khalasar, men and boys included, adopted the new haircut, leaving only a small section of hair for their braids. The women had initially wanted to follow suit until they saw the ear-length bob Dany had cut for Doreah.

As for Dany herself, she didn't cut her hair. She didn't need to. First, she was heat-resistant. Second, maintaining her hair was simple—she only had to step into a fire and let it burn away any grime.

Dandruff, oil, lice, bacteria—none could survive the scorching heat of 1,000 degrees.

Whenever she bathed in flames, her three young dragons would flap their wings and join her, like children following their mother into a bathhouse.

Every time her handmaidens saw Dany and her dragons playing amidst the fire, they would look at her with awe, as though beholding a goddess.

It was also during these fiery baths with her dragonlings that Dany learned how to properly feed them.

(End of Chapter)

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