Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

When all is said and done, Jon looks back and feels he made the right call by demanding that all challenges be between him and the other Khals in one-on-one personal combat. To be fair, as the Dosh Khaleen made clear, this was the way things were done in Vaes Dothrak to begin with. While it was common for rival khalasars to clash and do battle with one another across the great Dothraki Sea, it was apparently highly irregular for them to participate in some sort of mass khalasar versus khalasar honor duel right outside of Vaes Dothrak.
 
Ultimately, Jon probably would have been just fine if he’d taken all challenges as they’d come, because he’d inherited Drogo’s khalasar and even with the purging he’d had to do while they traveled from Pentos to Vaes Dothrak, he still had one of the biggest khalasars in Dothraki History. However, if he’d tried to make every challenge a khalasar versus khalasar sort of thing, his legitimacy would likely have been called into question far more stringently.
 
As it was, there were still plenty of Dothraki that were angered quite a bit by the idea of some wet-behind-the-ears Westerosi boy leading their people. Obviously, Jon had proven himself to the Dothraki of his own khalasar already, and the Dosh Khaleen themselves were backing him up… but he still needed to show his strength of arms to the rest of the Dothraki people, especially if he was going to lead them out of the era of slavery and rape and murder they’d been wallowing in for so long.
 
Luckily, The Duels as they had come to be known, had seen to that. The very first day Jon had begun dealing with the Khals who would usurp him, there had been plenty of laughter and derision from those who gathered around to watch the ceremonial duel take place just outside of Vaes Dothrak. His very first competitor had even given a speech in Dothraki, a long monologue that Jon had allowed, if only because it gave him a chance to do some stretching and get all limbered up for the day ahead.
 
The monologue had had several fair points. Jon was indeed Westerosi and had not a single ounce of Dothraki Blood within him. On top of that, he was also young. Not too young to be a Dothraki Warrior to be sure, but one of the youngest to ever be called Khal. Of course, his first challenger was insistent that Jon was no Khal at all, spitting out the name ‘Khal Jhono’ with great disdain as he riled up the crowd in his favor, and claiming that the Dosh Khaleen had been bewitched by Westerosi Magics, by blood witches or something.
 
By the time their fight had finally begun, most of the Dothraki in attendance were cheering on Jon’s opponent, even some who Jon knew came from his own khalasar. The two of them had come together, their blades clashing… and the cheering had faltered when Jon swiftly dodged his enemy’s sword before cutting out his hamstring, sending him crashing to one knee and beheading him on the backswing in one smooth motion.
 
He dealt with the Khal’s bloodriders as well, the men waiting in the wings to attack immediately, though even they took a second to react, staring wide-eyed and surprised at the death of their Khal. No one expected the Dothraki Warrior to go down so easily, and Jon later learned this was because that particular Khal was considered the closest thing Drogo had to a rival.
 
The second challenger didn’t bother with a monologue. He simply snarled and charged Jon the moment that the previous Khal and his dead bloodriders were pulled out of the ring. Jon took him down just as quickly. It was a matter of necessity. Jon had plans, he had things he wanted to be doing, and he needed to be doing them, not wasting his time here reining in the Dothraki Hordes.
 
That was why Jon’s intentions were to finish this within the week. He was going to make his way through every challenger and the subsequent fight with their bloodriders by week’s end, so that he could get started on what really mattered… ending slavery within the Dothraki Culture as a whole.
 
By the end of the first day, Jon had made his way through half a dozen Khals and their bloodriders. The second went much the same. By the third, some of the cons of Jon’s decision to make every challenge a one-on-one duel began to show themselves. He was still fairly happy with how it all turned out, of course, but there were some minor downsides to his choice.
 
For one, some of the Khals scheduled to challenge him began to flee from Vaes Dothrak. Not many, of course, and those that did had fairly small khalasars, made even smaller when some of their warriors refused to follow them. But upon realizing that they couldn’t possibly beat him, he who had gone from being this young upstart Westerosi to a near-mythological figure in battle, a few cowardly Khals did flee, using what excuses they could to make their men leave with them in the dead of night.
 
They would not be welcome back in Vaes Dothrak of course, but these remnants of what the Dothraki had been would no doubt linger around the edges of what Jon planned to have them become for some time. And if he didn’t do something about them, they might come back to bite him in the ass later on.
 
Another minor irritation was the assassination attempts that started up around the third night in. Whatever power had awakened within Jon on his eighteenth name day, whatever sort of dragon it was that now rested in Jon’s soul… it wasn’t so easily ambushed as all that. Nor was it easily poisoned apparently. The worst part was the fact that he was usually with a woman at night, or multiple women, and they were in danger because of him.
 

Luckily, none of his women were ever harmed, and Jon was able to dispatch the would-be assassins easily enough. But all the same, their attempts were an unwelcome surprise, and a show of just much his presence was already beginning to disrupt the Dothraki way of life. For the Horse-Lords to resort to such underhanded measures as knives in the dark and poison in his food, well, it just showed how afraid they’d become of him.
 
It wasn’t all bad though. Jon’s decision did come with some pros to go alongside those scant cons. For instance, his prowess in battle quickly elevated him from some Westerosi boy to the Khal of Khals that the Dosh Khaleen claimed him to be in the eyes of many Dothraki Warriors. His blood might not be Dothraki, but as the Dosh Khaleen had taken to constantly preaching, nothing in the old scriptures said that the Stallion Who Mounts the World needed to be of Dothraki Descent.
 
In fact, given the translation of that title in Ancient Dothraki being ‘Dragon’, and given Jon’s three growing dragon children, well… it was quickly becoming obvious to many of the Horse Lords with some semblance of sense that they were witnessing history, that they were becoming part of something greater. Everyone wants to matter, in the end. It’s just how you go about making yourself matter that sets you apart.
 
By the end of the week, one in five of his challengers would surrender instead of fight him, offering him their braid and letting him cut it so that they could in turn rejoin the Dothraki as nothing more than a braidless warrior, regaining their lost honor from the old system under the new system that he was creating. Jon especially liked those because it meant he didn’t have to kill the bloodriders.
 
It wasn’t that he was flagging or anything like that, the dragon he had become didn’t seem capable of it, truth be told. It was like he’d been empowered by the gods themselves or something, and truth be told, he was beginning to buy in to his own mythos, at least a little bit. He wasn’t just some Westerosi anymore, he wasn’t even just some Targaryen King in exile or something. He’d become the Khal of Khals in truth, the Stallion Who Mounts The World… he’d become a dragon.
 
And yet… it seemed that not everything was going to go his way forever. Despite succeeding in his self-appointed goal of beginning the reformation of the Dothraki, Jon had other problems now… big problems. Sat in his tent, Jon presses his lips tightly together as he looks down at the letter that Tycho Nestoris, Representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos, has sent him.
 
“Is it bad, my love?”
 
That’s Bellegere, as it turns out. Daenerys is currently with her handmaidens, looking after the dragons. Bellegere was the one to bring him the letter personally, and as he’d sat down to read it, she in turn had knelt down and fished his cock from its confines, before wrapping her full, tanned breasts around it. Almost as if to remind him that of all of his women, Bellegere certainly has the most substantial rack.
 
She’s been tending to his needs for a while now as he’s been reading, but it might have become clear that Jon has finished and grown pensive, because now she looks up at him from betwixt his legs and peers at him, visibly concerned as she nestles his cock between her breasts even now.
 
“It’s… the man who I was raised to believe was my father is now dead.”
 
That was the least of it, truth be told, but it was the most important to Jon, at least in the moment. Eddard Stark was dead… and the Seven Kingdoms were at war with one another. A low gasp leaves Bellegere’s throat at the news, and she looks at him with pity and sorrow on his behalf.
 
“I’m so sorry, Jon… is there anything I can do?”
 
Perhaps it’s a little crass, perhaps it’s inappropriate… but he’s not just Jon Snow, he’s the Khal of Khals and a dragon now. And the dragon in his chest was already purring in contentment from Bellegere’s attentions, even as it roared in anger at the loss of his blood uncle. So, Jon smiles down at Bellegere and tells her the truth.
 
“You’re already doing it.”
 
That gets something of a blush from the Black Pearl of Braavos, but she just smiles coyly in the end and returns to pleasuring him with her tanned tits and gorgeous mouth. Her pillowy lips close around his cockhead and she begins to quietly suck him off, even as Jon considers all that he’s learned from Tycho’s letter.
 
Westeros is at war, and from what the Iron Bank can tell, it’s at least partially because of Jon. When Robert had arrived in Winterfell after Jon’s departure, it was to ask Eddard Stark to become the Hand of the King for him after the passing of their mentor and Jon’s namesake, Lord Arryn. Lord Stark had accepted, but according to the letter, had gone to King’s Landing alone.
 
That was curious to say the least. It was one thing to leave Robb behind, but supposedly Ned had refused a betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey, claiming it was too premature? Maybe that was true, but Jon had a sinking suspicion that it was because his uncle knew that Jon was out there, and that shit might just go down in some way or fashion.
 
In the end, Jon’s choice to go to Daenerys and interrupt her wedding to Drogo had apparently made waves. Such waves that they reached Westeros’ shores at some point during the time period where Jon and his new khalasar were making their way to Vaes Dothrak. Upon hearing about Jon’s exploits, King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, had had Lord Eddard Stark stripped of his post and locked in the Black Cells.
 
From the letter, Tycho was certain that Lord Stark hadn’t cracked, even if they had tortured him. There were no hints that Jon’s true identity as Rhaegar and Lyanna’s legitimate son was known to the Kingdoms of Westeros at this time. Even still, things hadn’t ended there. Apparently, while Ned had languished in the Black Cells, Robert had been assassinated, and somehow the Lannisters thought they could get away with pinning it all on the most honorable man in Westeros.
 
… They were calling it the War of the Five Kings. Robb had been named the King in the North, Stannis and Renly were apparently fighting for their brother’s throne after both had declared all three of Robert’s children bastards, and meanwhile even Balon Greyjoy had decided he was King of the Iron Islands, rebelling a second time and sending his reavers to raid the Westerlands for fun and profit.
 
In the middle of all of that were the Lannisters trying to hold onto power in King’s Landing. It was all rather wild, but beyond Lord Eddard Stark being executed down in King’s Landing for apparent treachery, all of Jon’s special people were still in the North, apparently. Ned should never have left Winterfell, but at least he’d been smart enough to leave everyone else behind.
 
Tycho’s letter didn’t necessarily state outright that the Iron Bank wished for Jon to return to Braavos. The banker was smarter than that. But it was certainly implied in the man’s final words, a request for a response in all due haste about what Jon intended to do next. He needed to decide, obviously. Because as far as he could see, he had a choice between multiple options in front of him.
 
He could return to Braavos and rely on the Iron Bank’s plans for how to capitalize on this War of the Five Kings to ultimately seat him on the Iron Throne of Westeros. Alternatively, he could continue to focus his efforts here in Essos. Either he hunted down the remaining Dothraki Khalasars that had fled Vaes Dothrak in order to properly bring the entirety of the Horse Lords under his banner… or he turned his eye to Slaver’s Bay and got a faster start on turning the Dothraki from slavers to liberators as he intended.
 
A groan leaves Jon’s lips and he brings a hand down atop Bellegere’s head, guiding her back and forth along his member for a few moments before finally cumming. He doesn’t need to warn the gorgeous prostitute, she knows when a man is about to ejaculate and she’s all too ready to swallow every last drop of his seed. When she’s done and his cock pops out from between her lips, the Black Pearl graces him with a happy smile, clearly hoping that she’s pleased him, if even just a little.
 
Jon smiles back, because she’s actually pleased him a lot more than a little, and even if Daenerys is now his khaleesi or wife or Queen, Bellegere… Bellegere will always hold a special place in his heart. Still, as he strokes a hand through her hair and enjoys the way she leans into and nuzzles at his touch, Jon’s eyes turn back to the letter once more.
 
He needs to come to a decision it would seem… and fast.

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