Destiny of Embers

Daenerys was about to respond when a small bird arrived, delivering a message to Jorah. He read it quickly, his face darkening. It was a royal pardon for his crimes, sent by Varys.

"We'll discuss this later," Daenerys said curtly, her focus returning to the marketplace.

As they continued walking, Daenerys turned to Itachi, curiosity evident in her tone. "Where exactly are you from?"

Itachi glanced at her briefly, then returned his focus to the marketplace. "Let's just say I have no connection to your Seven Kingdoms."

Before she could probe further, Itachi's attention snapped to a man nearby. His sharp eyes caught a subtle movement as the man poured something into a wine cask—a fluid motion too deliberate to be innocent.

Itachi's gaze narrowed. The man approached Daenerys, a polished smile on his face, and offered a goblet of wine.

"Would you like to taste it, Khaleesi?" the man asked smoothly. "A gift—if you enjoy it, you can purchase more."

Daenerys hesitated, glancing at the wine. Before she could reach for it, Itachi's hand darted out, taking the goblet with fluid precision.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

Itachi stepped forward, his grip on the goblet firm. "So this is wine," he said, his tone calm yet icy. Without warning, he forced the goblet toward the man's lips.

"What are you—" the man struggled, but Itachi's grip was unyielding. He forced the wine down the man's throat.

The man's eyes widened in panic. Moments later, his body convulsed, and he collapsed, the goblet clattering to the ground.

Daenerys stared at the scene, horrified. Her gaze shifted to Itachi, who stood unfazed. "It was poisoned," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Itachi nodded, his expression calm. "I observed him. His movements, his intent—it was clear."

Daenerys regarded him in silence, the weight of his words settling in.

Itachi's dark eyes lingered on the lifeless man before him. Turning to Daenerys, he spoke with a calm yet firm tone, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

"Now I understand," he began, his gaze shifting to meet hers. "You don't trust me. That's fine." He sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "But if you want to survive in a world like this, you must learn how to observe. Look around you. Watch people—what they do, how they move, where their attention lingers. Even the quietest places can hide danger. These skills will allow you to achieve what you desire."

Daenerys stared at him, his words sinking in. She glanced at the fallen man, then back at Itachi, her thoughts swirling. His actions had saved her life, but his motives remained unclear. Is he truly an ally? Or is this all part of a grander act?

Itachi, as if reading her thoughts, sighed again. His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "You won't become a queen like this."

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes widened, stunned by his bluntness.

Before she could respond, Itachi turned and began to walk away, his steps as quiet as his presence was commanding.

Ser Jorah, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped closer to Daenerys. "Khaleesi," he said carefully, "he explained that in the simplest way possible. His advice… it holds truth."

Daenerys didn't respond immediately, her gaze following Itachi as he disappeared into the crowd. Finally, she nodded, though her expression remained resolute.

Her mind burned with a mix of frustration and determination. I will show you, Uchiha. I will prove myself, not just to you, but to everyone.

The moment lingered, the air thick with unspoken resolve. Daenerys squared her shoulders, a silent promise forming in her heart. The Iron Throne is mine by right, and I will claim it—on my own terms.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the camp, Daenerys sat quietly in her tent, processing the day's events. Ser Jorah stood nearby, his voice low and steady as he spoke.

"Khaleesi," he said, breaking the silence, "Robert Baratheon will never stop. As long as you live—and as long as your future children live—he will hunt you."

Daenerys looked up at him, her violet eyes filled with a mix of determination and unease. Slowly, she nodded. She understood the weight of his words. Her survival—and the survival of her legacy—would demand strength and resilience.

The sound of heavy footsteps and hushed murmurs grew louder outside. Drogo burst into the tent, his expression a storm of anger and concern. His eyes swept over Daenerys, searching for any sign of harm. When he saw she was unharmed, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

After learning the details of her near-assassination, Drogo's fury reignited. But as Jorah explained how Itachi Uchiha had saved her life, Drogo's expression shifted to one of contemplation.

"We owe him a debt," Drogo said firmly. His eyes narrowed as he gave an order. "Bring him the horse."

Nearby, a group of Dothraki warriors brought forth a magnificent white stallion. The horse was a creature of legend, with a gleaming coat that seemed to shimmer in the fading sunlight. It was a horse that no one in the khalasar had been able to tame—wild, untouchable, and dangerously aggressive.

Daenerys hesitated as she saw the horse rear back, its powerful muscles rippling with defiance. "This horse is very aggressive," she murmured.

Jorah nodded grimly. "Yes, Khaleesi. The khal was planning to put it down—no one has been able to handle it."

Drogo smirked slightly. "It has no use to us. Let's see if this man can make it his own, or if he will fail like the rest."

The tent fell silent as they realized something—or someone—was missing.

"Where is he?" Daenerys asked, glancing around.

Jorah sighed knowingly. "I have an idea where he might be."

With Drogo's permission, Jorah mounted his horse and reluctantly led the fierce stallion alongside him. Its nostrils flared, and it tossed its head, fighting every step. Daenerys, curious and uneasy, decided to follow at a distance.

When Jorah reached the cliffs overlooking the camp, he found Itachi sitting quietly beneath the shade of a lone tree. The Uchiha was gazing out at the vast expanse of the Dothraki Sea, the wind tousling his dark hair. He exuded an air of calm, as if the chaos of the world could not touch him.

"Khal Drogo is impressed by you," Jorah said, dismounting his horse.

Itachi turned his head slightly, acknowledging Jorah's presence but saying nothing. Jorah's eyes shifted to the wild stallion, and to his amazement, the horse had stopped its resistance. Its movements stilled, its fiery spirit seemingly soothed by the proximity of the quiet man under the tree.

Jorah watched in astonishment as the once-untamable horse stepped forward, approaching Itachi as if drawn by an unseen force. The Uchiha rose to his feet gracefully, his black cloak billowing slightly in the wind. He stood face-to-face with the majestic beast.

"This horse," Jorah began, "was a gift from Khal Drogo. A token of his gratitude for saving Khaleesi's life."

Itachi's gaze lingered on the horse for a moment. "A gift…" he murmured, his tone unreadable. The horse moved closer, lowering its head as if bowing to him.

Jorah couldn't hide his astonishment. "This horse… it's never let anyone near it. Yet, it seems to like you."

Itachi reached out, placing a hand gently on the horse's face. The stallion whinnied softly, leaning into his touch. A rare, faint smile flickered across Itachi's lips.

The horse nuzzled his shoulder affectionately, surprising even him. You like me this much? Itachi thought, his expression softening.

Jorah watched the interaction, shaking his head in disbelief. "I think you've tamed it, Uchiha."

Itachi turned his dark eyes toward Jorah. "Why was this given to me?"

"You saved Khaleesi," Jorah replied. "It's a sign of the khal's respect."

Itachi sighed, his calm demeanor returning. "So, this means I'm now expected to travel with all of you."

Jorah smirked faintly. "It would appear so."

Itachi chuckled softly under his breath. "I see." He looked at the horse, then at the vast horizon. "Well… I suppose I'm ready for this adventure."

With a fluid motion, he mounted the white stallion. The horse stood tall and proud beneath him, as if it had finally found its rider.

Jorah climbed onto his own horse, shaking his head in wonder. "Let's go, then."

As Itachi and Jorah rode back into the camp, a wave of murmurs swept through the Dothraki. The wild, untamable horse that had been the bane of the khalasar was now walking calmly beside Itachi, obedient and serene. Its once-defiant eyes seemed to gleam with quiet respect for its new master.

The gathered warriors, handmaidens, and even Drogo himself looked on with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. Whispers of awe rippled through the crowd.

"It is a miracle," one of the bloodriders muttered.

"Who is this man?" another asked, his tone tinged with both curiosity and wariness.

Daenerys stood near Drogo, her gaze fixed on Itachi as he dismounted the stallion with effortless grace. She couldn't help but notice how calm the horse was, a stark contrast to its previous aggression. The sight left her momentarily speechless.

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the vast plains as Khal Drogo's khalasar began their march of conquest. The warriors were invigorated, their chants echoing across the open fields, ready for the raids to fund their journey to the Iron Throne. By midday, they had descended upon a peaceful village in Lhazar. Smoke billowed into the air as chaos erupted—homes were torched, and the cries of villagers filled the atmosphere.

Daenerys stood amidst the havoc, her face pale as she witnessed the brutal aftermath. Bodies lay scattered, and terrified women were dragged away. Ser Jorah approached her, his tone measured yet resigned.

"This is the way of the Dothraki, Khaleesi," he said, trying to temper her visible distress. "They raid, take spoils, and sell slaves to gain gold. It's how wars are funded."

Before Daenerys could respond, a blur of motion caught her eye. Itachi Uchiha, his dark cloak billowing like a shadow, moved with purpose toward the chaos. His sharp gaze was locked onto a group of Dothraki warriors dragging women from their homes.

"What is he doing?" Jorah muttered, alarmed.

Itachi reached the first woman being manhandled by a warrior. Without hesitation, he struck, his kunai slicing through the air with precision. He aimed for non-lethal points, disabling the warrior in a flash. His movements were so swift and calculated that the others had barely registered what was happening before two more fell, clutching their arms or legs in pain.

The Dothraki froze momentarily, their rage simmering as they realized what Itachi had done. A wave of anger swept through them, and they began to charge.

"You dare interfere!" one bellowed.

Itachi's expression darkened, his Sharingan glinting momentarily under the sunlight. He dodged their attacks effortlessly, weaving between strikes as if anticipating every move. His kunai flashed again, disabling each warrior with surgical precision. The scene unfolded so quickly that Drogo, Jorah, and even Daenerys stood wide-eyed, watching in stunned silence.

When the dust settled, a circle of incapacitated warriors lay groaning on the ground. Itachi stood in the center, his gaze cold and unyielding.

"You already ruin one woman's life," he said, his voice low but laced with venom. "I will not let you do the same to others."

Daenerys's breath hitched as she looked at him. His anger was palpable, but beneath it was something else—a sorrow, a regret she couldn't fully understand.

Itachi turned to the women huddled in fear. One, visibly shaken and in torn clothes, caught his eye. He knelt before her, removing his cloak and draping it over her trembling form. His voice softened as he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone almost a whisper. "If I had been faster, I could have stopped them before this happened."

The woman looked at him with tears streaming down her face, clutching the cloak tightly. Behind her, the other women began to gather, their expressions a mix of fear and hope.

Daenerys approached cautiously, her gaze flickering between the women and Itachi. She drew herself up, her resolve hardening. "I claim them," she declared, her voice steady and commanding. "These women belong to me now. No one will touch them."

The Dothraki murmured angrily amongst themselves, but before any could act, Drogo arrived, his towering presence silencing the unrest. He observed the scene—the incapacitated warriors, the rescued women, and his Khaleesi's defiance. His gaze lingered on Itachi, his lips twitching with something akin to approval.

Drogo addressed the gathered warriors, his voice a thunderous boom. "If my Khaleesi wants these women, she may have them. Find others if you must."

The warriors, though disgruntled, bowed their heads in obedience. But one, consumed by fury, stepped forward.

"You let a foreign whore command us?" the man spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

The camp fell into a tense silence. Drogo's face remained impassive, but his hand twitched toward his arakh.

Itachi stood amidst the tense silence, his sharp eyes narrowing as he observed the brewing conflict. His mind calculated swiftly, recognizing that the fight unfolding between Khal Drogo and the warrior Mago was not his to interfere in. His gaze shifted to the frightened women he had just helped, his expression softening. He offered them a small, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," he said in a calm voice that carried a surprising warmth. "You're safe now. You're in good hands."

The women, still trembling from the ordeal, looked at him with a mixture of relief and awe. They could feel the sincerity in his words, a kindness that stood in stark contrast to the brutality they had witnessed.