|"Game of Thrones" Khal Drogo|
Khal Drogo now stands before Shevata, the lead character of the Gastar novellas, awaiting judgment for eternal doom in the fire pits of Hell.
Shevata’s face froze as she read the length scroll. One of the higher demons sat a stone table beside the obsidian throne where she sat and placed an elaborate goblet of gold and filled it with a green liquid from a silver pitcher. She shook her head at the demon. “Only Zermon can make this happen. Only he can create a higher demon.”
The demon completed his task, making certain the mug was completely filled. “You killed Kuvern. Now he must be replaced.” He walked away.
A pair of huge winged demons, larger than Zermon, brought in a large, muscular, powerful man, with dark skin, scant clothing, and a long braid down his back. She read down the scroll. “Khal Drogo of the Dothraki, is that right?” He mumbled something and one of the demons twisted his arm backwards. He did not show pain.
“Khal Drogo, we all speak the same language here. Just look at me and speak clearly and I will understand you.”
He glared at her. “All of you can fuck yourselves.”
Shevata raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m afraid you’re past the battles of insults, battles for gold, battles for blood. You’re in a dark place, Khal. In Hell, Zermon decided all savages that go through lands mindlessly killing women, children, and other innocents will see their afterlife here. Now you, only you, have a chance for redemption. So you can either tell me to fuck off, or offer something for the lives you’ve taken.”
“It is known they are ours to take!” Shouted the Khal. A demon hit him hard in the mouth.
“It is not known here. Don’t prove us right by being stupid. You will either offer something of worth back to those you killed or you will become one of those that hold you now.” She motioned to the goblet. The Khal relaxed. “The moon of my life. Daenerys. I give everything. To her.”
Shevata leaned back and read through the scroll again. “She has dragons. She lost your son. I’m sorry.”
“If anything left of me, I give to her.” He said again.
Shevata handed him her golden-jeweled dagger. “Killing yourself here won’t help her.”
He took the dagger and cut off his braid to his scalp and threw it into the fire pit. He reached down with it and cut his Achilles tendon then handed the blade back to her. “No more Khal. No more battle.”
Shevata felt her mouth drop open with awe. She reached into her pocket and handed him a clear gem, glittering in multiple colors, like a prism. “Take this and it will guide you out of Hell. Your soul will go to your Khaleesi. Rest well, Khal Drogo.”