Ezhi did not know what was happening. The chaos that was happening around her was not registering. Yells and people screaming, the Magister trying to negotiate with Khal Drogo, Daenerys yelling her name, Viserys' furious shouts directed toward her. None of it creeped into her mind. The only thing she could see was the Khal in front of her. Glaring down at her as if she were some demon he had to destroy.

Qotho, who had finally recovered his breathe, moved to stand next to the Drogo. He gauged the woman across from him. The fire she possessed was incredible, but did anyone know how broken she truly was? While a fire burned in her, there was still a greater coldness that reigned. Her actions showed that. The fire made her fierce, but the cold made her dispassionate. Qotho realized this while fighting her. Having the chance to fight her and see her up close gave him the chance to glimpse a small part of true her.

A sharp tug had Ezhi whirling around, her eyes losing the one who would see her dead. They settled instead on another who would see her eviscerated. If Viserys could have burned her alive with his eyes she would be nothing more than a pile of ash. The world around them was full of chaos but they seemed to be locked in a death stare, oblivious to the world.

"What have you done!?" He went to slam his hand across her cheek, but his arm was stopped before it could find purchase. Eyes turned to the person who stopped the hit, Illyrio. In all the time the Targaryen siblings had been in the care of Illyrio, not once did he stop the harshness Viserys directed at her.

"She faces the consequences to her actions. Let her face it without any more damage." Releasing Viserys's arm Illyrio motioned him away. With a huff of breath, he turned and followed by the Magister back toward his sister, who was still on the edge of the ring surrounded by the soldiers.

Ezhi on the other hand, her gaze went to her hands. The skin which would have normally been red with the blood rushing to strengthen her fingers had grown pale. The only red to be seen was the spattering of blood from her wound and the separation of flesh from knuckles meeting her opponents. Her gaze made its way to her hip. Blood had pooled on the fabric and it stuck to her skin. The wound was irritated, a slow trickle of blood still flowed, and sand stuck to the edges. She felt no pain, only a numb detached feeling. She heard nothing around her. Not the roar of the disquieted dothraki horde nor the rumble of the khal talking to his ko. Nothing.

A skittering of metal across sand pulled her from the void she found herself in. Her two knives came into her vision. One reached her feet while the other stopped a few feet away. Looking up she caught her whip which was tossed at her from the side.

Her gaze found the cluster of men which surrounded the khal. They were busy talking with him while he just starred at her, assessing her. A burning hatred was growing in his eyes. She was going to lose. She knew it. But, wasn't that what she wanted? To finally be free. Why now did she find that it was not such a pleasant thought anymore?

Stepping from the group of men Khal Drogo moved toward her, his arakh in hand. He moved forward until he stood only a few strides away. His eyes moved about her person; a dark smirk spread across his face. That smirk sent a small chill up her spine. She knew the cut across her hip did nothing but weaken her and so did he. The pain in her head caused her world to spin and her vision to blur on the edges at the slightest movement. None of this was in her favor. It would be difficult to beat the khal when she was at her best. In this state she did not have a chance. All she could do, would be to choose how far she wanted to fight.

"Pick up your blades." The Khal's voice was loud but low. His hand tightened on the blade he held, and his muscles were tense. He was ready to end this, and he was growing impatient.

Reaching down, as gingerly as she could to avoid irritating her wound, she picked up the blade at her feet. Her eyes never leaving the man in front of her. Righting herself she placed the blade back in its sheath. With slow steps she moved toward her second blade. It placed her closer to the khal. Not a place she wanted to be currently. Stopping with the blade a foot away, the khal only a blades length further than that, she bent down and reached out. Only just as she was close enough to snatch the blade up did her eyes leave Drogo's.

A 'mistake' she calculated. With her head bent down, the khal made a swing at her neck. But his blade only found sand. Ezhi rolled off to the side, having snatched up her final blade, and placed herself a relatively safe distance from the Khal. That would only get her so far as he moved swiftly to shorten the distance.

The next few minutes were a blur of hits, blocks, evasions and falls. Her thoughts did not come in comprehensible lines but barely their harmony between her mind and body. She was slowing. Her muscles no longer responding fast enough and barely able to hold her upright or keep her grip on the last blade. Her whip discarded and one blade lost to far out of reach for recovery. When had that happened? She could not recall.

What she did register was a fist aimed at her face. With a weak push of energy, she evaded the hit and made an effort to move a few strides away to give herself a split second to try and think of her last move. One she employed only when desperate to overtake a larger force with little energy.

As the Khal moved to make a swing again at her neck, she dropped low and swung her leg out. Effectively she removed the larger man from his feet. Following his fall, she rushed up pinning his chest with her legs on either side and his arm with blade in hand pinned as well. What she didn't count for was her dropping her own blade and him using it as his own.

A searing pain entered her side. Looking down she found the curved blade stuck into the flesh there. Looking back up her eyes met deep brown burning satisfaction. In that moment, her strength was gone. The Khal saw fit to roughly shove her from him. Her body easily tossed aside and rolled a few feet away. There was no strength left in her. Laying on her side she made the effort to get up, but it was pointless. Her movements only gaining her more pain and a final place on her side. Thankfully not her injured side but what did that matter. The sounds of the Khal bringing himself to his feet and the roar of the excited dothraki only confirmed her imminent end.

Opening her eyes, shifting her gaze across the sand she spotted something. Her feathers. The light breeze shuffling them here and there but not strong enough to send them flying, the tethers weighing them down. A glint of blue centered her failing vision. Her favorite feather.

She was dying. She could feel the steady flow of blood down her side, the burning pain she felt was becoming numb. She could vaguely register the shuffling of feet getting closer to her. A higher pitch voice pleading. Deep rumbles of a conversation close by. The louder rumbling of voices belonging to the dothraki. That is what registered in her mind. She could not decipher any words; it was just mumbling of unclear noise.

Another flash of the blue feather. A hard hit to her side rolled her to the flat of her back. Her eyes back to the sky. Another loud shrill of a voice.

I have no excuses to give on why I didn't post this. So much has been going on in my life I feel like my writing, even my own personal love of reading, has been pushed to the wayside. I cannot stress how much your love for this story makes me happy, especially when my lack of updates has not shown it. I cannot promise regular updates until I figure out what is going on in my head. Hopefully I can keep publishing for you all, especially when the world is the way it is currently. Stories are a temporary escape we all need sometimes.

Love you all!