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TRUTH IN TRIGGERED WORDS

Lord Ecbert was sure. He wished to make allies with the Dothraki khalasar said to have appeared in the east of Westeros, not far from the Vale itself. It was not known where they had travelled from or what their intent was, only that they had apparently done what Dothraki did not do – they had travelled across the sea. Dothraki steered far from such water, distrusting anything that their horses would not drink. But these Dorthraki had travelled in ships, such ships unseen in the east before.

Now these Dothraki roamed, as expected, and enjoyed the spoils of the land. Such news had been a gift from the Seven to Lord Ecbert. It was said that the Dothraki were savages, more brutal than even those from the Ironlands, that they took pleasure in their victims' death cries and rode relentlessly onwards, the idea of settlements, of such stone permenancy, was utterly foreign and strange to them. These Dothraki could provide strength that Lord Ecbert had been seeking, to shore up his chances against those that sought to dictate the Vale's fortunes. The House of Arryn was unstable and Lord Ecbert and his son had great ambitions of their own.

So, upon news of the khalasar's entirely unexpected presence, Lord Ecbert sent for Athelstan, a young septon who he had often sent for before for conversation after meeting him at a festival held in honour of the Mother. Lord Ecbert had learned how to spot who could be useful, and his first conversation with Athelstan had uncovered someone with a talent for languages and the way faiths changed in the North, the Ironlands and beyond. Athelstan had sworn himself to the Mother and while he had never been a begging brother, he was one of a number who sometimes ministered beyond the Vale before returning. His High Septon had remarked that Athelstan was always eager to learn more of the Seven Kingdoms, of how he could aid and minister to them.

Athelstan had never met any Dothraki, this Lord Ecbert knew, but he also knew that Athelstan had met those who had and as a consequence now spoke the harsh-sounding language well enough. And he was devoted to the Seven and perhaps would be an intriguing enough proposition to cause the Dothtaki khal a moment of pause, a listening ear, even if just initially for mockery. Lord Ecbert had not gained his place merely through the work of his forefathers. This was a chance he could not ignore.

Athelstan's High Septon had been informed and had told Lord Ecbert that he would instruct Athelstan to obey Lord Ecbert's request. It was an opportunity for the Dothraki to hear the message of the Seven. Their appearance near the Vale was rare indeed, how far had they travelled? The High Septon knew a vital chance when he saw it too. Good.

Athelstan arrived, dressed as simply as always, his hooded robing dark brown and edged with gold. He wore a chain around his neck bearing a small flower pendant, the symbol of his devotion to the Mother. He inclined his head towards Lord Ecbert, awaiting instructions. Lord Ecbert also knew that Athelstan liked horses. Lord Ecbert smiled.

Athelstan travelled with several young guards. Athelstan did not speak to them, he was lost in his own thoughts, in the familiar pace of Faithful, his horse. The High Septon had been clear – Athelstan was to speak to the Dothraki khal whose khalasar had been roaming so close to the Vale, he was to offer them welcome from Lord Ecbert. Lord Ecbert wished to make allies with them. He was sure that a war would soon come to Westeros, what was occurring in the Westerlands told him that. And he would not see the East suffer.

"The Dothraki who have never touched our lands before, whose own lands are said to be so different to our own, have appeared. An answer from the Seven," Lord Ecbert had told Athelstan. "But they have their own god and care for the sport of savagery greater than even those in the Ironlands."

Yes, Athelstan believed that. Still, he was taken by surprise when suddenly there was a surge of hoofbeats and he and his travelling companions were surrounded by Dothraki warriors on horseback. Athelstan's breath quickened but he calmed Faithful; the Dothraki looked as they had been described to him, they wore leather or horsehair breeches, their chests bare, their countenances fierce. Their hair was long and threaded with beads that made noise as they moved and there were women among the warriors, as fierce as the men. They were unlike anything Athelstan had ever seen before, he could not stop staring.

Then he saw how the guards with him had their swords drawn. His heart beating even faster, he quickly raised a hand and said loudly in Dothraki, "I'm here to speak with your khal. I bring greetings from Lord Ecbert, from the Vale."

There were shouts and sneers from the riders, some of which made Athelstan colour deeply. The warriors that had ridden with him didn't look happy but they didn't strike at the Dothraki either. Eventually one Dothraki warrior rode close. He was tall and sturdy-looking with long fair hair and an amused look in his expression. Athelstan managed to hold his gaze and the man let out a shout of laughter.

"You come without swords," he sounded as though he was relishing the words. "Without men."

Of course. Athelstan was prepared for such a thing, he had never worshipped the Warrior but he had heard tales of those who did. This was the way for him – no sword, only his compassion and his faith. He nodded and turned back to his guards, "If I am to stay, you cannot."

"Septon, we cannot allow-."

Athelstan shook his head, glad that it was unlikely his words were understood by the Dothraki. "The High Septon told me of the importance of this mission. The Mother will guide me. Tell Lord Ecbert I have stayed. If he wishes to send someone after me, tell him to wait, just a few days."

The guards didn't look happy but they left him. They too had been told of the importance of the mission, so important that a septon could be left with such dangerous company. The Dothraki who had spoken watched all of this in silence and then nearer Athelstan again.

"You stay."

Athelstan did not think of the stories of bloodshed he had heard, of how the Dothraki enjoyed a lusty blood-soaked existence. He did not think of the Great Stallion or how he himself could get trampled here. Of course he was afraid. The new gods did not ask for sacrifices, not as others did, but they asked for commitment, devotion, and this was his.

"I stay."

The Dothraki warrior was called Torstein and was a bloodrider of Khal Ragnar. Athelstan rode beside him towards where the Dothraki were now making camp.

"So you will die when he does," Athelstan stated.

Torstein looked surprised and still amused, "You know our language and our ways."

"I have known people who have travelled and met Dothraki. They learned and then taught me."

Torstein barked a laugh again, "And so you speak to our khal, for your lord, to make friends."

"Yes."

Torstein still seemed so amused and Athelstan didn't know why. It caused a chill in the depths of his stomach. Still he rode and hummed a hymn under his breath, gathering his courage. He had never expected such a duty but he was here because his High Septon had told him of its importance. It would strengthen the East and perhaps bring the faith of the Seven to the Dothraki.

The Dothraki encampment rose before him. It was large, full of tents and people and children, running around, shouting and sparring with weapons. There were clouds of fragrant steam where food was likely being prepared and Athelstan was sure he caught sight of a couple copulating. He averted his eyes, his cheeks red. Torstein called the other riders forward, they thundered into the camp, calling greetings and caring immediately for their horses. Torstein called to a boy and told him to tell the khal of their return, with a gift.

Athelstan's stomach rolled and his hand touched the pendant that hung from a chain around his neck. He was a servant of the Father, bringing word from the East. He was no gift, such a phrase signalled use, possession. It made the chill inside of him only increase.

He slid down from Faithful with ease, stroking his horse's neck. They had often ridden together, Athelstan had always felt clearer in mind after a long ride, as though the Father had spoken to him. Torstein was watching him closely now and Athelstan reluctantly pulled back, allowing a boy to lead Faithful away with the other horses. This was for the Seven, for the Mother.

Athelstan followed Torstein, they walked past more Dothraki who slapped Torstein on the back or cuffed him with what looked like friendliness. There was meat being cooked, the smell was penetrating. Athelstan saw a cart being unloaded and some Dothraki that could have been healers. There was so much noise and movement, so much to look at and learn. Athelstan recognised much from stories he'd been told but much was new to him also. His heartbeat danced.

Torstein slowed as they reached a larger tent. There were beautiful horses outside, they were strong looking, perhaps not as delicately-footed as many Athelstan had seen in the Vale but there was a quality of wildness in these horses' eyes that took his breath away. He couldn't imagine what they'd be like to ride. He drew to a halt and stared, wishing he'd remembered to bring some fruit, wondering how to approach them without offending the Dothraki who revered their horses.

"They will not bite."

A man was stood near the entrance to the tent. Torstein had disappeared, this could be another bloodrider but Athelstan could see how the man held himself and how others passing reacted to him. His heart thundered and his hand reached for his pendant. He asked the Mother for guidance, for her words. He did not wish to let her down.

He bowed slightly from the waist up. "Khal Ragnar."

The khal looked amused, it made Athelstan feel that chill again. Khal Ragnar had long braided hair, threaded with beads, no, they were actually tiny bells. Athelstan could not help staring, the bells tinkled with every movement the khal made. His skin was painted with marks from battle and he seemed entirely comfortable in just his leather breeches and strips of leather wrapped around his arms. He was an entrancing figure, one that Athelstan found it hard to look away from.

"You are my gift."

The khal sounded intrigued and pleased. Flushed, Athelstan hurried to correct him in Dothraki, "A messenger, from Lord Ecbert of the Vale."

Khal Ragnar's eyebrows rose, "A messenger who speaks our language."

Athelstan nodded slightly. He was only a messenger, not a gift, and he would have to be careful. The Mother would guide him, of course she would. It was why he was there.

Khal Ragnar inclined his head towards the interior of the tent, "Come."

It was a command Athelstan obeyed. Khal Ragnar did not move, meaning that Athelstan had to brush close past him in order to enter the tent. Khal Ragnar gave off great heat. Athelstan could feel his own countenance pink again and saw Khal Ragnar's smirk.

Inside the tent, there were voices belonging to several Dothraki. There was a young fair-haired man who looked enough like Khal Ragnar that Athelstan was sure he was Khal Ragnar's son. The same could be said of a handful of younger Dothraki boys, tumbling together and talking loudly. There was a bright shine of happiness here, Athelstan could feel it with the skill of one used to spending time with fellow worshippers. Perhaps, the Mother might approve. It was a strange almost uncomfortable thought but Athelstan could not erase it.

The tent was richly decorated and yet looked comfortable also, it was well-loved, well-battered. And there was someone staring at Athelstan. A beautiful lean woman, who wore leather that did not cover as much as it should to Athelstan's septon eyes, sat amongst the children. Her hair was fair and braided back and her eyes were smokily outlined, as were Khal Ragnar's. She held herself like a warrior and was almost certainly the most strikingly beautiful woman Athelstan had ever seen. It was a fair guess that she was Khal Ragnar's khaleesi.

Athelstan bowed towards her as he had towards Khal Ragnar who strode in beside him, their sides touching in a way that felt like deliberation. Something inside of Athelstan jumped, his hands reached once more for his pendant.

"A messenger from the Vale."

"Athelstan," Athelstan quickly provided, realising that Khal Ragnar had not yet heard his name, nodding towards the intent woman. "Khaleesi."

Her eyebrows lifted and she moved at last, her head tilting slightly. Her voice was as accented as Khal Ragnar's. "You know our people."

"I was taught."

Khal Ragnar pressed closer to Athelstan, seeming intent upon Athelstan's reactions, "And taught well, this is my khaleesi, Lagertha. My son by her, Björn Ironside, for his feats in battle."

The tallest oldest boy wore an expression like Lagertha's but nodded at Athelstan as though he was trying to learn something. There was a scar across Björn's neck and while he was young, Athelstan did not doubt that he had kills to his name. Khal Ragnar's words had been curious though – if Björn was his son by Lagertha, then who were the other children here mothered by?

Khal Ragnar was looking at him as though he was enjoying Athelstan's thoughts. It was a disconcerting idea and Athelstan felt that chill again, paired with something he did not dare examine closely, for it was unknown to him and forbidding because of it.

"My sons, Ubbe, Hvikserk and Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye. Their mother is across the water."

It was a strange explanation and a strange picture to create. A khal with two khaleesis? Or only one, Lagertha, and a woman the khal had lain with for the purpose of sons or the sin of sexual union outside of marriage vows. There were stories of what marriages had once been like in Westeros but such practices were long buried and the actions of figures such as Rhaegar Targaryen were lessons in themselves.

Athelstan cleared his throat and nodded his head to the children who eyed him curiously. "Hello."

He took a breath to launch into the message that he and the High Septon had prepared together when Khal Ragnar clapped his hands.

"We eat."

So Athelstan was caught up in a hurry of bodies to outside the tent, through the camp until they reached a wider space, like a courtyard amongst the tents. There were several fires burning and pots hung over them, women tending to them. There were couples intertwined and one man shoved another down, his hand clenched in a fist. The couples, Athelstan noticed, were not just comprised of men with women. And these were supple strong bodies, clad in brazen leather and the full confidence that all Dothraki seemed to embody. Athelstan looked away, perhaps a hair slower than he had done before.

Khal Ragnar wrapped a hand around Athelstan's wrist and dragged him down beside him. There were no tables, people walked around or stood or sat in groups or pairings. There seemed to be no order, no beginning and no end. One of the boys – Ubbe? - handed Athelstan a large bowl of steaming meaty stew. Athelstan knew what it was; he remembered vividly the first time he'd heard about the Dothraki's customs. They revered horses, they also ate them.

Athelstan stared down into his bowl, his heart thundering, but he dug a knife that had been handed to him. It was a custom for these people and he would follow it. He would show them how welcoming the Vale truly was.

But during the meal he did not get a chance to speak Lord Ecbert's message to Khal Ragnar. The khal asked Athelstan many questions, about the Vale, about the Iron Throne that so many spoke of, about Athelstan himself. Athelstan felt incredibly aware of Khal Ragnar and his khaleesi.

"You are not a warrior."

Athelstan shook his head. "No, I am a septon. I serve the Seven."

"Your gods."

Athelstan's eyes widened slightly in surprise at this knowledge. "Yes."

"So you are a holy man."

"I try to be, for the Mother."

Athelstan touched his pendant, which drew Khal Ragnar's eyes to the jewellery. Athelstan explained about the Seven, about each aspect and how one was chosen by each person, the one that they themselves were dedicated to. Athelstan had chosen the Mother, for her compassion and mercy. It was a role he believed himself well-suited to and the High Septon agreed. Athelsan was proud to serve the Mother.

Khal Ragnar asked question after question, wishing to know more of the Faith of the Seven and of Athelstan. Lagertha asked questions too, of the land and warriors. Björn cut in with his own questions, seeming not to understand why Athelstan had not chosen the Warrior from the Seven.

It was an invigorating challenging meal but Athelstan found himself fascinated by how these people were talking, by their interest, by the ways they were living and exhibiting themselves around him. There was so much noise and there were always people touching, couples and groups. There were children running around and a thin man with intense eyes and hardly any hair who stared at Athelstan and hissed.

"He is a holy man too," Björn said by way of explanation, when he saw Athelstan's expression.

The man spat towards Athelstan. The chill spiked sudden and hard through Athelstan in response. This man evidently knew of the strength of Athelstan's faith and did not welcome it. That was to be expected, though Athelstan was not used to such opposition. He swallowed hard and touched his pendant.

After the meal, Khal Ragnar took hold of Athelstan's wrist again and pulled him expectantly to his feet. Athelstan felt as though he could not catch his breath. He followed the khal wordlessly and was perhaps surprised to find himself beside horses again, a large herd of them. Athelstan took a step towards them and enjoyed looking at them, smiling without quite realising it. They really were different to Faithful and...

Athelstan turned suddenly, realising that Khal Ragnar had let go of his wrist at some point, "Where is Faithful? My horse."

Khal Ragnar's lips curved upwards and he nodded towards the horses, "He is among them. He is not food."

The khal sounded amused again and Athelstan felt his own smile fade. He thought he could see the chestnut form of Faithful, he did not sound distressed. That was good. Athelstan could still remember the first day he had ridden Faithful. It was not usual for septons to have their own horses but Athelstan had travelled a little for the High Septon and for the Mother, spreading words of faith and charity. He could not imagine riding any steed but Faithful now.

He looked at Khal Ragnar who had not yet allowed Athelstan to deliver any message from Lord Ecbert. Khal Ragnar was looking back at him, his eyes so intent and filled with...interest? There was admiration in his gaze too. Something inside of Athelstan quivered in response and his fingers latched around his pendant.

"Lord Ecbert wishes to speak of wars to come, of how the Dothraki could fight beside the Vale," he said, before Khal Ragnar stole the silence once more.

Khal Ragnar did not look surprised. "To fight for your gods?"

For the Seven. When talk of war had first arisen, the High Septon had told Athelstan that the Vale should remain as it was, without other religions taking hold. Yes, for the Seven. What else could matter?

"You like horses," Khal Ragnar stated, sounding pleased.

Athelstan nodded at that and Khal Ragnar's smile grew even more satisfied. There was the sound of bells as he moved, a gentle sound that seemed at odds with the surroundings and with Khal Ragnar himself. He was still riveting. Athelstan was holding his pendant so tightly, he could feel the indents it was making in his flesh. He found he did not care.

"What could your lord offer to gain Dothraki arakhs?"

Khal Ragnar spoke, looking at Athelstan with such consideration and hunger. Athelstan's throat bobbed but he didn't feel so much of a chill anymore.

-the end