An old Khal

The man who entered the tent was large, with muscles that moved like bronzed snakes beneath his skin, with fierce almond eyes and a face that was littered with scars. His braid was long, but had gone almost completely grey. His expression was hard, with only mild interest as he looked down at Jon. At his side was a timid looking woman, small in stature and wearing what was essentially rags. Jon pegged her for a ****.

A rough growl of words flew from the big Dothraki’s mouth, none of which held any meaning to Jon. He blinked uncomprehendingly, but a small, heavily accented voice quickly followed as the **** began to speak.

“Khal Razko say, you are be gift,” the woman did not seem to be able to bring herself to look at him. Her grasp of the common tongue was tenuous and Jon had to really focus to catch the meaning of her words. There was another bark of harsh words and the girl followed with, “you be given to Khal’s,” she struggled for a moment for the word, before settling on “...child.”

Jon worked his jaw as he processed it. “Do you know who I am?”

There was an exchange of words between **** and master, then the big man laughed. It was as harsh as the language he spoke, which he uttered out immediately after. The **** nodded and said “Khal say, you dragon man from...cross water...you great...gift.”

“My kin will not forgive this,” Jon replied, hands clenched, “they will burn the Dothraki sea looking for me.”

Another laugh, some words and then from the ****, “Khal say, they be looking for long time, water poisoned, enemies,” she spread her hands, “across all dirts.” Another grunt of words, “Khal say...you come with us now.”