DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.

This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 20/05/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"

This might sound quite crack, but the two settings have a lot of points in common (dragons, the fight between Light and Dark, etc...) and I had been trying to concoct a longer crossover for ages.

It starts where ADWD left off and will probably extend into an original interpretation of TWOW and ADOS, trying to keep apace with the complexity of Martin's plotting.

As for the MBoTF side, it takes place at the end of DoD. The only two characters directly involved are Silchas Ruin and Rud Elalle AKA Ryadd Eleis, but many more are mentioned. The two of them, which originally are some sort of superpowered godlings, have been considerably de-powered thanks to magic displacement, but I'm trying very hard to keep them IC.
Spoliers up to the end of DoD.

Will contain many romantic pairings, ass-kicking and dragons!

WARNINGS: violence, non-graphic nudity.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)

In MBoTF, magic comes from the Warrens, some sort of elemental dimensions. Some of them are inhabited by non-human races. The Imperial Warren and Kurald Galain, the Warren of Darkness, are just two of them, the latter being the native world of the Tiste Andii Race.

The two alien characters are Eleint Soletaken, which means they can shapeshift into dragons. In the MBoTF universe, Eleint, or dragons, are some sort of manifestation of chaos from the primeval Warren of Starvald Demelain and sometimes characters need to battle them back to whence they came from. Eleint Soletaken are those who slew Tiam, Mother of Dragons, and drank their blood or their descendants.

Silchas Ruin is one of the former, an albino Tiste Andii Ascendant (basically a god-like being), who has been shut into a magical prison/hole for the last 10 thousand years after Scabandari's (another Ascendant) betrayal. He's supposed to be freakishly powerful, but has managed to be defeated by Malazan soldiers who blasted him with alchemical hand grenades. His elder brother, Anomander Rake, has just managed to sacrifice himself in order to save the world and wake Mother Darkness. He's a bit upset at that.

Rud Elalle is a half-human/half-Tiste Liosan boy who has been raised by Imass (basically Neanderthals) in a pocket dimension called Refugium. He is in a quest to save his home under the tutelage of Silchas Ruin. He can kick ass.

The Tiste races (Andii, Liosan and Edur) are the MBoTF equivalent of elves (tall, thin, beardless, beautiful, you know the drill). Tiste Andii are linked to Darkness and are black-skinned with mood-shifting eyes, Tiste Liosan are white-skinned and fair-haired, linked to Light, Tiste Edur are the people of Shadow and are grey-skinned. Tiste Andii and Tiste Liosan do not like each other, usually (it is a long story).

Olar Ethil is another Ascendant and she is a... very unpleasant old lady which I totally hope will die before the end of the saga.

For further information you might want to check (Google them):
Malazan Wiki
Encyclopedia Malazica

As soon as they entered Kallor's Imperial Warren, Silchas Ruin understood that something was wrong. Tendrils of chaos rippled through the ash-laden air, seemingly trying to ensnare the two draconic Soletaken mid-flight and drag them to the ground. Silchas turned his head and checked if the boy was still following him. Rud Elalle's unmistakably golden draconic form was still a few tail-lengths behind him, eyeing the atmosphere with worry.

Suddenly a warning cry exploded in his skull. "Behind you!" yelled the boy.
Silchas turned again, vowing to teach the boy how to communicate mind-to-mind without shouting, then realised that the yell had not been out of inexperience, but out of genuine fright.
An entropic storm had just bloomed in front of them and they were on collision course with it. Silchas cursed mentally and tried to steer away from it, but its gravitation had already caught him and was pulling him inexorably towards the centre. "Run, Rud, run! You must go to Korabas!" he yelled, uncaring whether it would discomfort the boy.
"I can't! – Rud replied desperately – It is too strong!". The boy might have added something else, but the eye of the storm had already captured him and every sound was swallowed by the deafening roar of a gate opening around him.
Powerless, Silchas stopped fighting it and let it engulf him, hoping that it wouldn't land him headfirst into a hell dimension and readying himself to fight and withstand anything he would find on the other side.

The Imperial Warren disappeared in a nauseating, mind-numbing rush of mingled colours. When he regained his senses, Silchas Ruin found himself in the air above some sort of grassland, complete with running horses and a grassland fire, plummeting fast towards the ground. Sometime through the gate, he had unwittingly sembled into his Andii form, he noticed with irritation. Ignoring the rush of air all around him, he tried to veer back into his draconic shape, but, to his utmost surprise, he couldn't.
Cursing under his breath, he manifested his warren, trying to slow his fall and buffet the impact. Meanwhile, the gate expelled something else with a loud "pop" and then vanished with a sizzle. "Silichaaaas! – screamed Rud, falling through the air and pathetically trying to slow himself by waving his arms around – Help me! I cannot veeeer!"

Kurald Galain felt weaker here, wherever they were, but he was still able to draw enough power to control his fall, slowing it down, so that, when Rud hurtled past him, he managed to grab him by a wrist. The boy grunted, probably feeling the jolt of the sudden halt in his shoulder. "Thanks…" he breathed, but Slichas didn't bother replying. He was concentrating hard in keeping his warren open and keeping the power tight around them. It had never been that hard, but he had to keep going. Just a bit more, just a bit more, he told himself, trying to get a hold on the manifestation but it felt slippery, too slippery, until it slipped past his fingers. "No more" he thought and the two warriors resumed their free fall to the ground. Fortunately, they had been no more than ten feet above the ground when Kurald Galain abandoned them, but the impact still hurt.

Silchas Ruin lay on the grass for a while trying to make an inventory of bruises and aches. His ribs hurt, but not as much as when the two Malazan soldiers blasted him with Moranth ammunition and through a building, and he knew he could march. Not that marching under the sun, on an open terrain, with no shadow in sight, appealed to him. He was going to get as red as a lobster and feverish before the end of the day, sure as Darkness. He sighed and picked himself up from the ground with a groan, noticing with satisfaction that Rud Elalle was similarly getting back to his feet.

The familiar sound of huge beating wings drew their attention and made them both flatten to the ground again. A pureblood Eleint was flying overhead, then banked sharply and descended upon a stampeding herd of seemingly wild horses, breathing flames. The smell of charred meat and burning grass came to their nostrils, then a female voice attracted their attention. Silchas Ruin stood up, followed by Rud, and unsheathed his swords, creeping through the grass towards the feasting Eleint. It would not be the first time that he had to fight an Eleint while in this form, he mused, motioning to Rud to fan out towards the left side. For a second he wondered whether the boy's Imass stone sword would do any good against the scaled hide of the Eleint, but it was an otiose question. They would know for certain within seconds.

Silchas drew a breath, ready to pounce, then noticed the woman and halted suddenly, popping slightly up from the grass. Rud looked a question to him, but he only pointed silently towards the odd scene. The boy crept towards his position to have a better look and gaped.
The Eleint, not completely grown yet, probably a hatchling, was eating from the still-smouldering carcass of a horse and next to him was a young woman. She looked like a human at first sight, but Silchas hesitated to label her so, not only for her silvery hair and purple, almond-shaped eyes, but also because she was ripping chunks of meat from a steaming-hot carcass and gobbling them down without her hands or her mouth getting scorched and without the Eleint ripping her to pieces. Maybe she had Eleint blood as well, he thought.
She was quite a distraction, especially since she was very beautiful and half-naked. How long had it been since he had last seen a beautiful, naked woman, he asked himself. The answer was surely "too long" by any standard.
He sighed, undecided about what to do, and the purple eyes of the girl locked on with his. "Brilliant. We've been caught red-handed…" Silchas thought and got to his feet, weapons at the ready.

Daenerys had never felt so hungry in her life, not even when her people had crossed the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro. She had subsisted on grass and berries, not all of which had been completely edible, for days and when Drogon felled the horse, or rather horses, since more than one had been caught in the conflagration, she didn't hesitate a second before slipping down from his back and joining in the feast. The meat was half-raw and half-charred, tough and stringy, but it was warm and delicious and it made her feel instantly better. She was sure that, after a proper meal, the visions that plagued her, probably a consequence of hunger and fatigue, would leave her alone.

She had had the strangest of them only moments past, while flying on Drogon's back. She had imagined she had seen a couple of strange warriors appear from a wound in the middle of the sky and fall towards the ground, yelling, until what looked like a sphere of darkness had engulfed them, slowing their fall. The sphere, however, had vanished into thin air before they reached the ground. That must hurt, she had thought, wondering about the significance of such a vision. Did it have anything to do with her stand in Mereen, with the war? Was she floundering mid-air as well, struggling not to crash, she asked herself, while gnawing at a bone. She raised her gaze towards the horizon, trying to discern the approach of any enemy: she knew that the herd of horses they had just terrified was not wild but property of some khalasar or another and that they would not be long in coming to assess the damage and punish the culprits, a knowledge which lent a frantic edge to her feeding.

She had been looking for a horde of copper-skinned, dark-haired dothraki screamers, but she was equally surprised to find two pairs of eyes, one lion-golden and the other dragon-red, peering at her through the grass.
Daenerys dropped her food and brought her whip to bear, hoping that the situation would not lead to a confrontation, as she didn't know how to fight at all.

Two warriors stood up among the grass, weapons at the ready. Daenerys was quite shocked to notice that they were the two protagonists of her vision and that neither was properly human. The nearest one, who wielded two slightly curved swords of gleaming blue steel, was almost seven feet tall and very thin, his skin deathly pale and marred by old bruises and scars, his clothes and armour in tatters, his hair long and bone-white, his eyes smouldering red and slanted. Despite his gangly frame, he moved with liquid grace, as a panther, and exuded power and control. The other was younger, shorter but still very tall and his features were less inhuman, his skin sun-darkened, his hair flame-red and his eyes golden and warm. He looked rather friendlier, despite the huge stoneblade he was wielding with ease.

Drogon turned his head from the horse and regarded them almost thoughtfully, then emitted a series of clicks and hisses. Daenerys frowned, worried. She had never heard him make such sounds, except when he was playing with his siblings. The white stranger bared his teeth in a feral smile and replied with another series of clicks and hisses, then sheathed his swords and gestured towards his younger companion to do the same. Surprisingly, Drogon settled on his haunches, curling his tail around her as if to protect her. "You have a most fierce companion, my lady." the white warrior said with a sketchy bow. His voice was low and his accent melodious and exotic.

"D-did you just speak to him?" she managed to ask, spluttering.
The man nodded. "Don't you ever? – he asked, tilting his head to the side – I would say you do, Mother of Dragons." he added mockingly. "Curious, - he added – I used to know the real Mother of Dragons and she looked nothing like you."
"Who in the Seven Hells are you?" she asked, completely out of her depth.
Another sketchy bow and the stranger replied. "I am Silchas Ruin."
"I am Rud Elalle, fair lady, pleased to meet you." added the younger warrior with a nice smile.
"And who might you be, Mother of Dragons?" asked Silchas Ruin, his cold, red eyes boring deep into hers. Daenerys straightened and gave him her hardest stare.
"I am Daenerys Targaryen the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Queen of Meereen." she recited, using her ridiculously long titular to irritate and maybe impress the haughty and disquieting stranger. The younger man seemed suitably impressed, or maybe just distracted by the fact that she had subconsciously crossed her arms under her bare breasts, but Silchas Ruin just barked a harsh laugh.
"Such a long title for such a petite lady…" he commented and Daenerys would have liked nothing better than to wipe that mocking smile from his lean face. While she thought of a suitably stroppy answer, his gaze strayed southward as well, his face acquiring an almost dreamy expression for a second, then he blinked repeatedly and focused on her face again.

The ground under their feet started trembling. "Aw, shit!" Daenerys thought and, soon enough the dothraki were upon them. The two warriors had drawn their swords and were facing outwards, Silchas Ruin was jabbering again to Drogon, who was coiled tightly but was not launching himself in the air yet.
"What did you say to him?" she asked, positioning herself to his right, whip in hand. She was not going down without a fight. Better to be killed in a confrontation than to be left at the dothraki's dubious mercy.
"You really do not know?" he asked. Daenerys shook her head.
The warrior sighed. "I've told him to take off and burn everything in sight if they try anything funny. The two of us are immune to fire and I am sure you will come to no harm, o Unburnt. Or will you?" he added with a sardonic smile. If she had had any time and hadn't had to jump to get him, she would have punched his lights out. Daenerys tried to rein in her temper, she had walked through fire twice, she was not unduly afraid and she knew Drogon wouldn't harm her on purpose. The problem was that he didn't seem overly inclined to aim, when he set stuff on fire.
Fortunately, the dothraki seemed content to watch them from a distance, probably scared shitless at the sight of Drogon. Everything would be fine until they realised that arrows would hurt.

A knot of riders made their way uneasily through the crowd. Daenerys recognised Jhaqo, one of Drogo's former captains now turned khal, and Mago, the vicious bastard, who was now one of Jhaqo's bloodriders.
"It's Drogo's cursed bitch!" Mago exclaimed, but none moved to get her as Drogon hissed viciously.
"Ready your bows!" Mago yelled and the dothraki raised their curved bows. Daenerys cursed knowing that, while Drogon with his scaly hide could withstand a hail of arrows with little damage and take to the skies, she and the two warriors would get skewered.

"Stop!" yelled Jhaqo, postponing the moment of truth and advancing towards her position. "Silver Khaleesi – he called out to Daenerys in the dothraki tongue – I have grossly underestimated you. You not only survived the Red Waste, but tamed the most fierce firehorse in the whole world. I should have taken you as my wife instead of abandoning you to die." he said, eyeing her appreciatively.
Daenerys was on the verge of answering rudely, but something made her stop. She had just had an idea on how to get out of that situation without becoming a human pincushion or risking going up in flames and maybe harnessing fresh troops to come to the aid of her people.

"Tell Drogon to hold on until I tell him to go." she told Silchas, hoping that the irritating warrior would do as she said, then smiled her most seductive smile and turned back to Jhaqo.
"Khal Jhaqo – she saluted, her voice dripping honey – I see you khalasar and I am impressed. Your fame will outstrip that of Drogo, I am sure. The milk men in their stone tents must be terrified of your coming. I can only imagine the wealth of gifts they must have tributed to your strength… - she added coyly and she could see the idiot puffing his chest – I wish I could take up your offer and become your mate. Now I understand much better. I know that it would be our get who would truly be the Stallion who Mounts the World. We would be undefeatable, with our firehorse… - she continued, swallowing bile at the thought of Jhaqo ever touching her or ever claiming ownership over Drogon – I regret that I am already married. You see the tall warrior at my side? – she asked and Jhaqo nodded, eyes narrowing – He is my husband now, a fierce khal from a distant land." she teased. Jhaqo bridled visibly.
"That bleached sticksnare? – he mocked - Then I shall defeat him and claim you as mine." he proclaimed, as she had expected.

The khal dismounted from his horse and unsheathed his twin arakhs, crossing them in front of his torso and then started yelling abuse and challenges at Silchas Ruin, who looked a question at her, arching a thin eyebrow. Daenerys smiled weakly. She had put him in the line of fire, relying on his martial prowess. Sure, he looked fierce and vicious, but he also looked weary and frail, almost broken. It was entirely possible that she had made a terrible mistake.

Silchas Ruin hoped that the human had a really good reason to hold off the Eleint while she traded words with the horselord. It looked like they knew each other quite well, but, from what had transpired in the first moments of the confrontation, there was bad water between them. The horsewarriors had their bows at the ready, only moments away from unleashing a deadly barrage on them, and still the irritating girl had told him to call the Eleint off.
The hatchling had been trembling with repressed energy, hungering for violence, but when he told him that his "mother" had commanded him to stay still, he had quieted as much as possible and was venting his anger just in loud hisses and growls and dirty looks at the horselord. Silchas wished he could understand what was going on between the girl and the horselord, or, even better, what was her strategy. Why didn't she unleash the Eleint? Was she really unsure of her Eleint blood and afraid of burning, or did she have any ulterior motives to spare the horsewarriors from wholesale destruction?

The girl pointed him out and added something, to which the horselord became infuriated and dismounted, shouting what was most probably abuse at him. Silchas frowned. What exactly had the girl told the barbarian, to make him furious with him?
"What is he saying?" he asked dryly.
"Well, the gist of it is that he doesn't like you and would like very much to gut you. – she replied – Obviously he was not that polite." she clarified, unnecessarily. Silchas ground his teeth together.
"You have some explaining to do. What did you tell him?" he asked, furious. The girl had the good grace to look embarrassed.
"I might have lied to him about you being my husband." she replied.
"You did what?" he asked, completely stunned.
"You heard it correctly the first time." she answered, irritated.

The barbarian started yelling again and pointing at him with one of his curved swords, then thumped on his chest and, as if on cue, his men started shouting his name enthusiastically. This time, Silchas Ruin didn't need any translation. The oaf was challenging him. The girl had set him up.
In normal circumstances, he would have veered and wiped everyone out, or called his warren and blasted anything that moved, maybe except the Eleint, but as both courses of action were blocked, he had only one option left. Sighing, he unsheathed his swords and stepped forward, locking stares with the barbarian, trying to assess him. The man seemed to be fit and vicious and he was still feeling all broken from the Malazans and the fall and, worse still, from Olar Ethil's words. He felt tired to the bone, both physically and spiritually, but he couldn't back down. He couldn't fail again. It was going to be interesting.

The two contenders circled each other silently, trying to find a weakness to exploit. Daenerys gripped the haft of her whip in a white-knuckled grip, hoping that the strange warrior would be as good as he looked.
"He'll be fine, I guess." Rud whispered, trying to reassure her.
She turned towards him for a second with a wavering smile. He looked around twenty, a grown man, but he still had something of a child in his eyes, something young and innocent.
"I am sure he will." she lied and turned back to the fight.

Jhaqo darted forward and steel clashed on steel with a piercing ring, almost a cry. The white stranger was responding to every blow but keeping on a defensive position, as if he wanted to study his opponent, or tire him, or maybe he was too tired himself, Daenerys couldn't tell. She had seen people fight, witnessed a lot of dothraki duels, but her eye was not trained to distinguish subtleties. The two men danced among the grass, weaving in and out of range, Jhaqo lithe and quick like a plains wolf, Silchas graceful and wild like a hrakkar, the white-maned lion of the plains. There was beauty in such a sight, she could see the point of the Mereenese, but it was overshadowed by the fact that if Silchas died, she would be in a very tight spot. The only option left would be to jump on Drogon's back, drag Rud with her and hope for the best. She couldn't just leave him there, could she?

She had gambled too much on a stranger, she thought, but suddenly something changed in the duel. Silchas increased the pace, as if he had been holding himself back, his swords a blur, coming upon Jhaqo from all sides at once and singing their infernal song. To his credit, Jhaqo withstood the onslaught for a moment, but the white warrior was too fast, pressing the advantage mercilessly, and soon Jhaqo fell to the floor, bleeding from his throat, one of his hands lying abandoned in the grass, still clenched on the arakh's hilt. An incredulous hush fell over the khalasar, while Silchas flicked the blood from his blades with a snap of his wrists and yelled something menacing in a language she didn't know.

Jhaqo's bloodriders yelled in return and rushed him all at the same time, clamouring for revenge. Silchas met them halfway, forcing them to split. To her side, Rud broke into a startlingly fast run, brandishing that unwieldy stone sword of his and engaging one of the bloodriders, while Silchas took care of Mago and the other one. It was over in a matter of mere heartbeats. Rud had split the head of his foe with a brutal chop of his weapon and Silchas' two opponents were writhing on the grass in their death-throes. The two warriors were almost unscathed, but, if he had looked weary before, now Silchas looked on the verge of collapse. He straightened, however, and sheathed his blades, eyeing the crowd of mounted warriors with an ice-cold gaze. The atmosphere was tense, balanced as if on the edge of a blade. Jhaqo's former khalasar could either take it in stride and bow to the winner (and the dragon) in the best tradition of dothraki culture, or get outraged and jump at her band of improvised rescuers. She had to tip the scales to the right side.

"Warriors of Jhaqo, - she called out, walking towards Silchas and hoping that Drogon, which for the time being had behaved uncharacteristically well, would remain where he was – your khal has been defeated in an honorable duel. Either swear loyalty to my khal or begone, to dissolve leaderless in the Grass Sea." she proclaimed, setting a hand on his wiry arm. A couple of thousands of dothraki screamers knelt in the grass and shouted their fealty to the White Khal.
Silchas looked at her wide-eyed. "What have you set me up to, now?" he asked, almost terrified.
Daenerys smiled coyly. "I think you've been just elected warleader, dear husband." she replied.
"I'm not your husband." he retorted, curtly.
"I know, but they don't, so let's play pretend." she proposed, raising on her tiptoes and placing a light kiss on his lips.

Silchas Ruin felt exhausted. The storm and the fall had bruised his already sore carcass and the sun was too hot and too bright and he could feel his skin start to tighten and redden wherever it was exposed, which was rather more than he would have liked to, thanks to the gaps and tears in his attire, courtesy of those damned Malazan soldiers.
The fight with the horsewarriors had just driven the last nail into his weariness, but he could not show any sign of weakness, not in front of a big crowd of crazy barbarians who might be out for his blood in a few seconds.

Usually, nomadic, clannish barbarians didn't get too angry at people who kill one of their own in a duel, but the fact that he had, with some help from the boy, taken out pretty much all of their power structure might have tipped the scales, in this case. He straightened, trying to look imposing, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind him, until the girl started shouting something in the barbarians' language. The word khal was repeated several times and at the end of her little speech, she put a hand on his arm almost possessively. He blinked repeatedly, uncomprehending, then completely shocked as the whole clan of barbarians knelt and started shouting in unison.

"What have you set me up to, now?" he asked, turning towards the girl, who had a triumphant grin plastered on her face.
"I think you've been just elected warleader, dear husband." she replied, calmly and seductively. Silchas shook his head. How did he get into such a situation?
"I'm not your husband." he barked, trying to keep a healthy distance between them, without looking as if he wanted to bolt.
"I know, but they don't, so let's play pretend." she whispered standing on her tiptoes, bracing herself on his chest, and kissed him.

Silchas froze for an instant, shocked to the core, his entire being focusing on the feeling of her lips pressed against his.
It was too much, too much sensation. After so many millennia trapped in the Azath burial mound, he was not used to feel anything but pain and weariness anymore, as if any other feeling had deadened with time and lack of use. Ever since he got out of there any kind of pleasure, even as simple as drinking a cup of wine, had been overwhelming, blown out of proportions by the newness of it. He could not recall when he had last shared a kiss with a woman, surely before Scabandari's betrayal, maybe even before guiding his people out of Kharkanas, at least ten thousand weary years before. It was too much: even a kiss from the ugliest hag would have been too much, but the annoyingly cunning Queen of Mereen was anything but a hag and he couldn't help feeling forgotten urges stirring in his body, his sorrow momentarily forgotten.

His control slipped away and he twisted a bloody hand into her hair, pulling her closer, flush with his body, and bent down to deepen the kiss. The girl, no, woman, surely a woman, resisted for a split second, then let him in, probably to avoid breaking the pretense of intimacy, but he could not care less. So much feeling… He felt like he would drown in it, lose himself completely and that would not do. With a great effort, he tore himself from her lips, panting and feeling even more exhausted than before and yet empowered.

The barbarians exploded in loud catcalls and, most probably, lewd suggestions. Even Rud wolf-whistled from the sidelines, standing near the Eleint, who had not stirred during the whole ordeal. He had been very specific in telling him the plan, but his level of faith in his "mother" was absolutely admirable.
"Too good at playing pretend?" the Queen asked, breathless, still draped all over him.
"Who said I was pretending?" he growled, trying to regain control over himself. The woman giggled, grinding herself against him.
"Either you're desperate – she said and he hissed at the contact – or you do make friends very fast. Aren't there any girls where you come from?" she teased. He stepped back, away from her, needing to be able to think more clearly.
"What happens now?" he asked, disgruntled. The woman shrugged.
"You're their khal, now,
and they think you're married to me. – she replied calmly – I need their cavalry to relieve my people from the siege…" she confessed. "That's why you told me to hold your Eleint off." he realised belatedly.
"Precisely. – the queen confirmed – and I need you to teach me how to communicate with Drogon." she added.
"I doubt I'll be around for long enough." he scoffed. The Queen dismissed his claim with a wave of her hand.
"I saw you arrive here from wherever you came from. If you could get back as easily, I doubt you'd still be here." she said curtly.

Silchas hung his head in shame. It was true, he couldn't open his warren enough to levitate, there was no way for him to open a gate to get back from where they had started.
"I have a proposition for you, Silchas Ruin, - she stated – You help me with the dothraki and the dragons or whatever you call them, and I help you go back to wherever you came from. I know something about magic." she added. How could she not, seeing that she rode an Eleint who was completely loyal to her.
"Dragons? As in more than one?" he asked, wanting a clarification. The queen nodded.
"Drogon, Viseryion and Rhaegal. My children." she said. He gaped. She giggled.
"So, how do you like my offer?" she asked.
"I – I have no other option." he admitted. Maybe she had some sort of power over Eleints, maybe she exuded some aura that tamed them, bending them to her will, because he felt drained of the will to resist and leave her to fend for herself. He was tired and still grieving for his brother, likely trapped in another world, almost stripped of his magic and completely out of his depth. He needed her and she needed him in order to achieve their respective ends. It made sense to team up, for now.

All around them, and at a respectable distance from the Eleint, the clan started striking tents and lighting cookfires.
"What are they doing?" he asked, somewhat stupidly as it was clear enough.
"Preparing a feast for the new khal, I would guess. - she answered – You just have to sit on a chair, scowl, look fierce and eat. You can do that, can't you?" she asked mockingly.
He nodded curtly. "And you?"
"Oh, I just look pretty and sit next to you." she replied confidently.
"And Rud?" he insisted.
"He sits on the other side of you and has a good time. Is he your brother?" she asked, doubtful. He shook his head.
"Cousin, then…" she insisted. He shook his head again.
"We're only distantly related." he clarified.
"Then he will be your bloodrider. – she proposed – A sort of life-sworn bodyguard and best friend to the khal, nothing to worry about, it is just pretence." she explained calmly in response to his inquisitive stare.
He nodded. They had no way out of it, as far as he could tell, and he wanted out of the sun really badly, before the sunburn got too out of hand. He highly doubted those barbarians would be impressed by a fevered and shivering warleader.

"Your plan is sound. – he acquiesced – I'll tell your "child" to get lost for a while, before something bad happens, and explain the situation to Rud." he said. The queen nodded and smiled, very pleased.
"Very efficient. – she commented – You know, I might seriously start to like you." she added, giving him another brief kiss, to which his knees almost buckled. He distanced himself from her again and stalked towards Rud and the Eleint with as much dignity as he could muster. Ever since he came out of that damned burial mound, he always seemed to get himself in trouble, he thought to himself.

Exactly like in the old times, he added with a wry smile.