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"These violent delights have violent ends. And as their triumph dies, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume." (William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 6)

She remembered the first time she saw it. Enormous and faded they stood, two bronzed stallions, touching hooves in eternal victory hail. Silent they stood, for hundreds of years, guarding the long lines made of thousands shattered, dusty statues, positioned long ahead from where they triumphed. The first time she witnessed that mesmerizing sight was two name days ago. After riding across the Dothraki Sea for days, weeks, they finally reached their destination. Alongside her, on his lean, red stallion, the bells on his braids chiming softly with each gesture, rode her new husband, the legendary Khal Drogo. The brave and ruthless warrior that was not once defeated in battle, as his long, oily braids scattering all the way down to his thighs would indicate. Behind them followed his entire khalasar, 40,000 riders. Men, women and children with tired but proud expressions on their faces. From the little ones, still clutching to their mother's breast, to the wise ones who witnessed the rise of Drogo long before she was even named, the Khalasar trudged for countless leagues.
She remembered how she felt, beholding a sight such as glorious as this one for the first time; terrified, worried, confused… yet powerful all the same.
Viserys kept on chanting that Vaes Dothrak was a city of dust, bones and dead things, city of nothing. But for her, now officially crowned as the khaleesi of the dothraki, Vaes Dothrak symbolled much more. It symbolled the very sacred part of hundreds of religions, from Westeros and the seven kingdoms in the west to Asshai beyond the shadows in the east. It symbolled lives and beliefs, it symbolled happiness and sadness. It symbolled hopes and dreams. It symbolled countless empires; from their powerful reign all the way towards their fall and destruction.
Finally, it symbolled her new family. Her new home. Viserys and she have been homeless for a fine amount of years. She kept on dreaming of a house with a red door, with the beautiful lemon tree that could be seen from the window. She kept on picturing how things must've been if the usurper didn't slay her entire family;
she could've been Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, she could've ruled as future Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, sitting on the iron throne alongside her brother-husband Viserys, succeeding the antique Targaryen tradition of pure blood for many, many years to follow.
She kept on daydreaming about Rhaegar, her heroic, dead brother. The hero of the seven kingdoms with his beautiful silver hair and dark indigo eyes, bright red armor and sharp, deadly valyrian sword. About the way his fingers would softly trail up and down his beloved harp after a satisfying battle, quietly reciting the song of the seven while watching Aegon and Rhaenys, deep into their peaceful slumber, tucked under the warm furs. The last dragon.
But, as she came to realize, none of that mattered anymore. Until her dothraki warriors will be able to ride the waves, this enormous dessert, scarred with hundreds of symbols from the west to the east, will become her home. It was the home of her new husband, his source of pride with every shattered statue brought to position in the Godsway after another smashing conquest. His deadly beautiful legacy, made of blood, sweat and tears. It was his castle. It wasn't pretentious like the ones she always read about in the Westerosi books Ser Jorah gave her on her wedding night; with big halls, golden doors, servants running around and high barriers to protect it, but it was his
And soon, she knew, it will become hers, her future born child's, and his children after him, until it is time for their entire dynasty to go for a ride in the night lands.
She remembered how proud she felt, at last… Content, at ease, complete.
Westeros can wait, she thought.
In front of her appeared the place that held the most sacred part within the heart of every man, woman and child that followed long behind her. Her people.

Silent they stood, two birth names later.
Her sun and stars is long gone, much like her unborn child, the stallion who was supposed to mount the world, and her stubborn-to-the-very-end brother. Even her old, beloved and trusted bear betrayed her for gold… Drogon was too weak to even fight for her once the herd arrived, and her other children were nowhere to be found, caged in the dark Dragonpit, because of her.
Behind her, trudging for countless of leagues, rode strange people; men, women and children wearing the same tired but proud expressions on their faces.
Alongside her, on his lean brown stallion, sat her capturer, Khal Jhaqo, who she believed will become her new husbandby night down, wearing a blank expression on his scarred, threatening face.
She kept on walking towards her uncertain future, the rope bounding her wrists cutting deep into her flesh and soul.

She remembered the first time she saw it. She remembered her final thought before riding through the enormous, faded gates, at last entering the ancient city of Vaes Dothrak. It was two birth names ago, but it still felt fresh in the back of her mind…
I'm finally home.