The Dothraki wedding began much sooner than I had previously anticipated—upon the following morn, when the weary sun had barely managed to lick the sandy terrain with sparse illumination. The warmth, though it offered solace to the skin, proved to be useful for enhancing the fierce ambience, too. The Dothraki caroused keenly, with fervid violence that increased by each passing second, riggish women who seemed just as fierce as their male counterparts, and foreign foods that I had never seen nor tasted before.
Khal Drogo, the Dothraki leader for this khalasar, was known for his pillaging skills and, above all else, his unblemished record his battle, never having been conquered. He was a famed horse lord, one who would give Viserys an army in exchange for a comely bride. Dany, my elder sister, is the said comely bride, for she is one of the only remaining Targaryens and her beauty is claimed to be unmatched far and wide. I am proud, to say the least, to have such siblings: Viserys being a King, and Daenerys becoming a Khaleesi. House Targaryen shall surely rise once more and Viserys shall finally claim the Iron Throne, restoring peace and order to the realm.
And we owe our army to Illyrio, an obese, wealthy merchant, who planned the match between Dany and Khal Drogo. Once Viserys is upon the throne, I am sure Illyrio will be rewarded. Illyrio already has more money that anyone could ever need, so perhaps a lordship or some land would be more beneficial.
"When do I speak with the Khal?" Viserys demanded, suddenly. "We need to begin planning the invasion."
"I do not believe the Khal will understand the concept of battle tactics." I spoke up. "The Dothraki are not known for their intelligence in battle, just for their ferocity and preservance."
"Fret not." Illyrio said. "Khal Drogo has offered more than enough men, and has promised you a crown. You shall have it."
"When?" Viserys and I snapped in unison. The longer we remain here, among the Dothraki hoard, is the longer Westeros has time to prepare for our invasion.
"When the Dothraki omens favour war." Illyrio replied, calmly.
"Dothraki omens, I hear, shall always favour war." I told him, contemptibly. "Only a fool would think otherwise."
Viserys appeared to agree with my statement. "Besides, I piss on Dothraki omens." He announced, like a true monarch. "I've waited seventeen years for my crown."
No one replied to his comment and silence fell upon the three of us. The silence was rapidly killed, however, by an enraged roar emitting from the hoard. It all happened so fast: there was an angry cry, a firm shove, and soon the arakhs, the Dothraki's famed curved weapons, were out and ready. The two men were surprisingly graceful in their movements, much like a dancer would move, I imagined.
The dance ended soon, though, for one man missed a step and his lucky opponent had taken this opportunity to slice open his stomach. Crimson stained the sand and I had believed it to be over, but then the victorious man cut the dark braid from the dead man's head, throwing it beneath the Khal.
Illyrio clapped. "A Dothraki wedding, without at least three deaths, is considered a dull affair." He explained, sensing the confusion of Viserys and I. A grin emerged upon Viserys' porcelain face, but I frowned deeply. The scene was rather vile, barbaric, and, quite frankly, worried me somewhat. Dany would be among these people and I dearly hope they do not treat their khaleesi with the same manners. Back home, things were much simpler. We would remove their heads; quick, easy, and merciful.
An old man walked up to the Khal and Dany, providing a diversion from the bloodied scene before me. He held books in his calloused hands. "A small gift, for the new Khaleesi." He explained. "Songs and histories, from the Seven Kingdoms."
Dany offered him a smile, expressing her sincere gratitude, and asking: "Are you from my country, Ser?"
"I am Ser Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island." He introduced himself. "I served your father for many years. Gods be good, I hope to always serve the rightful King." He turned his attention to Viserys when saying this, earning an approving nod.
Illyrio soon indicated with his hand, standing, prompting Ser Jorah to step down. A heavy box was carried over to Dany by two men—slave men, I think. The two men opened to box and rushed away, obediently. Dany's expression turned from unmatched surprise to pure, untainted awe. Her trembling hand reached down, picking something up; an egg.
"An egg." I whispered in shock. "A dragon egg?"
"Yes." Illyrio confirmed. "Three. The eons may have turned them to stone, but they shall always remain beautiful."
I had wanted more time to observe the eggs, the wondrous eggs, wanted to stoke them, to hold them. Alas, I never got a chance, for Khal Drogo stood and directed his gaze down on Dany, who carefully placed the egg back. She held her silken gown when walking, slowly, through the crowd, following Khal Drogo.
She was greeted by a pretty, silver filly, who was speckled lightly with darker spots and had a slender, proud build. A horse fit for a khaleesi, a silver steed for a silver lady.
Then, Khal Drogo picked Dany up and placed her on the horse. Viserys and I rushed to Dany's side, sensing she was leaving.
"Make him happy." Viserys simply commanded, giving her a warning look. I wondered how Dany was feeling, to mount such a regal horse and yet still remain smaller than Viserys. Though, then again, a king is rather intimidating, especially a true one. Especially the dragon king.
"Try to not cry." I tried to offer her some advice. I hear the Dothraki loathe weakness and I am sure sobbing comes under weakness. Dany said nothing, though nodded, and followed Khal Drogo, who was on his own fiery stallion. I narrowed my eyes, watching Dany disappear among the hazy horizon.
For a second, she appeared to be ablaze, much like a dragon. I suppose the filly will be the closest she will ever get to having a dragon companion; the silver lady and her silver dragon, enduring the golden fire together.