The First Khaleesi
The thundering of hooves was like a storm born in the center of her breast. Shasa could feel it rising around her and her immediate thought was "run" even as she knew there was nowhere to go.
Khal Drogo was still young, not even twenty years had he seen, but his hair flowed down his back; the sign of a true khal like his father before him. Where his khalasar rode, they brought riches to Vaes Dothrak and woe to the lands they touched. As his warriors rode down the Windgrass people, he thought only of the spoils he would reap.
Shasa Windgrass was still young. Barely thirteen, she'd only had her blood once but as the Dothraki warriors rode into her village, she knew her age would not matter to the men who would take her like a rutting animal. So she hid.
By the end of the night, Drogo's khalasar had claimed the people of the Windgrass as slaves. All they could not take or did not need they burned. Drogo himself had slit the throats of their council members within the high temple where the people of the Windgrass worshiped. He did not care; the horse eats the grass and shits it out. As the rest of his khas took to the streets claiming their women and slaves, he took to the tower of the temple to the rest and lord over his claim.
When she heard the footsteps enter the antechamber of the temple, Shasa held her breath. All day, she'd heard the screams which were only silenced by the gurgling of blood as her countrymen died. She'd wept silent tears both for the people who'd died and for her own cowardice. She'd hid like a snake hides in the tall grass, but unlike the snake, she had nothing with which to strike her enemies except a small dagger forged of Valyrian steel that her father, the temple master, had traded for. She trembled against the small cupboard in which she'd hidden and waited for reprieve.
Drogo paused in the antechamber and cocked his head to the side. He'd heard a slight noise, an intake of breath. He studied the room around him. It seemed empty. Whatever gods the Windgrass people had had abandoned them. The bells in his hair tinkled as he made his way around the room. He flung open the doors of the cupboard tossing aside the scrolls and raiment of the temple but he found nothing. Finally he came to the last cupboard. He threw it open and stumbled back as he felt a stab of pain in his chest, like a snakebite. He cursed and grabbed at the figure in front of him. As he reached, he was met with a slash of steel. His hand closed around the blade even though it cut with fury. Drogo held the blade in his hand as he grabbed for his attacker. He was surprised to feel the softness of the body against him. And even more astonishing was the look of determination and strength in the young girl's golden eyes as she said a word he would come to know well. "No."
Shasa looked up at the Dothraki warrior and nearly gasped. He held the blade of her dagger as if it were a plaything while his other hand gripped her waist. He was large, at least two heads taller than her father and his eyes were dark and shadowed though not cruel. He seemed almost amazed at her audacity. She spoke to him in the Common Tongue but he looked at her quizzically. She pushed against his chest but it was as useless as a bloodfly trying to move a wall. He ripped the dagger from her hand and threw it to the floor but he did not let go of her. Shasa grew frightened as he took her in, one hand gripping her wrist and the other at her waist. She did the only thing she could do; she looked at him defiantly and spoke the little Dothraki she knew. "Kill me now," she said.
The khal looked at the defiant child in front of him, begging for death. She was no more than thirteen, though her body was supple and womanly. There was a spark in her eyes and she never broke contact with his, even as she struggled. He looked down at his chest, where she'd cut him. It was shallow but the cut of the Valyrian steel burned to his heart. He smiled down at her and replied in his tongue. "You are a filly I will break." Shasa did not know the meaning of his words but his voice was sultry and menacing and she could guess its intent. "No," she said. Drogo took in the girl's brown skin, the color of wheat about to be harvested, and her golden eyes. He felt himself harden as she pushed against him.
"Blood of my blood." Drogo turned to find Cohollo, one of his bloodriders, standing in the antechamber. "The khalasar awaits your command," Cohollo said.
"We will feast here tonight," Drogo ordered. He pushed Shasa towards his lieutenant. "Take her to my tent and tie her up," Drogo shifted his hard gaze to Cohollo. "Don't let anyone touch her." Drogo grabbed a piece of silk from her shift and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. He picked up the dagger and put it into the sheath at Shasa's waist.
"You arm the girl?" Cohollo said uncertainly.
"She has nowhere to go," Drogo smiled his deadly smile.
Shasa's head was bowed as she marched past what had been her village. The death cries of her brother and fathers were replaced by the screams of women being raped by the Dothraki horde. The women and girls cried out to her as she passed. Amongst her people Shasa was given a place of honour. Daughter of a temple master and a healing woman, Shasa was borne of two great Windgrass families and today she'd failed her people. The Dothraki had killed them and she'd hidden. She was no match for the horselord who'd laid siege to her land and as Cohollo tied her to a tent pole to wait for Drogo, Shasa wept silent tears.
Khal Drogo entered his tent right before sunrise. He'd had his fill of food and fermented mare's milk and now his desire had turned to other things. He took off his painted vest and his horsehair trousers. Naked, he knelt beside Shasa whose head was bowed to her chest with exhaustion. He touched her face, running his fingers over her dry lips.
Shasa gasped as she woke. Drogo knelt in front of her, his dark eyes like a shadow clouding her golden ones. Shasa took him in, naked and stiff. She had never been with a man before. In fact, she had planned to never be with one. After her mother's death she'd been promised to the temple to be the next High Priestess and remain unspoiled, but Drogo had taken that from her and her people. He looked at her as if the silk shift she wore did not exist.
Drogo began to pull at the ties of her shift and Shasa protested. Each touch boiled her blood. "No," she shouted. Shasa wracked her brain for the little bit of Dothraki she knew. "No slave," she said.
Drogo paused with narrowed eyes. "I have defeated your land," he said. "I claim you and you will do as I command."
Shasa looked at him unwavering and spoke in the Common Tongue. "I am Shasa Windgrass, daughter of the temple master. My mother was the great hear Lynxa, of the Low Grass. I am promised to the Mother Goddess. And you are no king to me." She finished in Dothraki. "Kill me now, khal," she said.
Drogo grabbed the dagger from her sheath and pressed it against her throat. "You will obey," he said. Shasa leaned into the steel and felt it prick her throat.
"I will die," she replied in Dothraki. Drogo stared into her unrelenting gaze. Though a child, she carried herself as a woman. He threw back his head and laughed. This one he would not break and her fire only enflamed him. This one would burn until she begged.
Drogo slit her bonds and pulled her to her feet. Shasa could feel the blood circulating in her hands again. Drogo pushed the shift off her shoulders until she stood naked before him. He reached for her and Shasa swatted her hand away. "No," she said forcefully. She licked her lips self-consciously. He walked around her, taking in her body and she raised her head regally. No matter what, she would not cry in the face of terror. She would not give him the satisfaction.
Drogo admired her courage. It excited him. He moved in from behind winding his fingers in her inky black hair, which curled lightly at her temples and the nape of her neck. He felt her resist and he pulled her head back, exposing the brown skin of her neck. He nipped at her like a stallion with a young filly. If she would not break, maybe she would bend.
"Jada," he said. He pulled her down next to him on the blankets and pillows. Tonight he was tired, sore. He'd already set down his whip and arakh, and he wanted to lie by the fire. He settled down, pulling the girl beside him. She settled next to him turning her back. "No," he said forcefully, pulling her to him. He had always been a quick study. Shasa was exhausted and her limbs were still weak from being tied up all night, she did not struggle much. His fingers tangled in her hair, which smelled of sweet grass and summer wind. Lying next to the warmth of her body, Drogo fell into a deep sleep.
He woke up with a blade pressed against his throat. Shasa loomed over him and spoke in cold Dothraki. "Nayat addrivat vo khal," she said. Drogo's eyes narrowed. Quick as lightning, he'd flipped her on her back. The cold Valyrian steel cut his throat and he saw a trickle of blood fall to her chest. Drogo pinned her arms over her head and wrenched her wrist causing the blade to fall amongst the folds of the blanket. Shasa cried out at the pain, her chest heaving against his weight. He dipped his fingers into the blood on her chest and rubbed it against her lips.
"This is the last of my blood you shall taste, Grass Girl," Drogo whispered in deadly tones. He captured her lips in a kiss tasting the blood and fear on her. Still holding her wrists, Drogo reached down squeezing the soft flesh of her hips. He lapped at the blood, which had pooled between her breasts. Shasa bucked at his hips like a wild mare but she was no match for his strength and size and he wrapped his arm around her body pulling her against his hard chest. Shasa could feel a fire rising in her belly. Drogo could feel it too. He took her nipple in his mouth and Shasa felt the air leave her body like a hiss. Drogo smiled against her flesh as he bit her gently. And when he captured her lips, her eyes had gone from the golden sparks of defiance to the molten gold of desire. Shasa had never felt like this before. She could feel the pressure mounting as he touched her. His skin was warm and he smelled like oil and spices. She could see the candlelight dancing in his coal-black irises. The look in his eyes was hungry like the jungle cats that stalked the deer in the tall grass. His fingers danced closer to her sex. "Qoy qoyi," Qotho said as he entered the tent. "Khal Ogo rides from the west. The khalasar is anxious to return to Vaes Dothrak."
Drogo stood, frustrated. "I am Khal Drogo, son of Bharbo. My hair has never been cut. I do not fear Khal Ogo or any other." Qotho stood there silently. He knew when his khal raged, there was nothing to do but wait it out. He took in the dagger amongst the folds of the blankets and the blood on Drogo's neck as he wiped it off but he remained quiet. "We leave when I am ready," Drogo said.
"The grass whore," Qotho asked. "Are you done with her?"
Drogo looked at Shasa who had pulled the blankets over her nakedness. She looked windblown and fiery but also innocent. She was rubbing her wrists and her golden eyes sparked with contempt. Her passion may have been ignited but her anger had also been stoked.
"Have her bathed," Drogo ordered. "She will tend me." He looked down at his wounded hand and felt his pulse at his throat. He left the tent without a backwards glance. "Be careful, the snake bites."
Over the next few weeks, Shasa found herself caught between two worlds; the women of the khalasar reviled her and her own people openly despised the girl who had hoped one day to lead them. By day, she rode behind the khal and his bloodriders, a place of honour. In the evening, she tended Drogo washing his body and scenting it with oil. Soon she came to know every inch of his broad shoulders and muscled torso. She braided his hair with nimble fingers, weaving the bells into the plait. Her own people, the women and children who'd been taken as slaves, watched her fetching Drogo's things and tending his hearth. They called her a Dothraki bitch and spat at her feet. The days were hot and dusty. When the khalasar camped, she arranged the blankets in the khal's tent and started the fire. When everything was set, she bathed the dirt and dust from her body, prayed to the Mother Goddess and fell asleep exhausted and bruised from the long day of riding.
Drogo would return after feasting and shed his clothing. He would lie down beside her and pull her close, tangling his fingers in her hair, and then he would fall asleep. Shasa wouldn't know what to make of it. He never pressed her the way he did that first night. Only once when he'd laid beside her and found her still in her shift and small clothes had he protested. From then on she made sure to slip naked under his blankets. Sometimes she watched him as he slept. In repose, his face had a sweetness to it. His brow evened and he breathed pleasantly. He held her loosely and she laid her head on his chest feeling the slow thud of his heart.
Many times she dreamed of slitting his throat and setting her people free but more often she dreamt of him and her thighs moistened at the thought of the way he'd touched her that first night. One night she dreamt of her mother and father, together again within the walls of the temple and Shasa woke up with tears wet on her face. When she looked up, Drogo was staring at her puzzled. He wiped the salty tears from her eyes and Shasa kissed his fingers. She took his large hand in hers, threading her fingers through his. Slowly, she kissed at the salty wetness that lingered on his chest. When she looked up he was staring into her golden eyes and she could feel the heat that smoldered in his coal black ones.
Shasa kissed him fiercely, biting at his lips. Her tongue snaked out to taste his mouth. He tasted of meat and mead and honey. She swung her leg over until she was sitting astride him. Drogo came up to meet her, one hand tangling in her hair and the other exploring her flesh. Shasa reached down hesitantly and positioned him at her entrance. He entered her swiftly, breaking her maidenhood, and she gasped, gripping his shoulders. He filled her completely and she felt as if he could touch the fire in her belly.
Shasa rode him as hard as a stallion cantering over the Dothraki Sea. He gripped her hips and pulled her closer until they were pressed chest to chest. And when he spilled his seed inside of her, she fell forward breathless against his throat. "Goddess," she whispered, spent. Drogo tasted her salty, sweet skin and whispered in her ear, "Anni." Mine.
