The fire burned all around her.
The flames flowed and swayed as if dancing to the roar and crackle of it, like the dancing women at their wedding feast . She could feel a tingling on her now bare scalp, the scent of burning wood overwhelming the singed hair. She could hear the screams and cries from her people, her khalasar, but she did not listen. Jorah had called it a fit of madness, but she knew better. Was she not Khaleesi?
Sitting cross legged holding the beautiful white egg in the furrow between her small breasts and swollen belly, she gently stroked the surface, trying to distract herself from the pains inside her. The black egg sat in her lap, the green at her feet. There was a quickening inside of her, and a deep ache that was almost painful, growing and spreading down from her belly and through her hips. She wished for her furs and her handmaids, for the arms of her sun and stars.
But for the first time in her life, Daenerys felt sure that she was doing the right thing, and that the actions were entirely her own.
Something in her blood, or maybe direction from the gods, drove her to this. The flames flicked across her cheek, gentle as the caress of a mother. The heat was nothing compared to the flames inside her, cleansing her body and the body of her child. The stirring in her belly was beginning to turn into a hard, deep pressure. But as Rhaego prepared to come into the world, she could feel the child inside her egg beginning to wake up as well. She could feel faint movements, like butterfly wings, inside the egg she held in her arms.
Sweat beaded her forehead and her breathing began to come out in gasps and moans, but it wasn't from the heat. She had no handmaid, no servants, no husband to draw strength from. As a contraction took her, she wanted to cry out. But she knew she couldn't, with everyone watching. It was if the whole world was watching with bated breath. So instead Dany began to sing. Low and deep, almost like a moan. She sang the only Dothraki song she knew, a mournful keen of a thing about returning home. She didn't know all the words, but she could mimic the sounds.
I am the blood of the dragon. She told herself. I am Daenerys Targaryen, Khaleesi and rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She would be her own strength, she decided.
The ordeal was over long before the flames died out. The pyre she had had built was massive, full of thick trees, covered in oil. She lay there on her side, aching and sore, too weak to lift herself. Too afraid to look up. So instead she looked down. Wrapped in her arms, her babe reached up to touch her face and Daenerys's heart felt full to bursting with love, and a strange sense of determination she had seldom felt before.
Around her, three hatchling dragons explored on thin, new legs, not straying far from their mother. It occurred to her that she may appear dead, that her people may be just as afraid as she is. She braced herself for discomfort, and pushed herself up with the hand that did not hold her baby, so that she sat up. There was a silence in the crowd for a moment, a collective intake of breath.
She drew herself up as high as she could and found the eyes that belonged to the knight from Westeros, Ser Jorah Mormont, and weakly croaked, "Her name is Rhaello."
Her head felt warm and fuzzy and her vision blurred, she fell to the ground and saw nothing but darkness and heard nothing but shouting.
When she came to, it was to a damp rag being pressed against her forehead. Her eyes snapped open and all of her terror returned at once.
"Rhaello. Where is she?" Her eyes found the blue ones of Doreah.
"Peace Khaleesi, she is here. Do not move, let me bring her to you."
Doreah walked across the tent and Dany righted herself. She shifted her pillow so that it lay under her, as she was still tender and sore from the birthing. Her breasts hung heavy and aching, milk leaking from them slightly. She noticed a breeze and brought her hand to her scalp-only to find smoothness where once she found silk. The hair on her entire body had been lost in the flames, she noted with more than a touch of sadness. But when she held her daughter in her arms she forgot her sadness. Instead, she felt a joy that she had only felt a few times in her short life. Maybe she had never felt it, not like this. She pressed her lips to her child's tiny forehead and sighed deeply. No, she had never known a pleasure like this. Rhaello seemed to be half asleep still.
"Where are my dragons? They need their mother too."
Doreah had the grace to look away. "I apologize Khaleesi, they have been kept in a pen outside. Nobody, not even the Khal, dare approach them."
"Release them." Dany ordered, "They are my children too, which makes them a part of the Khalasar just as much as you and I. Bring them to my tent."
Doreah murmured an agreement with her eyes cast towards the ground and backed out of the tent, slightly paler than usual.
Dany turned back to the infant in her arms. "Rhaello." She whispered, looking into the bright eyes of her child.
They were a deep rich purple, deeper than any of Master Illyio's robes, deeper than any gem. From a distance they would appear almost black, like her fathers. They had the distinct almond shape of the Dothraki, and her soft skin had the slight colouring of an almond too. Dany wished to know the colour of her hair, but she found that Rhaello's had been lost in the flames as well, if she had been born with any at all.
She brought her small head to her nose and inhaled, she was soft and sweet and pure and full of life. She was the most beautiful thing Dany had ever seen. But she was not the Stallion that Dany had promised her Khal. She was not the king that would sit the iron throne. She was a girl, and a grievous insult to her husband. She wasn't surprised that he was nowhere to be found. Often, a Khal that was presented with only daughters simply lay with other women of the khalasar until one of them was able to provide. His wife was sent to live with the Dosh Khaleen at the Mother of the Mountains with the daughters, so that the khalasar may forget their shame.
She hoped deep in her heart, that for the love her Khal bore her, this would not happen. If she had to leave, she would be leaving a part of herself behind. But she would walk away with her head held high and her daughter by her side, and she would not go to live in peace with the crones. She would find another way to bring her daughter home. She was not just a Khaleesi, she was the rightful heir to the iron throne. She was the mother to dragons, for the first time in hundreds of years. She would not be set aside easily. Surely he would see that, she thought. He must know that Rhaello's birth does not change her destiny.
But doubt clawed at her throat. He may not send her away, but he may not come to her either. She was still a Targaryenn princess, her worth alone, even with a daughter was more than any other woman in the khalasar. And now she had dragons. She was valuable, he did not have to desire her in order to appreciate that.
No, she thought, Drogo could not turn her away. But he may find solace in another woman regardless. He may father other children.