Chapter 2-Silver Hair and Golden Eyes
Drogo
We pulled up to the prince and my bride to be in time to see a figure approach them as well. My bride was beautiful, no doubt, with white hair and blue gray eyes. She had an adequate body. But upon closer inspection I found that her face was that of a child's, and that disturbed me greatly. I would feel like a pedophile all throughout the consummation of our marriage. I was displeased already. That was a bad sign. Suddenly, with a move too quick for me to catch, what with my attention solely on the little princess, a figure slammed into the little prince they call dragon, causing our horses to all simultaneously act up. The dragon prince was pinned to the ground, held there by a woman with such a fierce predatory look on her face I knew she was ready to kill, and prayed to the Mountain Mother that if there was ever with her involved in it she would be on my side. She hissed something in the common tongue, a scathing sound that made both horse and rider uneasy. The little princess, who before had stood watching with her mouth hanging open, now dropped to her knees before the woman and begged her to stop, that much I understood. I shouted at the translator, wanting him to tell me what was going on. The girl was attacking the little prince. Shouldn't she be punished? Again, in a fast move the girl—woman, I can see now—rolled back and pulled herself up using only her core and stomach muscles, all with the dragon prince in her grasp. The little princess resorted to bawling her eyes out uselessly, though the effect it had on the woman was immediate and intense. The woman stopped fighting, and her eyes became worried, and soft. Then, she barked a command at the translator, and he reacted faster to her than he did to me. "My Lady would like to know who the leader of this herd is," he asked submissively. I ground out a swift, "Khal Drogo." The man parroted my sentence, and the woman scanned me over slowly. I felt myself, ridiculously, puff out my chest a little and flex my arms just slightly. The woman said something else, her eyes not leaving me. The man stuttered as he repeated the question. "I was to take my wife, the little crying princess, in exchange for my support in taking back this iron chair." When this was relayed to the girl, she did not seem… anything. She was stony faced, and silent, but the horses danced away from her, making my men uneasy. The woman seemed to ponder something for a short moment. All was silent. Then, piercing the twilight like a dagger, a battle cry, a noise that will haunt me to the rest of my days, stay with me while I am asleep at night. For the first time in my life I was scared. It didn't help that it was of a strange foreigner woman. She drove her closed fists into his face until his nose was broken and he had wounds that would scar him. When he fell to the ground, we got a look at her face and we all subconsciously leaned away from the sight of her. She was feral, absolutely animalistic. She snarled some words to him that resonated from deep within the chest of the seemingly normal woman. The translator spoke quickly, seemingly afraid to stop doing what she had told him to do. "She said, 'Up. Now! Fight like a man and meet your end like a warrior,'" he swallowed thickly before continuing, "'Now, prepare to die.'" Suddenly, the fight was over, and the woman had her sharp looking teeth poised over the prince's throat. Was she really going to rip out his throat, with just her teeth? The small princess cried something, a name, "Raksha!" The woman flinched, sighing. Her teeth dulled and her grip relaxed as she dropped the little prince on the floor. The woman addressed the princess, and they proceeded to have a conversation in which the princess attempted to reason with the warrior woman, and the woman refused to give me what I came here for. When the translator repeated to me that I would not get my bride, I roared, drawing attention to myself. In the language they spoke I spat, "No wife-No army." I needed a wife to be the true Khal, and having the Seven Kingdoms as an ally would do my herd well, especially if the king owed his power to me. The warrior woman turned to the whiny prince—that name suit him perfectly—and said something. Whatever it was, it made the whiny prince pale and panicked. Surprisingly, the woman spoke in Dothraki, her pronunciation almost perfect. "Khal Drogo. If you are displeased because you think my body inferior to my little sister's I assure you I will more than suffice. If you are uncomfortable, because I pose much more threat to your masculinity and superiority over a mere woman that will be your wife than my sister, I must also assure you that I do not attack unprovoked. If you do not find abrasive women attractive, then I am afraid you are out of luck, because I have only ever been submissive to one man, and he was a mountain lion. Literally. If you can't get over your barbaric male pride enough to accept the offer as it stands, then I am afraid you are also out of luck, for I am a fierce warrior and a fast learner. Will you support my family in taking our throne back in exchange for my hand in marriage?" I kept my face blank, but on the inside I raged. This woman had a lot of nerve, speaking to the mighty Khal Drogo like that. Well, she was right, her body was much better than her younger sisters. She was curvaceous with large breasts and full, round, child bearing hips. She was tall, though not nearly as tall as I. Yes, she would much more than suffice. She posed no threat at all towards my superiority, this foreign woman with the strange clothes. As for the abrasiveness being unattractive, that was the opposite actually. The Dothraki women were submissive to their men, bold and outspoken women were few and far between. Bold women who were fierce warriors were the sexiest thing any Dothraki man could think of. The mountain lion comment was strange, but also promising. The woman was obviously used to being the dominant in all situations, and it would prove very interesting to keep her around. Besides. What harm could one princess do to an entire herd of Dothraki?
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We rode back to our camp to make sure all the preparations for my bride were ready. I mulled over her strange looks while we traveled. She did not have the white hair that her other siblings shared. Her hair was silver, not gray, but not white, with thick tresses that hung around down to her waist with looser curls than her siblings. Whereas her siblings had had blue/gray eyes, she had startling gold orbs, that seemed to glow within themselves. They were flecked with darker bits of brown, and I could tell that our son would have beautiful eyes. Her nose was small and straight, her lips much more full than a Dothraki woman's. She was beautiful, and where her face would be delicate on anyone else, she moved with an aura of power, a sureness in herself that I had only seen on the best of the blood riders. She will make a good Khaleesi, of that I was sure. Mago made the first comment, saying, "Well, your new bride is a spitfire, that's for sure." Qotho snickered across from him, saying, "Are you sure you are going to be able to handle her? You could always give her to us first, to break her in for you." I snarled, both at the suggestion that I was too weak, and at the thought of sharing my wife. "She will be mine, and no one else's." I saw the camp ahead, and with a swift squeeze of my heels, sped up my stallion Sebesseg. The others followed closely behind me. The women and men left behind were starting to cook the feast for tonight. I nodded to myself, yes, the feast would be delicious. I thought back to the actions of the woman whom I was supposed to marry. I thought of my father Harcos, and how much he would have like her, this woman who fought so fiercely to protect her younger sister. She was a fighter, with a wild, true warrior spirit. There was something about her that drew me to her like a moth to a flame, drew a reaction out of me that no other woman had been able to before now. There was something strange in her that called to me, appealed to me in s primal way. It was then that I swore to myself, I would figure out what exactly it was that drew me to the woman with silver hair and golden eyes.