Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you to for being my first reviewer on this story.

As the sun rose above the khalasar, who remained in mourning, not only for their khal and khalakka, but also for their khaleesi, who had stepped into her husband's funeral pyre the previous night and not been seen since, as the group who had still followed her had slept with their backs to the dying embers of the flames, to allow their leader and his family to travel to the Night Lands in the privacy that they deserved. True, the khalakka had not been on the pyre as his parents had been, but he would have waited for them in the presence of the Great Stallion, before he had journeyed to the afterlife, as a child of his dependency would always have done, and wanted to do.

Amidst the sleeping group, though, there was one, Ser Jorah Mormont, who had betrayed this tradition, taking two of the queen's own blood riders with him as he approached the ashes. He had always respected the customs of the Dothraki, as he had of every free town and city he had come across, during his many years of exile, in which he had crossed near the whole of Essos, in search of a people he could call his own. However, in this case, when it was his khaleesi that had walked to her death, the traditions could be damned in his eyes. All he cared for was Daenerys, or the pile of remains that she would have left behind her, when she had burned the previous night.

However, as he approached, the Andal saw that all was not as he had expected it to be. Yes, there was a heap of ashes in the dirt, as he had anticipated, but within the cinders, a woman sat, her clothes burnt away from her body, but her skin only blackened with soot, not with pain. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, also coated in the dark the fire had caused, covering the exposure of her breasts where the fabric had dissolved into the blaze, as she stood from where she had been seated, catching the attention of her khalasar, who stood and bowed down before their khaleesi.

It was only when he heard a shriek from the woman's back that Jorah noticed that Daenerys was not alone. From behind the tangle of her blonde hair, a dark, leathery wing appeared, as two more, a green and a pale, surfaced, one from either side of her naked waist. The man could hardly believe what his eyes reported to him. From the three petrified eggs that had been placed on Drogo's pyre, had hatched three living dragons.

"Blood of my blood." the knight had whispered, his shock reverting him to the common tongue of Westeros, as he did not have the strength in his mind to think of the words to speak in the Dothraki language. The woman before him merely smiled, glancing from the face of her most loyal soldier to the faces of her remaining khalasar, who seemed to be just as in awe as he was. On her shoulders, the crimson dragon shrieked, as if to tell the subjects that the blonde would remain their khaleesi, and that the dragons would protect her, now and always.

An hour or two had passed, and the excitement of the hatched eggs had just about passed, leaving the queen in peace and quiet, bar for the one man that refused to leave her.

"Ser Jorah, I have told you that I am perfectly alright." the woman had told her guardsman, but he had refused to listen, instead giving her a small smile, as if to say that he had acknowledged what she had said, but still would not act upon it. "You just refuse to believe it."

"Well, khaleesi, I would rather you remain stationary for a little while, than sorely regret not doing so." the man returned, the affectionate smirk still remaining on his face. "After all, even the Mother of Dragons requires some rest."

"The Mother of Dragons." Daenerys repeated slowly, testing how the words would sound on her own tongue with reverence. "That is rather an extravagant title, do you not think, Ser Jorah? Particularly as I have so many of them already."

"It is merely the truth, Your Grace." the man replied, deliberately utilising the title that she fought for as the one by which he addressed her, in an attempt to lift her spirits through the reminder of the quest she was beginning. "Those dragons hatched around you, in that funeral pyre. You are as good as a mother to them."

"Well, they are the only children that I will ever have." she responded, a hint of sadness in her tone that caused more than a little pain to Ser Jorah. He had known how much the young Targaryen had longed for a child to keep her company, and how much it had hurt her that the baby had been sacrificed for the half-life Khal Drogo had been given by the maegi, Mirri Maz Duur. "I suppose that I must take what little motherhood I can find. After all, I will never conceive again, not if that witch is to be believed."

For a moment, Jorah opened his mouth, willing himself to be able to comfort his khaleesi, to stop the flow of tears that was slowly surfacing in her eyes. But, despite his will to do so, the knight could not find the words to speak, and so he stood from the chair he had sat in, exiting the tent without another word, leaving the young blonde to cry into her pillow. She cried for her husband, for her son and for the children she would never conceive.

However, at that moment, she felt a stirring in her stomach, one that she had not felt for a long while. It was strange, almost alien to her, despite the fact that she had experienced the same discomforts once before. Through her sorrow and the tears she cried, Daenerys had woken the dragon.

A/N: Please review, I really appreciate your feedback!