It was during the evening, when the golden sun had threatened to disappear beyond the horizon, that the Dothraki set up camp. The Khal and his companions—I am told they are called bloodriders—drank their strange drinks, raced their muscular stallions, and watched their women dance. It was the same every evening, every time the hoard set up camp. Then, always around dawn, the Khal would wake Dany and take her in the dark. I could hear her pained crying, on occasion, when the agony was too much for her to suffer in silence.

But, before the Khal grew tired of the entertainment and the full hoard still roamed in the clearing, Viserys and I would always be in the corner, eating alone. He refused to be among those savage people and I believe the feeling was mutual. They believed Viserys to be weak. I, having no one else, was always beside Viserys. I tried once to sit with Dany, who looked awfully lonely and only ever sat beside Ser Jorah on infrequent occasions, but Viserys had grown offended and claimed I threatened to awaken the dragon by abandoning him.

However, Viserys was not here and nor was Dany. She had given her silver filly to the serving people for grooming and I never saw here again. I did, much to my shame and annoyance, hear mockeries of Viserys and I. They depicted Viserys as a weak coward, a craven King. Everyone, even the slaves, the children, the women, knew of the so-called King. They imitated me in a unrealistically pathetic manner. Some even, I suspected, implied to something else in our relationship, that the pathetic woman and the craven man belong together; what the Targaryen bloodline was famed for.

I tried to ignore them, hoping for Viserys to march into the camp, proud and kingly. He would understand. Dany did not. She was their khaleesi, their Queen. They would never mock her so openly, not like they mock Viserys and I. Thankfully, soon enough, Viserys stumbled into camp, limping and heaving heavily.

I rushed over to him, ignoring the stares. "Viserys!" I greeted him, happy for a familiar face.

"Savages!" He wheezed, almost immediately after he had leaned on a boiling rock for support. "I had better receive my army soon, or else I swear, these savages will pay for awakening the dragon!"

"Yes, brother." I soothed him. "But you shall need to look fierce; you are covered in sand and are exhausted."

I directed him toward some slaves and, although they spoke nothing of a language I knew, they seemed to understand Viserys needed to bathe, to remove the grime. I suspect the fine clothing he wore was ruined, which was a shame. We were both slowly running out of noble clothing and I did not want to wear Dothraki clothing.

I returned to my meal, which I think may have been dog. The Dothraki had a massively wide variety of animals to choose from. I hear there is goat, dog, horse, even duck (which Dany had acquired a taste for). I had never tried anything other than horse and dog, though I think this was more of the Dothraki not liking Viserys and I than actually not having enough for us both.

I took much longer to eat than any other, for the dog's meat was too tough and hard for me to chew correctly. I harmed my teeth during numerous attempts of eating it and was barely given any liquid to wash it down with. I tried to pretend I had no problem, sensing some Dothraki warriors' gazes burning into me, much like when Viserys had been forced to walk. Sometimes, I think the Dothraki wonder how Viserys and I could be related to their khaleesi. She is much more agreeable, much less feeble, even if they do not necessarily consider her strong yet.

There was a whispering among the hoard and I turned my attention to the diversion. No more did anyone stare at me. For, instead, they stared at something far more interesting, in their opinion. A naked Dany, who allowed her sleeping silks to fall to the ground, and Khal Drogo, who Dany slowly undressed. I turned my head in embarrassment and slight confusion. Dany had obviously disliked the other attempts Khal Drogo had of mounting her and seemed to oppose such an audience.

I wondered what had changed. Ignoring the pleasured groans, I made my way to my own tent, a small one, and rapidly sealed the flaps. The hoard, the fierce khalasar, was changing Dany. I think she is either developing into a dragon or developing into a horse, like Viserys claimed she would. She is certainly becoming more popular among the Dothraki, taking up their customs, wearing their clothing.

Thankfully, I had no handmaidens, nor did any slaves bother me, so I was allowed to relish in the privacy and the—near—silence. I lied down on the make-shift bed, which was rather uncomfortable, but I did not fall into a peaceful slumber. Instead, I remained awake and quickly grew bored of lying down, so I decided to visit my mare.

I did need to name here, but I could think of no names. Perhaps something in High Valyrian, since I am a Targaryen, descended from Valyrian people. Perhaps brāedion, meaning copper. The mare's colouring may not be copper-coloured, but it is quite similar. A few shades lighter than copper, I believe. She is more golden, though, so āeksion may work.

My pondering on a name was cut short when I finally spied my horse among the others. She was being attended by a female slave and I nearly did not go over, since I did not speak Dothraki and I am sure the slave may not know the Common Tongue. Nevertheless, I went over and simply stroked my horse's mane.

The slave girl gave me a look and spoke. "Look nice." She said, and, although her accent was strong and her Common Tongue was broken, I understood her perfectly.

I did not, however, understand if she was talking about the horse or about me. Thankfully, she spied my confusion, elaborating: "Like silver lady, the khaleesi."

I nodded in understanding. I looked like Dany, apparently. Then again, to the Dothraki, the Targaryens must all look the same, for most of us claim silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. I was no exception, nor was Dany, or Viserys. "Thank you." I told her, not knowing what else to say. I hoped she understood me, but I did not want to talk to her like she were a child. It would be insulting, I fear.

"You are sister?" The slave girl questioned. "You are Khaleesi sister?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"She has child." The woman said, causing my eyes to widen, though I was not too surprised. Khal Drogo, according to Dany, mounted her every night. There was little chance she would not be with child before she arrived at Vaes Dothrak. Still, Dany pregnant is a strange thing, indeed. I wonder how Viserys will react. Will he consider this child a Targaryen, a dragon, or a Dothraki babe, a horse?

I suddenly remembered the slave girl. "What is your name?" I asked her. I did feel bad about calling her 'slave girl', even if she is a slave. The Dothraki are a cruel people and I do not believe this girl would have done anything to deserve being a slave. She was probably a girl from another khalasar, one Khal Drogo conquered.

"Zhekki." She replied and I nodded, concentrating on the pronunciation.

"Zeh-e-key?" I asked.

Zhekki shook her head, though did not repeat her name. I would have to pronounce her name wrong, then, though I believe she would expect this, since I am a foreigner and do not understand the Dothraki language. And speaking of the Dothraki language, perhaps I could learn. I did like talking to Viserys, but he always either whined over the offensive nature of the Dothraki or planned his invasion of Westeros. I did want him to become King, but I was no battle strategist.

"Viserys." Zhekki said, hesitantly. "He is—gaezo?"

I frowned. "Brother?"

Zhekki's olive-skinned face lightened. "Yes. Bru-th-ar."

I nodded in confirmation, understanding why Zhekki may have asked this: the famous Targaryen tradition. "Viserys is my gaezo." I tried to repeat her word.

"Khaleesi is inavva. Khaleesi child is janise or siera." Zhekki explained and I nodded, absorbing the information and relishing in the conversation. It was refreshing, to say the least, to talk with someone other than Viserys. He forbade me from speaking to Dany, for she was a 'whore'.

"Khaleesi is inavva." I repeated, earning a nod. Smiling, I continued: "Khaleesi child is janise—"

There was a sudden yell and Zhekki turned her head rapidly. A Dothraki warrior called her over, demanding something in Dothraki. She bowed her head and quickly sped over. I gave my horse once final stroke, before returning to my tent.

I closed my eyes, laying on the make-shift bed, and allowed the sweet, dark abyss to take over. And, while I slept, I dreamt of strong horses, of noble dragons, of kingly slaves, and of captive kings.