Daeron (Daenerys) has been claimed by Droga (Drogo) what happens next?
We spend the night held captive in a tent, the entrance guarded by two very strong-looking women who exude don't fuck with us vibes. They slide us pieces of bread with butter and some sweet-smelling milk. Jorah said it's fermented horse milk. I resist the urge to gag but when I sip the thick liquid it tastes like honey and some underlying layer of smoothness. Jorah watches me pleat my hair, twisting and twirling the thick locks into a long braid with smaller strands framing my face. I dress in my cleanest clothes and make sure to wash my face and arms until my skin shines. I tell Jorah I'm only doing this to make sure she'll want to keep us alive but I would be lying if I secretly didn't want her to be pleased with how I look. I can't explain the connection I feel with her but I can't stop thinking about her, her eyes, her smile, the way her voice covered me like a protective cloak. I look over my reflection in the mirror that was in my pouch and frown. My violet eyes are bright but I need something to make them stand out, they are after all my most mesmerizing assets. At least that's what those women of coin said when they tried to take my virginity. Viserys said it would toughen me up but I spent the time talking to them, asking them questions about their lives and interests. They were confused at first but eagerly jumped at the chance to just talk. They were very kind and didn't even tell Viserys I left their brothel still a virgin. I line my eyes with kohl and blink to keep the moisture from smearing it. I turn my chin scrutinizing my face, my nose is small with a slight curve and my cheekbones are high and aristocratic. My lips are slim but a flattering pink, my skin the color of pale cream. I straighten my vest and pinch the skin at my waist. I'm not the most bulky of men but my body is trim with a soft underlying of muscle. Jorah paces back and forth but stops short when he see's me. He blinks and lunges forward to grab my shoulders.
"I can't let you go out there my prince. I'll think of a distraction and you run." Concern shines in his dark eyes and I smile softly. I clasp his shoulder and push him softly away.
"I will talk to this Chieftess, explain our situation. Have faith my friend." Jorah frowns and scrubs a hand down his face. He nods and steps away.
"You are a bonny lad. If anyone can smooth talk her it would be you." All the women we've met have been smitten with my kind demeanor and my many questions. I've always been fascinated to know more about people and where they've come from. A harsh rap sounds at the tent flap and it's shoved aside. The woman who captured us beckons me forward and I follow her out of the tent. She leads me through the camp. I notice women have gathered, their faces curious. Men stand close by, babes strapped to their chests. I've never seen a village where men are the caretakers of babes but I'm starting to realize there is a lot I don't know about these people. She pushes me forward and I stumble slightly. The Chieftess frowns at the women and she bows her head. The Chieftess sits tall on her throne of wood. A smaller more delicate looking girl sits next to her. She perks up when she see's me and smiles brightly. She is different then the other women of the tribe, her skin pale and her hair the color of corn silk. She says something to the Chieftess and bounds over to me. She is short, barely reaching my chin. She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the Chieftess.
"Welcome to the tribe of wind! I'm Amaya." I let her tug my arm as she chatters. She turns to smile at me and I notice that her right eye is white, a faint scar sloping from her eyelid to the center of her cheek. It takes me a moment to realize she's speaking my language. I look at her curiously and she giggles.
"I'll explain later, now you have an audience with Droga." Her small hands grip my bicep and pulls me in front of the Chieftess. She bows slightly and jumps back up to her spot beside her. She winks at me and clasps her hands in her lap. The Chieftess motions me forward and I walk slowly to stand in front of her. Her face is a mask of indifference as she assesses me. I stand tall, unwilling to show any weakness. She eyes me appreciatively and nods once. She spreads out her hands and smirks at me. She speaks garbled, twisting words and I look to Amaya.
"She welcomes you to the tribe of wind, brother. Her name is Droga." Amaya looks to Droga as she gestures once more. I try to follow what I can but I'm clueless to their conversation.
"She has staked a claim to you. Welcome to the family." Amaya grins at me and jumps down to throw her arms around me. She squeezes me tight with her thin arms and I'm surprised by her strength. She pats my back and releases me.
"Staked a claim? I'm not some object for her to take." Amaya's smile doesn't falter as she looks at Droga.
"It's our custom to take what we want, when we want it." She grins up at me. I want to protest but snap my mouth shut at the look in her eyes. I nod once and she pats my back.
"What is your name?" I look at Droga and she watches us with an almost soft expression.
"Daeron Targaryen." I expect for my name to cause some sort of reaction but she merely nods and turns to tell Droga my name. The Chieftess nods and give Amaya a command. I may not be able to understand the words but I recognize the force behind them. Amaya nods and pushes me away from the council. I take one last look behind me and Droga grins at me, baring her teeth in a fierce gesture.
...
Amaya pulls decorative leathers and hand crafted vests from a trunk and holds them up to me. She tsks and tosses them aside, pulling up an open vest with twisting sun and stars etched into it. She hums in approval and lays it aside. Next she pulls feathers from a smaller box. The colors glint in the firelight and she moves to stand behind me. She pulls my hair free from the braid and weaves the feathers through my thick hair.
"How do you speak my language?" Amaya's nimble fingers make quick work of my hair.
"I was not born to the tribe of wind. Droga found me when I was ten. I was badly beaten, near death, and she brought me here and adopted me into her family." She still looks so small. I hesitate to ask her age, having heard women are sensitive to that type of questioning.
"How old are you now?" Amaya moves to unbutton my vest and I quickly push her hands away. She giggles at my expression and hands me the open cut leather vest.
"I'm almost seventeen moons. Go change. I will tell my tale, but be warned it is not a happy one." I move behind a privacy screen and shrug off my cotton vest. It falls to the floor with a soft thump and I stare down at it. In a way it feels as if I'm shedding my old life. I pull the leather vest over my arms and the supple smooth skin of it glides over my flesh. I pull the leather trousers up my legs and admire the needlework. I run my fingers over the etched sun and stars and marvel at the craftsmanship.
"I was born in Essos to a wealthy family. One night I was taken captive while we were on expedition to the grasslands." I push aside the privacy screen and she holds up a jar of paint. It's a glossy teal color and I squint as she stirs it with her fingers. It's the same shade Droga had on her chest and arms.
"My father refused to pay, my stepmother hated me." She shrugs and moves her fingers to my face. She streaks the paint down one side of my face, tracing swirling patterns.
"When the bandits found out, they raped me, tried their best to break me. When they found out they couldn't, they beat me, nearly to death and left me there." She trails the paint down my arms and I look down at her. She avoids my eyes, her face unreadable.
"One of them punctured my eye and left me bleeding out. After a few days of laying in the dirt wishing for death, Droga found me. She took me in and gave me a family." Her smile returns, bright and cheerful. Rage burns in my stomach and I want to track down the bastards who hurt her and make them pray for death.
"Droga hunted them all down, one by one and tortured them for what they did to me." She grins, her honey colored eye glittering joyfully. She moves her fingers down my bare chest, drawing spiralling sun and stars with a colored in moon in the middle.
"Why are you painting me?" Amaya finishes her art work and wipes her hands off on a strip of cloth. She steps back to admire her work and grins at me.
"I designed you with Droga's colors and the markings of her claim." She hands me leather boots and I step in them. She laces up the complicated ties and steps back.
"Why?" Amaya straightens my vest and taps her chin in thought.
"Do you have anything to wear around your neck?" I nod and move to my pack. I pull out my most valuable possession. I unfurl the cloth protecting it and smile. My mothers dragon fang necklace, said to be passed down through the Targaryen line, made from real dragon teeth. Two fangs are connected by a Valyrian steel chain and I slide it over my head. My mother left it to me and I made sure never to tell Viserys about it. Amaya clucks her tongue in approval and clasps her hands together.
"Tonight is your claiming feast. Droga will show the entire village that you belong to her." Amaya moves to the tent flap and holds it open for me.
"Belong?" Amaya nods and motions me forward.
"Yes. You are the new Chief of our village and Droga's husband." I feel faint and have to grip the pole to steady myself. Amaya loops a thin arm around my waist and smiles apologetically at me.
"I know this is a lot to take in. After tonight I'll help you get settled in. After all you are my new brother." I take a deep breath and follow Amaya out of the tent. I square my shoulders and stroll confidently to the fire. If I'm to be the new Chief, I need to show these people no weakness.