Daenerys Targaryen, also known as Daenerys Stormborn, is one of the last confirmed members of House Targaryen, along with her older brother Viserys, who refers to her as Dany. A young woman in her early teens, Daenerys has the classical Valyrian look; She has violet eyes, pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair. Daenerys is slender of frame, with small breasts. She is said to resemble Queen Naerys Targaryen, though Daenerys is quite taller and fair. Beside the Common Tongue, Daenerys speaks Valyrian within the Free Cities with a Tyroshi accent and High Valyrian. She quickly learns the Dothraki language, and the Ghiscari tongue. Daenerys grew up terrified of and abused by her brother Viserys, and was regarded as fearful and furtive by Magister Illyrio Mopatis. She grows more confident, however, and her followers generally regard her with great respect and love, and has been compared to her deceased brother, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, who had been valiant, honorable, and noble, and is still fondly remembered in the Seven Kingdoms.
As she was raised in exile and never stayed long in one place, Daenerys never truly knew a place to call home. Though she describes the fragrance of the Western Market at Vaes Dothrak with smelling "of home", they in fact remind of her her days spent in several of the Free Cities as a small child. Among the Dothraki, she feels safe, loved and hopeful for the first time. The house with the red door in Braavos, where she lived until she was about five years old, has come to symbolize her lost childhood, and she frequently wishes to return there. Though she has never seen Westeros and cannot remember Dragonstone, she believes that the Iron Throne is her by rights, as Viserys's heir, and that ruling the Seven Kingdoms is her duty. Daenerys abhors slavery and is willing to put the needs of her people before her own desires. Daenerys loves the sea, as it makes her feel free, as well as the sailors and their songs and stories. She also loves to read children's stories and songs from the Seven Kingdoms about hall and handsome heroes. She enjoys heat, preferring her baths scalding hot.
Descending from dragonlords, Daenerys dreams of dragons. Though Daenerys is familiar with the Faith of the Seven, and believes in the existence of gods, she does not appear to follow a particular faith. She sometimes dresses in Dothraki garb; a painted vest and riding leathers, while going about barefoot, with her hair oiled and her skin sun-browned. Her other Dothraki attire includes silk or horsehair pants, woven grass sandals, a medallion belt, and her painted vest. She often wears silver bells in her braided hair per Dothraki custom, one for each of her victories. Daenerys also owns a Qartheen gown which leaves one breast bare, several Ghiscari ''tokars'', and a musty-smelling ''hrakkar'' cloak.
Meanwhile, Daenerys had been standing by the window, staring out at the bay of Pentos, where a shirtless fishermen had been hauling nets full of wriggling fish from their boats onto the docks. The setting sun silhouettes the brick towers of the Free City; intricate and colorful geometric patterns decorate their bulbous domes.
Daenerys is a beautiful young girl, but nobody has bothered to tell her. She is awkward in her own skin, unaware of how rare her violet eyes and lush silver hair really are.
"Where's my sweet sister?" Viserys asked as he steps into the room, a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale eyes. He holds a lilac gown in his hands. "A gift from Illyrio. Touch it. Go on. Feel the fabric.
Dany lets the delicate silk run through her fingers. It is a gorgeous gown but the sight of it gives her no pleasure since she started to feel a bit embarrassed while wearing it now.
"Tonight you must look like a princess," Viserys said.
Daenerys hands the gown back to her brother. "He gives us so much... we've been his guests for a year and he's never asked for anything."
"Illyrio's no fool," Viserys explained about Illyrio's motives. "He knows I won't forget my friends when I come into my throne. He hangs the gown from a hook beside the door. I'll send the slaves in to bathe you. Be sure you wash off that stable stink." He studies her critically and then pushes back her shoulders. "You still slouch. Let them see you have a woman's body now." He then uses his fingers to brush lightly over her breasts, judging their shape beneath the rough fabric of her tunic. "Don't fail me tonight. You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?" He asked as his fingers tighten over one of her nipples, pinching. He was really hurting her, but Daenerys does not resist or open her mouth. "Do you? No. Good." He smiles, releasing her, brushing back her hair with something like affection. "When they write the history of my reign, they will say it began tonight."
Around nightfall, outside the streets of Pentos, a dozen strong men were carrying a palanquin through the pitch-black streets of Pentos. Two servants walk in front, holding oil lanterns to light the way. Inside the curtained litter, Daenerys, Viserys and Magister Illyrio recline on soft pillows. Daenerys wears the lilac gown. Her makeup has been artfully applied but somehow she looks even younger than before. She seems terribly nervous. As for Illyrio, he was described to be tremendously fat, but he carries himself with a certain elegance. He smiles at Daenerys, takes the girl's hand and gives her a comforting squeeze.
"She is a vision, your Grace," Illyrio whispered to Viserys. "Drogo will be impressed.
"She's too skinny," Viserys whispered sharply to him and asks without his sister hearing him. "Are you sure he likes his women this young?"
"She's had her blood, she's old enough," Illyrio continued to whisper. "Look at her. Highest of the highborn, daughter of the past king, sister to the future king... he'll want her.
"I suppose," Viserys responded by giving out a cruel smirk and disgust over the Dothraki. "The savages have queer tastes. Boys, horses, sheep...
"Best not suggest this to Khal Drogo," Illyrio quietly warned the prince.
"Do you take me for a fool?" Viserys cruelly asked with a glare.
Magister Illyrio gives a slight bow and says, "I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense." He then claps his hands and a slave boy wearing a brass collar, crouched in the corner of the litter, hurries over to refill Illyrio's wine glass.
"I know how to play a man like Drogo," Viserys said. "I give him status and he gives me an army." His fingers toy with the hilt of his sheathed sword. "I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with forty thousand Dothraki screamers behind me. The people will be with us. They cry out for their true king." He paused for a moment and gives Illyrio an anxious look. "They do, don't they?"
All across the Kingdoms, men lift secret toasts to your health. Their women sew dragon banners in hope of your return from across the water. Daenerys, who has watched Illyrio throughout his speech, turned away. She chose to keep her own counsel, but it's clear the words that so inspire Viserys do not impress her.
A great field outside the city walls of Pentos, ringed by hundreds of the distinctive, round Dothraki tents. The moon and burning torches light the milling guests. Many are Dothraki Horse Lords, big men and women, for which their black hair oiled and braided and hung with silver bells.
"Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name," A smooth-cheeked Eunich announced the titles to the future king, who was destined to reconquer all the kingdoms. "King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos."
The three honored guests step into the clearing. Illyrio guides them, pointing out various luminaries.
"Those three are Drogo's bloodriders," Illyrio explains to prince and princess.
The bloodriders, fearsome Dothraki warriors, stare back at Daenerys, forcing the young princess to quickly averts her eyes in fear.
"Over there is Ser Jorah Mormont," Illyrio pointed at the king.
"A knight?" Viserys gasped. "What's he doing here?"
Ser Jorah of House Mormont was a young knight, but still strong and fit. Jorah Mormont is an exiled knight, the former head of House Mormont and Lord of Bear Island. He fled Westeros to escape execution for trading in slaves and took up work as a mercenary in the Free Cities. When he sees the Targaryens staring at him he bows deeply. Viserys gives a slight nod, pleased by the obeisance.
"King Robert the Usurper wanted his head," Illyrio explained about Ser Jorah's story. "He was married two times. Rumors are told that he may have sired a son and heir to this island that he was born to. Some trifling affront. Sold poachers to a slaver."
"He could be useful," Viserys suggested.
Illyrio places his hand on Daenerys' bare shoulder. "Over there, sweet princess. There is the Khal himself."
Khal Drogo is the tallest man in the courtyard, but despite his size and musculature, he has the grace of a panther. His black hair is woven into a single braid, hung with silver bells, that swings below his belt. Illyrio walks over to the Khal a dozen yards away.
Viserys leans closer to his sister, never taking his eyes off Drogo. 'You see how long his hair is? When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated. A savage, of course, but one of the finest killers alive. And you will be his queen."
Daenerys, on the other hand, stares nervously and frightfully at the Khal. The man's face is hard and cruel, his eyes dark as onyx as he watches Illyrio perform his submissions.
"I don't want to be his queen," Daenerys pleaded as her voice was small and thin. "Please, please, I don't want to, I want to go home."
Viserys maintains a mask of politeness and keeps his voice low, but there is fury behind his eyes. "Home? How do we go home? They took it from us." He grabs her arm and drags her into the shadows, his fingernails digging into her. "How do we go home?"
Daenerys, who had tears well in her eyes, weakly responded. "I don't know."
"I do," Viserys smiled. "We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo's army." He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand and speaks to her with real tenderness. "I'd let his whole khalasar grip you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took. Come, dry your eyes."
Dany wipes away the unfallen tears. Illyrio, all smiles and bows, escorts Khal Drogo toward them.
"Smile," Viserys nervously whispered to his sister. "And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, they're small enough as is."
By her brother's command, Daenerys smiles and stands up straight.