01x01, 'Winter is Coming'

Everything about the day intimidates her. The pounding of the drums, like war tunes. The strange tongue spoken all around her, completely foreign to her ear, harsh and guttural. Decidedly unfriendly. The fierce Dothraki warriors with the jet braids which dangle down their backs in varying lengths, none longer than Khal Drogo's, which brushes the dirt as he sits. The bright splashes of blood and the entrails that sway like slithering serpents.

Viserys himself.

"Make him happy," her brother says to her, his mouth twisting, snake-like, around the sharp points of his teeth. He pinches her leg. Tomorrow she will have a bruise.

Her nails dig into the palms of her hands. She doesn't respond. There's no point. She doesn't want to wake the dragon.

Now she has the added fear of angering her fierce horselord husband, who swings himself onto his horse and shakes the reins. He takes off without a backward glance.

She is a dog called to heel, following.

But she can't stop herself from one last look back at the old life slipping away.

Her gaze finds Ser Jorah's, the only person in this awful new environment who might try to be kind to her. He gives her a nod. Encouragement. Strength.

She won't remember that later, when she cries herself to sleep.