A/N: Hey guys. Hope all is going well.

Published a new story called three heads. Be sure to check it out.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 17: Great Grass Sea

The Forgotten Prince.

The Cripple

The Wheezing Dragon.

The Disinherited.

More a Bastard than the Bastard.

The last epithet, spoken with a chuckle by a drunken Talisa when she thought he wasn't listening, hurt Aegon the most. Not just the insult upon him - as if he was a disgrace or a tossed away broken husk of a child meant to die or waste away like the daughters of Aegon III. No, the assault on his own dignity combined with that on his valonqar made it a twin blow.

Much as the poets waxed lyrically of the Dance of Dragons, highborns of court murmuring comparisons to those Targaryens that turned upon their own kin, Aegon wondered what blows to the head addled them. He loved his younger brother, loved him desperately. Baelon, Rhaenys, and himself, the three eldest of Rhaegar the Sunrise Dragon, Lyanna the She-Wolf, and Elia the Dragon's Viper. The last of the Targaryens to be born in a world without dragons. They shared a bond few others could duplicate, but it was more than that.

Others look at me and see the weak while Baelon is the strong… Not his brother. Never his brother. Baelon sees me as someone to emulate. It had been Egg that taught Baelon to swim. He who taught Baelon the constellations of stars. Taught him the proper manner to clean a sword so that Sandor wouldn't think him a fool. Never would he turn on his brother no matter what everyone said.

But that didn't make the insults hurt any less.

And neither did it make the satisfaction and prideful glee at being the center of attention and adoration for once any less for Prince Aegon Targaryen. To see those same scum seek to kiss his ass… or the organ anterior to his ass, both women and men. It amused him to see them do that, but the looks of pride from his family and friends - those that always stood by him when he struggled and now heralded him when he succeeded - such brought him the best feelings.

His munas and kepa.

His siblings.

His cousins.

His aunts.

His friends.

And most of all his beautiful lover, Asha Greyjoy. Instead of smiles and words of love, her heralding of his success manifested in a far more pleasurable manner. The kind where her legs were wrapped around his hips, urging him on as he slid in and out of her. Featherbed inside his chamber creaking obscenely with each hard thrust as his grunts and her moans intermixed with each other. "Oh Egg," she gasped, voice tinged with rare feminine submission while she clawed at his back.

Egg kept his lips pressed tightly, spreading Asha's legs far apart so he could rut into her harder. Green as he had been only moons before, wonderful practice definitely made perfect. He thrusted into her tight cunt with abandon, experience knowing that Asha could take it. "Please…"

Fingers trailing up to weave through his silver hair, she noticed his movements growing more erratic. "You… you close…?"

He bit his lip. Nodding.

A feral look took hold in Asha's eyes. Storm blue now begging silently, wanting his seed deep inside her. Moon tea she would take, but the feeling of being seeded by the Targaryen dragonrider too much a fetish for her to ignore. "Do it, Egg. Shatter, I'm right behind you."

Unbidden, much too soon for his liking but that which cannot be helped, Aegon grunted and spilled his seed. Roaring not but fusing his lips with Asha's in a searing kiss that drowned out their screams and left them shrouded in a mental void. Thinking of nothing but their pleasure, exploding into a panoply of color radiating from their joined hips. Egg erupting while Ash's cunt milking his cock of all drops of seed.

Shuddering with the remnants of his explosion, Aegon melded flush against Ash. The Ironborn lady easily able to take his weight upon her, fingers caressing his back as her breaths were a symphony in his ear. "Oh, Egg…" she whispered hoarsely. "I loved that."

His words next were unbidden, but left him genuinely as they both managed to catch their breaths. "And I love you, Ash."

Below him, her heart fluttered. It wasn't the first time he spoke those words, and each time they tested her resolve. Asha had initiated this for two purposes, the all-encompassing one to protect her friend and brother in all but name from those that would take advantage of him - yet the other was for she wanted her maidenhead taken by one that cared about her. Care about her Aegon did… and Asha found herself caring more and more for him. It felt wonderful, but also could never happen. It would only hurt them both.

Hate it that she did, but Asha forced up the resolve and shook her head. Both for his sake and hers. "No… you don't."

Egg furrowed his brows. "What? I do… I truly do."

"Don't Egg, I know what this is." She sighed, averting her gaze. Not wishing to hurt him as some girls would, just for the enjoyment of squashing the heart of a boy. "I'm your first woman, so it is normal…"

"This isn't normal, Ash, and you know it." He gently guided her cheek so her eyes stared into his. A darker, murkier form of sea green than those common to House Velaryon, but that color nonetheless. "I love you and want you to be my wife."

Blinking, she could tell he thought he was serious. "Oh, Egg." As befitting her age over him - not her experience in such intimacy, considering he was her… - Asha hugged him close to her, kissing his brow. "I love you too." Not a lie, but not the way he mistakenly wished for. "But I am your first love. Your first experience of a coupling. It is only natural for you to be attached…"

"That's not what this is!" he insisted.

She quieted him down with her fingers pressed to her lips. "It is, Egg. You must believe me." Seeing his lip quiver, Asha almost teared up herself. "Oh, Egg." Asha hugged him close. She couldn't tell him the truth, but this sweet boy wouldn't be hurt by him. Not when it was the opposite that she intended. "You are not the heir, but you are the eldest Prince. Your parents are planning a proper betrothal for you, especially since you are the nephew of the Prince of Dorne."

"But you're right, I'm not the heir. Aegon the Unlikely married for love, as did his children…"

"And look what it did for the realm." Egg was silent after that, to which Asha kissed his head and let him rest between her breasts. Trying not to moan as his silver hair brushed against her nipples - no one had risen the lust inside her as did this dragon. "Trust me, Egg. What you're feeling is normal but it will pass, especially as the girls of the realm shower you with attention."

"I only want you…" he murmured, but it was clear his ire was fading.

She rubbed his back. "Just sleep, sweet Aegon." If Asha was truly thinking in his interest, she'd have left his chambers as the soft sounds of his sleep wafted into his ears, serene breathing against her skin. But… she was weak. She liked being in his arms and in his bed.

Would the gods damn her for taking as much as she could of this boy - her first - as she could before it was time to say goodbye?

Asha didn't know the answer, but damn her she couldn't stop herself.

A soft hand pressed against his shoulder, making him sigh. "Oh Egg," he heard, a faint voice but one clearly filled with affection. "Forgive me for this."

"Wha…" he murmured, but trailed off, everything around him feeling like a surreal haze of calm clouds.

"It's for the best… and I truly do love you too." He felt a soft kiss against his cheek, and then soft steps trailing off until there was nothing, the clouds taking him by the hand and leading him happily into the void of sleep once more…

A stream of sunlight slammed into his eye, the glare having angled itself perfectly to hit the part where his face laid upon the pillow. Blinking rapidly, Egg groaned as he raised his arm to shield his eyes, slowly shifting upwards till he sat up. Shaking his head free of the sleep. "Fuck, Ash. I knew I should've drawn the curtains…"

Hand moving to stroke the bare back of his love, Egg immediately grew alert as instead a bare but still warm patch of bedding greeted him.

"Ash?" He looked around the chambers. Nothing - except for a folded sheaf of parchment resting on his bedside cabinet. "The fuck…" He picked it up and began reading the hurriedly scrawled words upon it.

Egg,

This may seem ridiculous since you can come find me, but I couldn't face you again. Not when you could make me swoon when I try.

This is for the best, to end what we've had. I'll always treasure it, but you are a Prince of the Realm. Destined for great things. You will find a woman to wed and love that is far more deserving of the role than the daughter of a man that rebelled against the Crown.

Know that I will always be your companion and a shoulder to cry on if you need one.

Asha.

Oft, he had heard from those his elder about heartbreak. That first lover that would invariably grant Aegon his first foray into love and affection only for it to end in pain. True, his heart ached. A tight feeling that made his breath quiver at time. And yet…

Egg rose from the bed, setting the letter within his desk and locking it shut. Wordlessly he donned his tunic and trousers to cover his naked form. Sadness marred his features not, instead a silent steel that he had seen his kepa wear when confronted with challenge.

He had loved and lost, but certainly would love again. "I would've married you, Ash. I would've…"

Just as his kepa would've married Cersei Lannister had it been decreed. But it hadn't, and he wouldn't, and in that moment he supposed that… the will of the gods had played out just as they would've hoped.

Mayhaps he was becoming the man that his title and Fyrefist tucked against the wall next to the bed declared him to be.

"Whacha doin'?"

"Reading, sweet cousin."

Arya bounced on the balls of her feet, swaying restlessly. "Readin' what?"

"Just reading, Arya. Please let me concentrate."

Candle burning in her quarters, Rhaenys finally had a moment of peace. The past days were filled with chaos as Winterfell prepared for the departure of its Lord and much of the local household guard… and the Targaryen Princess within. Benjen was going with her, as was the Hound, but for Margaery and the rest of her household… Rhaenys instructed them to remain in Winterfell. Castle Black is no place for girls… at least ones that couldn't slice a man open. Certainly Rhaenys felt able to handle herself in a hive of scum and villainy.

Afforded some quiet time before bed to go over the last bit of the histories Luwin entrusted her with on his investigations, Rhaenys suddenly understood Joanna's comments about an annoying little sister when Arya barged into her chambers. Escaping her bedtime by hanging out with the cousin she so adored.

It is now I that she wishes to be. Rhaenys would be flattered if she wasn't so annoying at the moment. "Papa reads a lot," she said. "It's boring… but you read awesome. I know it."

Smirking her amusement, Rhaenys was about to say something when Arya's breath on her neck startled her. "Gods, Arry, don't do that!"

If it were Joanna or Sansa, Arya would've laughed. But her hero Rhaenys… "I's sorry." Her lip trembled.

Rhaenys sighed. "Fine, come here, sweetling." She let the wee form of her cousin climb onto her lap. All Stark apart from green eyes. Eyes that enchant even Tywin Lannister. Rhaenys wouldn't have believed it had she not seen it. "Just reading about magic."

"Magic!" Arya clapped her hands. "Aunt Lya say direwolves magic!" She pointed to where Nysar slept on Rhae's bed. Legs tucked under her and completely dead to the world. "N'cle Little say dragons too."

She chuckled and tousled Arya's hair. "Yes, Arry. All of that is true." Rhae pointed to the tome in front of her. "Two types of magic are spoken of commonly, that of the First Men and of the Valyrians, but there is a third."

Arya likely only understood a quarter of what she was saying, but her eyes were wide, rapt in attention. "What?"

"That of the Rhoynish. Your aunt Elia's people, of Dorne."

"Really?"

"Aye. Since our culture was focused around the great River Rhoyne, the Rhoynish ancestors of House Martell were notorious water wizards - able to manipulate water for both pleasure and work. Even fighting." The book contained so much detail, even the battles that even made the dragons of Valyria sweat. Fascinating stuff that so entranced her.

Simpering, Arya climbed off Rhae's lap and returned, holding little Nova - not as little as before, her paws too large for her body. "Here, fetch Nova water."

Rhaenys shook her head. "It doesn't work that way."

"Please, pretty please!" Arya's wide eyes were joined by the diminutive cub whimpering, which made Rhaenys double over. "Hey, not funny. Fetch water."

"Sorry, little cub," Rhae giggled. "I'm no water wizard. Just an unburnt dragonrider."

Arya huffed. "Fine… stupid water wiz-ards. No fetch water." Gods, she was just adorable. Either she got her stubbornness from her Stark side or from her Lannister muna. Rhaenys didn't know which was more frightening for the future enemies of Arya Stark.

A knock on the door drew her attention. "Excuse me, Arry." She rose and opened it, only to gasp. "Torrhen."

"Rhaenys, I need to talk to you…" Making his way in, Torrhen suddenly became aware of Arya. "Lady Stark."

Arya frowned. "I's no lady."

Wincing, Rhaenys moved over to Arya and scooped her in her arms. She was almost too heavy to carry anymore, but she managed. "I think it's time for bed."

"But I's…" She yawned. "Not tired." Beneath, Nova yawned for good measure.

A smirk. "Yes you are." Rhaenys looked at Torrhen. "Wait here." He nodded and soon Rhae was off.

One minute later and Rhaenys returned, Arya tucked under the covers in the chamber she shared with her twin brother. "Alright, Rhae," Torrhen insisted. "Are you truly coming North of the Wall?"

She pursed her lips. "If it comes to that, I will join the rangings. Someone has to represent the Crown against the wildlings if they truly are massing under a King Beyond the Wall." This had already been debated and agreed to by her uncle Ned to his bannermen.

Apparently Rickard Karstark told his son, and fear was written on Torrhen's face. "I worry that you will fall there… perhaps you should at least stay at Castle Black?"

"I can fight better than anyone here my age, and most persons over it." She crossed her arms. "What is this really about?" Rhaenys though had a feeling she knew.

Torrhen sighed. "You mean the world to me, Rhae. I… I don't want to risk you to any calamity."

Tilting her head to the side, Rhaenys leaned back against the door, looking at Torrhen with a bit lip. "What is it you want from me, Torrhen?" Her voice trembled, words from many of her family and confidants coming to her mind - that she had played with this boy's emotions.

I… I care for him…

He advanced on her, but stopped with about a foot separating them. "You know what I want." He reached out and held her waist. "I want your hand."

Rhaenys wasn't shocked, and only made her turmoil worse. "It isn't mine to give… and I'm not sure if I wish to give it away just yet."

"We're both of marriageable age."

She sighed. "I am a Princess, you are the son of one of Lord Stark's bannermen."

"That hasn't stopped past marriages within your house." He had brushed up on his history too, it seemed.

But Rhaenys was also versed in it. "The situations were far different, and most involved those not so close in the line of succession." As Rhaegar's eldest, Rhae was under no qualms of knowing her worth as an alliance broker was high. Those like I don't have the luxury to marry for love. "It's not about what I want, Torrhen. I am a Princess of House Targaryen with the blood of House Martell and the soul of House Stark."

But rather than dissuade him, Torrhen instead drew closer. Enough so they gazed into each other's eyes - Rhaenys his height, having inherited her kepa's tall stature. "And what do you want, Rhae?"

"Torrhen…"

"Please, tell me what you want."

A loaded question, one Rhaenys had difficulty truly answering. She loved her life and her family, loved being a dragonriding Princess of House Targaryen and even the duties within. But with that dragonblood came the fiery disposition of the dragon. From her munas she acquired the wild freedom of a wolf and the carefree Dornish attitudes. Conflict brewed, staring at Torrhen, feeling his hands on her.

What did she want? "I want… to find one I choose. To find love." Her munas did, even if they only married kepa for political ploys.

"Well… I love you, Rhaenys," Torrhen murmured, kissing her.

The kiss felt needy and desperate. An urge from him to bare his feelings. Hands gripped her possessively, hungrily, and Rhaenys felt herself responding. He was a good lover, though they hadn't gone fully yet… was it time?

Perhaps she had to know. "Torrhen…" she murmured as he started to kiss her neck.

"Yes, Princess?" he breathed against her neck.

"Take me to bed… I'm ready."

He pulled back, eyes wide. "Truly?"

A sigh. "Kessa." Yes, she had to know.

He beamed. "Thank you, my love." The kiss resumed, almost manhandling her to the bed. For Rhaenys, the dragon, viper, and wolf, it felt… good.

Very good.

Scrunching her nose together, Sansa seemed to strain herself. Eyes shut tight and lips curled. "Come on," she murmured barely through her lips. "Come on."

Jon crossed his arms, watching. "I'm impressed."

"Shut it," Sansa hissed, still trying as if she were suffering from a bout of constipation over the privy. "I can do it, I promise."

Sighing, Dany patted her shoulder. "I don't think this is happening, Sans. At least not now." Finally Sansa relaxed, though she looked quite put out and glared at Lady. The direwolf simply swiped her tongue across her nose, haunches sitting upon the grass. "She did do it, Jon, multiple times."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Jon!" Dany complained. "The one who rides a massive dragon shouldn't have trouble with believing such mystic matters, nephew." They were gathered near a small lake while Arthur watered the horses - Sansa had come up with the delightful idea to finally showcase Jon her newly discovered warging, only it didn't work out that way. "She is a warg."

"Wargs haven't been heard of in centuries."

"Well Sansa is."

"And Dany's a fire maege."

"Sansa…"

Brow rising, Jon clicked his tongue. "First warging and now fire magic. Now we're getting somewhere."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "How else do you explain how our attacker got flash-burned without there being a fire?"

Pursing his lips, the Crown Prince seemed to shrug. "Alright, you have a point there… though given we both have the same amount of Stark blood it stands to reason that I could be able to warg just as well as you at the very least. If I could duplicate it… or at least do it somewhat then both your claims would stand confirmed."

She crossed her arms - while Dany looked eager to move on from what Sansa asserted was fire magic. "Go ahead then, all powerful Conqueror Reborn."

"Don't mock that name," Jon said as he sat upon the ground, legs crossed. "It is very much real." Shaking his head, he closed his eyes… "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Establish a connection between yourself and Ghost. Lean into your bond and simply let it happen."

Groaning, Jon found Ghost idly pawing at a gopher hole, boredom mixing with the hunting instinct of such a fierce creature even not fully grown. This is ridiculous. But he nonetheless closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Thinking about his connection with Ghost, how they could communicate so easily. Not like him and Valyrax but close, able to understand each other…

When he opened his eyes again, suddenly his senses were heightened. Vision different but hearing perked up, and smell… an assault of scents on the senses. Gods… Sansa was right, he was in Ghost.

Trying to speak, only a yip went out. He leapt in the air, wind blowing through Ghost's fur while his hind legs hit the ground first, then his forelegs. It was amazing! Jon booked into a race, feet bounding upon the grass as the countryside passed him by. He loved it, loved everything about it…

Until something caught his senses. Sounds. The smell of blood and fear - Jon knew those smells, he'd endured the former on the sparring court and the latter from childhood memory. Ghost moved, this time stealthily, as if on a hunt. Poking his head above a low bush to see…

Suddenly Jon awoke, eyes wide and in his own body. "See!" Sansa clapped her hands. "I told you…"

"Someone's in danger," Jon spoke, this time seeing Arthur close by. "A group of women, attacked by bandits."

Arthur drew his blade, motioning for Jon to follow him. "You will do as I say and follow my lead. You two, stay here!" The command was given and Dany and Sansa both nodded, drawing Lady and Moonlight to follow as they made their way to a secluded portion of the endless scrubland of Andalos between Braavos and Pentos. Protected by several bushes.

When there, Dany drew her sword to Sansa's wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Just in case," the diminutive dragon spoke. "Wish I had Syrax, but best you take out your bow."

Sansa blinked. "I'm… not that good."

"You're good enough, or else what was all that practice for?" Sansa nodded and fumbled with her bow and quiver, hoping not to be tested but readying herself all the same.

It turned out to be warranted, for four ragged men with yellowed teeth and unwashed beards emerged from the west. "Where the fuck did they come from?" one asked incredulously.

"Some Westerosi knight and his fuckboy… we'll surprise 'em then get the horse bitches." Sansa tensed, nocking an arrow. "We…"

On instinct, the Stark girl let the arrow loose. She'd struggled with targets, but this time the steel-tipped arrow punched right through the apparent leader's temple. Skewering his head and sending him falling. Gods…

"Where was it?!" another screamed.

Suddenly… "Over there!"

"Shit, cover's blown." Dany raised her sword. "Girls, go!" And with the direwolves she ran, charging out.

Drawing his sword back from the now limp corpse, Jon wiped it off on the bandit's tattered tunich, not wishing to waste his own rags. "Ser! It's done!" he called out, a slight worry that Arthur was wounded…

But Ser Arthur Dayne was not a legend for nothing. "Two taken care of over here," replied the kingsguard, sheathing Dawn in its scabbard. No wounds on him, but he looked over Jon. "Any wounds?" He gestured to the bloody tunic.

Jon shook his head. All theirs. Knocked the wind out of me a bit but I can handle it." Pressing a hand to his lower chest, it hurt like the seven hells and would likely bruise, but it could've been worse. "Alayne?!" he yelled, worried for Sansa and Dany. "Larra?!"

"We're here! We're unhurt!"

Lady and Moonlight emerged first from beyond the crest of the small hill, maws bloody and fur tinged with crimson, followed by the exhausted girls. Jon ran to them, enveloping them in a hug that seemed to crush their lungs. "What happened?"

"Group tried to get the jump on you," Sansa stammered out, shaking. "I hit one with my bow, then Dany got the other and the direwolves each got one."

"Thank the gods…" he breathed, chest hurting from the embrace… but all being worth it when they hugged him back, soft bodies pressing themselves against his. His mind growing confused at the feel. When did their chests grow…

Hearing Arthur clear his throat behind them - Ghost already licking the blood off of his littermates' snouts - the ladies disentangled themselves from Jon and all three trotted over to him. "Would be a shame not to greet our guests, no?" Each of them cast their look to the rocky outcrop at the summit of the adjacent hill and nodded. No arguments there.

"Who are they?"

"A group of Dothraki women, it seems. Were riding through the countryside before the bandits attacked them - likely expecting easy pickings." Arthur chuckled. "Mistaken they were."

Getting closer and the bodies of several Dothraki warriors lay strewn about the scattered boulders. None looked to be weak in the slightest, braids long and uncut. "Dothraki warriors only cut their braid after losing a battle…" Daenerys whispered as they walked past. "A long braid is the mark of an accomplished and undefeated warrior." She and Jon had read the same books by candlelight in their childhoods, transfixed by the martial traditions of various nations and peoples.

Jon nodded. "Aye… which is why most died from arrows." Sure enough, all but one had shafts sticking out from their chests, some multiple ones. "Had to get them by ambush, or that would happen." He pointed to one other warrior, covered in slashes and cuts - surrounding him were three bodies of bandits, all essentially decapitated.

"Whomever it was," Sansa said, "That they were protecting, for so many accomplished warriors she had to be important."

"She?"

Sansa pointed ahead, a tall woman with bow in hand emerging from the rocks. "Aye, she."

As they grew closer, the woman nocked an arrow suddenly. "Stay back." Her common tongue was badly accented, but passable.

"We're here to help," Dany called out.

"I said, stay back!" Louder, and more emphasis. The girl was tall and shapely but in a rough way - almost like Queen Lyanna. Her leather outfit was in two pieces, exposing her midriff in the Dothraki style. Form-fitting to show off her beauty, but no one could deny her fierceness with toned muscles and a growing braid of her own. Whomever she was, she had fought battles as well. "Who are you?"

Arthur, his hands up in submission, stepped in front of the children. "Humble travelers from Westeros."

"Westeros? Across the Poison Water?"

'Poison water?' Sansa mouthed.

'Narrow Sea,' Jon mouthed back. 'Can't drink salt water.' His cousin nodded understanding.

"Aye. Just walking to Pentos when we saw you needed help."

"I see…" She gestured to the direwolves, all alert and watching her. "And those things?"

"I'm sure you keep pets." This was from Dany, and it caused Jon to snicker without helping himself.

"Dogs… too big. Look like pups."

Dany smiled widely. "Dogs are bigger across the Poison Water - now we saved you. Can you at least put down the bow?"

"All my men dead or hurt… how can trust you?" Hard and determined to protect her own, it was clear the woman was exhausted. Arms trembling, wanting to rest.

"Because if we wanted you dead, why would we approach you?" Dany walked beside Arthur, somehow knowing this girl couldn't hurt them. "Please, we're weary travelers same as you."

"Just let them come, Assavi," called another from behind the rocks. An equally beautiful girl, yet softer. Clearly not a warrior as the first. "They protected us, so therefore are guests."

Groaning, finally the woman nodded and lowered her bow. "Greetings," she said, approaching them. "I am Assavi, daughter of Khal Barbo of the Dothraki." Wincing, she glanced at the dead strewn about the field. "This… was a party with peaceful intentions, so I wish this was under better circumstances."

Dany agreed. "Aye, it should've been."

Sansa blinked, confused. "Your common tongue is quite good."

"Surprised?" Assavi chuckled. "You'll find we're not all savages, young lady." For the three, a lot of their preconceptions this journey were being shattered.

But wasn't that the point of it all?

"Honored warrior, you can assure Khal Barbo that his horses will receive the best of attention." Dressed flamboyantly as per the nobility of Norvos, robes flowing and beard reaching to the middle of his breastbone, he clapped then extended his hands. "Only the finest for those that come to me be it saddles, stirrups, or in your case shoes," he continued in fluent Dothraki.

Arms crossed, the Dothraki warrior - all of eight and ten and bearing the short braid to prove his youth and inexperience in spite of the rippling muscles of his chest - regarded them with steely-brown eyes. "You will use only the best steel, no? Last time the shoes lasted only a third of the promised life. Nearly crippled two of the Khal's horses, and one of mine." His voice lowered, a near growl. "I don't want that to happen again."

The nobleman, owner of some three industrial forges in Norvos that handled both local orders and exports all over Essos, nodded and gestured to a man in a thick leather apron. "This is my top smith, the one I assigned to complete your father's order, Khaakka Drogo."

"Need not worry, Khalakka. I am the best at my craft."

"You better be, for your sake." Cracking his knuckles, Kalakka Drogo waved over to two of his comrades - warriors he had grown up and trained alongside since he first rode a horse, which honestly was his first recollected memory. "And as a man of my word, you will be paid for your services in silver." His riders brought a chest, and when opened revealed a dozen silver ingots. "Half now, and half when the order is complete upon delivery to us."

"Of course, of course. The khal will receive our fastest service." Dropping from Dothraki to High Valyrian, the Norvoshi noble smiled. "You know what to do?" he asked his smith.

The smith nodded. "Slow walk the order and use the subpar steel? Aye, it's as good as done."

"As if I'd waste my best steel on a savage that fucks his horses." They both shared a chuckle at the thought.

Drogo, brow raised, looked at them with confusion. "Something amusing, my Lord?"

The highborn wiped his eye. "No…" he replied in Dothraki. "Just an amusing tale, nothing worth repeating."

He laughed in reply. "Don't be so sure. A horse-fucking savage can take a jape as much as the next person." He grinned, arms still crossed over his powerful chest.

It took a moment, but soon both men's skin turned pale as they stared at Drogo. "You speak high Valyrian…" The highborn gulped.

Drogo nodded. "Quite well… though my accent is awful." Apart from the guttural Dothraki manner of speech, any objective observer would've called him fluent. "I'm not as good with bastard Valyrian, but the ordinary smallfolk that tend to speak it don't try to cheat me." He stepped forward. "And by extension the Khal of ten thousand Dothraki screamers."

Pale pallor turned into visceral terror. "Hon… honored Khalakka… I was just…" His voice cut off with a gurgle as Drogo hefted him up by the throat.

Some enjoyed torture. Drogo did not, though sometimes he did gain satisfaction at it. "You will finish the order in one week, and have only the best steel used… and the price will be halved." It was his turn to chuckle. "And the silver will be paid upon delivery, not before, are we clear?"

The noble's eyes, bugged out and focused on the arkh clipped to Drogo's belt, nodded vociferously. "It shall be done…" That earned him a drop to the ground, falling in a heap and coughing. Dust and dirt coating his expensive robes. Aye, it was satisfying.

Walking to his horse tied up at the hitching post with the rest of his companions, Drogo's lips were still curled in that same self-satisfied smile. "Did you have to do that?" asked Rokharro, his closest friend and companion, son of one of his father's bloodriders.

"Don't be a cunt, Rokharro. Tell me that didn't make your day?"

"Oh, that was satisfying, but why are we paying those perfumed fuckers? If we need horseshoes then we should take them." He patted his blade. "The Dothraki way."

Sighing, Drogo ran a hand through his hair. "Sure, I could do that. Would be easy too… they'd throw unbroken horses at us if we bring enough riders just to get rid of us… but what does that make us?" They reached the horses, Drogo grabbing the reins of his, a gorgeous stallion that he had raised from birth seven years ago. "Pillaging villages, taking unprotected fools to sell in Yunkai? Having food and gold dumped on us just to go away. We're locusts that can be bought off… something to fear but not respect."

"Head in the clouds again, Drogo?" Qhono asked from atop his own horse. At a nod from Rokharro, he clicked his tongue. "Face it, we're not going to change our ways."

"Perhaps when I'm Khal, we can aspire to be something more than puissant thieves." Forcing entire cities to pay them tribute was thievery on a grand scale but still thievery. "The Targaryens had dragons and established a dynasty across the poisoned water. Perhaps the khalassar could aspire to even half that greatness."

Laughs from his friends. "I love you, Drogo, but even when you're Khal you're just one of many. You're no stallion that mounts the world, culture or no culture." He glowered and shook his head - his friends were his friends but none had ambition. None looked up and saw promise of more than just the Dothraki way of life. My sister does, at least. He longed for her to return from Pentos so they could talk.

No one else understood him or his dreams.

The clop of hooves upon the dusty ground caught his attention - initially for a split second but then… "Irri?" sure enough there was one of his sister's handmaids… and his casual lover. "What are you doing here, where is Assavi?" Dread formed in Drogo's gut.

Irri, normally quite a cheerful girl, looked quite worse for wear. "We… we were attacked halfway between Pentos and Braavos… they killed our bloodriders."

Drogo gasped. "No… Assavi…"

"She's safe, I promise. Travelers from Westeros helped kill the men."

"Where is she?!" Damned if Drogo would let his sister out of his sight ever again.

An empty threat, though. Assavi would cut his balls off if he even tried - that wouldn't stop him from going to her as soon as time allowed.

A/N: Yep, it's Drogo. Didn't think he'd appear?

Till Next time :D