The Following Chapter contains material that. may be uncomfortable for some people to read. IIt'scommon ASOIAF stuff, but I do want to warn any reader, just in case.
I noticed a couple of mispellings, so I have merely replaced the errors.
The young Queen was trapped, and far from all aid. Her son had flown off, leaving her alone, in the middle of nowhere with the enemy all around. Mounted horsemen in painted leather vests circled about her; the bells in their long, braided hair ringing and the cries of their horses loud in the stillness.
"Drogon! Drogon!" she cried aloud, on the verge of weeping, her arms raised in despair. "Why have you abandoned me?" She hoped he was still nearby and would come to her aid, but he was already too far away.
The Dothraki had seen her dragon fly, and they had ridden in a ring around her, watching the sky as if expecting to be struck down by some ancient deity, until they had ascertained that the dragon was not returning. Then, as one, they swiftly converged upon her. Khal Jhaqo's riders seized her, and she did not resist. She steeled herself and showed no fear, but within, she felt sick at their touch.
Within moments, she found herself slung over the back of a horse, and the hands of the man whose horse she lay upon were exploring her body. She could feel the heat of the man and the horse emanating from beneath and beside them, and the pressure of the rider's manhood against her side as they rode. Her attempts to fight off his roaming hands only earned her pain, and her cry for aid was stifled by a rag that was torn from the remains of her dress, stuffed into her mouth, and tied in place with another shred of fabric.
Her hands had changed when she was passed to another man's horse, but the abuse did not. Stinking horsemen on stinking horses felt her out and probed her at every angle. She was handed around like a hunk of meat; the Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains was sold for a night with another man's slave girl.
More and more masters piled up, and the number of hands changed grew past her counting. Most of the riders had fondled her at least once; only Jhaqo and his bloodriders had not touched her—yet. Daenerys knew that should he recognize her, she might suffer indignities at his hands greater than she could have imagined, even in the worst of her nightmares. She remembered the little slave girl, Eroeh, savaged by the Dothraki. She very likely would be no better off. In the best case, Jhaqo would slit her throat when he was finished; in the worst case, he would pass her around to his riders and then the whole khalasar. That was always a possibility. After all, she was a fugitive, having run from the house of the khaleesi's widows, abandoning the sacred laws of the Dothraki. She would be preyed upon by all who would be able to lay hands on her.
No longer did she resist the hands that groped at every inch of her body; instead, she accepted them grudgingly, forcing her mind elsewhere. She did not want to give them the satisfaction of beating her back. Where were her children? Why had her son not answered her call for aid?
A dark shape overhead scattered the riders, but they gathered again quickly when the shape passed by. It may have been Drogon, or a small cloud, but it did not come to rescue her.
Onward and onward the riders rode, and the fondling became ever more intimate. Her clothes were pushed aside, then torn, and the riders laughed as they inflicted pain upon her, pinching and blowing and squeezing until she felt the heat in her flesh rise to the surface. She knew that they did not know she understood them, but even if she did, it would make no difference, except perhaps make it worse. Lewd comments went back and forth, and she could not help feeling her face flush even more than before. She was thankful at least that her abusers could not see her face.
At last, evening fell, and they made camp. Though she was offered horse meat and fermented milk, she could not bring herself to eat or drink anything; her stomach churned within her, and she felt sick. Not even Viserys had treated her as horribly as these Dothraki had, and even when he was flaming drunk, the abuse was not so bad as this. It never went on all day, either. Now, however, Daenerys was once again stuck with the Dothraki, but this time, instead of being their queen, she would be a lowly slave.
Within moments of being dumped off of the back of the horse, Daenerys found herself grabbed at the waist by a pair of hands. Her mind immediately went back to her wedding to Drogo, and then to the sacking of the Lhazarene village - was this how her torment would begin?
No. It was not. Instead, she was lifted up and carried for a while, until she was set down again right at the feet of Khal Jhago. She had once promised to make him beg for mercy, and she had every intention of fulfilling that promise. But even so, how could she do that while a captive of his?
"What do we have here?" the Khal asked mockingly in Dothraki. With her silver-gold hair and violet eyes, she was hard to miss, especially in a crowd. "The rebellious Khaleesi who was supposed to return to Vaes Dothrak after her Khal died."
I could pretend that you're not who you really are, of course. I could hand you over to my riders and my men, and then their horses, like a common slave. Nobody would dare question my command if I stated it. But of course, there are visitors from far-off lands who come to sell their wares among our people. My men drink, they get drunk, and they talk. Some of them who rode with Khal Drogo may recognize you, and then I would be known for shame and disgrace among all men. So instead, I will do the right thing. You shall return to Vaes Dothrak.
She was grateful for small mercies. She thanked him profusely, but he waved her away; his wives' slaves would deal with her needs as well, a Lyseni girl and a Dothraki girl, neither of whom appeared older than her. Her hurts were cleaned, she was bathed, her clothes were changed. The Lyseni offered to please her as well, but Dany refused, instead, asking the girl if she had and dreams and hopes for a life outside the Khallasar. Perhaps she wanted something, someone to live for.
When the girl told her no, Daenerys almost felt her heart break. How could someone have no desire except to serve? It went against every bit of what she believed was human nature. She could not understand it in the slightest. Eventually she dismissed the girl and lay down to sleep, amid the sound of the Dothraki encampment. Dreams came upon her of things she did not understand, and when she awoke, she did not remember them at all.