Daenerys II
Vaes Dothrak was not like any city she had seen before; the first thing she noticed was the gate, which her new people called the 'horse gate'. Two gigantic bronze stallions, whose hooves meet a hundred feet above the roadway, form a pointed arch. The Horse Gate could be seen from a distance, framing the great purple mountain, which the Dothraki named the Mother of Mountains. Ser Jonothor quickly noted, dismayed, that there were no walls and proceeded to ask why that was. But Dany could not help but wonder why they would even need a gate at all, let alone walls. Sprawls of tents, wooden pavilions, ancient monuments that were sheltered under the shadow of the towering Mother of Mountains, and very few people were all the things she noted about the only city of the Dothraki people.
The buildings and old monuments were all different, and Ser Jorah had explained that the buildings had been built by slaves that her new people had captured during their numerous raids. The slaves were Ghiscari, Lhazareen, Ibbenese, and many other peoples. So they build in the fashion they are familiar with, as structures from their homes. The end product is an array of different buildings and pavilions. While the monuments are trophies from their many conquests. ''The Dothraki are no builders, but warriors and raiders,'' Ser Jorah had said. The Mormont man has been very kind to her and has even helped her learn the Dothraki tongue during their journey to Dothraki. She was still not fluent, but Ser Jorah had said that she had caught on quickly and that it was not long before she would master the tongue.
Her gaze fell on her new husband in the distance, who, together with each rider, gave up all their weapons to a waiting slave, for in Vaes Dothrak, no man may carry steel or spill blood. The memory of her wedding night rushed back with painful clarity when her violet eyes met her husband's mysterious black orbs. The firelight had danced wildly around their tent, casting flickering shadows on the animal hides and woven mats. Khal Drogo, her husband, had been a towering figure of strength and mystery, yet his every movement was steeped in a peculiar grace. Daenerys had feared him, a fear that turned to terror when the night grew darker, and she found herself alone with him.
During their wedding night, she learnt the cruel truth of her union—a truth that was raw and jagged. His touch had not been gentle, and his desires had not been tender. There had been no solace in his embrace, only the harsh reality of a girl's body torn by a man's will. Taken from behind, in Dothraki tradition. Daenerys was grateful, so her husband could not see her tears. He had taken her as a conqueror, his needs overpowering her innocence. She had used a pillow to hide her cries of pain, a fragile song lost to the night, and in that moment, the dream of a princely saviour had shattered, leaving behind the bruised reality of her fate.
The pain of that night had stayed with her, a silent scar deep inside of her. She had learnt to mask it, to bury it deep within her, but it had never truly left her. Here, in Vaes Dothrak, the memories surged forward, as unstoppable as the tides that destroyed the Targaryen fleet when she was born. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she blinked them away, straightening in her saddle. Drogo had taken her almost every night after their wedding, or at least it felt like it. He would ignore Daenerys and spend his days talking, drinking, and racing with his bloodriders, leaving her to eat meals alone. Yet every night, Drogo would come and ride her from behind. And one night, during their long march to Vaes Dothrak, she could not take it anymore. I will end myself rather than go on. She had decided then, and she would've gone through with it if not for the dream.
The dream had been magnificent, not of this world. A dragon, the size of which she still could not fathom. Swirling and flying, and a red, blazing comet in the night sky. The creature cried as it engulfed everything in orange flames. And when the fire licked her skin and eventually rose above her, it did nothing but cleanse her. Fire cannot kill a dragon. After that dream, each day had been easier than the one before it.
As she climbed off her silver mare, she winced in pain at the terrible saddle sores. Dany was not an experienced rider, but the silver had responded well to her non-verbal commands. Ser Jonothor had taught her the art of the horse during their ride from Pentos to Vaes Dothrak. She had gotten a lot better with riding since then, but her sworn protector claimed that she was still somewhat awkward with it. She admired her silver nonetheless; it was her wedding gift. Khal Drogo had presented her with the horse at their wedding outside of Pentos. Ser Jorah had told her that it is Dothraki custom to not name horses, so Daenerys had come to think of it as her silver. The mare is young and spirited, and Dany found it breathtaking.
As she turned from her silver and her eyes met the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, her eyes narrowed in determination. Dany touched the soft swell of her belly. She was no longer the frightened girl of four and ten but a Khaleesi, a queen in her own right. She had endured, she had survived, and she would rise above the ashes of her past. She had to, for the baby that was growing inside her. She had no love for her husband, but she already loved the baby with all her heart. I will get their approval. For my child. For Viserys. She had a part to play still—to get her husband to ride wooden horses across the poison water to Westeros and kill the usurper. When her brother pressed the issue the day before her marriage, Magister Illyrio told him that after they were married, her husband must make his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak. And only after that, if the omens favour it. But Ser Jorah cautioned her that the Dothraki do things on their own time.
Days and nights passed, until a moon passed. The heart was steaming in the cool evening air when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw and bloody. His arms were red to the elbow. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the sand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands. Dany could feel the sweat that beaded her skin and trickled down her brow. She could feel the old women watching her, the Dosh Khaleen. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself as she took the stallion's heart in both hands, lifted it to her mouth, and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh. The blood swirled down from her mouth to her chin. And it took everything for her not to spew it back out. I am the blood of the dragon, she kept telling herself. As if calling to the spirits of her ancestors to help her get through this endeavour.
To say that she had been preparing for this ceremony would be an understatement. She had a lot of responsibility on her shoulders, and she would not fail. Ser Jorah had been kind enough to help her find two handmaidens who would help. Isari and Akri, both copper-skinned like her husband, had black hair and brown eyes. The handmaidens had given her bowels of half-clotted blood to dine on in order to accustom herself to the taste, and Isari made her chew strips of dried horseflesh until her jaws were aching. She had also starved herself for a day and a night before the ceremony in the hopes that hunger would help her keep down the raw meat.
''Khalakka dothrae mr'anha!'' Dany howled in her best Dothraki. A prince rides inside me!
''Khalakka dothrae!'' One of the copper-skinned old women proclaimed this as she went to her knees with her hands held high. The Prince is riding!
''Mae ajjin dothrae!'' The old women all said it in unison, collapsing to their knees. He is riding!
''As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. This prince will be as fierce as a storm. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milkmen in the stone tents will fear his name.'' The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world."
''The stallion who mounts the world!'' The Dosh Khaleen declared it in unison. ''The stallion who mounts the world!''
A one-eyed crone lifted her head from the sand to peek at Dany. ''What shall he be called, the stallion who mounts the world?''
She stood up proudly to answer. "He shall be called Rhaego!" she said, using the words that Akri had taught her. Her hands touched the swell beneath her breasts protectively as a roar went up from the Dothraki. "Rhaego!" they screamed. "Rhaego, Rhaego, Rhaego!"
Khal Drogo sat in a great chair behind the dosh khaleen, looking rarely apprehensive. Even a great khal learns to fear the dosh khaleen. Dany's lips curled at the sight of the power she, at the moment, had over her husband. Other khal's and their wives were beside her husband, looking equally uneasy at the dosh khaleen declaration. Though she could spot Isari and Akri smiling with pride,.
That same night, her husband had taken her from behind, and she had heard it like she always did by now. With tears swelling in her eyes, she distracted herself by looking at the three dragon eggs, gently resting with small candles surrounding them. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, each different from the others. One egg was a deep green with burnished bronze flecks that came and went depending on how Dany turned it. Another was pale cream streaked with gold. The last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls. The eggs were warm to the touch, and Daenerys drew strength from them. Strength from her dream.
When her husband was done, she made sure that he was turned away from her when she wiped the tears from her eyes. She would not let him see her like that; she was the blood of the dragon, and a dragon does not cower. Afterwards, she tried to get comfortable, and her back turned towards him as she closed her eyes and welcomed the sleep.
She dreamt the same dream again, and she rejoiced as she spotted the dragon dancing in the night sky above her. But this time the dream was different; the people she loved were standing next to her. She turned right and saw Ser Jonothor and his brother, Ser Willem Darry, together with Ser Gerold Hightower. And far away from them, she could spot a very familiar house with a peculiar red door. She smiled at the sight. Home. She startled slightly when she felt someone very small tugging at her left hand, and when she turned left, she laughed happily. Tears ran down her pale face as she noticed the copper-skinned child with black eyes and golden-silver. Rhaego.
She looked yards away from her front as she heard the sound of steel singing. Her eyes narrowed. Her husband Khal Drogo, together with The Usurper and his dogs, the icey, cold Lord Eddard, and a grinning Jaime Lannister. The dragon roared as it seemed to read her mind; it descended from the night sky and engulfed them in flames. She savoured their screams of pain before the flames engulfed her as well, cleansing her.
When she woke from her dream, she noticed her husband missing. She rose from the bed, and not long after, her handmaidens walked inside the tent and got her dressed. The interior of Dany and Drogo's tent in Vaes Dothrak was warm and dimly lit by the soft glow of oil lamps. The rich scent of spices and burning incense filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of leather and wool. And the three dragon eggs rest gently in front of the bed. The tent provided a sanctuary and a place of refuge for her amidst the hum of Dothraki life. Ser Jonothor Darry, her stern and weathered protector, who had once served her father with unwavering loyalty, walked inside the tent. His white armour, marked by the passage of years and battles long past, caught the light of the lamps, reflecting both the age of the man and the armour. His grey hair was cropped short, and his blue eyes were soft. He looked uneasy, the silence between them growing heavier by the moment as her handmaidens made their way out of the tent.
''Princess. I believe I must apologise; I have failed you.'' He said it grimly.
Daenerys frowned. ''Failed me? What do you mean, Ser? You are my loyal protector.''
Ser Jonothor's gaze fell to the floor. ''These nights I am standing outside your tent, hearing your whimper as your husband takes you. I could not help but think of your mother, Rhaella; she was so much like you. All of us, Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold, even Jaime Lannister. We wanted to prevent her suffering and protect her. But your father was the king. We were sworn to protect her, but not from the king himself. So instead, we stood by and watched, powerless. And I cannot help but think that I am doing you the same disservice now. And for that, I am truly sorry.''
His words struck a chord within her; she was curious at first. What does he claim my father did? The memories of their nights and of Drogo's harsh touch resurfaced, raw and unbidden. She pushed them aside, shaking her head. ''No, Jon. It is not your fault. You can't stop it. It was the way of the Dothraki, and I am their Khaleesi.'' Her eyes softened as she reached out, placing a delicate hand on his arm. ''You have been a constant presence, my white knight, my protector. A reminder of my home. That is more than I could ever ask for. You do not fail me.''
He nodded, though the lines of guilt still etched his face. ''Thank you, Princess. Your kindness is more than I deserve.''
''I carry the stallion who mounts the world, Ser Jonothor. The omens are there for them to see. And soon we will hear from my brother, the king. Viserys will take us home; he is the last dragon.''
Jonothor's expression tightened, his ocean blue eyes darkening with a mixture of pity and resolve. ''Princess,'' he began carefully. ''I know you believe in your brother, but Viserys is not what you think he is. He is not the king who will lead us back to Westeros.''
Dany's eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance sparking on her violet orbs. ''What are you saying, Ser Jonothor? Viserys is all we have. He is the rightful king, and my husband has promised to reclaim the throne for House Targaryen. You cannot know what will become.''
''I have seen him, Your Grace. I have seen his temper and his cruelty. He is too much like your father. He—''
''My father was not like Viserys! He was noble and betrayed by the usurper and his dogs!'' Dany roared in defiance.
''He does not understand what it means to be a monarch, to care for a kingdom and its people. He only seeks power for himself; he would destroy us all in his pursuit.'' Jon Darry said, his voice grim but firm.
Her hands clenched in her lap, the hope that had sustained her for so long wavering. ''Thank you for your wise counsel.'' She dismissed him, her voice trembling.
Jonothor's gaze softened, a flicker of sorrow passing through his face. He nodded, turned around, and was soon out of the tent. Leaving her alone inside the tent. She rose and found herself dragged to her eggs. She needed them; she needed their warmth and their strength.I am the blood of the so was her brother Viserys; he was still out there, gathering allies in hiding and waiting for the opportunity to strike. She only needed to do her part to get her husband there.
''He would destroy us all in his pursuit.'' Her white knight's grim voice kept repeating in her head. She put her hand on the swell in her belly. ''I would see his entire khalasar fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took.'' Her brother had told her when she pleaded with him not to sell her away. She hated it when he spoke to her that way. She loved her brother dearly, but sometimes it did not feel like he loved her back as much; sometimes it felt like he did not love her at all. But she had endured it; she had endured this marriage; she had travelled across the known world; and she carried the stallion who mounts the world, all for the dream of home, for her family, for House Targaryen.
But Ser Jonothor had cast doubts in her head. Could Viserys truly bring us home? What if he could not do it? But if not her brother, then who? He was the last dragon. She found her answer surprisingly quick, as she felt the baby kicking inside.
Rhaego. The stallion who mounts the world. Her beautiful son has copper skin, black eyes, and silver hair. She giggled as she felt further kicks, smiling mischievously as she stroked her swelling belly. Her son would rise to become the most powerful khal ever seen. He will bring her home, and as she came to that conclusion, she swore that she saw one of the eggs move.