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

Little bit of news. Hurricane Ian is about to hit West Florida and I'm smack dab in the middle of it. The center of the storm won't hit me but still... could use some well wishes right now.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 19: Khalekka

"Well, my Lords," Lord Commander Jeor Mormont spoke, black cloak about his shoulders and scarred eye on display to all as a sign of his battle prowess. Gruff and raspy as his voice was, no one - lest of all Rhaenys - gave him anything less than the respect he deserved. "We are in deep shit… pardon, Princess."

Rhaenys smiled. "I've heard worse, believe me," she chuckled. "Please go on."

While Jeor nodded, it was her uncle Ned that picked it up. "Gendel and Gorne, the Horned Lord, Bael the Bard…" That story truly was a tragic one, Rhaenys remembered. A Stark legend, her brother Baelon and all of Lyanna's line carrying his blood. "Raymun Redbeard… all Kings Beyond the Wall and all sought invasion of the North with the combined armies of the wildlings. Now we have another, this time led by someone of the Seven Kingdoms."

"And who is this person, Lord Stark?" asked Rickard Karstark, leaning against one of the tables within the great hall of Castle Black - though the demonym 'great' was quite the misnomer. Rhaenys had seen inns in the Riverlands that were in better shape than this keep. "I heard he was a Night's Watch deserter."

While her uncle looked to Jeor, Rhaenys found Jeor nod to another man - one far rougher and without any sort of highborn grace as even a Mormont would show. "My First Ranger, Qhorin Halfhand, will enlighten all of you."

Rhaenys had sparred with Qhorin Halfhand several times, so his reputation as the best warrior among the Black Brothers was not a lie. He bore the scars of a half-hundred rangings and held a crafty nature thanks to that. "The culprit is someone of the name of Mance Rayder, an old friend of mine that did serve under the Rangers. Could've been First Ranger and later Lord Commander had he not deserted."

"So he was of the fuckin' south!" grumbled Greatjon Umber, snorting. "Where? Vale? Reach? I think the Reach, fuckin' flowers."

"Forgive me, Lord Umber, but it's neither of those." Several of the men chuckled at Greatjon's scowl. Rhaenys wishing to be one of them, but mindful of her unfortunate giggle at Lord Karstark, she stifled it with her fingers over her lips. "Mance's parents were a common woman of the free folk and a man of the Night's Watch. We don't condone such relations but it happens, especially with the sorts that populate the keep nowadays."

Rapists as well as murderers and thieves. That her uncle Benjen - also present but bearing a white cloak rather than a black coat - nearly joined this order never ceased to bother Rhaenys since she arrived here. Seated next to him and Torrhen, she insisted on the matter at hand. Being a proper Targaryen warrior Princess rather than a weak maiden worried over something or other.

They respected her in the North, loved her even, but she wished not to give them anything to doubt that love and respect.

The Halfhand continued, left-hand going to rest on the hilt of his sword - hence his name, since he could still fight if he lost his sword-arm, much like Arthur or Baelon. "After a group of raiders that crossed the wall at the Nightfort were put to the sword when Mance was a child, he was taken by the same Black Brothers that would later train me and raised from eight namedays to be one of us. That's where he found his family name, Rayder."

"He was raised from then to be of the Rangers, a raider of the North." Rhaenys found it… apt.

"Never outgrew his wildling side, though," Torrhen added, derision in his tone. "His father, where was he from?"

A shrug. "Can't be sure. They never did figure out which Black Brother fathered him, and he only told me his mother spoke of his father being a Crow - not which Crow." A bleak childhood no doubt, fatherless among starving wildlings and then an orphan among the dregs of Westerosi society at the edge of the world.

Rhaenys, rubbing her chin, interjected with her own question. "When did he defect to the wildlings?"

"Before your father took the throne, several years before that." Qhorin shrugged.

"Our rangings discovered in the year of the Rebellion that the wildling bands were massing together. A few at first around Mance, the most agreeable types. It wasn't too dangerous until the Thenns pledged their support to him then we had to take notice."

"Thenns?" Rhaenys' brow furrowed. "Should I be worried?" They sounded familiar but she couldn't place the name.

The Halfhand nodded. "They're the strongest of the wildlings. Very powerful and control the most land… they also are the most brutal in raids. Are said to devour their captives if the captives… well… piss them off too much."

A scowl crossed Rhaenys' lips. "Disgusting. And they bent the knee to Mance?"

"Wildlings don't bend the knee. They merely… pledged support. It's why Kings Beyond the Wall never pass their titles to their kin, though it didn't help that Mance married the Chieftess of the Frostfangs."

While some of the lords grumbled and heaped insults, Lord Roose Bolton - so far quiet - kept his focus. "How many men can he count on?"

Halfhand grimaced. "Can never truly tell. Captured wildlings claim he has over a hundred thousand warriors, a hundred mammoths, and dozens of giants." Some laughed, some paled, while Rhaenys was merely… intrigued.

"We have a dragon, so I'm not worried," boasted Lord Karstark.

"Quite true, but wildlings are not centralized. It would take moons to assemble that many men and years to acquire the supplies. With him… I wouldn't put more than ten thousand, and that's the top estimate."

Locking eyes first with Lord Roose and then with Rhaenys, Ned took back control of the floor from Jeor and Halfhand. "Alright. We have three thousand men with us of Houses Stark, Umber, Karstark, and Bolton. Half are mounted, and we can count on about two hundred Black Brothers as scouts."

"Not to mention the orange dragon," insisted Greatjon, pointing to Rhaenys. "That's worth fuckin' fifty thousand. We could wipe out the wildlings then and there."

While Rhaenys liked Greatjon and his son - whom had stayed back in Last Hearth with Lady Genna, Lady Jeyne, young Ned, and all the girls that Genna and Malera had mothered - she felt compelled to dispel this notion however much it would make Greatjon look foolish. "Forgive me, Lord Umber, but as much as I would like to count Nymerion among our ranks, she will not be fighting in any coming clash."

Greatjon blinked, while all but Roose Bolton and her uncle Ned were confused. "What? For fuck's sake, why?" It was Rickard Karstark who said that. "You wish not to use your greatest weapon for the North?"

"Father, please, that's not what her Grace was saying," Torrhen shot back, defending her.

Rhaenys appreciated it. "I would be first on board to use dragons to defend the realms of men, but may I remind you of the story of the Good Queen Alysanne?"

It turned out to be Roose Bolton that replied, not much to Rhaenys' shock. "I should not be a proper Northman without knowing the story, how the Good Queen toured the North and visited Castle Black, only for her dragon Silverwing to refuse to fly north of it even upon her insistence." Finally, it seemed that the others present remembered. "So it wasn't just a falsehood or rumor of history. Nymerion truly won't fly north of the wall."

"You'd be correct, Lord Bolton," Rhaenys replied. "If the Wildlings attack us then we can count on her, but not on offensive action." She'd already talked with uncle Ned about this.

To which he had planned accordingly. "Thus, I have deemed reconnaissance in force to be prudent. We won't engage fully the Wildlings unless we can do so quickly and without danger of being destroyed."

"A feigned retreat, perhaps?" Roose added. "Lure them out of their fortresses if Mance isn't fully in control of his chieftains."

"Wildlings are rather decentralized, so that's possible. They have no cavalry after all," Jeor was ready to add his say. "We can march in about two weeks, given the supplies that arrived and when the last blizzard's snow will melt enough for mass cavalry."

"Then we're dismissed. Each Lord will be assigned a ranger that will advise them of the geography north of the wall, while Princess Rhaenys will be among the rangers of the Night's Watch as they scout ahead of the army, per her desire." He nodded to Rhaenys, even though there was quite a lot of worry in his gaze.

Rhaenys was bound to cause as much worry about her upon this ranging as her brother did with his stunts or her aunt and cousin with their being stowaways. Gods help me when I have children - Tessarion will seek to repay me for how many grey hairs I put on the heads of my kepa and munas.

"So," she heard Torrhen tell her. "Later, a ride into the woods… for hunting?" It was obvious based on his grin what he was truly seeking.

From the wink Rhaenys gave him, she gave her assent to it all. "I'll be there, though you carry the waterskin." He nodded, and Rhae managed to resist kissing his cheek. Or his lips.

Perhaps she was truly falling for him.

Tightening her cloak about her, Rhaenys found Sandor falling alongside her. "Want me to come with you on that hunt?" he asked.

"Of course you heard that," she snorted. "I would rather you not."

"Trust me, that's not something I'd want to see. But they pay me to look after you."

"They pay you nothing."

He grunted. "Makes me more of a fucking idiot to be caught around you dragons, but here I am… just be damned careful. Gotta worry too much of those damned wildlings to concern myself over some pretty boy."

"Just keep your sword sharpened." She patted the fur of Nysar, alongside her. "My companions will protect me enough." Rhaenys believed it.

The whiff of smoke and aerosolized juices filled the air around the hill upon which the Dothraki band had camped. Norvoshi charcoal - a far more even and pleasant-smelling flame than the dried dung chips usually used for fuel when deeper in the Dothraki Sea - kicked up enough of a cloud to slightly obscure the maze of stars that glittered above in the night's sky, but not to fully block it. Assavi was happy for that. That twinkling mass was always something she enjoyed.

To gaze at the wider world she lived in while most of her tribe seemed dead set on the more earthly of matters. Drogo had always deemed her as a silk-swathed highborn trapped in the body of a Dothraki. Always joined him on a hunt after he said that, but he had a point. There was only so much that her dear father could do to sate her desires for knowledge of the wider world.

Perhaps that was why she drew so much interest in their guests.

"I am sure you are told of how we only eat horseflesh," Drogo laughed, using a large pair of tongs to remove a slab of beef from the grill - more akin to a single grate of iron suspended over the fire by rocks. He set it on a table of wood, preventing the slow drip of juices from falling from the charred flesh. Mouths watered all around.

Ser Aron, seated to the left of the girls while his son Eddard Snow sat to their right, shook his head. "Some do. Some say you fuck your horses."

Drogo and his companions laughed mightily at that, Assavi's brother smacking the hedge knight upon the back - any weaker man would've likely staggered to the ground. "Our horses are quite comely, but with women like my sister… why would we fuck any other?"

"Fuck you, brother," Assavi replied, making an obscene gesture.

"Oh, I like her a lot," Larra giggled, gesturing for some of the beef that Drogo began carving. Her brother smirking, it wasn't a shock to Assavi that she obtained the first serving. Larra's brilliant white teeth glittered at Drogo in thanks.

Rokharro clapped his hands. "Nothing… better than… Dothraki girl. They… no… ummm…" Unlike her and Drogo, his companions weren't as well-versed in culture. He knew only a little common tongue.

Young Alayne chimed in. "Not like a septa?"

Assavi slapped her knee. "Aye, not like septas!" No better comparison than that. "I know not if you've flowered or not…"

"They have not, Lady Assavi," Eddard Snow stated with a slight glare. "No boys would dare."

Apart from you, I would think? She'd seen his scowl whenever Drogo fawned over Larra, won over by her charm and innocent smile. Apparently this boy must've had some Valyrian in him, claiming dominion over the two pretty girls that accompanied him without knowing it. "Of course, but I am sure you know the finer bits of coupling." Drogo dropped a plate for her, to which she attacked with gusto - albeit with less… animal savagery than the other screamers that her brother called his companions and future bloodriders.

"We know enough, right Alayne?" Larra asked.

Alayne, for her part, blushed near as red as her hair. "Aye, Larra, right." It wasn't just Eddard that the redhead's eyes flickered to as she waited for her dish.

"In any case, while those of Westeros think it is wanton to engage in such intimacy outside the bedchamber, we Dothraki think it the height of insecurity."

"Aye, a true man proud of his woman fucks her under the stars for the whole Khalasar to see!" Drogo boasted, still serving the slabs of beef. "And any woman proud of her man wants to show him off. Must say, all of my lovers have been such women." Another grin sent Dany's way… and another glare from Eddard while she giggled merrily.

"Never… never thought about it that way," Alayne said softly, now being served herself. "Doesn't sound like the women of my family." She shuddered, likely thinking of her mother in the throes of passion with her father while she daintily cut a cube-sized chunk of beef. "They are as possessive of their men as can…" Taking a bite, suddenly her eyes widened.

Ser Aron tensed. "Alayne, are you…"

Assavi could tell their fear, but could also know exactly what was happening. "I think she tasted the spices."

Fear in Alayne's companions changed into amusement. "Having trouble, dear?" Larra smirked, chewing without bother thanks to her Lysene blood.

Gasping, cheeks turning red and sweaty as she slowly chewed, Alayne seemed close to the threshold of pain… until finally managing to swallow. "My… my tongue is on fire."

"Well?" Drogo hovered over her. "Did you like?"

Drinking from their water-skin, she gasped out, but finally nodded. "Different, but good."

Drogo laughed, translating for the others and resulting in their own cheers. "Not a spice-handler, I can see."

"We don't… get much exotic flavors back home, unlike those two." She thumbed to her companions. "Honestly, they'd eat actual briquettes if they could, give them more of a kick."

"If you cannot stand the heat don't live where the dragons rule, dear Alayne," Larra replied, teeth glittering in that toothy smile of hers. This girl can get away with murder, undoubtedly. Thankfully for all involved, Assavi could tell she was actually sincere and gracious rather than just using them as masks for something far more manipulative. Not vile, but knows how to use her charm and looks. Much like herself.

Alayne… she seemed a bit more innocent on that front though her looks and poise could match up to her friend. Wherever she was raised, far more isolated from political matters. For a 'horse-fucking savage,' Khal Barbo never allowed Drogo nor her to slouch on their skills, be they war or politics.

"You… you say dragons?" asked Kovarro, juices dribbling down his beard and pointing to the west - where the poisoned water rested just a few miles beyond the sloping hills of Old Andalos. "Dragons in Westeros… all… Dothraki… worried."

That… very much seemed to interest the three children - Ser Aron too, though he had more experience to mask his emotions. "Why would they be worried?" Assavi heard Larra ask. "The dragons, at least to what we've heard, have no designs outside Westeros across the Narrow Sea."

"Narrow Sea?"

"The Poisoned Water, Kovarro," Assavi shook her head. "And how would you know of the Targaryen plans, young one?"

Ser Aron cut in. "If there was some planned attack out of Westeros, I'd be assembling in King's Landing rather than being here. Lack of war means lack of work for a hedge knight like myself - had plenty of chances for plunder and coin during the last two rebellions, shitty as they were." He glowered, personal memories of war running through his head, at least that was what Assavi assumed.

This was a man that had actually been in significant combat, rather than mere raiding and pillaging as was hers and Drogo's.

"King Rhaegar only desires peace," Eddard stated firmly. "You need not fear him."

"That, child, is not our experience as a people," Drogo commented, eating quietly. Quiet didn't suit him.

"How so?"

What did Westerosi know of the Dothraki? Perhaps only that they were the ever-present boogeyman much like the Wildlings north of their massive wall, but even less so than those of the Essosi Free Cities. Since when was Gulltown or Lannisport or Storm's End blockaded by us? Since when were the fields of Harrenhal or the Reach raided by us? A faraway horde not worth worrying about, even among the highborns upon which only bothered to learn when their trade shipments were delayed. Assavi didn't expect those of House Targaryen to know, let alone these smallfolk travelers. "Should I, brother?"

Drogo shrugged. "You always learned the songs better than I."

She nodded. "Let's just say that our collective memories of the Valyrians were… never kind. At best, we were mounted mercenaries to protect their borders and guard their wheeled supply convoys from bandits. At worst, we were favored slaves for their fighting pits."

To her credit, Larra gasped. "That's horrible."

"Aye, which is why after the Doom we threw off all pretenses and became the feared horde we now hold a reputation for being. No longer anyone's slave," she boasted, proud of that fact. "My father told me of his ancestors being quite relieved at the Dance of Dragons eliminating a potential Valyrian resurgence… but the Sunrise Dragon now ruling across the Poisoned Water brings that same worry back."

"Along with the hope for the 'Stallion that Mounts the World," Drogo mused, drinking his mare's milk.

"Stallion that Mounts the World?" Larra blinked, interested.

"A prophecy dating back to before the Doom… of a warrior that would unite all the Khalasars and give the Dothraki a purpose beyond that of raiding and pillaging. Turn us into a proper army with proper lands and borders." Drogo laughed. "A crock of nonsense." Assavi glared at him. "I'm sorry, but no one is uniting the khalasars, much as we would want it to happen."

Larra was deep in thought. "Must the Stallion be Dothraki?"

"Of course he must be Dothraki," Eddard spoke.

"Not necessarily. The Conqueror Reborn could be that Stallion." Eddard groaned at that. "Crown Prince Baelon, he's known as that."

"Along with other titles," chimed Alayne. "Baelon the Beloved, they call him, the darling of the Seven Kingdoms." Both her and Larra sighed dreamily, which Ser Aron chuckled at while Eddard scowled even darker. "He could be your Stallion."

"A dragon leading us, that would be the day," Drogo laughed. "Now if it was you, wee one, I might be persuaded to follow you." He reached over to tousle Larra's hair.

She shook her head. "Don't put down the Conqueror Reborn… I urge you to keep an open mind."

"Until I am Khal of my Khalasar, not the mere Khalekka, you are telling the wrong person. Right, sister?"

"Hmmm… oh, right." She stared into the flames of their fire, then up at the sky. She is right… the prophecy didn't specify for one of the people to be the Stallion. Something for further thought, undoubtedly.

Grip slackening on the smooth pair of wrists that so moved the powerful hands that swung Wolfsbane and protected their family, Elia's slim body slumped atop Lyanna. Flushed face falling in the crook of her wife's neck. "Gods… if it wasn't for the few raven's feet on my eyes, I would think we were still enjoying our wedded bliss in Winterfell."

"You aren't old yet, my love," Lyanna giggled, stroking her back. "Certainly nothing so vigorous as what happened could be achieved from someone too long in the tooth." Breath caught enough, Elia leaned up and met Lya' eyes. A soft heat spreading on her cheek at the breathless desire reflected back. "I must admit, you in the… superior position is quite enjoyable."

Elia grinned. "Somehow I cannot resist it." Suddenly she gasped, feeling quite empty as someone behind withdrew from her depths.

"There isn't anything confusing about that, sweet viper." Rhaegar, reaching for his robe, smacked Elia lightly upon the rump - making her yelp. "The she-wolf of House Targaryen and Stark, veteran of the Battle of Oxcross, renowned swordsman…"

"Don't you mean swordswoman?" Lyanna called out, stretching nude underneath Elia. Making the Dornish beauty's mouth water as her breasts pushed out.

He rolled his eyes as Elia, reluctantly, rolled off the beautiful Stark. "That being said, I can personally speak to the appeal of wishing to pin her down and show her that she is deep down just a wanton slut for the King… or Queen in this instance."

Lya scoffed. "Excuse me, I am a Queen as well."

"Exactly. Makes the urge even stronger." Grabbing a washcloth, he began to wipe himself off - forgoing a bath given their lack of time before duties called, and… ravishing each other took precedence and Elia had no regrets, the most pleasing of soreness in her cunt and breasts from Rhaegar and Lya's attention respectively. "All that would increase it were you a member of the Kingsguard, or a dragonrider."

"Whomever is Rhaenys' future husband will know that great dominance, you mean?"

Their husband groaned, which even on the mighty Targaryen King was adorable. "Please, I wish not to imagine some jackass defiling my little dragon. Whomever she marries won't deserve her, even if she married Baelon."

"Careful, Dany and Sansa would challenge anyone that seeks to separate them from our son, even a hypothetical involving Rhae." Lyanna stood, grabbing at her own robe after pecking Elia on the lips.

Gritting her teeth, Elia sighed deeply. "Considering what all three of them were up to and what they pulled, I wouldn't put it past those little demons to do anything." It was said with affection, but not without merit. "But enough of that." She grabbed her own robe, covering up her slender form. "Is there something less excruciating we can discuss."

"Well, you wished to bring something up last night before your nubile bodies became irresistible to me," asked Rhaegar, donning his doublet.

Elia grinned… until she didn't. "I asked for something less excruciating, not more."

Two sets of eyes found her. "Now you're scaring us," Lyanna said.

"It scares me too… I think House Blackfyre is still active."

A chorus of Valyrian profanity left Rhaegar's lips. "By the seven hells… I thought Maelys the Monstrous took out Daemon IV and then Barristan took out the Monstrous." That was Lyanna, ever brushed up on the details of their house by marriage.

"There were rumors that Daemon had a daughter, but those didn't pan out to the intelligence network of Aegon the Unlikely. Too concerned with the hatching of the dragons. I think this daughter is the one that is now the head of the family, though I'm not sure of whom she fathered her children with, only he wasn't Westerosi."

Rhaegar smacked the wall. "Every time I think that house is gone, they pop up. Like a bad case of the whore's pox." He turned to Elia. "Anything else? Who was the source you heard from?"

"Chataya."

"So a brothel operator… I'm not so straightlaced to assume whores cannot be sources of the best whispers, but…" He shook his head. "You have other networks to investigate, but until further notice the Blackfyres are your first priority. Understood?" Elia nodded, and got a kiss upon her lips. One that made her legs buckle and cunt wet. "Until later, my loves." He kissed Lyanna as well and then left, Elia sitting at her commode.

Walking up behind her, Elia felt Lya wrap her arms around her. A gentle kiss pressed upon the crown of her head followed by a sigh. "You truly think the Blackfyres are back?"

"I don't want to believe it, but I must take the worst case scenario as an absolute certainty given our position."

"At the top and very nearly secure with our dragons, but with those that still remember the days of weakness - much as Aenys the Weak and Maegor the Cruel faced. A cursed situation." Lyanna idly brushed over Elia's breasts as she was wont to do. Elia didn't stop her - why in seven hells would she want to? "Five rebellions, now working on their sixth. Cursed be the succession crises."

"Luckily we have dragons while they do not. That is our ace in the hole when in the past it was overwhelming numerical superiority. Ten dragons are worth at least fifty thousand soldiers, perhaps more." There was one other matter, one she wished not to discuss with Lyanna but found herself forced to. "And I do have a chance to solidify our alliances with those Lords sworn to us, but you may not like it."

Lyanna wasn't the best at court intrigue - no patience for it - but she was still clever as a Queen should be. "Robert you mean." So clever so as not to frame it as a question. "What marriage does he wish for, or should I say Stannis wishes for? Gendry and Alyssa? For that isn't happening."

"Actually, his eldest Mya and Dale Seaworth."

"Dale you mean? Davos' eldest?"

"The one and only. Stannis doesn't say it but I feel that a lowborn bastard girl whom isn't a traditional beauty, isn't the heir, and isn't born of two highborns as Edric is a good fit for a new Lord's heir. Davos is high on wealth and power but not blood. Safe betrothal for the Baratheons."

"He would still need royal approval for this sort of match."

"Which is why Robert and his family are journeying to King's Landing to petition us." Elia felt Lyanna stiffen and didn't blame her. She turned, looking into her eye and reaching up to cup her cheek. "You need to be on your best behavior for this, Lya. Ser Barristan shall ensure you are never alone with Robert." There was a silence, but Lya finally nodded.

As was the case every morning, the doors opened at the scheduled time to reveal the main Lady in Waiting for each Queen. Many held the title over the years, but for the next moons or perhaps year the titles belonged to Nymeria and Tyene Sand. "Your Graces, are you decent?" they each called out. Never failing after a… rather awkward morning where they saw more than they bargained for.

Elia stifled a giggle. Unlike her beloveds, at least she had been somewhat clothed that time. "Aye, we are. Come in." Warrior women though they were, unlike their sister Obara both were quite proficient in the feminine arts.

"Forgive us," Nym called out, still padding through the bedchamber. "We would rather not see Aunt Lya astride a bound Uncle Rhaegar again." Lyanna buried her face in her hands while Elia laughed at her expense, too hilarious not to. "And we are also not alone."

What confusion came from that was ended quickly as the Sand Snakes slipped through. "Muna, muna!" came a pleading voice of a child. Arms out in obvious desperation to get to them.

Elia was up out of her seat immediately, though Lyanna beat her to the squirming bundle of joy. "Oh, sweet daughter of mine." Princess Lyarra Targaryen giggled from the assault of kisses upon her cheeks, redoubled when Elia leaned in to add her own lips.

"Muna… stop," she squirmed and writhed, but lovingly so. "Up, muna!"

Lyanna did so, only to groan. "Gods, you're growing like a weed, little wolf."

"I's a dragon too!" she proclaimed.

Elia pinched her cheek. "Of course you are, sweet pup." She spoke the truth definitely, but it was easy to forget given her coloring. Chestnut hair, grey eyes, she was the spitting image of Lyanna but all dances and singing. She had fire, but not the ferocity of her older sisters that predisposed one to swordsplay. Neither Elia nor Lyanna had a problem with that. She was their littlest Princess. "How are you doing this morning, sweetheart? Spend some time with your cousins?" Lyarra nodded vigorously. "And what did you find out?"

She smiled, looking at Nymeria, who was preparing to style Lyanna's hair. "Nym has dinner with Imp soon. She and Ty talk bout it."

"The Imp?" Brow raised, Elia glanced at her niece. "Is this true?"

Nym flushed red. "Long story."

"We have time, and I'm sure Tyene would tell it if you don't… including all the embellishments she's known to put in her gossip." If that wasn't an incentive to spill yet another whisper into her pot, Elia didn't know what would. True to form, it worked.

Gods, she could soon match Varys in this trade.

"Pentos, then?"

Walking along the rolling hills, stepping atop the dead grass, Daenerys looked up at the massive form of Khalekka Drogo of the Dothraki. "Aye, Pentos. Staying there for a few weeks until we find a ship to Lys."

"Ships… by the Great Stallion, I cannot believe anyone would be mad enough to take one of those. I'd rather fly." Aye, much more fun to fly. "But if I were you I'd stay away from Pentos."

Her brows furrowed. "Your father's going to attack the city."

"Clever girl, but not my father. Khal Moro's khalasar." She hadn't known there were more than one Khal of the Dothraki - occasionally there was one Great Khal, or once Khaleesi, but only in times of the greatest worry.

A fascinating people. Baelon called it a morbid fascination, but damned be a dragon that wasn't daring. "You're worried they'll storm and sack the city."

"Pentos would likely give him whatever he wants to buy him off, but I'd rather not risk it. Someone like you… needs to be protected." He paused for a moment. "Assavi… she thinks I am rather oblivious, if that's the right word," he grumbled out in his thick accent, distracting even though Dany could understand him. "But I am not so much a fool. Not just the thick-skulled warrior those assume of me."

"I would never make judgments of you, Khalekka," Dany replied, to which she felt elated at how Drogo beamed. "Yes, I have learned of your title."

Reaching down, he ruffled her silver hair, making her giggle. "It is things such as that you do that make me convinced that you are some sort of Westerosi Lady." The giggle trailed off, Dany starting to frown. "Ah, so you are."

She gulped. "Khalekka, please…"

"Relax, you and your companions saved my sister's life and virtue." He drew out his arakh, miming to cut across his palm. "A blood debt has been made between us, and now I owe you to protect your life as far as I must to repay it - enter this I would to both an enemy and a friend, though I would consider you more as a friend, Lady Larra."

Daenerys relaxed… if only slightly. Neither her muna nor her goodsister Elia would've done so completely, letting one's guard down. "I would consider you a friend too, Khalekka, our age gap notwithstanding."

He shrugged. "My sister is younger than I, but once you grow enough such years matter nothing anymore." Kneeling in front of her till they stood at the same height - quite the contrast in that regard - Drogo placed his meaty hand upon her shoulder. "I can guess as to who you could be, Lady Larra. I would likely be wrong, for I am not as worldly as I wish to be, but there is a feeling upon me that you will be a great person. That I will run into you again under far different circumstances."

Biting her lip, Dany could only nod. "Your sister… she feels the same way?"

"Her feeling is the same as mine, but about young Eddard Snow."

"She is a perceptive person, and I share that perception," Dany replied. Jon was a great person, and Daenerys had long ago vowed to be right beside him with Sansa as they did great things. "And you don't see it?"

"I have no doubt, but the one I can see is you, which is why I gladly keep whatever secret you wish to keep." Squeezing, he rose. "And which is why I give you a gift."

Her brow rose. "A gift, Khalekka?"

Nodding, Drogo gestured to one of his companions… who walked forward leading a flawless white mare, likely only a yearling. Dany gasped, for even among the mix of Moondancer and Winter she'd never seen a more beautiful horse. "We live in dry regions, where endurance and stamina matter more than pure strength. See the thin legs, the rather slender build of the animal."

"I can, very much so."

"Lean and powerful, much as you, Lady Larra. There is no better horse for you, and I am sure she will serve you well."

Reaching up to stroke her muzzle, the mare leaned in. Letting out a ninny, exhaling into Dany's hair. Making the hidden Princess giggle and stroke further. "Oh, I love this girl so much." Moonlight, Syrax, and now this mare. "Breakwynd, that shall be her name."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful young girl." Drogo chuckled. "Next time we meet, I do hope you aren't wed, though that is a very hard situation for me to envision."

Daenerys smiled at him, reaching up to pat his hand. "I will enjoy seeing you again, and perhaps then you shall be Khal." Taking hold of his hand, Drogo helped her swing her legs astride the horse.

Upon the beast, she felt only more at home when on dragonback.

A/N: So Drogo's a big ol' softie, lol. He likes Dany already, but rest assured it's a brotherly sort of affection.

Wish me luck going into the storm. I should be safe, but any prayers are appreciated!

Be sure to comment :D