SIX MONTHS LATER
"It isn't like Robert to call a meeting of the Small Council so early," Eddard Stark, Hand of the King remarked to his companion, both meandering down the winding halls of the Red Keep.
Renly Baratheon nodded, delicate features contorted in a pensive frown. "Something must have spooked him. News about someone or something that he would pay particular attention to." The youngest Baratheon sibling laughed. "I can count on one finger the matters that would fit on that list not involving jousting, drinking, feasting, or whoring."
"Quite so." Ned considered Robert an old friend - one of the reasons he accepted the position as Hand of the King - and accepted as true even the unsavory aspects of his personality. All of the peace and prosperity of the last decade had been Jon Arryn's work. Robert was too busy immersed in his vices to make an actual attempt to rule.
In the corner of his eye, Jon spotted a thatch of gold hair next to the Master of Coin. "What is Joffrey doing with Lord Baelish?" he asked Renly in a low whisper.
The youngest Baratheon clicked his tongue. "They've been rather chummy in the last few weeks, Littlefinger often talking to the boy about this and that regarding the kingdom." At that moment both of the two turned, eyes falling on Ned and Renly. Littlefinger managed to put on a warm smile, while Joffrey viewed them with barely disguised derision. "I have no idea why, mind you. No one but his mother can stand that boy."
"His mother and Sansa," Ned added. It was not a match that he wanted, seeing the boy in action over the past months. How Sansa could still care for him after what happened with her wolf… Walking into the Small Council chamber, Ned put it aside for another day.
Robert's anger clouded the room from the moment Ned entered. Not angry - he was livid, face nearly purple from rage. Varys, the plump Master of Whisperers, stood off in a corner trying to make himself unnoticed. "Your grace?" Littlefinger finally asked, having entered last from his discussion with the Crown Prince.
A wood-fitted scroll found itself chucked at the Master of Coin's head, only an agility normally reserved for a younger man allowing him to dodge it. "Fucking Seven Hells!" He sputtered through each fact, growing purple with rage and drink. "She's alive! With that little traitor! Pregnant!" Before the four assembled could draw the wrong conclusions, Robert continued. "The Targaryen bitch is pregnant!"
Ned's blood turned to ice. Barristan was supposed to keep her hidden. Varys… or Littlefinger. Fuck. A furtive glance was directed at the two - apparently Ned wasn't the only person to have spies in Essos. Wait… pregnant? Daenerys was apparently pregnant, and he wasn't in any doubt over the father. Gods… Jon… Lya, you're a grandmother now. It killed him that he couldn't smile at the joyous news, for it spelled... problems.
"But I thought she disappeared into the Essosi countryside with her brother when the betrothal to the Dothraki fell through," Renly gasped, relaying what Ned had told Robert in Winterfell.
"Fucking Barristan must have found her! That traitorous snake! I should have killed him along with Rhaegar!" Waiting for a servant to pour him another glass of wine, he turned to his Hand. "Ned!" The King's bellow caught his attention. "Are you hearing this shit?"
"I know. This is… disconcerting. I honestly thought she was dead." The lie oddly rolled seamlessly off his tongue.
Letting out a hiss, Robert threw a cup at the wall. Wine sloshed on the stone floor. "Now there will be a dragonspawn heir. Shit!"
"Brother," Renly said. "I highly doubt a woman alone in the wilds of Essos…"
"Shut it, Renly. If I wanted a faggot's advice I would ask for it!" Face reddening, Renly nevertheless shut up. "I must nip this in the bud now. The bitch must die!"
The ice in Ned's veins only increased in concentration. "Robert, to kill a mere child? A young woman with child herself? That isn't the man you are." It actually was, but this had to be stopped at all costs.
The King wasn't hearing any of it. "You listen to me, Ned! If you do not accept my order, then you pack up and get out of this city!" Tempted to do just that, Ned nevertheless clamped his lips together. "Varys, do you have any contacts among the Dothraki?"
"A few birds may reside in Vaes Dothrak, your Grace," the Eunuch responded.
"Good, send a message. Tell the horselord savage he can name the amount of gold or horses he wants if he delivers the bitch, her child, and Barristan's head to me!"
Shutting the latch to his office nearly an hour later, a sigh left Ned Stark's lips. "The gods have mercy on me," he breathed. He couldn't fathom how Jon Arryn could have lasted even one year among this pit of vipers. Cersei was more a jackal than a lion, Pycelle more a cutthroat than a maester, Renly a friend but overwhelmingly self-serving, and Petyr Baelish… Had it not been for Catelyn's assurance that he could be trusted, Littlefinger perturbed him the most. The man was a snake, rich thanks to lax morals and oily to the core.
And now he was grafting himself to Prince Joffrey. That worried Ned, but on seeing the letter resting on his desk that apprehension started to fade. Picking it up, he opened it and began scanning the scrawl.
Lord Stark,
Yes, the information you informed me of is greatly worrying. Something is brewing, what I cannot be sure of. Jon Arryn would never inquire into Robert's bastards if it wasn't of importance.
I never trusted my sister-in-law as much as I could throw her, and I know that she is ultimately behind this. There is no other explanation that makes any sense.
I will head to King's Landing with all haste.
Regards,
Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone
Smiling, Ned realized that he could nip the Joffrey bud quickly if the middle Baratheon cooperated.
But there was still the matter of Daenerys, and his grandchild. Jon's child. Wordlessly he drew a slip of paper, inscribing words meant only for the eyes of the Bear Knight...
Stepping back, Barristan Selmy quickly wielded his wooden training sword into a blocking position. A thunk rang out as it hit the other blade, the old knight quick to block the swift slashes from his opponent…
The smooth wood on his neck ended the sparring as quickly as it began. A smirk formed on his face. "Yield." Pride flashed on his face. "First time you've beaten me."
Daenerys, beamed exhaustively. Soaked with sweat, several strands of silver hair loose from her braid coated her forehead. "It won't be the only time, Ser Barristan." She let the sword drop, rubbing her rounded belly. "Though I think you may have let the pregnant princess win."
"If I was, I wouldn't tell you," he winked, earning a glare from her. Gods, it's like I'm staring at Rhaella. In the months since Ned Stark bound him to her by the iron northern vow - since he had fled Westeros and the toxic Baratheon court to uphold his original oath to Rhaegar - the former Kingsguard had seen Daenerys grow from a shy young girl into a vibrant, confident lady. One he was growing to view as a daughter of his.
Not one day since had he regretted his decision to leave with her. Even when the great Barristan the Bold was forced to take care of not just a princess - but an expectant mother. As he had done with the Princess Elia through her two pregnancies, so too did he with Daenerys.
She never did tell him who the father was, nor did Barristan ask. It wasn't his place.
Returning to their makeshift campsite with a bucket of river water, Doreah's jaw dropped. Knowing exactly what the two have been doing. "Khaleesi!" The former half-Dothraki pleasure slave set the bucket down and rushed to her charge. "You know better than to spar in your condition!" A gentle yet forceful arm guided her to a seat. "The babe is due any moment. Do not overexert yourself." The beautiful but feisty young woman sent Barristan a death glare.
The old knight raised his hands in surrender. "I can't disobey a command from the Princess, and besides - I used the wooden swords and avoided any blows to the stomach."
"I knew you took it easy on me," Daenerys huffed, sick of being treated like a child. They just want Jon's babe safe. A sigh left her lips, unable to stop the smile spreading on her face. She placed her hand gingerly on the rounded bump - only for a thump to strike her palm.
"Calm down little one," she cooed, rubbing her eight month baby bump with unadulterated adoration. Inside her stomach was a little boy or girl. A tiny human half her, and half Jon A mix of pure happiness and grief crossed her mind at the thought of her child's father. "Hush my sweet," she couldn't help but say in her native Valyrian. "Muna loves you, and I know poppa would love you just as much." Tears came to her eyes. "I love him just as much. I wish we could be a family." Dany closed her lids tightly. She would not give up hope.
Her child simply kicked against her hand yet again, as if indicating his or her assent.
As Doreah dashed off to skin the rabbits he had caught earlier, Barristan took a seat next to Daenerys. The dragon Princess refused to give in, refused to quit - doggedly insisting she train even when the ship's healer proclaimed her with child between White Harbor and Volantis. And now, the determination had paid off, Daenerys steadily on the way to becoming a master swordsman. Rivalling Visenya Targaryen herself. "You're getting better by the day, Princess."
Her hand absentmindedly rubbed circles on her belly. "I still can't beat a warrior in a fight."
"You're getting there. Just need to perfect your agility. Fighting a massive knight, the proper maneuvers can get around him and hit him in vulnerable places with ease." He eyed the Yi Ti sword - Barristan had never seen anything like it. The gently curved blade, steel the same color as her hair, it suited her and her fighting style. "I still don't know how the bastard of Winterfell got a Valyrian Steel sword."
Eyes darkening, Daenerys narrowed them at Barristan. "Do not call him that."
He gave her an apologetic look. "Forgive me, Princess." Barristan shifted to a different topic. "Most great swords have names. Have you thought of one for yours?"
Pursing her lips, Dany seemed lost in thought. "Old Valyria had a class of elite warriors, that used cunning and agility to defeat stronger enemies - like me." She glanced at the sword fondly, running a finger along the smooth steel. "I'm inclined to call my sword by the name of those warriors. Saracen."
"Saracen. I think that is a fitting name." Barristan stood. "I shall tend to the horses. Rest here."
Smiling at the retreating knight, Daenerys sheathed her sword. Her gaze suddenly fell upon the three eggs. Resting in the padded saddlebag that never left her side. Reaching into, she picked up one that was pure black, red lines marring the intricate scales. Illyrio and Jon had been right, they were the pinnacle of beauty. A symbol of her people - a relic from her family's past. What Dany wouldn't give to see them fly through the clear skies once more.
Without thinking, she stood and walked to their roaring campfire. Placing the ossified egg right into the flames. It was not out of any plan but pure instinct. Yet again the egg called to her, begging to be put in the heat. In the same lifegiving fires that birthed Old Valyria. That destroyed Old Valyria yet allowed House Targaryen to unite Westeros under its banner. Soon, all three eggs nestled in the flames. Flickers popping and crackling around the smooth scales.
Out of nowhere, Dany heard something - movement? A flutter within the eggs, as if they were indeed alive. It intrigued her, hands pressing against the scorching eggs and feeling the flutter. Almost like her own child…
"Khaleesi!" At once Dany pulled her hands away, shocked by Doreah's scream. "What were you thinking, you'll get bur…" Grabbing her hands, the other woman quickly inspected them to find… no injury. No burns, not even redness. Just Dany's distinctive pale skin.
A dragon does not burn.
She opened her mouth to speak, only to cry out at the sudden stab of pain. Doreah watched as a gush of wetness trickled down her trousers. "The baby…" Dany said weakly, beginning to feel heavy and lightheaded through the agony.
Doreah quickly laid her out on her back. "Ser Barristan! Come quickly!" But Dany didn't hear, blackness overcoming her.
With a heave, Alliser Thorne shoved another boy - Grenn, if his aged mind remembered correctly - forward. "What are you waiting for! Get on with it!" The previous lad barely even tried to spar with the young Tarly boy, the one who Aemon always found in the Castle Black library. Not a warrior he was, but based on how each of the other trainees that Thorne threw at him looked at Jon Snow, he had a benefactor. "Attack him!"
Grenn seemed to whisper something to Samwell, who barely struck his chest with the wooden sparring sword. The lad went down immediately. "Yield! Yield!" Wrinkled lips curved into a smile.
Face contorted in anger, Thorne shoved Samwell aside and advanced on Jon Snow. "You think that was funny?" Earning Aemon's respect, Jon said nothing and stood his ground with a smirk. 'Just like his father.'
"Enough, Alliser," the old Maester called out. "I'm sure you have more pressing duties as Master-at-Arms."
Scowling at his nominal superior, Thorne dressed down the other recruits and stormed off. Sparing one last look at Jon Snow, Aemon didn't notice the younger man step beside him. "There's a lot that resembles him in the lad, isn't there?"
Sighing, Aemon Targaryen sheared away from the railing and headed back indoors. He tightened the loose robe on his wrinkled frame. "Yes, and much that resembles her, from what I have heard of the She-Wolf." The old Maester may have been near blindness, but he swore he could have seen the slight tears that clouded Benjen Stark's eyes. "The lad's birthright is wasted here at the wall." Closing the door, the two were safe from prying eyes and listening ears. With the Lannister at Castle Black for at least another week, one had to be extra cautious. "It is he who is the rightful heir."
"Don't you think I know that?" Benjen shot back. "That she wouldn't want her only child condemned to the chains of our vows. I don't even think the boy wants them anymore himself, simply that he doesn't have a choice."
Reminded of that fact, Aemon's tired eyes glazed over. "The princess…" he trailed off wistfully. "Love is the death of duty, Benjen. We saw that with my great nephew, but, there is derived a strength from it that cannot be measured by human minds." A gnarled hand reached for a pitcher of wine.
Benjen took the offered cup that Aemon poured for him. "At this point, the safest place for him is here. And the safest place for her is on the Great Grass Sea." He chuckled darkly. "My brother says a storm is coming, and either of them will be tempting targets for the vipers and opportunistic swine. Wildlings and barbarians pale in comparison."
"And if what that deserter said is true?" Toothless gums smacked together, eyes narrowing at Benjen. "If the Others truly have risen?"
Grey eyes rolled. "I highly doubt that."
Aemon leveled a finger at Benjen. "Remember, Lead Ranger, complacency and closed mindedness have toppled stronger and smarter men than you or I." Legs wobbling, he finally allowed himself the luxury of sitting down. "I still don't know why Ned Stark entrusts me with Jon Snow's name day gift from his father." He gazed at the stone wall in a specific spot, hiding a secret alcove where the precious bundles rested. "He stored them in Winterfell for sixteen years, didn't he?"
"If the storm does come," Benjen replied. "And our families play as large a part as we both feel they will, this is the only place they will truly be secure from the wrong hands."
Nodding, the Maester glanced out the window. Tired eyes settled on Jon. He wrapped a friendly hand around Samwell Tarly's shoulder, helping him with his swordsmanship. "You speak true. Pardon me for being selfish, but it feels wonderful not to be alone again."
Cold. The first thing Daenerys felt was a deep chill that burned her skin and knifed through to her very bones. Blinking, her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around herself to keep as much warmth in her body as she could. It wasn't enough. Fire could not kill a dragon, but ice could.
Suddenly the cold vanished. Taken away, the silver-haired princess began to notice her surroundings. Grey, everything was a uniform grey - dull, lifeless. The stench of metaphorical death and decay, something once great that was now rotting and crumbling from its very core. Stepping forward, Dany immediately noticed she was not clad in her Khaleesi leather, but rather in a dark grey dress, hem and skirt reaching down to two combat boots tailored to fit her. The outfit of a warrior queen.
Stepping gingerly through the ruined edifice of the building, pentagram-styled windows shattered grotesquely, Daenerys suddenly found herself rising high in the air. Whatever she was in disappeared, the ground beneath her morphing into a massive pyramid that towered over the dreary landscape. In the distance, a golden figure stood tall, hair the color of precious metal as two booming horns resonated far and wide. What had to be hundreds of thousands fell prostrate, forced to worship this being.
The setting shifted again, Dany flung what seemed halfway across the world - back into the freezing cold. Torch appearing in her hand, the darkness all around her vanished into blinding white as a massive gate opened to reveal a massive blizzard. What awaited her on the other side made her heart skip.
Jon Snow, in the flesh. Slightly older, more hardened. And even more handsome than before. She walked up to him, as if on autopilot. His gentle hand cupped her cheek. "My Queen," came the gravelly voice she loved so much. "My Empress."
"My King," Dany replied with all the affection in the world. "My Emperor."
In the distance, a faint moan suddenly appeared. Immediately her wolf tensed, turning around and unsheathing his sword. The moan grew louder, turning into an all encompassing rasp that chilled Dany to the very fiber of her being. Jon looked at her, eyes replaced with flame. "Winter is here." And a black mass fell upon them…
Shooting upright, Daenerys awoke to her panting breaths and sweat pouring from her brow. A dull ache permeated from her entire lower half. Only the low light of several lanterns banished the stuffy darkness of the tent.
"She's awake." Turning her head, there was Doreah, her face spread out in a wan and relieved smile. "You gave us quite a fright, Khaleesi."
Reaching for a waterskin by her furs, Dany felt instantly better as she drank. "Wha… what happened?" Eyes then widened, her hands going for her stomach. The bump was no longer there. "Gods, my child…"
Ser Barristan was at her side almost immediately. "Calm down, Princess. Trust me." Motioning to Doreah pick up a bundle swaddled in brown cloth. "They are fine."
"They?" Looking to her front, all words left Dany as her violet eyes stared in wonder. Gently, two small bundles were placed in the crooks of her arms. It was obvious. Twins, I gave birth to twins.
"Two perfectly healthy little babes," Barristan beamed, playing the part of a proud uncle. The same as he had with the Prince Rhaegar so long ago. "A boy and a girl."
Dany looked over her two children, already falling helplessly in love with them. Her son sported a dark tuft of hair, tiny eyes already showing a hint of violet like hers. Her daughter was the opposite, sporting the silver mane of a Targaryen but eyes as grey as smoke. They were beautiful. They were hers.
They look just like him. It made her love them even more. Heart swelling with utter adoration as the twins took to her breast.
Waiting for Doreah to leave, Barristan crossed his arms and stared at Dany with eyes both stern and inquisitive. Rocking the now full princess gently in her arms, she knew exactly what was coming. "Princess…"
"I hope I can trust you, Ser Barristan." The statement was flat, Dany sparing a glance on the twins to keep her grounded. This would be… quite emotional for her. Someone who she wished was here wasn't, and could never be.
The former Lord blinked, features softening. "You can trust me with your life, Princess." Kneeling, a gentle hand caressed her son's soft cheek in the bassinet. "The twins… they don't have complete Targaryen features."
"I am their mother, Barristan." Daenerys knew what he had assumed - that Viserys was their father. She shuddered at the thought. "They are half-Targaryen."
"Aye, their features are Targaryen. The Prince's eyes and the Princess' hair… but the other features, they are Westerosi." His gaze settled on her once more. "And I know this to be true. Their father is a northerner, isn't he?" Tears prickling in her eyes, unable to stop herself, Dany nodded. Barristan reached out and stroked her arm comfortingly, as a father would. "Was it him? Ned Stark's ba… son?"
His image flashing before her eyes, Dany took in the chubby face of her daughter. Though looking mostly like her, those grey orbs his - of her love. "Yes, Jon Snow is their father." It was said. There was no going back now. Their love had given Dany two tiny little beings, part her and part Jon. Targaryen and Stark. Dragon and Direwolf. "Fire and Ice," she said softly.
Something imperceptible crossed over Barristan's face, her companion and protector seemingly processing the immense news that had been disclosed to him. "Does anyone else know? That you had... " He chose his words carefully. "Had children with Jon Snow…"
Dany warned firmly, rocked her son in her arms. Kissing his flushed brow with all the tenderness in the world. She sighed. "No, no one else knows. Doreah probably put things together, and I have a feeling Lord Stark has an idea if news ever did get to Robert." He was too observant not to figure it out.
Remembering the feeling of Ice against his throat, the determination in Ned's eyes, Barristan agreed with her. "What do you intend to do now, Princess?"
Both twins snuggling in her arms, Dany closed her eyes. She had the future of House Targaryen in her hands. Viserys was out there somewhere, holding a stronger claim, but childless and incompetent. No man would follow him into battle, Dany was certain of it.
They would need an army, but there was already the plan Lord Stark prepared for them. A good plan, one she was only more determined to pull off. But could she accomplish it? Could she, a woman, reclaim her family's birthright. Her children's destiny as royals.
"If I could bet on anyone being a ruler, I'd bet on you, my beautiful dragon."
If there was anyone Dany trusted, it was her love.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Old Valyria." she announced. "I will not let my brother destroy our birthright with his incompetence. I will not allow my children from being denied their place in this world. They are Targaryens, and as the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms I legitimize them."
Wide-eyes, Barristan opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Proud tears filled his eyes. He had wished for this, prayed for this, knowing that out of everyone that could rule only Dany truly deserved it. Silently, he lowered himself onto one knee. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I on this day pledge my life and my fealty to you." As soon as she acknowledged his pledge, he looked at the two infants. "What shall their names be?"
"Rhaegar," Dany said without hesitation. "His name is Rhaegar, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." There seemed no better name for her beloved son than that of the noble Crown Prince - her eldest brother that she had never known but heard so much about. He was a great warrior, something she knew Jon would support.
"A noble name for a fine Prince," Barristan smiled, already protective of the royal children. They didn't have a crown yet, but Daenerys was his Queen. No one in the entirety of the world could hold a candle to her. "And the Princess? Would you like a Targaryen name, or a northern one?"
Brushing the soft silver tufts of hair on her daughter's head, Dany knew it should be a northern name. Jon deserves it. Though he was half a world away, he was their father. My love. There were plenty of women in Jon's life, his family whom he loved. One stood out though… a rambunctious little spitfire that she remembered hanging on his every word. Bursting with love for her brother. "Arya. Princess Arya, after Jon's sister."
Barristan nodded. "Ned Stark's youngest daughter." He laughed. "A hellion, I remember."
Little Arya took that moment to yawn, tiny form wriggling in her blanket as she drifted off to sleep. Setting her down next to Rhaegar, Dany kissed both on the forehead. "Muna loves you, little ones." Face radiating love and adoration, inside Daenerys' will hardened in determination. I will make you proud, my love.
They had ridden in without incident. An old, scraggly man in fading leather armor, a young girl holding a babe, and another young girl holding a second babe, they looked like the kind of derelicts one might assume would arrive at the Dothraki sacred city to peddle whatever wares they had. Other than a few cursory looks - along with one very keen glance from a burly warrior - they passed unmolested. Knowing just the man they wanted to see.
Leaving his tent, wiping the last of the day's sweat from his face as the moon rose above the mountains ringing the settlement, Jorah Mormont egan to journey towards the merchant quarter. Drown his sorrows and boredom in one of the half-dozen lean-to taverns that wily Norvosi merchants and smugglers ran for the benefit of the Dothraki warriors. Not as good as the ones in Braavos from his days in the Golden Company, but wine was wine.
But such was not to pass, an insistent hand grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him back into the tent. Not wishing to invite the ire of the Dothraki by drawing his blade, Jorah was ready to lash out with his fists… until he caught a glimpse of the attacker. "Barristan Selmy?" he said in shock. Of all the people to run into in Vaes Dothrak…
The former Kingsguard and new Queensguard smirked, looking Jorah over. "When Ned Stark told me he had a man on the inside of the Dothraki horde, I was surprised yet not surprised it was you. Thought you'd be parked in a Braavosi tavern, drunk off your ass."
"I was for a long time," Jorah admitted.
"Such a fall for a powerful knight and respected Lord… but you've joined a noble cause. Beginning to redeem yourself." His face darkened. "If you betray her then I'll cut your throat."
Jorah nodded. "I will not." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the silver-haired girl. "Khaleesi…" His eyes widened. "You shouldn't be here." At the squirming bundle in her arms, he broke into a sweat. Catching on quickly as to why Ned Stark had been so insistent he make contact with them. "You really shouldn't be here."
"Such is not your concern, Ser Jorah," Daenerys replied, voice that of a Queen. "I was told by a mutual friend that you would both be my sworn sword and my advisor, but such requires a certain loyalty and trust in my decisions."
This girl truly was something. Jorah had a feeling he had chosen right. "It's not that… Ned Stark sent a message to me a fortnight ago." Dany's eyes widened. "Apparently Robert Baratheon got wind of you and… your children journeying to Vaes Dothrak." A hitched breath left Dany's chest, arms holding little Arya ever tighter. "He wants you and your babies delivered to him and offered Khal Drogo a reward for doing so."
Her expression hardened, eyes blazing. "This changes nothing. Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, we continue with the plan." Cagey and guarded long before, she divulged it to all of them… at least the parts she wanted them to know. "Are we understood?"
Heads turned as someone banged on the door of Jorah's hut before either could answer. "We know you have the Khal's bride! Come out!"
"And whatever happens," she informed them with a flat expression. Eyes as cold as Valyrian Steel. "Do not open the door. Do not do anything besides what I've told you. Are we clear?"
Jorah and Barristan glanced at each other. Only nodding. "We are at your command, your Grace." Quietly, they snuck out the back of the hut, Barristan and Doreah clutching the sleeping Rhaegar and Arya.
Grabbing the bag nestling the eggs, Daenerys smirked darkly, taking her steps outside the hut towards the waiting bloodriders.
Shoving her into the massive tent - more a semi-permanent building constructed out of thatch, wicker, and wood - the bloodriders slammed two wooden doors shut. Trapping Daenerys inside. Low firelight came from four massive oil braziers and a single campfire in the middle of a large sandy atrium, smoke wafting through a hole in the roof. Nine men sat cross-legged in a semicircle along the back wall. Nestled in the middle of all of them, at the head, was her former intended.
Khal Drogo.
"Look at this one," another Khal laughed in Dothraki. He was to Drogo's right, large and burly. Long braid of a warrior trailing behind him - only Drogo's was longer. "Pale enough for the sun to burn her skin." He turned to the senior most Khal. "And this is the one you wished to marry?"
"So fucking tiny. Barely a child." Another khal added. "I doubt your cock would fit." They all laughed. Daenerys had a ghost of a smirk, knowing they did not realize she understood them all. Doreah's lessons were bearing fruit.
Many gave her lewd stares. Ones that disgusted her. "I'd like to see what Drogo's Khaleesi tastes like." Her fists tightened at her side - only Jon would she enjoy such looks from.
"That can be arranged," Drogo boomed, the first time he had talked that night. "Come to me in an hour and you can suck my cock." That brought down the house with laughter.
"Great Khal, this is the one the men with iron clothes were asking about," a junior Khal from the left edge told Drogo. "They would give us ten thousand horses and a manse filled with gold for her." Dany raised an eyebrow. Lord Stark was right. Her heart clenched at Jon's father risking his life to save hers.
Drogo waved him off with a hiss "Fuck the fat King across the bitter water. If I want horses and gold then I'll rape half the cities between here and Pentos for them. I will not let him take the Khaleesi that was promised me." There were murmurings. "Moro, you do not agree?"
Khal Moro nodded. "You can find far more Khaleesies. Take Qohor, you'll have five hundred if you wish. Westerosi horses are powerful and strong. Get them, and their gold, but demand more. I've always wanted a freshly forged Valyrian Steel sword," he grinned. Drogo closed his eyes, considering it.
"If all of you are quite done?" Daenerys barked suddenly, drawing the attention of the gathered Khals.
They seemed quite surprised. "You speak the true tongue?" Khal Moro asked, blinking. Beside him, Drogo just narrowed his eyes, stroking his beard and staring at her with curiosity.
Daenerys smirked, turning to the right. "A Khaleesi must learn the language of the people she seeks to rule."
Laughs from around the massive hut. "I don't know what you rule, bitch," Khal Haggo quipped. "But I am not one of them." He picked up the bone of a chicken, picked clean. "Here, you may rule over this. You have my blessing." More laughs.
Glancing down at the bone, resting in the sand that covered the floor of the hut, Daenerys shifted her gaze. Violet eyes boring on each of the Khals. Though all would deny it, many involuntarily flinched at the fire blazing within. "You are weak men. From the smallest among you to the great Khal that sits in the middle of all of you." Her piercing gaze ended with Drogo, their eyes meeting. Whereas before Illyrio's manse she was a scared, weak little girl, now the Khal was greeted by something altogether different. "What matters of great importance do you discuss here? What tiny villages to burn? What women you are to rape? Which spoils you are to request from Fat Robert the Usurper for doing his dirty work like common sellswords?"
Drogo stood, anger written over his face. "My sword is for sale to no man!"
Smirk widening, Daenerys delighted in the fact she could rile them up. Viserys only brought for himself mockery from those he wished to intimidate. She was about to show the entire world the true power of House Targaryen, long gone from the world. Starting with these savage rapists and common thieves. "My ancestor was Aegon Targaryen, a man without a thousand men to his name and only ruling an island. Yet with his dragons, he brought an entire continent to heel. The father of my children, his ancestor was Theon Stark, a man that faced the hordes of hundreds of thousands and held them off. Crossing the bitter water to take the fight to their homelands." She began walking across the bare spot on the floor. Making their eyes follow her. "They were strong men - you are small men, not fit to lead the Dothraki."
"And who do you think is?" Moro asked with a scoff. "You, a frail woman?!"
Daenerys continued walking, feeling the heat of the oil braziers waft over her skin. "Yes. I will lead them." She kicked at the sack at her feet, letting the eggs spill out. "They will see how a dragon leads, rather than cockroaches."
Making sure to stand tall, showing off all of his height and his muscles, Drogo began to advance to her. "We will never follow you, bitch." His lips curled into a sneer. "Forget the betrothal. I am going to fuck you here and now! Then we'll let our bloodriders fuck you. And if there is anything left of you, we'll let our horses have a turn!" The other Khals whooped, pumping their fists in the air at the classic Dothraki show of bravado.
Watching Drogo grow closer and closer, almost so she could see the whites of his eyes. The metal of the brazier brushed against the bare skin of her shoulder, other arm reaching behind her. Wrapping around black sharkskin. "Oh, I know you won't serve me." Just as the great Khal was about to reach out and take her neck in his meaty hand, Daenerys quickly drew Saracen. Valyrian steel glinting in the orange firelight. No one had expected such a tiny girl to be armed, and the Khals realized their mistake as Daenerys ran the blade through Drogo's stomach.
Looking down at the sword, shock registering and breaths becoming a struggle, Drogo watched the girl with new eyes. Fearful eyes. This wasn't the Princess from Pentos, but rather a Violet Demon. One of the ancient dragonriders that terrorized the Dothraki of old. Falling to his knees as Dany removed the sword, soon the pain began.
All around her, the Dothraki were scrambling to their feet. "You won't serve, because you are all going to die." Without another word, she kicked the brazier to the ground, dousing all in flames.
Feeling the pounding against the door, hearing the screams of the Khals and the roaring of the ever growing flames, Jorah and Barristan stood before the hut. Wooden bar placed against the door holding it in the building be engulfed in the great inferno - thatch and wicker going up like kindling - Jorah attempted to race inside when Barristan held him back. "Don't."
"But the Queen…"
"She'll be fine," the old knight replied. Smiling wanly. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."
"Her brother was burned on his arm…"
Barristan snorted. "Then he wasn't a dragon." Behind them, the Dothraki began milling about. First dozens, then hundreds, then thousands. All watching the massive pyre erupt, orange-red flames banishing away the darkness of the night.
The hours drifted by, time interminable. Soon it was dawn, the sun still not poking out from behind the mountains that formed the eastern edge of the Vaes Dothrak bowl. The fire had died down, Jorah approaching the smoldering wreckage. In the middle, Barristan could barely make out the sitting form of the Queen.
A loud screech drew their attention, then their wonder. And their horror. "It can't… impossible." Perched on his unharmed, unburnt Queen were three tiny dragons - one black as coal upon her shoulder, one a dark forest green at her breast, and one an icy white clinging to her leg.
"Dothraki." She thundered in her now fluent grasp of the language. Voice carrying out over the entire sacred city. Soot-matted silver hair blowing in the wind and illuminated by the crackling fires. "I have killed your Khals through the strength of my flesh and the steel of my resolve, and by your customs I have secured your loyalty and obedience. But today I hereby unshackle you from your chains. You may go about your way, seek out your own destiny. If you choose to follow me by your own free will, I promise never to let you down. To consider you not as my servants, but as my family. Anyone that wishes to hurt you will be immolated in pure dragonfire.
"Previous Khals, brave and noble as they were, measured your worth in middling amounts. They looked at the villages they could pillage, how many women they fucked, or how many horses the great cities of the coast could bribe them with. But I think differently, vowing that my children will be the Stallions that Mount the world! I will carry the legacy of my ancestor the great Aegon the Conqueror, take you across the Narrow Sea in the wooden horses that float. To leave the great knights and cities that think you mere barbarians cowering at your feet.
"I ask you today, will you follow me?!"
An entire horde followed the lead of Jorah Mormont and Barristan Selmy, kneeling to their queen. One by one until every last man, woman, and child in Vaes Dothrak pledged fealty to Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. Standing tall, standing proud, Daenerys allowed a small smile upon her face as Balerion spread his wings upon her shoulder and shrieked for the entire world to hear.