» 10/1/2020 - ivar x targaryen oc «
In the great City of Pentos, inside of the Magister's extravagant mansion, there was a young princess. Her hair, silver and silky, tumbling down her slim back in loose strands and untangled braids. She barely re...
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After the Khal and her sister had ridden together out into the night, the khalasar continued their celebrations. Gratefully, there was no more killing or public fornication, but the drinking and wrestling and dancing remained; and while Viserys indulged himself on the Magister's expensive wine, Visenya stayed seated, her chest of dragon eggs kept close behind her legs.
A deep, dreadful feeling of nervousness engulfed her soon enough when she lost sight of her twin brother. He had disappeared into the crowd, most likely off to find himself a woman to warm his bed. Visenya felt conflicted. She hoped Viserys would stay away and give her a better chance that he won't decide to force her to spread her legs for him, like he tried to the other night, but at the same time she was surrounded by strangers, without defence. Even Magister Illyrio had disappeared somewhere. Visenya began to pick at her cuticles, staring fearfully at her tense knees.
Visenya recalled her mother's old lullaby that she used to sing to her, the one she herself would sing to Daenerys, to bring herself some comfort, but it was hard to calm her heart as dusk gathered. All the music and ringing of Dothraki hair bells were too loud for Visenya to concentrate. Her muscles remained tense throughout the hours.
"Princess."
Visenya moved her gaze away from her trembling knees to the man who had approached her. Ser Jorah Mormont. He was the northerner knight from Westeros, exiled for trafficking criminals instead of sending them to the wall. Something considered dishonourable. Though, honour hung on a thin thread these days. "Ser Jorah," she greeted him, as politely as one scared girl could.
The old knight bowed his head in respect. "I hoped to see how you were fairing."
"I am well," she replied to him meekly, her eyes downcast to her delicate fingers – they were now turning bright red as she continued to pick at them, her own blood already starting to emerge in the tiniest of droplets. Visenya often did this when certain situations became too overwhelming for her. "A Dothraki wedding isn't what I expected for my sister."
"She is strong," Ser Jorah reassured her, sincerely. "With time she will thrive, and she and the Khal will come to a mutual understanding, perhaps even love will bloom between them."
The corners of her lips twitched up for a moment, and Visenya looked up at him. "You sound like a poet, Ser."
The old knight beckoned to the gifts he had given to Daenerys. The three books were tucked away neatly within the pile of the accepted offerings. "I did not have much to afford anything grander for the princess," Ser Jorah said. "I hope she was not offended."
"I doubt she ever could be," Visenya whispered, looking past him out to the dark distance of the desert where the Khal and Daenerys had ridden off to. "She's such a sweet little dragon. Thank you for your gift, Ser Jorah."
