The Golden Stag

ARC 2: seed

DAENERYS TARGARYEN.
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The khalasar rode through the great stallion gates, the bronze horses watched them pass. Before them, the plains stretched wide and far. "Where is the city?" She asked.

"Vaes Dothrak sits at the lap of Mother of Mountains, Khaleesi." Ser Jorah answered from beside her.

By the dust roads spoils of plunder from lands far and wide lay strewn. She watched them curiously, as she rode. "So many," she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, "and from so many lands."

"The trash of dead cities," Viserys sneered at her, he was careful to speak in the Common Tongue, which few Dothraki could understand, yet even so Dany found herself glancing back at the men of her khas, to make certain he had not been overheard.

She had not forgotten how Viserys was insulted, the Khas loved its Khaleesi, and they bore little love for the sorefoot king. Dany knew it would be among many titles her brother would soon forget, the beggar king, the sorefoot king. She wondered if his dream could ever come true, her brother seemed to believe it a forgone conclusion.

"All these savages know how to do is steal the things better men have built... and kill." He laughed. "They do know how to kill. Otherwise, I'd have no use for them at all."

"They are my people now," Dany said softly.  "You should not call them savages, brother."

"The dragon speaks as he likes," Viserys said... in the Common Tongue. He glanced over his shoulder at Aggo and Rakharo, riding behind them, and favored them with a mocking smile. "See, the savages lack the wit to understand the speech of civilized men." A moss-eaten stone monolith loomed over the road, fifty feet tall. Viserys gazed at it with boredom in his eyes. "How long must we linger amidst these ruins before Drogo gives me my army? I grow tired of waiting."

"The princess must be presented to the dosh khaleen..."

"The crones, yes." Viserys hissed, "And no doubt there will be a farce for the mutt that grows in her belly." She did not like that, she cupped her belly, trying to feel the bulge in it.

" I'm tired of eating horsemeat and I'm sick of the stink of these savages." Viserys was no better than her savages, his wool and silk rotten with travel and sweat. He would love to believe he was better, and he did believe so but Danny knew he was miserable, only the pride of the dragon kept him from turning back to safety or the ease of Pentos.

Ser Jorah Mormont said, "The Western Market will have food more to your taste, Your Grace. The traders from the Free Cities come there to sell their wares. The khal will honor his promise in his own time."

"He had better," Viserys said grimly. "I was promised a crown, and I mean to have it. The dragon is not mocked." He spurred his horse towards one of the great marble sculptures that stood by the road.

Dany was relieved of his leave, yet no less anxious. "I pray that my sun and stars will not keep him waiting too long," she told Ser Jorah when her brother was out of earshot.

The knight looked after Viserys doubtfully. "Your brother should have bided his time in Pentos. There is no place for him in a khalasar. Illyrio tried to warn him."

"He will go as soon as he has his ten thousand. My lord husband promised a golden crown."

Ser Jorah grunted. "Yes, Khaleesi, but... the Dothraki look on these things differently than we do in the West. I have told him as much, as Illyrio told him, but your brother does not listen. The horse lords are no traders. Viserys thinks he sold you, and now he wants his price. Yet Khal Drogo would say he had you as a gift. He will give Viserys a gift in return, yes... in his own time. You do not demand a gift, not of a khal. You do not demand anything of a khal."