Dany mounted her silver mare and took her place in the khalasar. Today was the day. Early evening would find her riding into Vaes Dothrak, to home. She was nervous and excited, but rode quietly with her khas and Ser Jorah. She was glad Rhakaro stayed close to her side as Drogo rode ahead.
The flat grasslands were behind them, replaced by gently rolling hills of green grass and low trees. She teasingly asked Irri if they were indeed trees, or yet another type of grass. "No, most are halahi, flowering trees, and are pretty in spring," Irri responded with a smile.
As they rode, she could see Drogo and his closest riders starting to ascend a hill, the path twisting like a snake in the grass. She watched as they began to reach the top, suddenly seeing two horses rearing at each other as they approached. They were enormous, carved out of stone, and were so lifelike that Dany was taken aback at how art like that could have found it's way to such a rough and wild place. She looked around. The two massive horses were obviously a gate to the city, but there were no walls. Just the horses, a beacon to call the Dothraki home. Drogo and his riders rode ahead, breaking their horses into a swift gallop and whooping as they ran for the city, preparing everyone for the khalasar's arrival.
She kept her horse to a brisk walk, Ser Jorah and her brother Viserys riding up next to her as they reached the massive gateway. She stopped, watching her husband ride ahead before turning her attention to first the stone horses looming above her, and then to Vaes Dothrak in the valley below. Dany warily let Viserys ride up to her, but kept out of his physical range. She didn't care so much if he hit her, but he was not going to get a chance to harm her unborn baby boy.
"Vaes Dothrak," Ser Jorah announced, stopping next to her. "Home of the horselords."
"Nothing but piles of mud. Mud and shit and twigs. Is that the best these savages can do?" her brother sneered, disgusted.
"These are my people now," she retorted, getting annoyed and letting him hear it. "You shouldn't call them savages."
"I'll call them what I like because they're my people," he answered, escalating his tone to overpower hers. "This is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army."
Dany turned her head slightly and rolled her eyes. His complaints were such a tiresome and repetitive mantra that Dany began to wonder if he would ever say anything else. It was like trying to reason with a 2 year old. She sighed and nudged her mare to start walking again, following Viserys as he rode ahead, letting the distance between them become greater the closer they got to the city.
She spoke quietly with Ser Jorah, airing her doubts that her brother could take back their throne, even with all of Drogo's men behind him. He didn't know how to lead, or how to rule. Jorah agreed with her, just as quietly. She sighed in despair as she realized that this whole endeavor was for naught, except she had managed to find happiness despite all her brother's abuses and grand intentions. She rested her hand on her growing bump. Her son was doubly a gift to her in that moment, and she smiled despite the discouraging conversation. She felt torn, though. She wanted to take her rights as the Queen of Westeros, her birthright, but at the same time, she managed to find her place with Drogo, and her new home in Vaes Dothrak. Dany found herself having difficulty reconciling the two. Am I as restless as Viserys? Can I be happy with being Drogo's wife and a mother? What of my home, Dragonstone? Should I just let all of it go? She sighed heavily as she pushed her worries from her mind.
A low, mud wall bordered just outside the first dwellings, and several slaves stood there, waiting. Ser Jorah stopped, as did all her khas, and she watched as all the men handed over their weapons. "No steel blades are allowed in the city, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah explained. "We will get them back when we leave again, with no mistakes over whose weapon belongs with whom. You will see."
She smiled softly at the slaves, but they all immediately looked down at the ground, the stones and sand suddenly much more interesting than the face of their Khaleesi. She quickly unbuckled her belt and handed over the small blade that Drogo had cleverly sheathed in it a few days after Viserys had blackened her eye. She loved that little knife, the steel folded and swirled in pretty patterns all the way to it's razor sharp edge. Drogo had sharpened it until he could shave a line of hair off his arm with it, letting her watch as he slid the blade lightly along his skin. A slave stepped forward and took it gently from her, never touching her, but briefly looked at her face, memorizing who the blade belonged to as she rode by.
Following the road, she was taken aback by all the statues. She looked at Jorah for help. "Broken images of gods from defeated cities," Ser Jorah said, answering her unasked question. Dany pulled her silver mare up a little so she could take a longer look. Giant rams, even larger women with wings, and various other fantastical creatures met her interested gaze. All were broken, missing limbs or faces. Except for one at the very end of the long road. Dany stopped her horse completely to look. A woman carved out of a bright white stone, one arm cradling a tiny baby to her breast, the other wrapped securely around an older child at her side. Her eyes were inlaid with precious stones, and someone had draped a handwoven grass cloak around her shoulders. Dany became aware of the offerings laid down around her feet and on the ground below the large block of stone she was standing on. Many were simple beeswax candles, but there were spiceflowers and various small objects as well.
"Who is she?" Dany whispered softly. "She's not broken."
"She is the symbol of motherhood, Khaleesi. Many come here to pray for sons. The Dothraki believe that this is an image of the woman who was the Great Stallion's Khaleesi so long ago," Jorah explained.
"Should I leave something?" she wondered out loud.
"If you like. If for no other reason, your khas will tell Khal Drogo that you had stopped here on your own and gave a gift. It would please him greatly, Khaleesi," Jorah offered in counsel.
She smiled at that, and turned to look in her saddle pack. She took out an amethyst stone pendant edged in silver, a bride gift, and dismounted. She looked up at the woman and smiled, and slowly placed the precious object at the statue's feet. "For my son," she said softly in Dothraki. She remounted her horse and she could feel the grins of her khas and Ser Jorah as she rode ahead of them all, coming to the city alone and of her own free will.
As she rode into the city, she was met by Cohollo and Jhogo, and they escorted her to Khal Drogo's home, amidst a sea of watching people. She made sure to keep her smile to herself, and focus on the road ahead, as she was taught to do, following her part in the tradition as Cohollo gently lifted her down off her mare in front of the house, announcing Khal Drogo's ascent to the Mother on the Mountain for a sacrifice for the khalasar's safe return. She answered him with the words Irri had carefully taught her, that she would patiently wait for him at home and dream of his return. Her maids came out of the house at that point, standing and waiting in front of the wooden latticework entry as Jhogo quickly untied her saddle pack from her silver mare and handed it to her to carry into her new home, signifying her status as Khal Drogo's wife.
She placed her saddle pack just inside the door and took her time to explore her new home, looking around her with eyes that missed little. The walls were not straight; they curved upward in a rounded slant, and she couldn't tell where the walls ended and ceiling began. She touched the molded clay of the walls, running her hands up and down the smooth, dark surface. She liked it. There were woven grass screens dividing the rooms; they smelled like fresh summer mornings. Her familiar low table was fitted into the center of a larger one, and dozens of cushions decorated the large space for eating and comfortably entertaining guests. There was a fire pit and opening in the ceiling directly above it, hot coals buried and waiting nightfall. She wandered back into a dark room, and Irri followed her, lighting candles. The bed was big, nearly twice the size of the bed in their tent, and all her blankets, furs, clothes, and gifts were already there, some unpacked, others put away to be brought out as needed. She smiled, and sat down on the bed. Firm, she noticed right away, but soft, too. She reached under the thick mattress, and felt the permanence of the frame. This wouldn't be breaking in a hurry, she laughed to herself in relief. She was becoming concerned for the bed in the tent and all the rough use it had managed to withstand the past few months. She smiled as she looked around, the air cool and dry despite the day's heat outside. This would be a fine place to have a baby, a good place to call home.
An overwhelming sense of home settled over her as she sat on the bed and looked around. It smelled good; beeswax candles, incense, fires, grass and the earthen walls all lending their essences to her home. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. She looked at all her trunks and boxes, all stacked in perfect order, and saw something new, tucked back in the corner. She got up and went to it, her heart pounding and tears springing to her eyes. A little bed was there, halfway hidden under some blankets and boxes, lined with soft furs and a woven blanket, the design of Khal Drogo's property woven carefully into the weave. She wondered how long it had been there, waiting for a baby to sleep in it's warmth, waiting for her son.
Irri had gone into a smaller room, lighting braziers and candles, and Dany could see her large copper bathtub already steaming hot and ready for her. She stripped off her clothes and wandered in, stepping into the bath and sinking up to her shoulders in the hot, scented water. She could take as long as she liked, no need to rush or get ready to move on again. Doreah was nowhere to be found, but Irri's attitude didn't seem to be concerned. She must be entertaining her young bloodrider, Dany thought, amused. She, however, was looking forward to an early bedtime and plenty of rest without any nighttime molestations from her overly enthusiastic husband, lately a very apologetic and gentle husband. She sat in the hot water and wondered what Drogo was doing. Probably preparing for the ceremony, she realized. She called Irri to come to her and help her prepare for the ceremony, too, the words that would be appropriate for the occasion; that is, if she managed to keep the entire stallion's heart down. If she didn't, it would all be for naught. She shuddered, though she couldn't tell if it was from the thought of eating so much raw meat or what would happen to Drogo if she failed.
She practiced repeating the words over and over again, pleasing her young teacher with her determination. "What will you call your son, Khaleesi?" Irri asked. "It will be important to call his name at the ceremony, if he is indeed the Stallion Who Mounts the World."
"What if he's not?" Dany whispered, realizing that it really wasn't up to her or Drogo to make such a claim, although they already had, and the khalasar had only been too happy to follow suit. The Dosh Khaleen would need to confirm it by using their different colored smokes and herbs to see the future.
"I have seen who the lightning has struck, Khaleesi. I know," Irri said, sounding more adamant than Dany had ever heard her be.
"Rhaego, I've been calling him," Dany answered softly. "After my brother, a warrior killed before my birth."
Irri smiled and nodded. "Here's how we put his name in your words . . ."