Daenerys woke to the sounds of rustling in front of her home. The last of the drunk riders were waking in the dim morning light. She rolled from her right side to her left to face Drogo, who was still deeply asleep. His face looked beautiful to her when he was asleep, all the focus and determination he usually wore was smoothed away; she couldn't help it, she reached out and touched his forehead, trailing her fingers down his cheek, waking him.
He grunted and rolled to face her, pulling her tightly against him and burying his nose in her neck. "Sleep more," he muttered. "You wore me out."
Rhaego kicked at his father. "Wish I could, but I've been overruled," she said, giggling at little.
Drogo pulled her tighter, pressing her belly into his. "My boy grows strong," he commented approvingly, feeling the baby kick at him.
"You're growing strong," she taunted, smirking at him as she reached down to grasp him. "Not so very worn out, my Sun and Stars?"
"Beautiful wife carrying my son?" he answered, grinning back at her. "It would make any man have desire."
She kissed him before he could say anything else, and pulled him impossibly closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You feel so good to me," she whispered, and kissed him again. He breathed softly against her mouth before moving away from her lips, moving down to kiss her softly on the throat, to nip her gently on her collarbone, and breathe his soft and gentle breath on her nipples, making them tighten and ache as he watched.
Tugging on his hair, she pulled him up to her mouth again, wrapping one leg around his hip as he lay next to her, pulling him snugly against her. "My Khaleesi is not shy this morning," he teased, rolling her on top of him.
"No, I'm not," she whispered, rising up and then sinking down on him, letting out a quiet moan at the pleasure invading her body. "My needs grow with your son." And my love for you, she thought to herself.
. . . . . . . .
It seemed all her lovely things had barely been unpacked before they were being carefully folded and resettled in her various boxes and trunks. She watched quietly from the bed as things were shifted and moved in preparation for their early morning departure from Vaes Dothrak. She'd not been here very long, but it had been her first real home. Instead of napping as Drogo had urged her to do, she oversaw the packing of all their things. Doreah and Irri had lifted the baby crib gently and set it in front of her, the smooth wood shining subtly in the sunlight.
"Which cart?" Irri asked, gesturing to the small bed.
Dany sighed. It was the one thing that symbolized so much. She had wanted to be here, in her own home, for Rhaego's birth. She was safe here. Love lived in these walls, but now she doubted she would ever see them again. It brought unwanted tears to her eyes, but she chastised herself and fought them back. She and Drogo were amassing their army to take back her birthright, and here she was, crying over a mud hut in Vaes Dothrak. She suddenly wished she could go back and change everything so she could stay here.
"The last one. We won't need that for at least two moons yet," she answered quietly, and avoided looking at them as they carefully loaded it onto the cart of her choosing. Her hands went immediately to her belly, Rhaego apparently napping as he was quiet and still.
An unknown Dothraki man approached their home, but didn't look at her at all. He went directly to the large wooden frame where her hrakkar pelt was curing in the sun, and he ran his hand down the tough leather of the backside. Nodding to himself, completely unaware that he was being watched by the Khaleesi, he unpinned it and rolled the stiff leather into a long tube and took it.
"Where is he going with it?" she asked Irri.
"He's taking it back to the tanning camp," Irri answered. "Slaves there will work the leather until it's soft and supple. It will be ready in the morning."
"So long?" she wondered.
"Yes, Khaleesi. Softening leather is hard work. Many hands are needed to roll and twist and pound to make it soft."
Daenerys was curious enough to want to follow the man, but Irri made her stay, shaking her head and making some noise about a nap. Dany sighed and permitted herself to be led back into her home, now empty of much that had made it hers. She wondered how long it would remain empty until another Khal from another horde would stay here. She hoped that if so, maybe his Khaleesi would stay and might have her children here.
. . . . .
Drogo came back in the early afternoon, and found her asleep on the bed, curled tightly around his favorite pillow. He grinned down at her, glad she'd listened and rested. He had spent most of the morning making preparations for their early start, but to his great satisfaction, there was little for him to actually do. He checked his horse, and roped Dany's silver and brought her closer to home. As he tended to the horses, he thought of the risks of taking Daenerys on such a long trip. She would have to birth on the road. It worried him, and he knew it worried her. All he could really do was make a sacrifice to the Mother on the Mountain and hope that Rhaego would wait for a convenient time when they would be camped near a stream or river. Readily available water would mean a rest for the whole khalasar, and they could linger for a week or more to celebrate Rhaego's birth and let Dany rest at least a few days before putting her back on a horse. It was this that worried him most, for he knew that her pride would not allow her to have the comfort of a cart, however little comfort it would be.
His mind drifted to a more immediate issue. Her insatiable need for him. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was exhausted from her demands. He was willing to satisfy her as many times as she wanted; he remembered how it had felt. Most nights before she came into his life, he'd be only satisfied after several women and hours of mounting them. He remembered that hunger. Cohollo, who had been blood rider to his father, Khal Bharbo, had warned him, laughing, that his Khaleesi would get this way when he, Drogo, put a baby in her. Drogo recalled thinking that it wouldn't be possible for Daenerys to exhaust him, but here it was. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make this easier. He couldn't fight his best while he was so tired. He could put up with a bit of good natured jesting if he could get Cohollo away from the other men and ask what to do. Cohollo had fathered and claimed many sons in his long years and pleasured many women. He could have any woman, save Drogo's Khaleesi, that he wished, and they went to him willingly. He had to know some secret, some trick to keeping them all happy.
His course of action decided, he sought out Cohollo in the men's camp, finding him sitting outside his tent, replacing the lacing in his arakh scabbard. "My Khal," he greeted.
"I seek your words," Drogo answered testily.
Cohollo looked up from what he was doing, measured his Khal with one look, and grinned. "Old men are never listened to any more," he lamented. "Not until it's too late for warnings."
Drogo shifted to glance out of his peripheral vision. No one was around that was taking notice of their talk. He didn't want his manhood coming into question, but he was fucked if he didn't figure out something. "We ride to the lake," he gestured, and pointed to the waiting horses.
Sitting amongst the tall grasses near the edge of the great lake, Drogo relayed his problem to the tears of laughter from his friend. "I warned you of this," the older man laughed, running the back of his hand over his face. "Still a boy after all this time. What were you doing with all those other women? Playing at coupling?"
Drogo took his japes with good humor, knowing that if he took it, Cohollo would help him. "Maybe so. What do I do? I will not have you offer to step in, either. She is mine and mine alone."
Cohollo regarded him as he had when Drogo was still a small boy. "You really don't know?" he demanded. "You save your seed. Don't spend it the moment she peaks, you young stallion. Let her win her pleasure a few times before letting go."
Drogo groaned. "I can't help it. She is different than the other women . . . ." he paused. "She will win it more than once?"
His old friend rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're the Khal of the largest khalasar to have ever roamed Essos, and you still think like a child. Women can do many things that men cannot, and the things that we can match them, they still can do it better."
"Women are a pain in the ass," Drogo grumbled, not really meaning it, but it made him feel better.
"No. Women feed us and clothe us and let us think we're in charge while they give us sons," Cohollo fired back. "Look to your own home if you think I'm wrong." Taking Drogo's silence for affirmation, he continued, "Pull out of her if you must, though I'd bet my best horse she'll not like that. Think on dead and rotting things. Try having her in another position. There are many things you can do to put off your own release."
Drogo shook his head. "You don't know what this is like," he said finally. "Other women, I could go all night. This one . . . this one I can barely hold it together to please her once. I'm like a young boy at his first bedding all over again."
"You will have many chances to practice," Cohollo said, his tone serious enough to make Drogo look him in the eye before he knew his friend was taunting him. "Now, you brought me all the way out here to talk. Let's hunt some of those fat rabbits before we go back. Your son will need a warm bed of furs where we are going, and I hear Khaleesi isn't as fond of horsemeat as she could be."
A quick hunt soon found them back at camp. Drogo left the rabbit skins with some women at the tanning camp, and took the carcasses home, leaving them with Irri at his front door.
He stood over her for long minutes as she slept. He wondered if he could manage to sleep awhile without waking his little dragon, and decided his best course of action would be to crash out in the front room where he stood a better chance at getting some rest. He didn't bother taking off his pants, instead flopping down on the cushions in the front room and pulling another cushion over his face to block out the light and muffle his hearing.
A warm weight was pressing down on him. Daenerys. He felt her move the cushion away from his face, and he opened his eyes, expecting full sun to blast him in the face, but it was evening, growing darker into twilight. She'd let him sleep the day away.
"Moon of my Life," he whispered gratefully, his body not exhausted any longer.
"You were so tired, I didn't want to wake you," she whispered back, kissing him on the mouth. "But supper will be ready soon and I don't like the thought of you not eating. You can go back to sleep after we eat."
He pulled her down against him and kissed her soundly. "My Khaleesi takes great care of me," he replied, hoping she could hear his relief and happiness at her consideration.
"Only as you do for us," she answered, smiling at him and tugging his hands to hold his ever growing son. "He's had two naps today, but now wants to know where his supper is."
"He moves strongly in you," Drogo exclaimed quietly, and when she laughed, Rhaego stopped moving for a moment. "He listens to your laugh."
"Feel this," she murmured, and moved his hands to either side of her belly. He watched as she reached lower on her belly, below his hands, and pushed gently upward, prodding Rhaego softly. A flurry of movement, bumps and kicks, assaulted his hands. Drogo tracked the movement with one large hand, and was rewarded with a hard kick to the palm. Patiently, he moved his hand with the limb in question, feeling something hard move beneath her skin. "That's probably a leg," she said, smiling. "He kicks hard, then rolls over to get me in the ribs."
"Does it hurt?" he asked, concerned.
"No, not really, but the midwife says that's because Rhaego still has a lot of room to move and grow. It will be more uncomfortable later."
"You've been playing with him," he discovered, pleased.
"Of course. He's my son," she answered, kissing him softly. "I want him to know my touch and be comforted by it when he's born."
Drogo stared at her for a long moment. He hadn't realized just how much his son meant to her. He knew his own feelings were strong, but he'd not considered, truly, how much Daenerys wanted this. He felt like a selfish ass for a moment, realizing that she had been given to him in marriage without her own consent, and one of the first things he'd gauged her for was her ability to give him sons, and then his efforts to get her pregnant immediately. He remembered one talk they'd managed with Irri as translator, when he'd declared his desire for a son with her eyes, and her quiet acquiescence, but she'd never truly had a say in the matter. Had he forced this on her? Or had she truly wanted children at all? She'd never had the chance to voice her desire on the matter before he'd made the decision for her. It was the Dothraki way, what the men wanted was what happened. Now, he wasn't so sure that it was a good way. Daenerys. Some emotion he had no name for filled his chest, an ache of sorrow, a surge of desire, an enormous amount of pride and admiration. All of those things and more.
He thought of Cohollo's words, of how the women gave everything to the men who ruled them. Most men regarded the old man as an outcast, as he spent most of his time admiring the female form, pleasuring women young and old alike, instead of fighting and hunting. Khal Bharbo had saved his life when he was a young man, and Cohollo pledged himself to Drogo as a personal bodyguard in gratitude. Young Khal Drogo had tolerated the woman obsessed man at first, but grew to realize that Cohollo was just as deadly with an arakh as he was at making women cry out in great pleasure, and thus earned his young Khal's respect. Drogo had his own women throwing themselves at him by then, and he knew the pleasures it could bring, but he was interested more in his own than theirs. He was Khal. It didn't matter if they liked it or not, he didn't have to have the same woman twice if he didn't want to. Now, he had his Khaleesi, his One, and he realized that his old friend had managed to live for years the way he, Drogo, had just discovered existed.
"Drogo?" she whispered. "Are you well?"
He came back to the moment, and seized her almost roughly. "You are the Moon of my Life," he said fiercely, and kissed her, hard, trying to convey all his emotions into one kiss.