—— " dragons can't burn, sister " ——
༺ ♔ ༻
——— THE DOTHRAKI are a race of nomadic horse-mounted warriors in Essos, the continent to the east of Westeros across the Narrow Sea. They inhabit the vast central plains of Essos, known as the Dothraki Sea. Their bond with horses is such that Dothraki are said to be born, fight, and die in the saddle.
Daeron Targaryen had lived in Pentos, one of the nine Free Cities, for the past year with his two older siblings. The fifteen-year-old may be young, but the boy had absorbed so much information about the world he lived, especially the Free Cities. He had been wandering the independent city-states since he was five-years-old, him and his siblings looking for refuge. Until a year ago when Magister Illyrio Mopatis allowed them shelter in his home.
Daeron Targaryen and his siblings weren't normal children, they were the last living Targaryens from the royal household of the Seven Kingdoms. Their father, King Aerys Targaryen II, was murdered and usurped by Robert Baratheon when Daeron was still in his mother's womb. And after Queen Rhaella died from complications of Daeron's birth, him and his siblings were completely exiled, fighting for their lives with Robert Baratheon's assassins after them.
Learning culture and language was the only way Daeron coped with the tragedy that was his life.
Spending ten years in the Free Cities, he had learned so much about them. And their history, had involved his own ancestors'.
The Free Cities were nine powerful, independent city-states located across the Narrow Sea from Westeros. They occupied the western end of the massive continent of Essos, and are engaged in extensive trade contact with the Seven Kingdoms and lands further east. The overall range of the Free Cities and their respective territories is roughly equal in size to the lands of Westeros south of the Neck.
The Free Cities were founded centuries ago as colonies of the Valyrian Freehold. When the Freehold and its dragonlords were destroyed in the Doom of Valyria four hundred years ago, the empire fragmented, and a chaotic period of warfare known as the Century of Blood ensued. When the dust settled, the Free Cities emerged as autonomous entities, dominating much of the land between the river Rhoyne and the western coast of the continent.
Volantis is the oldest and most populous of the Free Cities, and for a time during the Century of Blood it tried to conquer and reunify the others, but eventually their rivals formed alliances and Volantis was subdued. Originally, Volantis was also the most powerful of the Free Cities, and while still formidable, it was gradually eclipsed by the growing power of Braavos.
Braavos is very much the odd-one-out among the Free Cities, as it was not founded as a colony by the Valyrians, but as a refuge by escaped slaves who fled from Valyria. Also known as the hidden city - as its existence was kept secret for many years after its founding - Braavos was not devastated by the loss of central Valyrian control the way that the other eight Free Cities were, and after the dragonlords perished in the Doom, Braavos was happy to stop hiding its true power from the world. The city gradually increased in strength while the others were tearing themselves apart in civil wars, and in the present-day Braavos is now considered the most powerful of the Free Cities, with extensive control of the sea trade and large fleets of both merchant ships and war galleys - in contrast with how Volantis has the largest and strongest land armies. Most importantly, it is the home of the Iron Bank of Braavos, which has became the largest financial institution in the Known World, bigger than the banks of the other eight Free Cities put together.
In general, the Free Cities and have a much more urbanized and mercantile culture than Westeros: Each city controls large swaths of territory (often, not much smaller than one of the Seven Kingdoms), with most of them controlling towns larger than some Westerosi cities. Slavery is also practiced in most of the Free Cities - except for Braavos, which has strict laws banning the practice.
For centuries, it has been common for exiles from the losing sides of wars in Westeros to flee across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities to seek refuge and fortune.
But Pentos was the one that truly mattered to Daeron the most at this time. The city was a major seaport, land-based and vulnerable to Dothraki incursions from the continental interior. Among other items, it was frequently noted for its trade in cheeses.
Daeron loves cheese.
Nominally ruled by the Prince of Pentos, true power is held by a council of merchant magisters. Just like Illyrio Mopatis.
Daeron had learned High Valyrian, the native language of his ancestors, but once his older brother and Illyrio Mopatis informed him of the marriage arrangement between the Dothraki and the Targaryens — Daeron had dug deep in learning the language and its culture.
He had spent several weeks in his chambers, going through books, learning as much as he could. Viserys hated it. He said men like Targaryens were meant to learn how to fight, not learn culture and language. Daeron always just ignored him, knowing if he attempted to argue, Viserys would grow angry and threaten him. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it "walking the dragon."
Daeron knew how to fight, and fight well. But there were so many more cultures and languages other than the Targaryens and Valyrians. And with the Dothraki's reputation, Daeron wouldn't want to accidentally disrespect them by his ignorance.
Viserys didn't seem to care about that. Only that he gets his rightful crown back to the Seven Kingdoms. And he seemed to be willing to do anything for that. Even selling their sister into a marriage at 16-years-old to a 30-year-old man.
Daeron wasn't the oldest, nor was he the King, so he had no say over Daenerys. Even though she was older than him — by a year — Daeron felt a responsibility to protect her from the world. Especially being a Targaryen woman in a world led by men.
At the same time Rosaline Stark was meeting Robert Baratheon and his family, Daeron Targaryen stood on his balcony, reading yet another book of the Dothraki. Down below, shirtless fishermen hauled nets full of wriggling fish from their boats onto the docks. The setting sun silhouetted the brick towers of the Free City; intricate and colorful geometric patterns decorated their bulbous domes.
Daeron was a very handsome and charming boy, though no one had ever told him. Unlike his sister, who was still awkward in her own skin, Daeron knew how rare their lilac eyes and lush silver hair were.
Daenerys's hair was so long, trailing to her waist, while Daeron's hair was long, but not as long. Like his brother, Daeron's silver hair ended right at his shoulders, small parts of it pinned back so it wasn't in his face. It was lightly curled from the lack of washing it needed, but he was still so beautiful. Almost like he wasn't real. All his siblings were like that.
"Daeron..." the quiet voice of Daenerys was heard.
Daeron glanced back from his balcony to find his sweet sister had walked in, a nervous look on her. Daeron closed his book before walking into his chambers from the balcony and up to his sister. In her hands, she was holding a lilac gown.
"Viserys has just given this to me," she said as Daeron placed his eyes on the gown. "He says it was a gift from Illyrio."
Daeron only held his eyes on the gown for a few moments before looking at her again. "You'll look like a Princess," he told her before he walked off, Daenerys watching as he put his book away.
A Princess, Daenerys thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. Neither of them did.
"It's not fair. He gives us so much and never asks for anything," she said before Daeron glanced back at her.
"It's because he knows we're Targaryens and Viserys is the rightful heir of the Iron Throne," he told her before crossing his arms. "Tell me, if you knew a royal family were guests in your home, how would you treat them?"
Daenerys was silent a moment until she said, "With nothing but respect and gold."
"Exactly," Daeron smiled. But when he noticed the anxiety and nerves over her face, the smile faded. "Don't worry, sister... everything will be fine. Drogo Khal will adore you... and if any of them hurt you, you let me worry about them, yes?"
Daenerys hesitantly nodded, but soon enough, the princess was dragged off by Illyrio Mopatis's slaves to get ready. Tonight was the very night everything changed for the Targaryen siblings.
When she was gone, Daeron went back to his balcony and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Daeron could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment he wished he was out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past of his father's tyranny.
Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone amidst magnificent blue-gray mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahi, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. His brother had a simpler name. "Our land," he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. "Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon. Oh, no. The dragon remembers."
And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Daeron could not. He had never seen this land his brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to him. Viserys had been a boy of five and Daenerys only a babe of one when they fled to King's Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daeron had been only a quickening in their mother's womb.
Yet sometimes Daeron would picture the way it had been, so often had his brother told them the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship's black sails. His brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King's Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper's dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Eila of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer killed Father with a golden sword.
He had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurling into the wind waters of the narrow sea. His mother had died birthing him, and for that — his brother Viserys had never forgiven him.
He did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper's brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser William Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them, along with Daeron's wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.
He remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Daeron and Daenerys. He called her "Little Princess" and sometimes "My Lady," and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Daeron had his own room there, with a lemon tree outside his window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Daenerys had cried when the red door closed behind them forever and Daeron felt his heart break.
They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted.
At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called his brother "the beggar king." Daeron did not want to know what they called him.
"We will have it all back someday," Viserys would promise them. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daeron wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood he had never known.
That evening, Daeron walked out of Illyrio Mopatis's home in dark blue garments, dark pants and boots, along with his sheathed sword attached to his hip. The Prince stepped up next to Daenerys, who stood in the gorgeous gown from before, along with their twenty-year-old older brother, Viserys. Standing nearby was Illyrio Mopatis, all four of them awaiting the arrival of the Dothraki warlord Khal Drogo.
Daeron kept close to his sister, knowing she was nervous. Knowing everything they wanted had to be perfect in this one moment.
"Where is he?" asked Viserys.
"The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality," Illyrio Mopatis told him.
Right on cue, a group of horses galloped into the small courtyard with Dothraki riding them. All led by a tall, large man with long black hair. Drogo.
Illyrio Mopatis headed down the stairs towards the courtyard as he said, "Athchomar chomakaan, Khal Vezhven."
Daenerys nervously glanced up at Daeron, her brows furrowing. "What did he—?"
"Respect to one that is respectful, Great Khal," Daeron told her, keeping his eyes on the group of intimating Dothraki.
"May I present my honored guests," Illyrio Mopatis called in a high, sweet voice as Khal Drogo gazed at the three siblings sternly and quietly. "Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the rightful King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His brother, Daeron Stormborn, Prince of Dragonstone. His sister, Daenerys, of the House Targaryen. His honorable guest, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos."
Illyrio Mopatis continued forward, speaking to Drogo and the Dothraki in their native language while the Targaryen siblings stayed behind. Daeron clenched his jaw, and tightened his fists when Viserys forcefully grabbed Daenerys's hand, pulling him close to her.
"Do you see how long his hair is?" asked Viserys, causing Daeron to stare at the Dothraki leader's long black hair. "When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braid so the whole world can see their shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated. He's a savage, of course, but he's one of the finest killers alive. He's Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his Queen."
Khal Drogo's face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. His brother hurt Daeron, when he woke the dragon, but he did not threaten him the way this man threatened him.
Right then, Illyrio Mopatis glanced back at the siblings, and Daeron tensed up, placing a gentle touch on his sister's back. She was shaking madly.
"Come forward, my dear," said Illyrio Mopatis.
Daeron patted gently on her back in assurance before Daenerys slowly, and nervously, walked forward down the stairs towards Drogo.
Daeron watched tensely as his sister finally reached the Khal, who had yet to get off his horse, and watched as he only stared at the Princess. No emotion over him.
It felt like forever. Everyone and everything was so silent. Daeron was scared to breathe. Until, suddenly, Drogo turned his horse around and rode off, with the other Dothraki following suit.
Instantly, Viserys ran down the stairs to Illyrio Mopatis while Daeron quickly walked down to his sister. When he got to her, she was still visibly shaking, but relieved this part was over.
"Where is he going?" Viserys asked Illyrio Mopatis as Daeron strolled past them and up to Daenerys.
"The ceremony is over," Illyrio Mopatis told him.
"Dany," Daeron quietly said and she glanced up to him. "You did it..."
She lightly smiled but looked back at the ground as Daeron frowned.
"But he didn't say anything," Viserys continued behind them. "Did he like her?"
"Trust me, Your Grace, if he didn't like her, we'd know," said Illyrio Mopatis and Daeron glanced back at him, a hard stern look over him. Though Viserys seemed visibly annoyed and confused, he was pleased. That made Daeron's stomach twist.
———
Some hours later, Daeron stood with his siblings and Illyrio Mopatis on the courtyard of Illyrio's home, overlooking the Narrow Sea. The deep blue colors, it was so beautiful, no matter how many times Daeron looked out on it.
"It won't be long now," Illyrio Mopatis told Viserys, a stern look on the King's face. "Soon you will cross the Narrow Sea and take back your father's throne. The people drink secret toasts to your health. They cry out for their true King."
Viserys departed the balcony they stood and began walking down a path, Daeron, Daenerys and Illyrio Mopatis following him. "When will they be married?" asked Viserys, and from that, Daeron could feel Daenerys's steps slow down.
"Soon," Illyrio Mopatis told him. "The Dothraki never stay still for long."
"Is it true they lie with their horses?" asked Viserys.
Daeron cringed to himself at his brother's ignorance of learning the culture. He wanted to yell, No, of course they don't!
"I wouldn't ask Khal Drogo..." Illyrio Mopatis told him.
"Do you take me for a fool?" asked Viserys.
Yes, Daeron thought.
"I take you for a King," said Illyrio Mopatis. "Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I've given offense."
"I know how to play a man like Drogo," said Viserys, and Daeron glanced at him oddly. "I give him a Queen and he give me an army."
Daeron could hear Daenerys come to a stop.
"I don't want to be his Queen..."
Daeron, Viserys, and Illyrio Mopatis all stopped walking as they glance back at her. She stared at them, mostly at Viserys, with a pleading look in her eyes. Daeron couldn't imagine her position.
"I want to go home," she quietly said, suddenly terrified when Viserys stared at her annoyed.
"Home?" Viserys kept his voice low, but Daeron could hear the fury in his tone. "How are we to go home? They took our home from us!" He slowly, yet terrifying approached Daenerys. "So, tell me, sweet sister, how do we go home?"
"I don't know," Daenerys quietly said after a moment, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.
"I do," he said sharply. "We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo's army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will." He smiled at her before he stroke her face lovingly.
Daeron watched him carefully. His words were assuring and kind. That wasn't the Viserys they knew.
"I would let his whole tribe fuck you—"
Daeron stepped forward, but Illyrio Mopatis held him back, earning a low annoyed growl under his breath.
"—all forty-thousand men and their horses, too, if that's what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him."
Daenerys stared up at him terrified before Viserys pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. And as he turned and walked away, Daeron and Daenerys watched him go, with such hate filled in their violet eyes.
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——— NIGHT HAD SETTLED OVER WINTERFELL when Rosaline strolled into her sister's chambers. Her gorgeous luscious curled brown hair bounced with each step she took, along with the loose braids pinned up.
When she strolled into Sansa's room, she found her mother braiding Sansa's hair, but they took a moment to look back at Rosaline. And Sansa lit up after finding her older sister in a beautiful, dark purple, velvet dress for the great banquet with King Robert and his family.
"You look beautiful," said Sansa and Rosaline grinned at her. But as she did, Sansa frowned to herself, internally comparing herself to her beautiful older sister.
Rosaline furrowed her brows in sudden worry, stepping towards her sister as Sansa asked, "Do you think Joffrey will like me? What if he thinks I'm ugly?"
Rosaline was stunned to speak. She looked over at Catelyn, who already seemed annoyed by the marriage arrangement King Baratheon offered between Sansa and Prince Joffrey. Rosaline almost positively screamed when Robb told her just that afternoon. He had heard from their father and immediately told her.
She had ranted and protested the entire alliance only in front of Robb because she knew he wouldn't go tell their father or anyone else she disapproved. She wasn't a man, the heir of Winterfell, nor was she Sansa's father. She had no bearing over who Sansa married. Only her opinion.
"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived," Catelyn told her daughter and Rosaline smiled at her mother, clearly agreeing.
"It is not a man's appearance or title that should matter..." Rosaline began as Sansa glanced up at her, "...but his mind and soul that should intrigue you. He should speak in a manner that only your heart can hear. That is what you should look in a man. That is the true love you will find."
Sansa lightly smiled at her as Catelyn grinned. She knew it was her daughter's warning to watch out for the ugly personality over the ugly appearance. Which they knew Prince Joffrey had both.
Sansa then glanced at herself in the hand mirror that she held. She lightly smiled at her reflection before murmuring, "He's so handsome..."
Rosaline attempted to hide her cringe with a forced smile as her mother rolled her eyes. Sansa then glanced up at Rosaline from her mirror.
"When would we be married?" she asked and Rosaline stared at her hesitantly, not sure what she was supposed to say. Nor why Sansa would think she would know the answer. "Soon, or do we have to wait?"
"Sansa, you haven't even bled yet—"
"So?"
"It means you're still too young—"
"Hush, now," Catelyn told her daughter and Rosaline tensed into silence. Catelyn turned to her other daughter, continuing to braid the red locks as she said, "Your father hasn't even said yes."
"Why would he say no?" asked Sansa. "He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms."
"He'd have to leave home. He'd have to leave me. And so would you," Catelyn told her.
"You left your home to come here," Sansa told her. "And I'd be Queen someday."
There was a brief pause between the three. Rosaline glanced over at her mother, who didn't look pleased. In fact — sad.
Sansa then glanced back at her mother, and said, "Please make Father say yes!"
Rosaline stared at her stunned while Catelyn shook her head. "Sansa..." she murmured.
"Please, please!" Sansa pleaded. "It's the only thing I ever wanted!"
Catelyn didn't say anything. She just shared a nervous look with her brown-haired daughter, who had her lips pursed in concern. Catelyn then looked back at her redheaded daughter, staring at her lost in thought.
The great banquet was nearing its fourth hour, with a singer playing the harp at one end of the hall, though no one could hear him about the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates, cups, and the din of a hundred conversations. The long wooden tables were covered with steaming platters of roasted meals and baked breads. Banners hung from the stone walls; the direwolves of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, and the lion of Lannister.
Rosaline sat with her brother, Robb, as they sat across from Sansa. The redhead gossiping with her friends while simultaneously glancing back at a gazing Prince Joffrey, who would not keep his eyes off Sansa. Practically eye-fucking her.
Rosaline had to keep herself distracted or else she'd go absolutely mad. She kept herself in deep conversation with Robb and nearby guests around them. They didn't even notice King Robert getting drunk, and grapping a nearby girl — in front of the whole Hall. Gods knew if Rosaline saw it, she'd really go mad. All her hard work only for the King to do that.
Instead, Rosaline and Robb laughed, their stomachs almost lurching at a joke someone made. As Robb continued conversation with the guests around them, Rosaline had a sip of her wine. But as she did, she spotted a man clad in all black walk into the hall, with brown hair ending at his shoulders and a faint beard.
She lit up in surprise before grabbing Robb's arm. He looked at her as she pointed at the man. "Robb, it's Uncle Ben!" she said before he looked in the direction to find their father's younger brother.
"Good Gods," he murmured before smiling. He then looked back at Rosaline. "You go say hello. I'll finish this conversation and join you."
"Okay," Rosaline murmured before she was quick to her feet, hurrying over to her Uncle Benjen as he walked up to her father. They seemed to be having a serious conversation but dropped it once Rosaline approached.
"Rosaline...?" Uncle Benjen questioned and the girl smiled, nodding. The Uncle and niece quickly hugged before parting. The girl continued to smile as he said, "You have grown! How old are you now?"
"Fifteen, Uncle Benjen," Rosaline told him right before Robb approached them.
"Uncle Benjen," Robb grinned.
"Robby boy!" Uncle Benjen almost gasped before the two tightly hugged as well. "How are you?"
"I'm good," said Robb as they parted, both him and Rosaline smiling at him. That is until one of the Queen's lady-in-waiting's hurried over, whispering in Rosaline's ear.
Her expression completely changed before nodding at the woman. She smiled before hurrying elsewhere.
Rosaline then placed her eyes on her father, uncle and brother, who all stared at her intrigued. She heavily eyed them, gulping nervously before saying, "The Queen wants to see me..."
"Seven hells," Uncle Benjen murmured.
Ned rolled his eyes before placing a stern look on his daughter. "She will ask why you're not married yet," he was certain, and Rosaline suddenly stared nervously. "Do not answer her. It is not her business."
Rosaline nodded before she turned and approached the table Queen Cersei and Lady Catelyn sat. But when she spotted Sansa heading towards the table as well, Rosaline quickened her pace. Clearly, the Queen wanted to know the business of both girls.
Rosaline and Sansa arrived at the table together, and when they did, Sansa smiled shyly at Queen Cersei. "Hello, Little Dove," the Queen smiled. "You are a beauty. How old are you?"
"Thirteen, Your Grace," Sansa quietly said.
"You're tall," said Queen Cersei. "Still growing?"
"I think so, Your Grace," Sansa told her.
"And have you bled yet?" asked Queen Cersei.
Rosaline gazed at the Queen uncomfortably, stunned at the abrupt question. She blinked madly as she gently took her sister's hand, who instantly squeezed it in assurance.
Sansa held brief eye contact with their mother, who was just as uncomfortable before nodding her head. Rosaline lined her lips as Sansa told the Queen, "No... Your Grace..."
The awkward silence only lasted a moment before Queen Cersei continued. "And your dress. Did you make it?"
Sansa nodded, her beaming smile returning.
"Such talent," Queen Cersei grinned. "You must make something for me."
Sansa beamed brightly and Rosalie slightly smiled before lightly tapping Sansa's hand. The redhead looked up at her and Rosaline quietly said, "Go back with your friends. Finish your meal, please and thank you."
Sansa nodded before she released her hand from Rosaline's and departed from the table, heading to her seat with her friends. Rosaline quickly gathered herself, waiting for the Queen to address her.
"You're so good with her," and Rosaline placed her eyes on the Queen. "Do you bear any?"
Rosaline stared at her stunned before hesitantly shaking her head. "No, Your Grace," she said. "I am only fifteen."
"And your Aunt was only fourteen when she and my husband were betrothed," said Queen Cersei, but it almost sounded cold and bitter.
Rosaline awkwardly lined her lips as she glanced at her mother, who held the same awkward expression.
"Fifteen and unmarried?" Queen Cersei questioned as Rosaline placed her eyes back on her. The Queen sighed, shaking her head before continuing, "Well, you have a gift with children. You'd make a wonderful mother one day."
Rosaline only smiled before saying, "Gods willing."
She then curtsied before awkwardly heading back to her seat, where Robb was waiting for her, immediately interested to know what the Queen wanted.
First, Rosaline downed the rest of her wine and quietly told her brother, "I think... she judges our father..."
"You must be more specific than that, Rosie," said Robb, almost chuckling.
"Fifteen and unmarried, she said," said Rosaline. "She was so surprised father had yet to marry me off yet."
"Father would never force us to marry," Robb told her.
"But Sansa could marry Prince Joffrey—"
"Because the King wants it. One can't exactly say no to the King," Robb told her and Rosaline softly smiled. "Do not worry about the Queen. She may have birthed three Baratheons, but she is still a Lannister. All they do is judge, kill, and fuck their way to the top."
Rosaline nodded, trying to push her marital status to the back of her head as Robb smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the side of her head. She smiled softly before they faced forward again, eating and drinking.
Until they spotted Prince Joffrey and Sansa eyeing each other again from across the room, smiling contently. Sansa seemed impressed with herself before turning to her friends again. But Rosaline and Robb gazed at Prince Joffrey with contempt.
"Have you noticed that since the Prince got here, he's been bossing everyone around as if he owns the place," Rosaline quietly told her brother, fearing the Queen or someone else would hear.
"Well, he technically does," Robb told her.
"No, his father does," Rosaline corrected and Robb smiled in amusement. "If you ask me — and don't you dare repeat what I say because I will deny it — he should be smacked around the ears more often."
Robb scoffed, staring at her surprised. "Rosie!" he said.
"Don't you dare repeat it," Rosaline sternly ordered.
He laughed before shaking his head. "Well, don't you let Sansa hear you say that. You know how fond she is of the prince," Robb told her.
"Oh, I know," murmured Rosaline. "She would not stop talking about him as mother braided her hair."
A servant strolled by and refilled Rosaline's cup. The girl thanked her before she took another sip of it.
"Sansa believes I approve this potential alliance," Rosaline told her brother. "I entertain her wants as well as Arya's. They're still little girls. I want them to feel supported and comfortable so if they ever need help, they always know they can come to me."
"And what about you?" asked Robb, staring at her as Rosaline kept her eyes on her siblings.
"What about me?" she asked.
"Who will support you and entertain your wants," said Robb and Rosaline turned to him, tilting her head confused. "Who would you go to if you were in trouble?"
Rosaline blinked, before hesitatingly saying, "Mother, of course."
"And if Mother can't?"
"My big brother, Robert Stark, of course," Rosaline grinned and Robb laughed before nudging her hair. To which she almost screamed. "You'll ruin the braids, Robb."
"Oh, shut it, Rosie—"
"They took me four hours to do, Robb—"
"ARYA!"
Instantly, Rosaline and Robb glanced down at the end of the table to find that Arya had flipped food at Sansa, it hitting her cheek and dress. Rosaline gasped as Robb began laughing.
Arya scooped up more food into her spoon, prepared to do it again while Sansa's friends cleaned the food off her face. Boys from other tables were laughing loudly and the redhead cried, beaming in embarrassment, "It's not funny!"
At once, Rosaline and Robb both glanced back at their mother, one stunned while the other continued to laugh. Until their mother shot them stern looks and they cowered down.
The two eldest siblings shot up from their spots and headed off. Robb walked up to Arya, telling her it was time for bed as he picked her up from the table. While Rosaline ran over to Sansa, instantly bending down as Sansa turned her way, tears running down her pale face.
"Come on, it's okay," Rosaline assured her, taking a napkin off the table and wiped the food off her face.
"It got on my dress, too!" Sansa cried.
"It's okay, we can clean it," Rosaline told her before wiping away the girl's tears. "Come on, let's get you cleaned."
Sansa nodded before shakily standing up, Rosaline's hands instantly on her shoulders. But as they passed by the boys who laughed, and continued to laugh, Rosaline shot them a hard, deadly glare and they immediately cowered down.
༺ ♔ ༻
——— ONLY A FEW DAYS HAD PASSED since the ceremony and to absolutely no one's surprise — but Daenerys's dread — the wedding of Khal Drogo and Daenerys Targaryen was upon them. Music was playing and the guests — Dothraki and Pentoshi alike — were all dancing and enjoying themselves.
Khal Drogo and Daenerys were seated before everyone, in their place of honor while Daeron, Viserys, and Illyrio Mopatis sat off to the sidelines, along with The Khal's bloodriders.
Daeron had silently been sitting with his brother, watching all the — odd — dancing when a guest approached Khal Drogo and Daenerys, presenting his gift to the newly weds. He respectfully bowed before them and as he did, a Bloodrider took the gift, placing it with the others.
Other guests brought their gifts.
Khal Drogo observed the celebration emotionlessly.
Daenerys was uncomfortable with the entire atmosphere.
Viserys observed the celebration, almost bored. And impatient.
And Daeron was lucky enough to bear his brother's complaints. "When do I meet with the Khal?" he asked Illyrio Mopatis. "We need to begin planning the invasion."
"If Khal Drogo has promised you a crown, you shall have it," Illyrio Mopatis told him.
"When?" asked Viserys.
"When their omens favor war," said Illyrio Mopatis.
Viserys rolled his eyes annoyed. "I piss on Dothraki omens," he muttered and Daeron shook his head annoyed. "I waited fifteen years to get my throne back."
Suddenly, Daeron's attention was pulled onto the celebration, staring oddly when he saw a Dothraki man having sex with a female out in the open, for everyone to see. That is until a Dothraki male saw this and shoved the first one out of the way, before he too had sex will the female.
Daeron narrowed his eyes, finding what they were doing very odd and confusing. And one thing he could agree with his brother on is that he thought it, too.
The first male came back and pulled the second away from the woman, and in just seconds, the two men began fighting.
Daeron straightened up, finding it odd how men could get into a fight so easily over a woman. A crowd quickly gathered around, cheering as they fought. But the cheering became louder when the two men pulled out bladed weapons.
After a few blows, the first man came up on top, killing the second one by slicing his abdomen open. Everyone around them seemed pleased, cheering loudly but Daeron and Viserys were both shocked. Even Illyrio Mopatis was clapping.
"A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair," Illyrio Mopatis told the two Princes.
Viserys suddenly seemed amused while Daeron was clearly confused. He did not remember reading anything about that in all the books about the Dothraki. He couldn't believe he must have missed something—
"You must not be so uptight, brother," said Viserys, and Daeron turned to him. "You have your nose stuck in so many books, you must live there. You should relax, not worry. Leave that to me. Big brother will take care of everything. You shall indulge in more... enjoyable pleasure..."
Daeron narrowed his eyes at him, knowing what he was referring to. He had been a bit preoccupied with worrying about survival to even think about such things. But besides that—
"I'm only fifteen," Daeron told his brother.
Viserys sighed annoyed, about to reply when he spotted a man approaching Khal Drogo and Daenerys. In Westerosi knight garments.
He nudged his little brother's arm, and Daeron glanced in the direction Viserys was looking, spotting the man as well. And he instantly panicked, until Viserys told him, "Big brother will take care of everything. Don't worry..."
Sometimes, Viserys seemed like he was decent and not an evil twat who abused Daeron and Daenerys their whole lives. Daeron had been fooled so many times by his brother. He barely trusted him anymore.
"Come, Jorah the Andal," Daeron heard Khal Drogo say in Dothraki.
The man greeted Khal Drogo back in Dothraki before he approached Daenerys, holding a small stack of books.
"A small gift for the new Khaleesi," the man said. "Songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms."
He handed the stack of books to Daenerys, who gently took them from him. "Thank you, Ser," she softly said. "Are you from my country?"
"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. I served your father for many years. Gods be good..." Ser Jorah glanced back at the curiously intrigued Daeron and Viserys, "...I hope to always serve the rightful King."
"I won't forget that once I claim the throne, Ser Jorah," Viserys told him.
"Ser Jorah Mormont?" questioned Daeron and Ser Jorah nodded. "You're the exiled knight from Westeros. Fleeing from Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."
Ser Jorah lightly nodded before saying, "You've heard right, my Prince."
He then stepped down from the steps, facing Daeron and his brother. "The Mormonts have faithfully served the Targaryens for generations, Your Grace. My grandfather, Jasper Mormont, was even a member of your grandfather Aegon's Kingsguard."
"That he was," said Viserys. "Wasn't Jasper Mormont also known as the Great Bear?"
"Aye, he was," Ser Jorah told him.
"He sounds like he was an interesting man," said Daeron and Ser Jorah smiled at him.
He stepped off to the side as Illyrio Mopatis waved a pair of servants carrying a large chest towards them. Daeron eyed it intrigued as they placed it before Daenerys. The servants opened the chest, and to Daeron's surprise and awe, the contents inside were three petrified dragon eggs.
Daeron glanced up at his sister's reaction to find a small smile over her. She gently took one of them out to admire it as Illyrio Mopatis said, "Dragons' eggs, Daenerys, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful."
"Thank you, Magister," Daenerys kindly said, continuing to gaze at the egg for a moment before setting it back into the chest.
Abruptly, Khal Drogo stood up and began to make his way through the crowd. Daeron stood from this, keeping his eyes on his sister, nerves filling him up.
Daenerys shakily stood and timidly followed after her husband. And as she went, all the other khalasar members stood to get a good look at her as she made her way through the crowd.
Daeron gently pushed his way through the back, Viserys following him and once they got around the crowd, their sister was already mounted on a gorgeous white horse. Her wedding present from Khal Drogo. He had mounted a horse as well, one right next to her.
Once the brothers approached, Daeron watched in irritation as Viserys grabbed a part of Daenerys's dress. And without looking at her, he said, "Make him happy."
Daenerys glanced down at him, seemingly unsure before placing her eyes on Daeron. His brows were furrowed, not sure either. But there was nothing he could do to help his sister, and what she would endure next.
He simply just left her with, "Zaldrīzoti kostagon't zālagon, Mandia."
Daenerys only nodded before Khal Drogo rode off, with Daenerys following after him. Viserys gazed at his brother annoyed while Daeron watched his sister go, a dull look over him.
Dragons can't burn, Sister.