#&&. ship | drogo + loki | the following of heart | storiesofwildfire

[vorsakhal]

♞ |  @storiesofwildfire​ asked: ❛  they’re chasing us hard. because we represent everything that they fear.  ❜

                                        》 memes are open!

It had opened a wound not yet closed to ask. Though he looked down on no gift from the Stallion his people were not deigned to accept it in silence. Loki and the Godling had come from the skies to them for reason and as he sat beside the child it was becoming clearer that the war of their world was not what called them. They were running towards freedom and stumbled into a place they would help, it was design but not intention. 

The boy spoke of a golden clad killer. A city among the beynd that wished to cut the hooves from under them and have his mother forced to kneel. Their night land was not a safe place for the Gods any longer and so they looked to mortality to grow their strength. But the stories were told through the eyes of a child, Godling or not and the way he shook in fear meant little detail was given for the Dothraki to know the battle that would face them. 

The Goddess sat beside him at the heat of their fire as his people danced outside. Rolling in the dust, boisterous and proud but awake even past the moon rise, calling to her for strength amidst their guarding of Sleipnir. She was softer today. His people had learnt to expect her in many forms, unbound by one and always reflecting the heavens. At times Loki came to them a father, fury in his hands seeking the surety of his child, other times they could not tell where preferences lie and cared not to ask. As long as Loki’s strength carried them to victory it mattered little what they chose to fuck as. 

A shock to some but Drogo had watched in amusement as his men had either kept hands to themselves or lost them in sacrifice to inhuman blades. Oh but she was a sight in her punishment, he made little move to protect them. Fools who pick a fight they cannot win die warriors or cowards. 

Now she sat beside him shoulders heavy from war and reaching for the drink he offered to bolster her. Their days were long but it had been time since she last arrived, whatever it was that Loki found rebellion towards it had been harrowing yet she was with them now, alive, winning. He was proud for that. 

 Athrokhar ha those fin know mori hash ray lei tikh ki the ray driv.   

Little comfort it would bring but he offered it all the same. Bringing a large hand to squeeze surprisingly gentle at her shoulder. She carried wounds and bruises enough already, visible or not. It was not his place to harm his Goddess further. 

A father was the answer. Pollution of the seed. He feared Loki and what they would bring and as all unworthy kings did he looked to the children to slaughter. As the other confessed their parents treachery Drogo was reminded of those beyond the Dothraki sea that dabbled in words and lies for they held little power with a sword. 

Past the seas they had come for their fathers sight could not reach them. Loki, at least, had something of an ally at their back. Warriors small but powerful who gave shielding when she was in need and against the odds of their stars she had stolen Sleipnir away so that he might grow strong enough to withstand what may come later.

They would not do it alone. This Odin may come to their land but he would reap only what he sowed. The Dothraki died in no silence, even to Gods. Their Stallion would grant them the wind and land, they would die for both of them if need be. Tonight was not the night for it and he saw the look of worry. A mothers heart, soft and kind - she did not wish for their people to die in her name yet it was the way of their world. It would be an honor, they would be rewarded in the night lands and in their living. 

Drogo is careful as he stands, drawing closed the tent about them to cut away the sight of her worry, letting muffled quiet fall about them until little was left but the flickered light of the walls and the heat of his hand as it curls about her jaw and draws those eyes towards him instead. 

Mori ajjin. Ha ajjalan yeri hash us ma loy. Kisha zohhe  yeri akkate sandi. 

The promise is given freely, dragging a battle warn thumb over softer skin. Loki needed rest as much as the boy did, a place of strength to draw from where a thousand blades would fight nightmares that chased them. Loki may not need it but a Khalasar was one, not many, and what was an enemy to one was an enemy to all of them. 

Athchilar ma anna. Yeri ma ned mithri.