#my sun and stars [vezhave];

[zhavorsamayes]

Khal Drogo was dying. The farther they rode, the further his great body slumped toward the neck of his stallion. Daenerys could sense the eyes of their khalasar behind them, waiting in concern, expectancy, and, some, in greed. He would fall soon enough, that was inevitable, but Daenerys prayed silently to any god that might listen—to the Great Stallion himself—that her husband might hold on a while longer. Make it to sunfall, my beloved, she thought. Make it just until we rest for camp.

He did not.

"My lord...?" Daenerys' thighs tightened around her mount as Drogo's head lolled. Her breath shortened. "My sun and stars?"

His body began to list—

"Drogo."

—and he fell as an oak from his horse. Daenerys' heart lurched after him.

In moments she had dismounted and sank to his side. She touched his sweat-coated forehead, his jaw, subtly felt for the beat of his heart. His pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips, weak, but there. Still, the khalasar would not be pleased.

"He fell from his horse," Qotho, she knew without looking. He had been watching Drogo like a hawk since their journey began that morning. "A khal who cannot ride is no khal."

In other words: he would be left behind where death would surely find him.

"He's tired, that's all." Daenerys was surprised by how easily the hope (the lie?) came from her mouth. She must be strong enough for the khalasar, for Drogo, if she wished to hold them together. "He needs to rest."

The khalasar was catching up. Their horses pawed impatiently at the earth and Daenerys could hear the riders' mumbling. She needed to act now to save his life.

"We've ridden far enough today." Daenerys willed herself to speak with authority. "We will camp here."

@zhavorsamayes || unplotted

The fever burned through him, as hot as any fire. It felt as if his skin was trying to melt from his bones while those same bones seemed to be turned to lead. Sweat beaded along his skin and his hazy mind was consumed only by one thought: keep riding. He had to keep riding. He was a khal, and a khal who could not ride would be left behind.     Somewhere, dim and hazy, came a soft voice in the distance. He could make no sense of it, and barely registered it. He swayed dangerously in his saddle. The reins slipped from his weak fingers and the soft voice came again, even fainter than before. The sun beat down on him and pain coursed from his shoulder with each dull beat of his heart.     “Drogo.”     The voice of his khaleesi. He muttered indistinctly and, without pomp or ceremony, the strength left him. He listed to one side with the sway of his mount and fell from his saddle, too weak to attempt to catch himself. A shock of pain rattled him as he hit the hard ground and he moaned deliriously, only dimly aware of the sound of footsteps and hoofbeats. The world spun around him.       Then, she was there. Her silvery white hair rippled in his fuzzy vision and a hand lay on his right shoulder. He shifted weakly where he lay, mumbling for his horse as two strong hands took his shaking left hand. He just barely recognized Cohollo, his oldest and most loyal friend.     Without strength, he attempted to rise. Daenerys’ soft hand pressed him down, stronger than he'd have imagined.     “No,” he slurred. “I need to ride.”

—

    “He fell from his horse,” Qotho observed from astride his own mount, chin held high. “A khal who cannot ride is no khal.” 

[zhavorsamayes]

It was true that there was no warrior more fearsome than the great Khal Drogo, a tall, solid mountain even among his own people, but it was true, too, that he was actually quite affectionate.

"My sun and stars," she answered, low and sweet against his lips. He was like a wild stallion who swung his head and bit at any hand who neared, but would soften at the chuff of his chosen mare, or the hand of his bonded rider. Daenerys often believed that she was both—Drogo might own her as his wife, but it was she who commanded him.

Well. In the ways that mattered.

Daenerys stepped around him to sit easily against his lap. She had come fresh from a bath, her hair soft, scented with sweet oils, and still slightly damp from its wash. Her slaves had adorned her braids with silver rings and little gems crafted from the Dothraki's latest spoils. The jewellery glittered like tiny crescent moons nesting in the white waves of her hair.

Her head dipped to kiss him once more, first pecking the middle of his brow, to the bridge of his nose, to the tip. It was a sweet gesture, incongruous with the fire burning inside of her the moment he returned with his bloodriders that night. He had been gone only for two nights and yet to Daenerys it had felt like weeks. Not once had she stopped thinking of him, her husband.

One pale thigh peeked out from her dress as she adjusted, bracketing his legs with hers, the fabric of her skirt rucking between them. Her breath quieted.

"I missed you, my lord."

"Quiet now," gently, but not without a rare touch of mischief. "Let your khaleesi speak." 💋

Shut Up Kisses

He softened, his eyes dancing as he saw the mischief in hers. Love burned inside of him and he leaned in to give her another peck, before turning his head in permission. "My lady."

[zhavorsamayes]

Sweat beaded across Daenerys' brow and her jaw set tight as the cart bounced along. She did her best to keep her discomfort from showing, but as the weeks drew closer to Rhaego's birth, the more effort it took to remain stoic and the less she cared about hiding it. She was a khaleesi, and if any man dared to judge her for a pain they would never feel, then perhaps she would have them carry a heavy saddle in their arms from dawn to daybreak in this terrible heat. It would scarcely mirror even a fraction of her suffering, but at least they might understand some of the exhaustion.

"Yes, my lord," Daenerys said, wincing. Both hands where splayed over her belly, cradling some of Rhaego's weight. She could feel him kick. "Our son is excited today. Directly against my ribcage." Gods, she never had any doubts that Rhaego had the fire of dragons in his veins, but now she knew it for certain. "The way he kicks, I believe he will be ready to mount his first horse the moment he's born."

@zhavorsamayes || pregnant!dany for our sanity

He rode close to her cart, as he had every day as the day grew closer. His eyes, full of love and concern, flicked to her often, and always watched when there was a particular roughness in the road. With a touch of his heel, he brought his stallion close to the cart as she moaned. "Are you well, moon of my life?"

[zhavorsamayes]

          Had anyone told Daenerys that she would one day find comfort in the rumble of Khal Drogo's voice, she would have called them a fool and laughed through her tears. She would have sworn her unhappiness and told them that the nomadic life of the Dothraki was no home of hers (would never be, not like this), but that Daenerys was gone. No longer was she the same girl who trembled in the khal's fearsome presence, or cowered at her brother's hand. She had vowed on her marriage bed that she would not break no matter how cruel her fate, so she didn't. She bent to the winds of change, held her chin high, and learnt to grow as tall and stubborn as ghost grass in the Dothraki Sea. If Viserys wanted her to make Drogo happy, then she would make him happy, and more. She would become worthy of the title khaleesi.

          "My sun and stars." Daenerys met her husband's gaze steadily. He was as ferocious as he was strong, but in the privacy of their tent, he was gentle. These softly spoken words, the calloused hands that held her face so tenderly... these were his secrets that he shared with her and only her. "You're unable to sleep?"

@zhavorsamayes

"Moon of my life..."

[zhavorsamayes]

Not once did Daenerys leave Drogo's side. She stayed by him, soothing him with gentle caresses and softly spoken promises that he would soon ride again. Ser Jorah did not believe her, she could sense it in the way he hovered by them, in his furrowed looks. But he did not know Khal Drogo as she did. He could not possibly understand just how strong her husband was.

"Hold on a little while longer, my sun," Daenerys whispered against Drogo's temple. "You must be strong. As strong as you always have been and as strong as I know you still are."

Come back to me, my love.

The woman called Rafa could not have come soon enough. Reluctant and never straying more than an arm's length, Daenerys drew from Drogo so he could be carried out of the sun and into the shade of his tent. She waited, kneeling at her husband's side, as Rafa inspected him. When the woman peeled back the pad of poultice and grasses, the sight of the festering wound made Daenerys' stomach clench with disgust and fear in equal measure, but she did not look away. Would not. Drogo was her khal, and she was the khaleesi of his khalasar. She must be strong for them, and for Drogo; anything less would be a disservice to her husband and to the pride she had found in her title.

...And yet she worried. The stench of death was stronger than ever. Bile rose up her throat and her jaw set tightly.

"Then remove the dressing and do something that will help him," Daenerys demanded. "He is strong, and he will not die. I won't let him." Indigo eyes flashed between Rafa and the sweat on Drogo's brow. He looked so pale now. How had the flush of life faded from him so quickly? "Whatever is needed to bring Khal Drogo back to me, you will have it. Whatever herb, I will have my maidens fetch it. Whatever medicines, I will send the fastest man out on the fastest horse to find it. Whatever I must do in order to ensure he lives, I will do it. I will have nothing stand in the way of saving his life, Rafa. You only need tell me what is needed to make it so."

A little tongue of anger burned low in Daenerys' chest at Qotho's disrespect. It was the Dothraki way, but there were many things that she simply could not abide, and this vulture was quickly becoming one of them. If Drogo made it— No, when he made it, she would ensure that he knew of Qotho's thirst for power and that Qotho would not soon forget his folly.

"Khaleesi."

Her attention turned to Drogo's most trusted bloodrider, Cohollo, and the irritated crease in her brow softened. He told her of Rafa and Daenerys knew that this slave might be their only hope. Drogo's face was pallid with sickness and smelled of disease. They did not have much time.

"Then send someone for Rafa. Immediately," she commanded, knowing Drogo would not make another step. Any more exertion and she feared that there wouldn't soon be a reason to call for anyone. "We will camp here and wait until she arrives."

Daenerys cast around to the khalasar as if waiting for someone to defy her but the steadiness in her voice and fire in her gaze brokered no argument.

[zhavorsamayes]

A little tongue of anger burned low in Daenerys' chest at Qotho's disrespect. It was the Dothraki way, but there were many things that she simply could not abide, and this vulture was quickly becoming one of them. If Drogo made it— No, when he made it, she would ensure that he knew of Qotho's thirst for power and that Qotho would not soon forget his folly.

"Khaleesi."

Her attention turned to Drogo's most trusted bloodrider, Cohollo, and the irritated crease in her brow softened. He told her of Rafa and Daenerys knew that this slave might be their only hope. Drogo's face was pallid with sickness and smelled of disease. They did not have much time.

"Then send someone for Rafa. Immediately," she commanded, knowing Drogo would not make another step. Any more exertion and she feared that there wouldn't soon be a reason to call for anyone. "We will camp here and wait until she arrives."

Daenerys cast around to the khalasar as if waiting for someone to defy her but the steadiness in her voice and fire in her gaze brokered no argument.

Khal Drogo was dying. The farther they rode, the further his great body slumped toward the neck of his stallion. Daenerys could sense the eyes of their khalasar behind them, waiting in concern, expectancy, and, some, in greed. He would fall soon enough, that was inevitable, but Daenerys prayed silently to any god that might listen—to the Great Stallion himself—that her husband might hold on a while longer. Make it to sunfall, my beloved, she thought. Make it just until we rest for camp.

He did not.

"My lord...?" Daenerys' thighs tightened around her mount as Drogo's head lolled. Her breath shortened. "My sun and stars?"

His body began to list—

"Drogo."

—and he fell as an oak from his horse. Daenerys' heart lurched after him.

In moments she had dismounted and sank to his side. She touched his sweat-coated forehead, his jaw, subtly felt for the beat of his heart. His pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips, weak, but there. Still, the khalasar would not be pleased.

"He fell from his horse," Qotho, she knew without looking. He had been watching Drogo like a hawk since their journey began that morning. "A khal who cannot ride is no khal."

In other words: he would be left behind where death would surely find him.

"He's tired, that's all." Daenerys was surprised by how easily the hope (the lie?) came from her mouth. She must be strong enough for the khalasar, for Drogo, if she wished to hold them together. "He needs to rest."

The khalasar was catching up. Their horses pawed impatiently at the earth and Daenerys could hear the riders' mumbling. She needed to act now to save his life.

"We've ridden far enough today." Daenerys willed herself to speak with authority. "We will camp here."

[zhavorsamayes]

She caught the backs of his wrists and caressed him in each hand. Vulnerability was not an easy thing for a Dothraki man, and among the plotting and scheming of such a large khalasar, it could mean a death sentence for a khal. So, in these rare moments when Drogo opened himself to her, she made certain that all of her attention was keenly set on him. The trust given for a khal to admit something as human as worry was a gift greater than any fine stallion.

"What troubles you, my lord?" Daenerys whispered back. She brushed a thumb over his scarred brow as if she expected to smooth away the worries there with her touch alone. "The khalasar is strong, our son is healthy and growing, soon to come..." She smiled, sparing a glance between them and the precious child she bore. "What could worry you so?"

          Had anyone told Daenerys that she would one day find comfort in the rumble of Khal Drogo's voice, she would have called them a fool and laughed through her tears. She would have sworn her unhappiness and told them that the nomadic life of the Dothraki was no home of hers (would never be, not like this), but that Daenerys was gone. No longer was she the same girl who trembled in the khal's fearsome presence, or cowered at her brother's hand. She had vowed on her marriage bed that she would not break no matter how cruel her fate, so she didn't. She bent to the winds of change, held her chin high, and learnt to grow as tall and stubborn as ghost grass in the Dothraki Sea. If Viserys wanted her to make Drogo happy, then she would make him happy, and more. She would become worthy of the title khaleesi.

          "My sun and stars." Daenerys met her husband's gaze steadily. He was as ferocious as he was strong, but in the privacy of their tent, he was gentle. These softly spoken words, the calloused hands that held her face so tenderly... these were his secrets that he shared with her and only her. "You're unable to sleep?"