"𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 - 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘦? 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦"
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, Lady Rosaline Stark and Prince Daeron Targaryen spent several years never crossing paths, never knowing how deep love can ac...
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—— " dragons can't burn, brother " —— ༺ ♔ ༻
——— ONCE NIGHT FELL was when the news of Khal Drogo's death spread across the abandoned Dothraki camp. When Daeron found his sister, she was weeping over the Khal's still warm body inside their tent. He couldn't even begin to imagine how she felt. First her son, now her husband.
However, Daeron also noticed a chest next to her. The chest of the three dragon eggs. She was clutching onto one of them as she cried. Odd...
Daenerys could sense her brother before he got close enough, and managed to glance up at him through her tears. Daeron's lips pursed before slowly kneeling down next to her, gazing right into her distraught violet eyes.
"What can I do?" he asked.
She stared at him a moment, a shuddering fit before she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Whispered everything she needed. Everything she needed prepared. And why.
However when Daeron stared at her shocked, she just simply smiled at him. "Zaldrīzoti kostagon't zālagon, Valonqar."
That one phrase in High Valyrian, that only the last Targaryen siblings could understand, assured Daeron more than he thought. He knew everything would be okay.
Dragons can't burn, Brother.
Daeron gathered the last remaining Dothrakis and quickly got to work, helping his sister get what she needed for this night. For this ritual. For this execution. For everything.
The land was red and dead and parched, and good wood was hard to come by. Daenerys's foragers returned with gnarled cottonwoods, purple brush, sheaves of brown grass. They took the two straightest trees, hacked the limbs and branches from them, skinned off their bark, and split them, laying the logs in a square. It's center they filled with straw, brush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass. Rakharo chose a stallion from the small herd that remained to them; he was not the equal of Khal Drogo's red, but few horses were. In the center of the square, a Dothraki named Aggo fed him with a withered apple and dropped him in an instant with an axe blow between the eyes.
Daeron had finished bounding Mirri Maz Duur, when the witch spoke to him. "It is not enough to kill a horse," and Daeron glanced at her. "By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child's ignorance. Whatever your sister means to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help her."
"Rakharo," Daeron called and the Dothraki boy approached the Prince, glancing between him and Mirri. "I am tired of the maegi's braying."
As soon as Rakharo took his whip out, the godswife faltered into silence. Daeron smirked at the witch grimly before he walked off with Rakharo.
