There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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They had been riding hard for days; the mare that sat between her legs aching at her thighs as a weight took to her back, making her fall forward slightly against the beast beneath her legs. Drogo glanced over to her, checking she was okay and Rhaenar would nod, gritting her teeth and baring the hard ride. A Khaleesi had to be as strong as her Khal, and they both had to ride; if they couldn't ride, they couldn't lead. But it was rough, the pain swimming in the indigo as soon as Khal Drogo remained to face forward.
The heat was getting to her, the lack of tasteful food, and chances to rest coming few and far between from when they had set off in Pentos. Her shoulders slumped slightly, glancing back to Jorah who muttered something to the Khal and pulled her aside.
She paused as she watched the streams of Dothraki ride past, her eyes heavy. "You need to drink child." Jorah said, riding close to her. "And eat." He passed her meat from his bag, her eyes falling on it in her hand.
Her stomach turned at the sheer thought of it, at placing the meat in her mouth as her head shook. Rhaenar couldn't. "Isn't there anything else, Ser Jorah? As much as I love the Dothraki's culture I don't believe I can stomach any more of it."
Jorah chuckled lightly. "The Dothraki have two things in abundance - grass and horses. People can't live on grass." Tentatively she reached out for it; Jorah placing it in her hand as she bit into the meat, the flesh tough between her teeth. It tasted of salt, bitter to the tongue but enough to sustain her until whenever they could rest. "In the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are fields of ghost grass with stalks as pale as milk that glow in the night. It murders all other grass. The Dothraki believe that one day it will cover everything - that's the way the world will end."
Rhaenar thought for a moment, unsure on what the meaning of that was as she eyed her people. What must they have thought on her? A foreign woman marrying their Khal? She knew some of the women didn't like her; it was a great honour to marry the Khal and only though who had done great things should be married to him and she hadn't done anything. Rhaenar had bargained with her sister, sustained the abuse of her brother, and kept a smile on her face for years despite it having no real reason for it to be there. But that wasn't strength to the Dothraki, they valued physical over mental.
She watched Khal Drogo ride past, his back straight but his posture relaxed as he eased the horse. He was born for this, born to be a Great Khal that many looked up to. How could she stand to be beside him? She was nothing but a Westerosi bastard with a name. They didn't favour that, they favoured strength.
