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...
Moro is now Pono and the Dothraki scenes will probably be very quick.
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Rhaenar didn't know how far Leirion had flown her from Meereen, and really, she cared very little. All she knew was the grassy mountains that surrounded her and the cool wind that swept within the strands of raggedy white. Her insides were numb, her heart surely dead but it hadn't mattered to the Dothraki that had circled her, dragging her along with her horde.
She had come to be chained to one of the Bloodriders, the two oblivious that she could even understand Dothraki as they pulled her along, whipping her when she stumbled. They'd been at it for days now, walking wherever they wanted to go, the Khalasar surrounding them. They chose not to paint themselves in a colour, they didn't even give a reference to who their Khal was so she doubted that he was even with them. But, then again, she could be wrong. This Khalasar might work differently to others, the bloodriders not as close.
Rhaenar's thighs chaffed, her feet blistered from walking for so long as the hot sun was relentless. Her boot caught in a rock, her ankle twisting. The Dothraki member noticed, his whip slamming into her back. The pain stung at her skin, rippling across her shoulders as she hissed. Gods, she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. Rhaenar's head turned, shooting him a glare, the pair only laughing at her. She was outnumbered. "Maybe she saw a ghost." The one who had her chained uttered, the laughter still in his voice. "My friend's mother saw a ghost and her hair turned white."
Rhaenar bit down on her tongue, keeping her eyes forward on the dirt track, dust threatening her eyes. "Pink people are afraid of the Sun.It burns their skin. This one stands too long in the sun and her hair goes white." It was an odd theory, but it wasn't why her hair was white.
"You think she's got white pussy hair too?" Gods. "You ever been with a girl with white pussy hair?" They weren't about to find out.
"Only when I was fucking your grandma." The first one laughed, puckering his lips before making kissing sounds.
Rhaenar turned, shooting a glare over her shoulder at him. "I'll ask Khal Moro for a night with you. What do you think?" She thinks she's going to shove her boot up his ass if he didn't stop talking about her like a piece of meat.
"Pretty eyes, but she's an idiot." The so called pretty eyes flickered to the other one. She would memorise their faces so they can pay for that later. They had to be fairly young from their faces, their bodies athletic and not a wrinkle upon their olive skin. The one who called her an idiot has a sense of Rakharo to him, the same curling strands that hung around his ears and the similar fashion of a weaved tunic. The other one however, was full of a young Drogo. A widows peak with a long, black braid; and a thick beard that clung to his face; the same dark eyes that acted daringly as they looked at anyone.
