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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,539Kudos:6,021Bookmarks:1,661Hits:467,442
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 58: Cheval
Summary:
✨Happy new year! ✨
Chapter Text
Daenerys did not head directly back to Meereen after leaving Qarth.
Instead she and Ghidorah headed across the Dothraki sea, flying over great stretches of shimmering grass that rippled like tides in the ocean. Heading northward, to Vaes Dothrak. It would be at the time the khals would group to the city, the Khalar Vezhven, to discuss which cities they would sack and which tribes and villages they would enslave in the turning year. And to offer their gifts to the Dosh Khaleen, while bringing back their conquered idols to join the thousands of others upon the godsway.
The Dothraki were the backbone of the slave trade of Essos; each and every khalasar housed thousands of slaves and they lived as locusts. Sweeping across the land, leaving death and destruction in their wake as they devoured everything in sight. She was no fool girl anymore, she would have to break the horselords if she had any chance of keeping her children free. For all the Dothraki spoke of not comprehending the business of buying and selling, they certainly kept the blood of the slave trade flowing strong.
There was also the fact they would need to corral more of the great wild horse herds within the Dothraki sea- they would need all the food they could get in the coming Long Night, and as much as she was tired of horse jerky and salted meat it was better than starving. Having to fend off the hundreds of khalasars across the Great Grass Sea would waste time, energy and people. No, she would have to be more direct. It was the way of the horselords, after all.
Ghidorah landed within the Dothraki sea when they neared Vaes Dothrak and Daenerys took the time to change, safely stowing away her armour, firewyrm skin and sword. Even her diadem and dagger were tucked into the saddlebags, while she changed into more plain practical clothing of a tunic and riding trousers of black with crimson stitching, along with a pair of hard leather boots. She could smell the rich scents of grass and earth, the wind brushing through her hair, reminding her of the long weeks she spent upon her silver with Khal Drogo. She would have to speak to the khals- even if she knew it would be a useless endeavour -and she was not about to let her treasures fall into their hands.
She had a plan in mind, all fire and blood.
Daenerys let herself be captured by a passing khalasar, on its way to Vaes Dothrak with Ghidorah keeping himself hidden high above in the clear blue sky. She spoke plainly, of her status as a widow of Khal Drogo to Khal Moro when she was presented before him, and to her complete lack of surprise she was taken with the khalasar into the horselord city while Ghidorah followed along from above but so high he was easily mistaken as a falcon. A part of her wanted to call down Ghidorah to devour the khal and his kos when he spoke plainly of raping her before she had told him that she was Khal Drogo's widow. Still, she forced herself to grit her teeth and bear it, even if walking on foot to the city was aggravating. But it let her know autumn was settling across Essos. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. Not yet shriveled but it was happening indeed. Winter was coming.
Vaes Dothrak looked the same as she remembered with the two gigantic bronze stallions guarding the entryway with the distant form of the purple mountain far beyond. The first time she came when she had been with child and a wedded woman to be presented to the widows of the Dosh Khaleen. And it had been sprawling but oddly empty. Now its immense form was filled to bursting with tens of thousands of Dothraki, the city designed to hold all the khalasar within its arms during the Khalar Vezhven and it seemed those words held true.
She remembered the heady mix of architecture; The different types of buildings within the city of all societies such as carved stone pavilions, manses of woven grass as large as castle walls, rickety wooden towers and bamboo sheds with doors of stripped bark, stepped pyramids faced with marble and polished river stones, and log halls with their ceilings open up to the sky, much the same as she saw first with a few additions. Slaves of every part of Essos lived within Vaes Dothrak and their variety showed in the buildings they had been forced to create.
Slaves were everywhere, a veritable army serving the khalasars. Removing all blades, preparing great feasts, aiding with the immense trader bazaars. Collars of gold, silver, bronze, leather, beads and cloth. Daenerys hated them all. She would meet the Great Khals of all the khalasars within the Dothraki sea and she would bring an end to it all and have thousands of more children to protect beneath her wings.
She was led past a maze of stalls and crookback aisles, shaded by awnings of woven grass, past warrens of mud-baked brick, animal pens of pig, goat, sheep and cow, and towering whitewashed drinking halls. The smell of fermented mare's milk and roasting horseflesh was familiar. The Dothraki men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings and sandsilk trousers cinched by bronze medallion belts and strips of leather. The warriors greased their long braids with animal fat and the jingle of tiny bells was a well known noise to Daenerys as she wandered along with the horde streaming throughout the city like blood.
Daenerys was taken to the great dome at the heart of Vaes Dothrak, through the broad, windswept streets paved in grass and mud of the horselord city. The one where the Dosh Khaleen, the widows of khals, lived their lives until death came for them. Treated with respect, but unable to ever leave. Surrounded by a plane of bare baked earth before the sprawling city surrounded it all.
Ghidorah was high above, nearly beyond even the sight of a far-eye where he would look no more than a hawk. He would move at her urging but for now was simply lazily circling the city upon the warm air currents.
The building of the Dosh Khaleen was a great dome, with intricately carved pillars and the windows ringing the wall were small and high. Various braziers were lit, casting a warm glow around the room. The floor was harsh stone, only softened by spread animal hides thrown across. The last time she had been there, eating a stallion's heart, felt like a almost forgotten dream. Daenerys was left inside with the women, after the oldest dismissed the men who had forced Daenerys inside.
Some of the Dosh Khaleen Daenerys recognized from her last visit. Others she didn't. They eyed the bells in her braid, but made no attempt to pull them free, even when she was given one of the horse-skin dresses to wear. The one-eyed Dosh Khaleen who had proclaimed Rhaego as the Stallion Who Mounts The World within her so long ago was not present, and must have died to be smoke and ash to join the great horse herds in the sky.
"I remember you," the now oldest of the Dosh Khaleen said in the rough dialect of the Dothraki. She stood in the center of the room, right before Daenerys, and had a hard weathered face with eyes that shone as dark as polished flint. "You ate the stallion's heart. Why did you not come to us when your Khal Drogo died?"
"Because I am Daenerys Stormborn," she replied in the same tongue. "The Breaker of Chains and Mother of Ghidorah the Stormbringer. My place is not here, with you."
The old woman made a considering noise, even when she began to light the remaining braziers with languid movements, "Yet still, you've returned because you were the wife of the Great Khal. He promised to conquer the world with you at his side, and yet he didn't."
Daenerys looked at the old woman who watched her just as flatly. The necklace she wore was of polished beads of amber and oak, matching the bracelets at her wrist.
"I was the wife of the Great Khal, Khal Savo. He promised to conquer the world with me at his side. He didn't," the old woman said. Her smile was mirthless and Daenerys wondered how many years the woman had been in Vaes Dothrak.
Behind her the other widows were quiet and watchful. One was young, even younger than Daenerys had been when she had been forced to marry Khal Drogo, and had large dark eyes that reminded her of a doe. The air smelt of ashes and dirt.
"You're young. We were all young once. But we all understand the way things are. You will learn as well, if you are fortunate enough to stay with us."
Daenerys blinked, "I am Dosh Khaleen, where else would I go?"
The old woman washed the soot from her hands in a nearby basin of water, "Yes, immediately after the death of their khal but you went out into the world. That is forbidden. All the khalasars and khals have returned for the Khalar Vezhven. Which cities they will plunder, which towns they will sack, which villages they will enslave. And they will decide what to do with Khal Drogo's silver-haired widow. And with luck your place will be here, Mother of Monsters. It will be the best you can hope for."
They two eyed each other before the old woman turned away, seemingly done with her. Daenerys blinked, thinking over the information. She had presumed- incorrectly -she would simply be placed with the Dosh Khaleen by stepping foot in Vaes Dothrak and thus permitted to speak to the khals that way as even the mightiest of khals bowed to the wisdom and authority of the Dosh Khaleen. Yet it seemed even with her information being wrong she would still have her audience. Good enough.
However she would have to wait another day, as there were some stragglers left to reach Vaes Dothrak. With that in mind, Daenerys prepared herself as she patiently awaited her audience with her fellow widows for company as she was not permitted to leave the dome of the Dosh Khaleen without an escort. It did not matter to her, since all she would need to do would be reach out to her son and he would simply break in through the ceiling.
Daenerys did spend the rest of the day wandering about the great trader markets and watching the festivities spill forth as they celebrated the grand meeting of the Great Khals. Drums beating and bells ringing down the streets with women dancing, men stepping in as they pleased to push a dancer down to mount her right there like a stallion would a mare. Several fist fights broke out, but as with the ancient law none carried blades within Vaes Dothrak. Daenerys remembered how much of it reminded her of her wedding day, back then she had been so frightened and alone. She had been afraid of the Dothraki, afraid of her brother, afraid of her husband and what her wedding night would entail.
She could still remember the assortment of gifts lavished upon her after the feasting was done; Viserys' gift of three handmaidens, Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah, all of whom were dead. The traditional three weapons, given to her by the bloodriders and which she had given to Khal Drogo. Magister Illyrio and his gift of three dragon eggs. The dragon had three heads, and it seemed the gifts came in threes.
Following that had been gifts given by various Dothraki in the khalasar, hoping to curry favour with the new khalessi. Daenerys did wonder what happened to that gown made from the skin of a thousand mice that had been gifted to her.
The only time her fear had vanished was when she had ridden her silver, Khal Drogo's wedding gift to her. And the splendid, spirited filly which had been her companion across the Great Grass Sea had died in the cruel Red Waste to be hacked and eaten for their survival.
Tell Khal Drogo that he has given me the wind.
Words she had bade Illyrio to share with her new husband when she first rode the filly with her fine coat and mane like silver smoke. But Daenerys had spoken wrong. A horse could never be the wind, for the sky was the domain of dragons and they ruled it alone. She looked up, in the bright blue sky and puffy clouds, where she knew her son was. Even without seeing his form, Daenerys knew where he was. That part of her mind eternally carved out for her child to grip on to.
Once done with her perusing of the markets she was allowed to bathe, the water scalding hot, before she returned to the Dosh Khaleen. Daenerys refused the aid of any of the slaves, shooing off the eunuchs as they tried to assist her. She would prefer to bathe alone. She scrubbed her tanned skin until all the dust and dirt was gone, washing out her hair until any lingering knots were tugged free. Her collection of bells were also cleaned. Once finished she was given another horse-hide dress, and she brushed her hair until it flowed in a sheet of molten silver. Then she tied it back in a single thick braid, weaving her bells back within the tresses, and slipped on a pair of leather sandals that laced up to the knee.
For some, such a life would be enough. Handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, slaves to attend her every whim, along with an honored place in the Dosh Khaleen who the khals sought out themselves for their wisdom. That should be enough for many a woman but not for the dragon. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and her people needed her. And for now, she must wait with the rest of the widows.
Even if many of the Dosh Khaleen did not think much of her.
They had supper that night, of thick black sausages, blood pies, and sweetgrass stews accompanied by chunks of horse roasted, sliced and honeyed and grilled within sausage. Baskets full of fruit like pears, melons and pomegranates, plums and ripe figs. They were also given various drinks of firewine, Tyroshi pear brandy, pepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr and flushed reds from Dorne. And as always fermented mare's milk. But there was no sake, the interesting drink she had tried in Qarth. Daenerys ate the sausage and sweetgrass stew, but only drank water.
The widows were arranged upon the thick animal pelts and plump cushions, and Daenerys was seated upon a bristly bear skin as she sipped at her water. The old Dosh Khaleen from before was to her left, content to munch her way through a whole melon, while Daenerys could see a small huddle of the widows across from her whispering to each other whilst shooting her narrow looks.
The old woman at her side snorted when she spied the glares, speaking to Daenerys in the thick Dothraki tongue, "Some of them don't think the Dothraki should breed with foreigners. They are stupid old women, they forget we have always diluted our blood from the very day the first rider rode from the Womb of the World. Ah see, this young one is Lhazareen."
Pointing with her warted chin, Daenerys followed the gesture to see the young girl from before with the large dark eyes and copper coloured skin. She was hunched over, arms wrapped around her knees but looked up when the old woman spoke.
"Her Khal found her hiding in a well after he burned her village. How old were you?" the old one asked, the light of the braziers deepening the lines of her face.
The girl blinked, voice soft, "Twelve."
"A year later she bore her Khal a daughter. How did he show his happiness?"
"He broke my ribs."
It was a dispassionate, almost bored answer and none of the other widows seemed even mildly surprised by it. Daenerys sighed, setting down her cup of water as her temper shimmered.
"We are not queens here, but the khals depend on us for our wisdom," the old woman said, picking up a sausage and biting off a mouthful. Around the meat she continued, "Our lives have meaning here."
"That's more than most have," Daenerys murmured, thinking of all the slaves beyond and their collars.
Swallowing down the rest of the sausage, the old woman leaned forward to pour herself some wine, "When the khals meet for the Khalar Vezhven tomorrow night, I hope they will let you live out your days here with us. The other possibilities left to you are not so pleasant."
"I need to make water," Daenerys said instead as she got to her feet. She felt frustrated by the overpowering smell of cooked meat and the stares boring into her skin.
"You cannot run from the Dothraki," the old woman said, leaning back with a full cup in hand and an amused twist to her lips, "You know this."
"I know, but I do not run. I fly," Daenerys replied.
A hum from the old woman but she did not scold Daenerys further. Instead she gave a curt, "Go," to the young Lhazareen widow before turning her attention to her wine.
The night air was cool and clear as Daenerys left the domed building, with the widow at her side. The girl hesitantly edged forward, leading Daenerys to what passed for a privy in Vaes Dothrak. She could sense Ghidorah who was currently lounging within the Womb of the World, just west of Vaes Dothrak. The reeds surrounding the lake were bent and snapped from his wings, as Ghidorah bathed in the moon-lit waters and brought the bright gleam to his golden scales. He cared nothing for the superstitions of the horselords.
"I needed the fresh air, it smells in there," Daenerys grumbled as she descended the stone stairs to the hard packed earth. "The old women stink."
"Yes, they do," the girl said quietly.
Daenerys inspected her in the torchlight, noting how she acted as Missandei once had; head bowed, footsteps quick and quiet, gaze averted, hands folded over her stomach. Daenerys suddenly wanted nothing more than to smell flaming horse flesh, to call her son forth and rip down the buildings.
Ignoring that sudden impulse, Daenerys instead asked her, "What is your name?"
"Ornela."
Daenerys asked, "How old were you when your Khal died, Ornela? You must have been very young."
"Sixteen," came the soft reply.
"Pity he didn't die sooner," Daenerys snorted.
Her blasé reply had the intended response, as the girl returned her smile.
As they descended a small pathway lined with torches and shrubs Ornela gingerly asked her, "Is it true you have a dragon?"
"Yes."
"And it breathes fire?"
Daenerys' laugh was light, "No, he breathes lightning. Not fire. He is storm incarnate. And he has three heads and two tails, with golden scales. Would you like to see him one day?"
Ornela stopped in the middle of the path, her eyes wide and confused, "I am Dosh Khaleen. I can never leave Vaes Dothrak, until the day I rise as smoke from the pyre on the day I die."
Daenerys studied her for a long moment; had Daenerys looked much the same back in Pentos so many moons ago? Had she looked much like this girl, so young and hesitant when she was sold to Khal Drogo by her own brother? When no one cared for her or her wants and safety?
Reaching forward, Daenerys took Ornela's hands within her own; the girl's fingernails were bitten near to the beds but she clung onto Daenerys' hand with surprising strength.
"What if your life could be more than that?" she asked softly.
Ornela was confused, "There is nothing more than that. This is our fate now. To be Dosh Khaleen."
"Have faith in me, Khalessi," Daenerys said, gaze locked upon the other widow's. "Do not betray me. And listen to what I ask."
For a long moment Ornela stared at her, mouth slightly open and large dark eyes gleaming like ink in the flickering torchlight. Then she nodded.
When Daenerys was summoned the following night before the Great Khals of the Khalar Vezhven, the sun had already set to cast the sprawling city in shadow as torches danced and Ghidorah was circling high above Vaes Dothrak to await her.
The old woman and Ornela escorted Daenerys there, as the Dosh Khaleen had been moved to a nearby building as the Great Khals held counsel in the domed building. Daenerys found that quite telling, that for all their claims the Dosh Khaleen were needed and respected, they still weren't even permitted their usual home when the khals came for the the Khalar Vezhven. Still, Daenerys followed without comment until she was standing before the assortment of khals inside the great dome. All hulking muscle, copper coloured skin and black almond-shaped eyes, with hairy horse-hide trousers and painted vests with gleaming medallion belts. All had braids woven through their thick black hair, all had bells entwined within. The air was thick with the smells of roasted meat and curdled, fermented mare's milk. The braziers were lit, the fire warm and comforting to her like the embrace of kin.
It had been years but Daenerys still recognized Jhaqo as one of the men at the back; he had been one of Drogo's ko, and who had raped and killed Eroeh when her husband fell. Daenerys still remembered her vow to avenge the girl whom she had claimed as her own, and it took all her self control to not bare her teeth at the hulking khal. To do something foolish like want to bite his throat out. Instead her face settled upon a serene mask, as she was left alone in the hut with the khals who ruled the Great Grass Sea. She did not look at Ornela as the girl quietly left at the old woman's side, even as she heard the doors shut behind her.
For a long moment all the men simply stared at her. Khal Moro was sitting before her on the high bench, dark eyes thoughtful as he leaned forward. He had the most bells, the longest braid. Yet still it had not been as long as Khal Drogo's.
A snort from one of the khals at Moro's right before he spoke in thick Dothraki, "Who cares about this one? She's a midget and scarred."
"I like her," another leered around a mouthful of horseflesh.
"She's paler than milk, with hair like a ghost."
"Stupid girl has bells in her hair, what would a pillow slave know of battle?"
"Should cut her white hair, throw that braid in the fire along with her head."
"I'd like to know what a khalessi tastes like," another said, licking his lips at her.
"Good, you can suck my cock," came a reply from another khal.
Daenerys ignored the taunts to glance about the room; only the floor was stone, the braziers metal. Otherwise it was all wood and thatch and animal hide.
"She belongs with the Dosh Khaleen," Khal Moro's voice cut through the laughter and Daenerys focused her attention back on him. The silver and golden medallions upon his belt gleamed in the firelight.
"The slave masters of Volantis have offered ten thousand horses and a thousand bedslaves in exchange for any who could capture her," another khal spoke, stout with a scar nearly crossing his eye. "What's worth more, some short pink girl or ten thousand horses and pillow slaves?"
"Fuck those Volantis masters in their perfumed asses," Khal Moro retorted. "I'll take their spoils for myself."
Fed up with the bickering, Daenerys spoke then, "Don't you want to know what I want?"
Khal Moro sneered at her, "Would you rather be sold as a slave? Or maybe you'd like to show Rhalko what you taste like?"
"No," her voice was mild. "I don't want either of those things."
"We don't care what you want. This is the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen," Moro gestured to the building around them. "You have no voice here, unless you are Dosh Khaleen. Which you are not, not until we decide you are."
"I remember this place, I know what it is. I have been here before when I ate the heart of a stallion," she said, looking back to the stone rise behind her and its four flickering braziers. "When the Dosh Khaleen proclaimed my child as the Stallion Who Mounts the World."
"And what happened?" Khal Moro's voice was mocking. "You trusted a witch, like a fool. Your child is dead because of you. As is Khal Drogo. Both dead because of your stupidity."
Strange. Daenerys watched the khals, all men so much larger than her, but she still wasn't afraid. What were men compared to the horrors of Old Valyria, of the twisted visions and ghosts and starving shades within a cursed city? What were men compared to the army of the dead and the blue eyes of their masters? What were men compared to the Great Other and its ageless children and eternal winter?
"This is where Drogo promised to take his khalasar west to where the world ends," Daenerys' voice was calm and carrying as she turned and slowly walked around the room. "To ride wooden horses across the Black Salt Sea as no khal has done before. He promised to kill the men in their iron suits and tear down their stone castles. He swore to me, before the Mother of Mountains."
She climbed the three steps up the small rise in the center of the dome, looking up to where the chandelier of fire hung directly above her. The fire bracketed her on all sides, warm and comforting.
Khal Moro watched her, "And you were dumb enough to believe him."
Ignoring him she continued, "And here, now, what matters do the Great Khals discuss? What little villages you'll raid, how many girls you'll get to fuck and how many horses you'll demand in tribute. You are all small men. None of you are fit to lead the Dothraki."
She sneered, eyeing each khal in turn. And weak and narrow minded, stupid. They were not what she needed to face the Long Night, what she needed to bring Essos to heel. Men who thought of nothing but their steel and cocks. Masters, just like the rest.
Daenerys wanted none of it, so she finished with, "But I am. And I will."
The room exploded into laughter. The giggles of the malevolent shade had been far more intimidating, even as the gales of merriment swept through the khals and echoed across the room.
Still chortling, Khal Moro mocked her, "Very well. No Dosh Khaleen for you. Instead we'll take turns fucking you and then we'll let our bloodriders fuck you. And if there's anything left of you, we'll give our horses a turn."
Daenerys just watched him. Somehow her lack of response seemed to enrage the man, as she did not flinch or blink as he rose to his feet in a bristling mass that stood head and shoulders over her. High above, her son descended even further but she did not call him forth.
Striding forward Khal Moro stopped arms length away from her as he snarled, "You crazy cunt. Did you really think we would serve you?"
"I may have lost a child within me, but I have a son all the same," Daenerys said, violet eyes boring into Khal Moro's black eyes. "And he is the one spoken of, even if I did not realize it at the time. Only life can pay for life. As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name. The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world. My son is storm incarnate, the stallion who will bend the world to his whims and all shall be his, and I am his mother and we are dragons. Dragons feed upon horse and I am tired of the horselords forgetting to fear the sky."
She reached to her side, hand resting upon the burning metal of the nearest brazier. It did not burn her skin, the flames refusing to scorch her fingers or blacken her nails. The Great Khals, for the first time since she entered the room, tensed as their eyes flicked from her face to the flame and then the wood all around them.
"You're weak," Daenery said flatly, staring at the khals even as the flames within the brazier burned higher to curl up her wrist as if the sensual touch of a lover, "You are too weak to serve me. Instead you're going to die and be nothing but ashes beneath my feet."
Then, with an almost careless shove, she pushed the brazier over.
The flames were like a living creature, leaping across the stone to envelope one of the wooden support poles as the burning coal and oil vomited forth. The fire swiftly climbed up the carved surface, even as Daenerys shoved over another brazier. The fire did not harm her, even as her clothes began to go alight, but the khals did not share her fate.
The fire spread rapidly across the room, the thatch walls bursting into orange and red as heat swelled within. A khal stumbled past, his body aflame as Daenerys pushed another brazier over to vomit fire and coals across the ground and set the wall alight.
With a groan and crack, part of the ceiling gave way and collapsed upon scrambling men. Smoke billowed through the gap even as fire reached up to the starry sky above. Ghidorah descended, his barbed and spiked form becoming visible to the city below and Daenerys could hear distant screams. And nearest ones were in the room with her, watching a khal collapse with his body roasting like meat upon a spit as another flailed at his flaming clothing. More fire spilled across the ground, igniting the pelts and burning the walls until flames encased everything in its hungry embrace.
The remaining khals managed to avoid the inferno get to the door but despite them rattling the handle and banging on the wood it would not open. Ornela had trusted Daenerys.
Stepping forward she grabbed the remaining brazier even as Khal Moro turned; horses were afraid of fire and she could see it in his eyes. In the eyes of Khal Jhago as well, and another. The doorway was wood, old and strong and dry. She shoved the brazier and like the rest the men and wood went up in flames.
The Temple of the Dosh Khaleen was a raging beacon, more and more Dothraki spilling forth from the surrounding buildings to group before the burning dome. Even as the wood was greedily consumed, as if it were alive and starving. For all the might of the Great Khals, they were nothing before fire like all men.
But she was no man. Her clothes burned away but her skin was left smooth. The embers and fire on the ground did not harm her feet; if anything it was the burning corpses that poked at her soles but she ignored the discomfort to step through the inferno.
To step through the blazing doorway and see the Dothraki hordes staring up at her as the bonfire burned at her back.
Then Ghidorah landed next to her, claws digging into the stone steps, just before the burning temple as people screamed and stumbled away as he folded his great wings. His golden scales burned crimson in the flames, serpentine body coiling around the inferno as his midmost head lowered towards her. Daenerys placed a palm upon his scaly snout, his other heads letting out chittering cries that seemed to echoed through Vaes Dothrak even as the building of the Dosh Khaleen collapsed in a gout of flame behind her.
And like a great wave the Dothraki horde knelt to mother and son.
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