Crowns and Cruel Intentions || Game of Thrones

17| 𝔰𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔞

the red waste, essos

— SAERYA HAD NEVER KNOWN PEACE UNTIL VISERYS' DEATH. Now, even as the Khalasar collapsed around them, she felt like she could breathe for the first time ever. She took a deep breath of desert air, not even caring that it was dry and sandy as she lay with her head in her twin's lap. Her eyes fluttered open to find Saelyra smiling at her as she wove a cord of wood and bone beads into a small section of Saerya's hair. "This is our chance, Saerya." She breathed. "He's gone. We finally get to be free."

"We get to be happy." Saerya smiled.

A short distance across the camp, they could hear a few shouts, and steel being drawn from its sheath. The two frowned before getting to their feet and heading over to see what was the cause of the commotion. A few merchants with their wagon sat nervously atop their horses at the edge of camp, several Dothraki riders glaring with their scimitars drawn. "You intrude, small man." one spoke up darkly. "You should leave before your warning expires."

"Wait." Saelyra called, causing a few to turn their way, blades lowering slightly. "These are simple merchants. Do not attack."

A few looked angry, but none argued. A couple even bowed their heads slightly, uttering a quiet word. "Khalakka." that was something else they'd gained since Viserys' death; respect. Khal Drogo had been extraordinarily grateful to Saerya for protecting Daenerys and the Khalasar had, in turn, come to see them in a better light.

Seeming to recognise both the language and the title, the merchants quickly bowed their heads. "Khalakka." one spoke up – presumably the leader. "Things seem quite tense today? We did not mean to stumble upon your Khalasar, but we must make camp soon."

Saelyra nodded. "There is plenty of space for you. So long as you do not intrude on our camp, there shouldn't be an issue."

"You speak the common tongue?" He asked, seeming rather surprised. "You are from Westeros?"

"My family is, yes."

"They cannot stay." One rider spat. "You have no authority to allow them."

Saelyra turned to glare at him, not deterred in the least by the fact that he could probably step on her. "I suppose you'd like to take it up with your Khal then? Your Khaleesi?" He was silent, but she could nearly see smoke coming out of his ears. Khal Drogo was unwell, having been treated by a witch that the twins now suspected never intended to help him. Daenerys had not left his side and with her child on the way, her energy and ability to control the Khalasar was growing thinner by the day. "I didn't think so."

"We should go see them." Saerya suggested quietly. "Dany may need us."

Saelyra was hesitant to drop the potential fight, but let her sister take her arm and lead her away nonetheless. They wove through tents and horses and men and sharp blades pointing out this way and that until they reached the lead tent. Inside they found Daenerys and Ser Jorah watching over a delirious Drogo, along with a few of Dany's loyal handmaidens and riders. Jorah took out a dagger to lift the patch of herbs and whatnot on Drogo's wound and Dany's eyes darted nervously to the twins – as if for assurance or support – before returning to her husband. The wound beneath the patch was festering and black, eliciting a couple of small gasps from the handmaidens.

Jorah looked regretful. "He will die tonight, Khaleesi."

"He can't." she insisted. "He can't, I won't let him."

"Even a queen doesn't have that power." He rose to peek past the twins and out of the tent. "We must go, quickly. I've heard there's a good port in Asshai."