The Great Khalessi (GoT Fanfic)

25 - Mad

As Rhaenys observed the people living in the khalasar, she felt a renewed desire to help them. In her past life, she had never been a philanthropist, but now, as someone reborn, she couldn't ignore the injustices she saw around her. She knew she could never get used to such suffering, nor could she stand by passively—not when she had the power to make a difference.

She often felt too soft-hearted to lead in such a chaotic world. Drogo, on the other hand, was a natural leader, someone who had truly earned the greatness associated with his title of Khal.

They were fortunate to have Drogo as their Khal. Unlike other warlords, he was both respected and fair. While he wasn't a beacon of kindness, each of his decisions was made with careful thought and purpose. Drogo led according to the culture and values of his tribe—a harsh system, but one with a certain consistency that contrasted sharply with the lords of Westeros. There, leaders raised in societies that denounced violence, yet still participated in massacres, slavery, and other atrocities, all under the guise of civility.

When Rhaenys came to his khalasar, she had hoped to find something to douse her burning desire for him. Instead, she discovered another side of Drogo, a side that deepened her admiration for her. What made it worse was that he made it very clear he respected her opinions and values. This trip had just made it harder to ignore the growing feelings she has for the khal.

The sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the horizon as the evening breeze picked up. Rhaenys shivered slightly, feeling the chill of the air against her bare skin; her clothing was sparse, borrowed from Irri, whose size was just a bit smaller. She nestled closer to Drogo, seeking warmth in his broad frame.

"Did you bring your usual garb?" Drogo asked, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to shield her from the cool air.

"It's in Irri's tent," she replied. With a quick turn, Drogo guided their horse toward the direction of the tent. There, Irri and Jhiqui waited alongside Rhakharo, ready to help Rhaenys change. With practiced efficiency, they dressed her in her own warmer clothes, easing the chill that had settled into her skin.

Once they were done, Drogo gave Rhakharo a nod, signaling for him to escort Irri and Jhiqui back to Illyrio's manse, while he and Rhaenys continued on their way. As they rode, she felt the lingering warmth of the clothes and Drogo's presence beside her, making the evening feel less brisk.

"You don't have to wear Dothraki clothing if it's uncomfortable," Drogo murmured as they rode.

"I thought you'd prefer seeing me in Dothraki attire," she replied.

"I'd prefer seeing you with no clothes at all," Drogo said with a smirk, causing her to roll her eyes. "Wear whatever you like."

Rhaenys smiled at his response, appreciating his consideration. She relaxed, leaning back against his chest as they continued, catching his profile in the dimming light. She marveled at the blend of strength and gentleness in his features, finding herself drawn to him in ways she hadn't anticipated.

"You are handsome, caring, strong, and smart," she said. "Why haven't you married?"

"Because you haven't said yes," he replied with a mischievous grin.

"Before me," she rolled her eyes, laughing softly.

He turned his gaze to her, and a thoughtful silence fell over them. "Before you, my life was simple," he began. "I fought to be the strongest because that was all I knew. But now, I have a reason to be more than that." His gaze drifted to the road, lost in memory. "My mother was my father's first wife, and he cherished her—at least at the start. Then he took another wife, and another, each one younger than the last. My mother stopped longing for him and focused on protecting me instead. She pushed me to be strong so I would survive."