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❝IT IS ONE THING TO HEAR ABOUT DRAGONS... IT'S ANOTHER TO SEE THEM FOR YOURSELF❞
GAME OF THRONES
SEASONS 1-AU 8 & beyond
DAENERYSxOCxOC
! ANY AND ALL SEXUAL SCENES WI...
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THE Red Waste was no place for a diminished Dothraki Khalasar that had once stood as a formidable force against its rivals. The grass sea had been no real trouble compared to the Red Waste and endless miles of sand and rock, and those in the company of the Targaryens soon learned so.
If they tried returning to the grass sea, they would find themselves in far worse conditions than a desert, even if they were starving and thirsty. Vaegon knew that, but he saw no other option in leading the retinue unless they wished to find themselves butchered and enslaved by a far stronger and larger Khalasar.
If they had counted correctly, a sennight had passed since the funeral of Khal Drogo. With barely enough Dothraki to be considered a Khalasar, they were forced to venture into the desert where no opposing Khal would go.
Among the ragged Dothraki that had chosen to stay under the command of Vaegon and Daenerys, three wonders accompanied them all on the long and treacherous trek: Drokar, Haelyx, and Rhaellor.
Drokar, claimed by Daenerys and named after her late husband, was of charcoal and crimson, while Haelyx was a beast of gold and green. The one claimed by Vaegon, a hatchling of pearlescent scales and pale azure, was named Rhaellor after their beloved mother, Rhaella. Being of the utmost importance, the hatchlings were fed before anyone, even Vaegon and Daenerys.
Despite hatching their dragons together and gaining the undying loyalty of those who had decided to stay behind, Vaegon and Daenerys still resented each other amid all their other pressing issues. Daenerys was angered over Vaegon's plan to leave the Khalasar for the Free Cities while he still held his anger toward her for everything else that had occured.
Yet, he could not remain too disheartened toward her. It was her, he had deduced, that had saved his life in the flames. With every row of flames he'd hoped over, the center of the pyre growing closer and closer, his skin had burned. It had burned horribly, and he thought he would soon perish until his hand made contact with Daenerys. With the contact of their skin, it had been as if the flames didn't exist. There was no burn when he touched her; that was how they emerged with her grasped in his embrace, the hatchlings between them.
Along with their enduring resentment, Vaegon knew he didn't have the same sway that Daenerys does over the Dothraki, for they are her people, but he knew they've gained some reverence towards him since the dragons hatched. Either way, he was concerned about what may come to pass and whether things may worsen with his sister.
But his life was owed to her, he thought. He should have burned in Drogo's pyre and met an agonizing death, but the moment his hand had made contact with Daenerys's shoulder, it was as if the flames were but a steaming, comfortable bath against his skin.
