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...
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They were at the gates of Vaes Dothrak, the two horses sparring at one another standing proud in bronze. She'd never been this far from the coast before, this was a new world to her. Drogo was the first to ride through, a smirk on his face as he led his Khalasar and new Khaleesi through the gates. Rhaenar watched him jar his horse on, spurring it to go faster as he raced away with his bloodriders. She grinned, watching him enjoy himself as he left a trail of dust in his path. Jorah rode up beside her, the two following after the Khal with the remainder of the Khalasar.
"Vaes Dothrak - the city of the horselords." Horse hooves pounded behind them, their gaze drifting to Viserys who charged up.
"A pile of mud. Mud and shit and twigs. - Best these savages can do."
Rhaenar whirled around on her brother, indigo eyes a storm as she eyed the careless King. "They are not savages, Viserys. You shouldn't call them such a thing." She was offended, they followed her, they respected her and he was calling them nothing more than savages when they were the furthest thing from the word. Rhae had come to see them as articulate, wise in every matter of horses and farming she had ever seen.
"I'll call them what I like, because they're my people. This is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army." Her hands tightened around the reigns, grasping the leather with tight fingers.
"Don't Viserys." She muttered, watching him. Viserys smirked before spurring on his horse, racing off in the front. He irritated her, which meant he irritated her husband. "Jorah, if Drogo gave him the Army he wanted, do you think he could conquer the Seven Kingdoms?"
Jorah thought on it, the two journeying further into Vaes Dothrak. "The Dothraki have never crossed the narrow sea. They fear any water their horses can't drink." Rhaenar wanted to know if they did, what if they crossed the sea? They would be fierce in battle, even if she had only witnessed a taste of their skill. She could see them tearing on the field, their hooves digging up the supple grass. But would they wear armour? Or let their copper skin beat beneath the sun.
Her husband would look glorious riding into battle, his hair flying behind him with his arakh high in the wind. Rhaenar bit her lip. "But if they were to?"
"King Robert is fool enough to meet them in open battle, but the men advising him are different." King Robert must have a short temper, she noted. But the men? Not so much, who were they?
