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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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DAENERYS' remaining blood riders, Rahkaro and Jhogo, had yet to return, and the water and food shortage grew no better. Still, the little Khalasar wandered, trekking on until a new patch of shade or vegetation was discovered.
Vaegon had never thought he'd find himself eating grass to ease away the ever-present rolling of his growling belly, nor did he think he'd be forced to bury himself in the sand during the sun's heat to find some relief. Since they'd reluctantly entered the waste, they'd been forced to do many things the civilized world would find unsanitary or strange.
The king's hair had grown exceptionally since the last time he'd taken the time to shear it away, and his ragged Dothraki clothes were dirtier than ever. Amid the current conditions, Vaegon had lost count of the days they'd been in the waste— or perhaps it had already been a moon or two? He wasn't sure, but he knew it had been long enough for his days to blur together and his sense of reality and sanity to slowly disappear. The only thing that drove him forward was his determination to save Daenerys and the dragons.
The retinue walked at the height of the day, when the sun was at its highest, and the heat blistered down upon their skin. They'd lost another Dothraki the night before, an old man who had all but been consumed by exhaustion and had slipped away in his sleep just as many others had before him. He'd pushed harder than many others but didn't try hard enough. They'd allowed time in the morning for the Dothraki to properly bury the man before they continued in the direction they were currently heading.
Vaegon wasn't praying for the Dothraki to perish, but he soon began to realize that the scarce amount of rations they'd been forced to ration was disappearing far less quickly the more people they were forced to leave behind. It was a tragedy to lose them, but also a blessing in disguise. One he hated to admit. These were not his people, but they were Daenerys's all the same.
Mind wandering to and fro as they walked, he dwelled on anything and everything he could possibly think of so that his hunger and thirst wouldn't drive him mad. One of his hands shielded the sun from his eyes while his other gripped Daenerys' hand. Ser Jorah walked near them, and the Bear looked no better than they did.
"I don't want to give up," Daenerys muttered. It was the first time they had spoken in a while. Most of them had chosen to suffer in silence. "But we must face that we will never leave this place."
"Don't say such things," Vaegon softly scolded her. "We'll get out of here. There are still Kovarro and Jhogo. They'll return soon."
"Perhaps they will return," she muttered. "But by then, I'm sure it'll be too late."
Her pessimism wasn't helping his own, so he turned his direction toward the knight. "Ser Jorah, what do you think? Are we close to finding a city?"
The Mormont shrugged, a weak frown on his own chapped lips. The waste had taken a toll on the older man, the damage apparent in his sunburned skin and weary look.
