The Dothraki did not believe in quiet weddings.
The sun had barely risen when the drums began, echoing over the grassy plains beyond Pentos. Illyrio's manse was a blur of motion: silk dancers, fire pits, roasted meats, and guests of every kind. Some came to honor the Khal. Most came to watch.
And at the center of it all—my sister.
And me.
Daenerys looked like starlight wrapped in lace. Her dress was spun of lavender and pale blue, cut to bare her shoulders and hug her waist, flowing behind her like smoke. Tiny dragonflies of silver were sewn into the fabric, wings catching the light with every step.
I wore red.
Not bright, but deep. Dragon red. The same color our mother wore when she fled King's Landing. Illyrio had it tailored in secret, thinking it dramatic. He hadn't expected I'd wear it.
But I knew what I was doing.
The Dothraki respected blood and symbols.
And we were both.
Viserys sulked throughout the entire ceremony.
He stood to the side, scowling, ignored by nearly everyone. Khal Drogo barely acknowledged him, and the Dothraki refused to translate his rambling speeches. He tried once to step forward during the gift-giving.
I blocked him.
"You will sit," I told him quietly.
He backed away.
The wedding continued.
Gifts were exchanged.
Illyrio, as expected, brought the three dragon eggs—black and red, cream and gold, green and bronze. They gleamed like sleeping beasts, warm to the touch even in their velvet-lined chest.
Dany stared at them with wide eyes.
"I don't understand," she whispered to me. "Why give us… these?"
"Because he knows their worth," I murmured. "Even if no one else believes."
"And you?"
"I believe in you."
She smiled, a little uncertain, but radiant all the same.
The ceremony ended with blood.
As tradition dictated, a young warrior fought a challenger for honor—one of Drogo's men slit the other's throat with a single swipe of his arakh. No one flinched.
Except Dany.
She leaned close to me, her fingers brushing mine. "Why do they kill?"
"To prove strength. And courage. But Drogo didn't fight today."
"Why?"
"Because he already respects you," I said.
She looked up, startled.
I smiled.
Night fell, and the feast began.
Meat roasted over open flame. Wine flowed like rivers. Music soared through the tents.
Khal Drogo stayed silent, watching Dany with the stillness of a predator. But when I approached, he nodded once in greeting.
"She is strong," he said.
"She is," I agreed. "Stronger than either of us knows."
He gave me a look. "You are strange. Not afraid."
"I've lived through worse," I said lightly.
He chuckled. Just once.
Then he walked to Daenerys and extended a hand.
She hesitated.
Then looked at me.
I nodded.
I rode out with them that night.
Most brides were taken alone. Left to the stars, to whatever fate the Dothraki lord decided. But Drogo, by now, understood me.
And so I followed.
Not to stop him.
To be there.
We camped at the edge of the sea. The waves crashed behind us, soft and steady.
Dany sat beside me on the sand, quiet, her hands folded in her lap.
"He's… not cruel," she said.
"No," I agreed.
"He doesn't speak much."
"He says what matters."
She nodded. Then turned to me, nervous. "Will you stay?"
"Of course."
She hesitated. "Even if I asked you not to?"
I smiled gently. "Then I would go. But I'd always come back."
Her hand found mine in the dark.
"I don't want to be his bride alone," she whispered.
"You aren't."
She leaned in.
And this time, the kiss was no accident.
It began with lips. Soft. Searching.
Then hands. Fingertips against skin. Warmth building slowly.
The sea whispered behind us. The moon rose higher. And Daenerys pressed against me, mouth on mine, heart beating like a drum in her chest.
I pulled back once.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
Her breath came shallow. Her cheeks flushed pink.
"I've always been sure," she said softly. "I just… didn't know what I was waiting for."
Her hands slid into mine.
"And now?"
She leaned in again. "Now I know it was you."
The furs were soft.
We lay together, bare beneath the stars, her body warm against mine. My lips traced the line of her throat, down to the hollow between her breasts. Her breath hitched.
"I dreamed of fire," she whispered.
"I'll keep you burning," I murmured against her skin.
She laughed, breathless.
Our legs tangled. Her fingers ran through my hair, tugging gently as I kissed lower. Her moans were soft, shy, but genuine.
I worshipped her.
Every sigh. Every quiver. Every trembling breath.
And when her back arched, when she came with a cry muffled into my shoulder, I held her like the only thing that mattered.
Because she was.
Later, she curled into my side, glowing.
"I thought I'd feel ashamed," she murmured.
"Why?"
"Because we're… sisters."
I kissed her temple. "We're everything."
She smiled sleepily. "That's true."
The dragon eggs sat beside the fire, warm and still. One of them pulsed faintly in the glow.
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