"The Prince is in the West."
That line, like a red-hot iron, had instantly seared through the darkness and despair of her past decade.
The West...
A King from Westeros who commanded a three-headed ice dragon.
A Prince who would wake her blood with a "kiss of ice and snow."
This was not a fantasy, not a dream.
It was an oracle from her ancestors!
A call resonating from the depths of her blood!
A strength she had never known began to sprout quietly from the bottom of her ravaged heart.
She was not merchandise.
She was not a lamb to be slaughtered.
She was Daenerys Stormborn, heir to the blood of the dragon!
She had to meet the Dothraki Khal; she could not defy Viserys's command.
But... she could choose how she met him.
Daenerys slowly stood up and walked to the mirror.
The girl in the reflection had a swollen cheek, but her eyes were no longer filled with pure terror.
Beneath the familiar timidity, a tenacious flame was quietly burning.
She couldn't openly rebel; that would only invite more of Viserys's madness.
But she could... act.
She could play the part of a frail, cowardly, unpresentable plaything.
A reject unworthy of a Khal.
The moment this thought appeared, it grew wildly.
---
The courtyard of Magister Illyrio Mopatis was already crowded with guests.
The air was thick with rich spices and the scent of roasting meat.
But the atmosphere was shattered by the arrival of uninvited guests.
Khal Drogo and his bloodriders burst in like a herd of bulls.
They reeked of leather, sweat, and horse, jarringly out of place among the silk-clad nobility of Pentos.
Khal Drogo himself was like a moving mountain.
Bare-chested, his bronze skin marked with scars, his black braid hung to his thighs, woven with gold and silver bells that chimed with every step.
His gaze was like that of a hawk on the plains—sharp and full of savage scrutiny.
Viserys stood beside Magister Illyrio, a smile he thought was regal plastered on his face.
But his eyes, darting constantly toward the door, betrayed his inner anxiety and anticipation.
Finally, Daenerys appeared.
Supported by two handmaidens, she walked slowly down the steps.
She wore the nearly transparent purple gown, her silver hair combed impeccably.
She looked beautiful, like a delicate flower cultivated in a greenhouse.
But... only beautiful.
Viserys frowned involuntarily.
Daenerys's steps were unsteady, as if she might fall at any moment.
Her head was lowered, daring not to look at anyone.
She looked exactly like a frightened quail.
What infuriated him most was that he could still see the faint trace of redness on her cheek!
The stupid girl!
Doesn't she know how to use powder to cover it up?!
"Khal Drogo," Magister Illyrio introduced in the Common Tongue, a smile fixed on his face.
"This is Princess Daenerys Targaryen. Stormborn. The blood of House Targaryen."
Khal Drogo said nothing. He simply strode forward until he stood before Daenerys.
His massive shadow swallowed her whole.
Daenerys flinched uncontrollably, instinctively shrinking back half a step.
This movement did not escape Drogo's eyes.
He circled her slowly, like a man inspecting a broodmare he intended to buy.
His gaze traveled from her silver hair, across her trembling shoulders, to her small face etched with terror.
He stopped, reached out a rough hand, and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up.
Tears instantly welled in Daenerys's eyes.
Those weren't act.
The oppression radiating from Khal Drogo, the aura of an apex predator, terrified her instinctively.
But beneath the tearful fear, Drogo saw nothing he wanted to see.
No challenge, no defiance, and certainly none of the fire and madness legendary to House Targaryen.
Nothing.
Only a fragility waiting to be butchered.
And a shameful cowardice.
Drogo frowned.
He released her chin and spoke a few words in Dothraki to his bloodriders behind him.
His voice was low and raspy, sounding like two stones grinding together.
Viserys didn't understand Dothraki, but he understood expressions.
He saw the undisguised disappointment on Khal Drogo's face.
"The Khal... what did the Khal say?"
Viserys looked urgently at Illyrio.
The Magister's face was awkward. The fat on his cheeks squeezed together as he forced a smile.
"Uh... the Khal said... the Princess is... very beautiful."
"Bullshit!"
Viserys exploded instantly.
He wasn't an idiot; he could sense the atmosphere was wrong!
He rushed up to Khal Drogo, pointing at Daenerys, and shouted in his broken, Westerosi-accented Dothraki, trying desperately to sell his sister.
"Queen! She is a Queen! Pure Targaryen blood!"
Khal Drogo merely glanced at him.
It was the look one gives a dancing monkey.
He spoke again, his voice laced with obvious impatience.
"Me vos save."
(She is afraid of her own shadow.)
"Me chek asshekh."
(She is not fit to be my Khaleesi.)
With that, he didn't even bother to look at Daenerys again. He turned and strode toward the long tables laden with food, grabbed a roast leg of lamb, and tore into it.
The entire courtyard fell into dead silence.
Everyone's eyes focused on Viserys's face, which went from red to green, then to pale white.
It's over.
Everything is over.
His dream of restoration, his hope of reclaiming the Iron Throne, his army of forty thousand Dothraki...
All ruined by this useless, waste of a sister!
A scorching fury shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his skull.
The Dragon was truly woken this time!
"You..."
Viserys spun around, his violet eyes bloodshot.
He walked toward Daenerys step by step, each footfall landing on her heart.
Daenerys backed away in terror.
"You useless waste!"
Viserys grabbed her arm.
His grip was so tight it felt like he would crush her bones.
Dragging her aside, he lowered his voice to a venomous hiss only the two of them could hear.
"I will kill you!"
"I will kill you tonight, you slut!"
"You ruined everything! You ruined the last hope of House Targaryen!"
Tears streamed down Daenerys's face from the pain, but she dared not make a sound.
Her arm throbbed, but in her heart, a cold satisfaction rose.
She had succeeded.
She had rejected the savage horselord in her own way.
She had taken the critical first step.
But now... how was she to face this "sleeping dragon" before her, who had gone completely mad?
---