10 Khaleesi

Cold. The first thing Daenerys felt was a deep chill that burned her skin and knifed through to her very bones. Blinking, her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around herself to keep as much warmth in her body as she could. It wasn't enough. Fire could not kill a dragon, but ice could.

Suddenly the cold vanished. Taken away, the silver-haired princess began to notice her surroundings. Grey, everything was a uniform grey - dull, lifeless. The stench of metaphorical death and decay, something once great that was now rotting and crumbling from its very core. Stepping forward, Dany immediately noticed she was not clad in her Khaleesi leather, but rather in a dark grey dress, hem and skirt reaching down to two combat boots tailored to fit her. The outfit not of a Khaleesi, but a warrior queen.

Stepping gingerly through the ruined edifice of the building, pentagram-styled windows shattered grotesquely, Daenerys suddenly found herself rising high in the air. Whatever she was in disappeared, the ground beneath her morphing into a massive pyramid that towered over the dreary landscape. In the distance, a golden figure stood tall, hair the color of precious metal as two booming horns resonated far and wide. What had to be hundreds of thousands fell prostrate, forced to worship this being.

The setting shifted again, Dany flung what seemed halfway across the world - back into the freezing cold. Torch appearing in her hand, the darkness all around her vanished into blinding white as a massive gate opened to reveal a massive blizzard. What awaited her on the other side made her heart skip.

Jon Snow, in the flesh. Slightly older, more hardened. And even more handsome than before. She walked up to him, as if on autopilot. His gentle hand cupped her cheek. "My Queen," came the gravelly voice she loved so much. "My Empress."

"My King," Dany replied with all the affection in the world. "My Emperor."

In the distance, a faint moan suddenly appeared. Immediately her wolf tensed, turning around and unsheathing his sword. The moan grew louder, turning into an all encompassing rasp that chilled Dany to the very fiber of her being. Jon looked at her, eyes replaced with flame. "Winter is here." And a black mass fell upon them…

Shooting upright, Daenerys awoke to her panting breaths and sweat pouring from her brow. A dull ache permeated from her entire lower half. Only the low light of several braziers banished the stuffy darkness of the tent.

"She's awake." Turning her head, there was Ser Jorah, his face spread out in a wan and relieved smile. "You gave us quite a fright, Khaleesi."

Reaching for a waterskin by her furs, Dany felt instantly better as she drank. Memories poured in. "The Khal is dead?"

"Yes," Jorah replied. "He was poisoned, likely by agents of Robert Baratheon." He sighed. "His bloodriders are already beginning to jockey for control of the Khalasar."

She snorted. "Opportunistic swine." Eyes then widened, Dany's hands going for her stomach. The bump was no longer there. "Gods, my child…"

Jorah was at her side almost immediately. "Calm down, Khaleesi. Trust me." Whistling, in came her two handmaidens. "They are fine."

"They?" Looking to her front, all words left Dany as her violet eyes stared in wonder. Gently, two small bundles were placed in the crooks of her arms. Twins, she gave birth to twins.

"Two perfectly healthy little babes," Jorah beamed, playing the part of a proud grandfather. "A boy and a girl."

Dany looked over her two children, already falling helplessly in love with them. Her son sported a dark tuft of hair, tiny eyes already showing a hint of violet like hers. Her daughter was the opposite, sporting the silver mane of a Targaryen but eyes as grey as smoke. They were beautiful. They were hers.

'They look just like him.' It made her love them even more.

Waiting for Doreah to leave, Jorah crossed his arms and stared at Dany with eyes both stern and inquisitive. Rocking the now full princess gently in her arms, she knew exactly what was coming. "Khaleesi…"

"I hope I can trust you, Jorah." The statement was flat, Dany sparing a glance on the twins to keep her grounded. This would be… quite emotional for her. Someone who she wished was here wasn't, and could never be. Not to mention the horde of now-squabbling Dothraki and her arrogant, uncaring brother that waited outside.

The former Lord blinked, features softening. "You can trust me with your life, Khaleesi." Kneeling, a gentle hand caressed her son's soft cheek in the bassinet. "The twins are not Dothraki. Neither resemble the Khal in any feature."

"I am their mother, Jorah." It was a cop out, but Dany wasn't ready to breach the subject herself. "They are half-Targaryen."

"Aye, their features are Targaryen. The Prince's eyes and the Princess' hair… but the other features, they are Westerosi." His gaze settled on her once more. "And I know this to be true, a son of the North that I am. Their father is a northerner, isn't he?" Tears prickling in her eyes, unable to stop herself, Dany nodded. Jorah reached out and stroked her arm comfortingly, as a father would. "Was it him? The boy in Pentos?"

His image flashing before her eyes, Dany took in the chubby face of her daughter. Though looking mostly like her, those grey orbs exactly like him - her love. "Yes, Jon Snow is their father." It was said. There was no going back now. After their short time together, Dany now had two tiny little beings, part her and part Jon. 'Targaryen and Stark. Dragon and Direwolf.' "Fire and Ice," she said softly.

Something imperceptible crossed over Jorah's face, her companion and father-figure seemingly processing the immense news that had been disclosed to him. "Does anyone else know? That you had... " He chose his words carefully. "Were with Eddard Stark's bastard…"

"Do not call him that, Jorah." Dany warned firmly, rocking the baby in her arms. "He is a good man, and deserves better than that." The look in her eye proved it was not a request. Nodding, Jorah offered a silent apology. She sighed. "No, no one else knows. Doreah knows that I had someone whom I was interested in, and I have a feeling Lord Stark had an idea." He was too observant not to figure it out.

Remembering the feeling of Ice against his throat, the determination in Ned's eyes, Jorah agreed with his Khaleesi. "What do you intend to do now, Khaleesi? Their birth at the time of the Khal's death can be either auspicious or unpromising."

Her daughter snuggling in her arms, Dany closed her eyes. What was she to do now? The Dothraki worshipped strength, and her place in the Khalasar would be quite unstable now - especially if the twins' true parentage was revealed. And even if she maintained control, there was her birthright, her children's birthright. She had the future of House Targaryen in her hands. And then there was Viserys, holding a stronger claim, but childless and incompetent. No man would follow him into battle, Dany was certain of it.

But could she accomplish it? Could she, a woman, reclaim her family's birthright. Her children's destiny as royals.

"If I could bet on anyone being a ruler, I'd bet on you, my beautiful dragon."

If there was anyone Dany trusted, it was her love.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, scion of Aegon the Conqueror and Old Valyria. Khaleesi of the Dothraki," she announced. "I will not let my brother destroy our birthright with his incompetence. I will not allow my children from being denied their place in this world. They are Targaryens, and as the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms I legitimize them."

Wide-eyes, Jorah opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Proud tears filled his eyes. He had wished for this, prayed for this, knowing that out of everyone that could rule only Dany truly deserved it. Silently, he lowered himself onto one knee. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I on this day pledge my life and my fealty to you." As soon as she acknowledged his pledge, he looked at the two infants. "What shall their names be?"

"Rhaegar," Dany said without hesitation. "His name is Rhaegar, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." There seemed no better name for her beloved son than that of the noble Crown Prince - her eldest brother that she had never known but heard so much about. He was a great warrior, something she knew Jon would support. It was why she had chosen Rhaego as the Dothraki name. Dany was positive that her children would be Jon's, but seeing them with the distinctive Stark features only proved it to her. It couldn't be a Dothraki name.

"A noble name for a fine Prince," Jorah smiled, already protective of the royal children. They didn't have a crown yet, but Daenerys was his queen. No one in the entirety of the world could hold a candle to her. "And the Princess? Would you like a Targaryen name, or a northern one?"

Brushing the soft silver tufts of hair on her daughter's head, Dany knew it should be a northern name. 'Jon deserves it. Though he is half the world away, he is their father. My love.' There were plenty of women in Jon's life, his family whom he loved. One stood out though… whom he talked about with the most fondness. "Arya. Princess Arya, after Jon's sister."

Jorah nodded. "Ned Stark's youngest daughter. She had just turned four last time I was in Winterfell." He laughed. "A hellion, if I remember."

Little Arya took that moment to yawn, tiny form wriggling in her blanket as she drifted off to sleep. Setting her down next to Rhaegar, Dany kissed both on the forehead. "Mommy loves you, little ones." Face radiating love and adoration, inside Daenerys' will hardened in determination. 'I will make you proud, my love.' She knew her destiny, and for the first time in her entire life she had something to fight for.

It had been just four days since the birth of her children - and the death of her husband, Khal Drogo - and Dany could feel the tension permeating Vaes Dothrak like a thick fog. As Jorah had told her, a Khalasar only had loyalty to strength. A Khal that could not ride or could not fight was as good as gone, and a dead Khal contained no strength. Already, out of the crop of a dozen pretenders two stood firm in their leading claims for the mantle of the great Stallion: Haggo, a former bloodrider for Drogo, and Moro, a skilled warrior and raider. Only the fact it was within the great city itself and the uncertainty surrounding the sudden death and sudden birth of the Stallions that Mount the World had kept the final struggle for leadership from happening.

Just the amount of time Daenerys needed. Clad in a black leather tunic and trousers - an outfit fit for a Targaryen conqueror, she had recovered and rested enough to stake her claim in the fight. "Are you sure it is happening today?" she asked Jorah.

"Yes," replied the fully armored knight. Behind him was Doreah and half her bodyguard - the other half and Irri remained with the Prince and Princess, sworn to the death to defend them. Viserys was nowhere to be found, likely brooding in his tent. Dany didn't miss him."When these things happen in Vaes Dothrak, all contests for leadership happen directly outside the Rearing Stallions."

"Since they fight to the death?"

"Aye, those that seek to rule the Khalasar fight to the death. They worship strength, thusly the strongest warrior will take over. The last one alive is the new Khal."

Feet kicking up small puffs of dust, Daenerys allowed herself a small smirk. "Perfect."

Formed into a semicircle along the outer approach to Vaes Dothrak, a crowd in the hundreds watched as the whittled down competition of two men prepared to battle it out for the Khalasar. But the approach of their Khaleesi changed matters - it was sufficiently rare that a fallen Khal's wife concern herself in matters such as these. Eventually Haggo and Moro were forced to acknowledge her. "What is she doing here?" asked Moro, pointing to Jorah.

"You dare engage in this opportunistic jockeying while your great Khal's body is still warm."

Haggo laughed. "Foolish Andal, Drogo is still a corpse, and a corpse cannot ride, fight, or lead. A real man must take over." His eyes narrowed. "So why is she here?"

Approaching the two, standing straight and proud as the blood of the dragon, Dany didn't shy away from the towering figures. "I Daenerys Stormborn, as your Khaleesi seek the leadership of the Khalasar. To carry out the will of the great Khal Drogo." A moment's silence passed before the two warriors bawled over in laughter, thinking her ridiculous.

Eyes flickering between the laughing Haggo and Moro - not to mention the other Dothraki with an eye on the position - Dany's lip curved upward in the ghost of a smirk. It reminded her of her brother, the day she told him not to marry her to Drogo. How he dismissed her, found her a fool. Someone not serious trying to control her own life. Jon never saw that, and thanks to him the silver-haired princess was able to take charge of her destiny.

"Jorah." The knight took a wrapped bundle and pulled down the horse blanket cover.

Arm darting back, Dany's fingers gripped the sharkskin and drew forward. The grey-silver blur of Saracen's blade swished through the air, nimble feet gliding across the dirt-strewn ground. One advantage of her slight stature - far better mobility and flexibility in combat against opponents that relied on strength. Haggo, who certainly counted in that regard, hadn't even brought up his khopesh before Saracen disemboweled him. The finely honed and sharpened Valyrian steel sliced through his skin and flesh like butter. Guts spilling, he collapsed in a heap.

It was over in seconds, Dany turning to Moro before anyone could really react. The small distance needed to be covered allowed the skilled warrior to bring up his khopesh to block Dany's first slash, but the form was sloppy. The Targaryen had surprise on her side, and she exploited it for everything it was worth. Rapid movements causing him to try and hack, it was a fatal miscalculation. One downward blow from Saracen and his head rolled on the ground, severed from the limp torso.

Stepping away from the blood pooling on the ground, Daenerys extended Saracen in a threatening pose. Crimson liquid coated the blade for all to see. "Is there anyone else that seeks to challenge me." While there had been many pretenders, with Haggo and Moro dispatched easily by their Khaleesi any interest had waned.

Jorah's insights had been correct. The Dothraki worshiped strength.

"Commander!" Jon shouted, stepping off the floor where he had slid. Lord Commander Mormont stared with his narrowed, peering eyes at the confusing scene in front of him. Ghost, outside the spartan quarters, began barking and clawing at the door louder than before.

"What in the old gods is this?" Mormont inquired, voice hoarse with age and experience. The direwolf was literally slamming against the door.

Before Jon could respond, a scuffle drew his attention back to where the… corpse rested. Only it wasn't a corpse anymore. Standing despite the sword impaled through its gut, the sallow grey thing pulled it out without a single indication of pain. "Shit," he murmured. The rotting jaws of the… monster opened in a furious snarl.

Acting on instinct, Jon grabbed the lantern in the Lord Commander's hand by the central cylinder - flames licking out of it - and hurled it at the figure. Already drenched in cheap, sour wine from the dining table, the ragged clothes and mottley skin ignited at once. The snarls turned to furious screams before the fire took its toll, finally killing the creature.

Jon was not about to risk anything however. "Move!" he yelled, pushing his commander out the now open door, Ghost nipping at their heels. Flagging over a builder, he pointed to the officer's quarters. "Get Ser Alliser and other rangers, now!" It was only then that he allowed himself to check his hand for burns. Jon's eyes widened at what he found.

The skin was untouched. Just the way they were before the skirmish.

A flash of dull steel, sword tip leveled directly at the crib where Princess Arya slept soundly next to her brother, Rhaegar. Neither infant noticed the drama unfolding around them, though no one else had that innocent luxury. "I am not asking, dear sister, I am telling you. I want what was promised to me," Viserys hissed at the head of the tent where Daenerys sat - the mantle of the Khal, or in this case, the Khaleesi.

"Don't even think about it, Viserys," Jorah ground out, trying his best not to kill the man who threatened the Prince and Princess. "They will kill you."

Viserys let out a barking laugh. "Kill me? They can't. I'm in their sacred city, where they cannot shed a drop of blood." His eyes turned back to his sister. Dany kept her composure even when her children were in danger. She stared into her brother's eyes - there was not even a trace of love, of affection in them. They may have been blood, but they were not family. "You may think you have control here, but you do not. I am your older brother, head of our house. You will obey my command, and I command you to give me my crown! The crown I was promised!"

One of the new bloodriders opened his mouth to yell at the upstart but was silenced. "Enough." All sounds cut off, voices died down at the will of the Khaleesi. "You will have what you want, Viserys of House Targaryen." Dany saw her brother's eyes twinkle in victory. "A golden reward, a recognition of what you truly deserve." Turning to whisper something to her chief bloodrider, she kept one eye out on him.

Smiling softly, Viserys visibly relaxed. "Well." A laugh left his lips. "Good. It's all I wanted." He lowered his sword. "What I was promised… that's all."

Though he seemed happier, the tension still filled the still air as Dany rose. She walked past him to where Jorah stood by the royal cribs. A soft hand stroked their cheeks lovingly. "Take him," she told her bloodriders in Dothraki. At once, two of them advanced on Viserys.

Without batting an eye they grabbed his arms, pinning his legs between theirs. "No! Unhand me!" While Viserys wasn't lacking in will or gusto in trying to break free, his own meager strength paled in comparison to that of the burly bloodriders. "I am the Dragon! You can't harm the Dragon!" All the while, Dany coolly and calmly grabbed several of her gold medallions and tossed them in an empty kettle heating over the fireplace. 'This is what happens when you threaten my children,' she thought without emotion.

Everyone was silent, Jorah, Doreah, and all the other Dothraki in the tent watched their gentle and loving Khaleesi morph into Valyrian steel, a ruler that would make her ancestors proud. All except for Viserys, who managed to piece together what was transpiring. "No, Dany. Please, tell them to let me go." Tears ran down his eyes in pure terror. "Tell them! I'm your brother!" She didn't even spare him a glance.

To gasps and Jorah's horror - and eventual wonder - Dany reached into the steaming pot. Without screaming, without pain, her cupped hands brought out a puddle of liquified gold. Daenerys approached her brother with nothing but a small, innocent smile on her face. Viserys writhed and screamed, trying to escape the hold of the two burly bloodriders. They forced his hand out. "I am the dragon!" he shrieked. "You cannot kill the dragon." Gods, he was an embarrassment to their House in Dany's mind.

However, her smile never faltered. "Don't worry, sweet brother." Her voice dripped faux sweetness, as if still an innocent, sheltered girl. Cupped hands hovered above his left hand. "Fire cannot kill a dragon." Separating, the rivulet of molten gold poured down as her brother's screams blocked out every other sound.

Lids half-closed, the overwhelming throbbing and stinging of his bandaged hand kept Viserys from the mercy of sleep. Delerium fogged his mind, yet he still had enough strength to raise his head. "Whaa… where am I?" It occurred to him that he was being frog-marched through Vaes Dothrak.

"Quiet!" came the barking reply of his Dothraki guard.

Viserys didn't bother to learn Dothraki, but the context managed to keep the list of possibilities short. In his delirium and overwhelming pain, he could barely think. "Take… me to my… army. Am the dragon." Feet dragged on the sandy soil. Those guards loyal to Daenerys were not attentive to his comfort after all.

The sounds of crackling torches, drums, and funeral horns grew ever louder in his half-listening ears. Suddenly, a fist slammed into his gut. The sharp pain and wind wheezing out of his lungs focused the mind like no other. "Stand him up, tie him to the post. The Khaleesi wants him to see this."

"Mormont?" Opening wide - with great difficulty, lids feeling like bags of sand were weighing them down - the prince saw the former Lord of Bear Island staring back at him. "Make them unhand me."

"I would rather have them burn you alive, but that's not my call." A dark smirk crossed his features. "We now know that it can be done."

Rage and humiliation boiling inside him, Viserys lunged at him with his left hand… only for him to scream in pure anguish as the nearly charred digits brushed against Jorah's stomach. "Gods! I am the dragon!"

A chuckle left Jorah's lips. "After this, you will have your chance to prove to all of us that you can become King." He gestured to what looked like a massive funeral pyre - the embalmed body of Khal Drogo rested inside. "After our Queen's demonstration…"

"Queen! That horselord-slut is no queen!" Such earned him another punch to the stomach… and one to the jaw.

"After our Queen's demonstration," Jorah continued. "You will be banished to wherever you seek to go. Consider that a gift of mercy from our Queen." He lifted the Prince's left arm. "And let this be a lifelong reminder that you are no true dragon."

Before he could respond, a chilling silence fell upon the entire horde. They were gathered in a massive well, looking upon the pyre resting upon a small ridge - high enough for all assembled to see. Out stepped his sister, hair done up and dressed in the regal brilliance of a Targaryen queen. Jorah stepped towards her, and hanging back a few feet from her were her handmaidens, each holding one of the royal twins.

"Are you sure about this Khaleesi? Even after the gold, I'm still nervous." He pointed to the pyre

Daenerys smiled and leaned forward, kissing Jorah on the cheek. "I know you swore yourself to protect me, Ser Jorah, but trust me." Stepping gingerly to where Arya and Rhaegar rested, she kissed each of them. "Mommy will be back soon, my angels." Soft face hardening, soon she stood face to face with her brother.

"If you expect me to bend the knee, sweet sister," he spat, "You will have to wait till the world ends."

She merely chuckled darkly. "It is a good thing that you are not the sole champion of our house, brother. I hope you find your actual destiny." Leaving it at that, she ascended to the pyre's edge and gazed out at the assembled horde. "Dothraki." She began in her now fluent grasp of the language. "I count you as my Khalasar, but today I hereby unshackle you from your chains. You may go about your way, seek out your own destiny. If you choose to follow me by your own free will, I promise never to let you down. To consider you not as my servants, but as my family. Anyone that wishes to hurt you will be immolated in pure dragonfire.

"Previous Khals, brave and noble as they were, measured your worth in middling amounts. They looked at the villages they could pillage, how many women they fucked, or how many horses the great cities of the coast could bribe them with. Khal Drogo thought differently, vowing that my children would be the Stallions that Mount the world! I will carry his legacy, take you across the Narrow Sea in the wooden horses that float. To leave the great knights and cities that think you mere barbarians cowering at your feet. If you follow me, you will have this."

A huge cheer rose from the Dothraki, an ever rising wave of war chants that soon drowned out any other sound in the entire city… only to turn to screams and gasps as Dany turned and walked directly into the now alighted pyre. Even in his pain, Viserys gaped in shock.

The hours drifted by, time interminable. Several times the tied prince fell victim to his pain - only to be jerked back to consciousness by the Dothraki guard. Soon it was dawn, the sun still not poking out from behind the mountains that formed the eastern edge of the Vaes Dothrak bowl. The fire had died down, Jorah approaching the smoldering wreckage. In the middle, Viserys could barely make out the sitting form of his sister.

A loud screech drew his attention, then his wonder. And his horror. "It can't… impossible." Perched on his unharmed, unburnt sister were three tiny dragons - one black as coal, one a dark forest green, and one bone white. Dragons reborn.

An entire horde followed the lead of Jorah Mormont, kneeling to their queen. The Unburnt. The Mother of Dragons.