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Chapter Text

The Battle of the Blackwater was raging.

I was scared, and so I went with him.

The Hound frightened me, and that look in his eye was concerning. But I was scared, I wanted to get away from here. No father, no Arya. I was alone. But someone wanted to take me away.

So I went.

He took me aboard a ship, and we sailed for what felt like years. It was dank and dreary, and I was kept in a small closet-like room the entire trip.

The Hound said it was to keep me safe, that a little bird like me would be caught the moment I left the room.

I already felt caged.

Weeks and weeks went by with only a little food and water given to me by the Hound. He would leave the room from time to time, luckily no one entered while he was away. I had not felt or seen sunlight in a long while, confined only to the tiny space.

At first I was afraid of the Hound touching me, but he would only look at me. I could feel his eyes move up and down my body constantly, but he never touched. So I just stayed propped up in the corner, sleeping when I could and consuming what scraps he gave me.

I was sleeping when I felt the ship dock, and the Hound commanded me to pull up the hood of my cloak and to hide my hair.

I asked where we were, but he only shushed me as he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room and up to the deck of the ship. The light blinded me for a time, but the Hound just kept pulling me forward.

After regaining my sight, and after stepping off of the ship and onto the dock, I could see what looked like hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people. All dressed in many different colors, in revealing clothing.

Skin dozens of different shades.

And it was hot- stifling. I wanted to take off my cloak, but I was afraid.

Always afraid now.

The Hound was walking quickly, pulling me off the docks and onto a street. I could see he was looking for something, his head moving back and forth.

“Where are we, Ser?” My voice came out hoarse. I hadn’t used it much recently, after all.

He looked back at me for a moment and grunted out, “Mereen.”

Mereen? Did he just say...

He took me to Slaver’s Bay?

Now I wasn’t only miles away from home, I was a whole continent away.

I was more alone than ever.

My panic consumed me until I became startlingly blank, it seemed like I was observing from above with no feeling.

We walked and walked, until it looked like the Hound finally found what he was looking for. A stable, with horses for sale.

He bought one with gold he pulled out from who knows where. He plopped me on the horse, got on behind me, and off we went.

First he stopped at a small shop, to buy some fruits and dried meat. Then we road out of the city.

I was surprised we were never stopped, but I suppose the Hound’s face was frightening enough to keep people away.

We road out of the city, and kept going until nightfall. We camped off of the side of the road, eating a bit of the fruit and having some water from a small pond we went by.

I was hungry, cold and afraid. I wanted to see mother, I wanted to go back home.

I should never have trusted Cersei.

This went on for days, riding on the back of a horse all day and camping at night.

I asked the Hound where we were going and all he said was, “East. As far away from Westeros as possible, little bird.”

I shivered when I thought of what would happen after we got to where he wanted to go.

We had just reached the end of the road- really, the road ended- and were riding through tall grasses when it happened.

The grasses went as far as the eye could see, and it looked so different from Westeros and yet more similar than Mereen was. I was wondering at the types of animals that roamed the grasses when I heard it.

Horses.

Galloping.

Men yelling in a language I didn’t know.

“Fuck,” the Hound said.

The men came upon us on horseback, three of them, yelling at us and saying words that sounded nothing like I had ever heard before.

I didn’t think the Hound knew what they were saying, either.

I had tilted my head down, so they couldn’t see my face, but I could see the men’s legs incased in leather and their bronzed arms with leather bracelets.

One of their voices got closer, and the Hound moved as if to turn the horse around, but a hand snapped out and grabbed the reins of the horse and jerked us to the side. Another hand came out and flipped the hood of my cloak up, revealing my face.

Harsh faces, strong brows, long hair in braids down their backs.

That’s all I could take in before I was grabbed off of the horse with the Hound and put in front of the man who flipped my hood up. Another man moved and took the Hound’s hands and tied them with rope.

I blanked out after seeing that, my fear overwhelmed me once again.

It wasn’t until we came upon what looked like a city made of tents that I awoke from my stupor.

More people. Men, women and children.

None of the men wore shirts, and all of them had dark hair in long braids.

The women were all dressed in skirts and dresses with their legs showing, their arms showing too.

This was nothing like home, not even Dornish women dressed like this.

We seemed to be going to the middle of this made up city, and not many cared to look at us. A glance here or there, but no staring. I was wearing my hood again. The sun was beating down, and the man behind me put it back on.

We finally reached our destination, it seemed, as the horses stopped and words were called out as if in greeting. I peeked beneath my hood and could see a huge space covered by a large canopy, with people sitting in the center and others moving around.

I didn’t look too long, not wanting to bring attention to myself.

The man behind me dragged me off the horse, and I hit the ground hard, biting my lip to not make a sound. I was brought forward, more words being said, and a new voice came in.

A deep voice, deeper than I’d ever heard from a man before.

I was pushed down to my knees, and I could see leather boots and pants sitting on a stool in front of me.

More speaking, and then my hood was moved back.

I peeked up, and saw the largest man I had ever seen in my life,

Long legs and wide shoulders, muscles everywhere. Skin a deep bronze. He had long black hair pulled back in a braid, and a short beard with a metal bead pulling the hair together at his chin. Brows pulled together in concentration, black eyes staring straight into mine.

When our eyes met, I think his widened a little. In surprise? Or maybe he’d just never seen red hair before.

I had to look away.

More words were said above my head, and my heart was beating fast.

Finally, the huge man in front of me said something that sounded final, his deep voice reverberating through my body. Two women seemed to come out from nowhere, grabbing my arms and lifting me up, slowly walking me away.

I looked over my shoulder, and could see the Hound being brought forward.

The huge man was still looking at me, his head evened turned to look over his shoulder as I was moved around him.

I turned away, and could see I was being led to a tent. I was brought inside and saw a copper bathtub. I was disrobed and put inside.

I should have been embarrassed of my nudity, but weeks of travel made the opportunity of a bath too enticing.

Food and drink were brought, and then I was dressed in light silks.

I should have known, or at least assumed, then.

But I was hungry, and scared and I wasn’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to anything at all.

One of the women who was bathing and dressing me could speak a little of the Common Tongue, and would say things like, “wash” and “turn”. She said “pretty” when she washed my hair.

After a bit of stilted speech I could assume that the “man” she was talking about was the huge one with the deep voice. Apparently, the man that seemed to have decided my fate was named “Khal Drogo”.

An odd name, to be sure, but this was an odd place.

The other woman would murmur, “khaleesi” every time she touched me.

Did that mean “sorry”, then?

In the days to come, I would realize that it didn’t mean that at all.

After being taken care of, I was lead to the back of the tent where a plush bed of furs was spread out. They pointed at it and so I sat down. The one who could speak some Common Tongue said, “yes”.

Then they left and I was alone.

I felt blank inside again, but at least I was clean.

I couldn’t help but lay down and close my eyes and fall asleep.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, a party was being planned outside of my tent.

A wedding was happening tomorrow.

Chapter Text

I was woken up in the early hours, and I could see a little light from the rising sun come in through the flap of the tent.

The two women from yesterday shook me awake, and I admit my head was fuzzy enough that I thought I was still on that ship. They startled me, and I yelped a little. Almost immediately and man poked his head in, speaking with the women. After a few exchanged words and a cursory glance at me, he left.

After that incident, another tub was brought in and my body was washed again, floral smelling oils that were put into the water permeated the air.

The two were speaking to me, or maybe at each other about me, I couldn’t tell nor cared.

What was going on?

I was taken from a castle to a ship, then onto a horse and now into a tribal village.

My mind just couldn’t seem to keep up with the turn of events.

I did pick up one one thing, though. After some pointing and repeated words and exasperated expressions, I learned their names.

The one who could speak some Common Tongue was Erri, the other was named Kissi.

I did not give them my name.

When I was helped out of the bath and my body dried some noise from outside the tent started to permeate my mind. It seemed lively outside for so early in the morning, and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less then to have to go out and join the din.

But by the way I was being dressed, I obviously would have to go out.

Unlike the women with me, I wasn’t being dressed in leathers and fabrics of muted browns and other neutrals. From a chest that they had obviously been brought in with them as it hadn’t been there last night, a long shock of red fabric the color of blood was taken out.

I thought that perhaps this was something else used to dry me from the bath, but that idea was swiftly proven wrong.

Erri and Kissi stood on either side of me and started looping the fabric around my body. First by draping the fabric over my shoulders as one world a scarf, and then wrapping it around and around. First at my breasts and then over my torso and down my thighs until just above my knees, the two ends were then wrapped around my upper arms and tucked in somewhere on the sides.

I wanted to believe that there were more clothes than this, but I wasn’t that naïve. I wouldn’t be wearing more clothes than any other woman here, that much was obvious. At least the fabric was opaque, so nothing showed through. That was a relief, seeing as small clothes were not provided.

Gold bands were shoved up my wrists and on my forearms. A gold chain choker necklace was put on, and just when I thought they were done they sat me down on a wooden stool and put golden bands up each of my ankles, too.

Kirri stepped in front of me with a small jar, and put gold shimmer on my eyes. Erri was behind me braiding the sides of my hair and then bringing it to the back of my head.

A passing thought made my blood chill. Was this perhaps some ritualistic sacrifice?

But where in the Gods was I? Think, think, Sansa...

Essos, grass, large men on horses...

I stiffened just as the women stepped away to start cleaning.

Dothraki.

I had somehow found myself in the Dothraki Sea with a Dothraki tribe.

I had barely a moment to process this information as another man called through the tent, and immediately Erri and Kissi came to me and walked me outside.

The sun blinded me, having risen higher in the sky, and I brought my hand up to cover my eyes. The girls stopped, and when my eyes adjusted I brought my hand down and...

The huge man from yesterday was standing right in front of me.

My breath caught in my throat, and I could see his eyes rake down my body, coming back up and resting on my hair before saying some more words that I couldn’t understand.

He has black eyes, so black I can’t see his pupils.

“Hash me dothrae check?” His voice was especially deep sounding. And I could see some bells in his hair today, they made little sounds every time he moved.

The girls were saying something to him, bowing with their heads.

I looked around as the conversation went on and saw that it was quite lively, people walking around and smiling. There were flowers and strips of fabric blowing in the wind where they were pinned to tents.

Perhaps I really was a sacrifice, then? But in all of my studies I never learned that the Dothraki did such a practice. Maybe a seasonal celebration, then?

A small shake of my arm brought me back and I faced Erri.

She looked at me for a moment and tilted her head, then pointed to herself, “Erri. Erri, yes?”

I furled my brow and nodded.

She pointed to Kirri and said her name. What was she doing?

Then she pointed to the huge man in front of me, “Drogo.”

Oh. She’s telling me his name. I nod my head again.

Then she pointed at me.

I didn’t want to tell them my name. I knew I was being looked for in Westeros. And since I didn’t know the outcome of the Battle of the Blackwater, I was worried about what could happen if the wrong person found out who I was.

I was a Stark, the eldest Stark daughter. Surely Mother and Robb would be looking for me, and the Lannisters...

I just kept my mouth shut, and looked at the ground.

Erri shook my arm again, and did the whole names and pointing thing again, coming back and pointing at me

The man, Drogo, took a step forward and said something.

“Hake, virzeth noreth?

Erri made a humming sound and turned me to her, “Hake, yes?”

She pointed to herself and said her name again.

I sighed a big sigh. Obviously they were not going to let this go.

I could give them a fake name, but then I ran the risk of not responding to it. I suppose telling them my given name wouldn’t be too bad, it’s common enough in Westeros. And I just will never, ever say my family name.

I say as quietly as possible, “Sansa.”

“Sana?” Kirri goes.

I shake my head and point to myself and say as loud as I dare, which wasn’t very loud at all, “Sansa.”

I look up at Drogo and notice a quirk of his lips, “Sansa.”

He turns around almost immediately after getting what he came for, walking away.

I didn’t have time to think about the odd encounter when immediately I was led off into the same direction that Drogo was going. People were milling about, so I only saw the top of his head towering above the rest. People would stop and bow to him. They would look at me and widen their eyes, bowing too.

Maybe they do know who I am? Or maybe they were just bowing in reverence to me being a sacrifice.

After walking into the tall grasses with a small retinue of people and Drogo, I quickly learned that I was being sacrificed, just in a very different way than I thought.

—

I was married to Drogo beneath a bright blue sky with the grasses waving in the wind.

It was unlike any wedding ceremony that I knew of, but there was no way to describe what had happened besides it being a wedding.

I was brought to Drogo and he took my hands and said a few words in a serious and deep voice. I was frozen and didn’t say anything at all until he raised an eyebrow and kept saying one word over and over until I repeated it back.

“A-ai,” I stammered out.

Immediately after doing so the people who were waiting behind us cheered and whooped, Drogo taking one of my hands and raising our arms up together.

He then walked me back to this wide open area at the edge of the camp, with a dais and a large canopy above it. There were so many people, cheering and smiling, it must have been everyone living here and then some.

“Khaleesi! Khaleesi! Khal Drogo!”

I just kept my head down and allowed myself to be walked up the steps and sat down, Drogo sitting on my left.

It was still early in the morning, but it looked like everyone was gearing up for quite a party.

Music was being played and people were dancing. Food and drink was everywhere.

A woman came up and offered Drogo a cup of something. He took it and drank, then offered me the cup.

I stared at it. I felt numb, like my body was here but my mind was gone. A hollow thing, I was.

And where was the Hound?

His hand jerked, offering me the cup again. I startled and took it, taking a sip. It tasted like some sort of fruity ale, not bad, but I definitely didn’t want to drink too much. I gave it back to him and sat, looking at the ground.

Many people were dancing, and I could hear laughter and talk in a language I don’t think I could ever understand until I heard noises that most definitely weren’t meant to be heard in public.

I peeked up from under my lashes and jerked in suprise. They were... they were...

The women and men were...

All of a sudden another man came out of the crowd and pushed over another who was having... relations... with a women and started to act as if he was about to do it too.

But the other yelled and pushed him back. Everyone seemed to scatter, waiting to see what would happen.

Knives were brought out, and they started to fight. Kicking, punching, stabbing motions with their knives.

I noticed Drogo move forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees and eyes trained with intense concentration on the conflict before him.

A yelp, and I turned to look just as one of the men kicked the legs out from the other and stabbed him in the stomach. His braid was then cut off, and then left to slump to the ground bleeding out and- and dead.

My heart started to beat fast, and I could feel sweat drip down my back.

What is this place?

Everyone seemed to just go back to normal after the man on the ground was carried away. As if it never happened.

I went back to looking at the ground, trying to erase what just happened from my mind, as my new husband turned to talk to a man who had walked up the dais.

I sat there, still as could be, for what must have been hours, the sun moving across the sky and casting shadows. I took small bits of food and water when Drogo insisted, but otherwise sat limply.

If I started to think, surely I would break. 

And I couldn't break. Not now.

Some movement, and a new voice appeared, talking to Drogo. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him gesture his hand at me, and then the new voice cleared his throat.

“Hello, Khaleesi.”

Common tongue? And with an accent that sounded like home?

I looked up, even though I told myself that I wasn’t going to for the rest of the day, and saw what looked to be a Westerosi man in wool and leather, with brown hair and a strong build. Not strong like the man sitting next to me, but fit, for sure.

“I am Jorah Mormont, my lady. I have heard that you speak the Common Tongue, and thought to introduce myself to answer any questions you may have. I have been with the Dothraki for quite a while, and know their customs well.”

It couldn’t be... Jorah Mormont was slated for execution by my father for slavery. He fled, however, and nobody could find him. This was where he was the entire time?

I want to tell him my name, to have him know that a Stark was here and knows what he did, but he probably hates the Starks. If he knew, maybe he would sell me, too. I already told people my given name, and he must know the names of Eddard Stark's daughters...

My mind was racing with thoughts of what to do, but all that came out of my mouth was, “Hello, Ser.”

I could feel Drogo move his body to face my direction when I spoke.

Jorah smiled, “Hello, may I ask your name and where you are from? Are you from Westeros?”

I looked at him for a moment, and I’m sure a strained look appeared on my face. There was nothing for it, nothing at all, “My name is Sansa, Ser. I am from a small village in the Riverlands.”

There. Mother is from the Riverlands, and I know it well enough. Besides, the less I say the better, I’m sure.

It looked like Jorah was going to say something else, is mouth opening, but a commotion happened over his shoulders that made him look back.

Three men came forward, pausing in front of the dais. They carried what looked to be a sword, a bow and a whip.

Jorah turned back to me, “My lady, this a tradition among the Dothraki. The Khal’s bloodriders will offer you these gifts, but you must turn them down and have them offered to your husband instead.”

He walked back into the crowd after imparting that information.

Bloodriders? What sort of name is that? And what if I chose to take the gifts, would they let me go?

But I was too shocked and numb to do anything but what Jorah said, declining the gifts as they were presented to me and having them given to Drogo instead.

After the gifts were offered, Drogo stood and bent forward to grab my hand, leading me down the dais and toward the crowd. We walked through the crowd until we reached a beautiful horse with reddish-brown hair and light eyes.

It was gorgeous, and Drogo walked me right up to it.

Erri was there and said, “For you, Khaleesi.”

For me? I suppose this was my wedding gift, then.

Drogo put a hand on my face, startling me, and I jerked my eyes toward him.

He whispered some words to me, and he had to have known I didn’t understand, but he said them anyway.

“Yer zheanae sekke.”

He then lifted me up onto the horse, and another horse was brought to him. It was red, too, but taller and bigger- a stallion, then.

Drogo got onto his horse and took my horse's reins in his hand.

The crowd was cheering and throwing flowers at us as Drogo led me out into the tall grass, into the setting sun.

Chapter Text

Drogo led me off into the setting sun, the gathering of people behind us getting further and further away until I couldn’t see them at all, couldn’t hear them at all.

My body felt cold, even though it was still warm out.

I knew what was about to happen.

I had been around Joffrey and his Kingsguard enough to know how bad this could be. My maidenhead was never taken during the beatings when I was stripped naked in front of Joffrey and his men, but I could tell from their eyes what they imagined.

What they wanted to happen if only they could.

I had been lucky. Now though, it would seem that my luck had run out.

And in all my study of the world, the Dothraki were portrayed as a savage people.

At my wedding, men and women were doing that which should never be done in public, and one man got killed for interrupting. And the people cheered!

This will not be pleasant.

Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of the Warden of the North, a girl with a thousand-year-old bloodline, was now to be taken by a Dothraki man in the middle of Essos.

Mother would be beside herself. Arya would probably laugh.

Oh, how I wish I was home!

There was tall grass as far as the eye could see, with lumbering mountains off in the distance.

I was not married in a Sept with the blessings of the Seven, nor in front of a heart tree with the Old Gods watching on.

I wondered what kinds of Gods were watching me this night.

Drogo stopped his horse, bringing me and mine alongside him. He swung his large leg around and dismounted his stallion, rounding my horse and plucking me off my mare efficiently.

His eyes met mine for a brief moment as he set me on the ground, and he squeezed my waist before letting go and walking back to his horse.

He really towered over me, he might have even been larger than the Hound, his hands circled my middle entirely.

How was this supposed to work?

I noticed my hands getting even colder, and they started to shake. I didn’t have anything in my mind really, but this must be what shock is, surely.

I heard some rusting, and looked up to see Drogo bring out a large blanket from a bag slung over his horse. He then unfolded the blanket and put it out on the ground.

It was red and green, with gold lining.

I just kept staring at the colors, as I felt more than saw Drogo walk toward me and put his hands back on my waist.

I continued to stare at the blanket as he moved behind me and walked me to the blanket.

I looked and looked at it, the green and red swirling together, as Drogo pushed at my shoulders until my knees buckled onto the blanket.

He moved in front of me, and I could only stare at his legs, covered in brown hide pants, my mind going blank.

At once I felt like I used to when Joffrey called for me and I was beaten in front of him by his guards, frightened and like my skin would crawl off of my bones- but I also felt strangely at peace as unlike with Joffrey, I knew exactly what was coming.

I could feel Drogo run his hand over the top of my head and through my hair, and could hear him take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m sure he was looking at me and maybe even waiting for him to meet his eyes, but I could only stare at his legs in front of me.

He would whisper, “Zheana” every so often in what I imagine his version of a soft voice was.

Some sudden movement, and then he was behind me on the blanket, kneeling down himself, using a hand to gather my hair behind me and then over my shoulder. I could feel his nose running up and down my neck.

I closed my eyes slowly, and I tried so hard to keep my mind blank like it was just moments ago. I tried to keep childish thoughts of a prince coming to save me out of my mind, the idea that someday I would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

A prince will never come for me, and I will never be queen of anything. I had a thousand-year-old bloodline, and was descended of Kings and of the First Men, but none of this mattered.

Sansa Stark was born to be a queen and have beautiful dresses and happy children, but what she ended up as in the end was the maybe-wife of a barbarian far away from her family and everything she knew.

I could feel a tear slip out of the corner of my eye.

Drogo’s hands were running up and down my arms, and I still had my eyes shut. I refused to feel anything, until I felt him start to unwrap my dress.

“No,” I heard a quiet gravelly sound coming from somewhere.

“No, no, no, no, no,” was chanted over and over again in a whisper-like voice. I realized belatedly that this was my voice, and Drogo had stopped what he was doing and went still.

I just kept chanting the word, I couldn’t stop, not even when he moved a hand to my chin and lifted my face up to his to look into my eyes.

I could see his eyes, so black that I feared they would consume me, trail over my face and settle on my mouth, where I was still forming the words without any sound coming out.

“No.” Drogo said, as a statement more than anything.

I paused, and took in a shaky breath before repeating back to him, “No.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and I could see him trying to understand.

That was something, at least. Joffrey and many others always understood exactly what I said but never listened.

Maybe... maybe my fate was still sealed but he wasn’t going to terrorize me over it. A Dothraki nomad being more considerate than Joffrey was surprising- or maybe not so surprising at all.

My Septa always said that this would hurt, but that my gift would be children. I’m sure she never imagined this, though... but maybe if I lay perfectly still and put my mind somewhere else, it will be like nothing ever happened.

The brief interlude was over, though, as Drogo’s brow unfurrowed and he moved me to my back on top of the blanket. He leaned over me so our chests were touching and our faces were close. One of his hands resumed moving up and down an arm.

My breath hitched, and his eyes that were on my arm watching his hand move came up to mine.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t look, I couldn’t... oh, just let him be done with this.

I could feel and hear him sigh deeply. And the hand that was on my arm came up to cup the side of my face. His hand was so large he was able to span the entirety of it.

If he strikes me, it would be devastating.

His other hand came up to cup the other side of my head, and he took a thumb and brushed it over one of my shut eyes.

“Fini?” He said in that soft-for-him voice.

I gulped and got out, “No.”

“No?” It sounded like he was asking a question.

I opened one of my eyes and peeked at him, he was already looking at me and angled his head a bit more to look into my eye better.

“No.” I said again and opened both of my eyes all the way.

“Hmm.” Drogo murmured and I could feel the thumb he used to stroke my closed eye start to move under it back and forth.

He obviously didn’t understand. But- but maybe if I showed him what I meant. He wouldn’t like it, but he seemed like he wanted to at least know what I was saying.

So, I steadied myself and brought a hand up to his that was gliding over my face and grabbed it. I lifted it off of me and stated, “No.”

Drogo’s eyes went back and forth between mine and his hand where I grabbed him. He went to place his hand back on my face, but I stopped him saying again, “No.”

Drogo raised an eyebrow and replied, “No?”

“No.”

He stared into my eyes for what felt like ages, but what must have been only minutes. I wondered if maybe this was when he was going to strike me.

But he only sighed again, putting the hand that I had grabbed onto the ground beside my head. He tilted his head as if maybe looking at me from a different angle would answer some question he had in his mind about me.

I was prepared for him to grab my face again and get back to what he was doing. I had resigned myself to my fate, and knew what was going to happen. I was no fool.

I knew Joffrey, after all.

But he only said, “Ha ajjin, verzeth noreth,” and then moved off of me, closed his eyes, and appeared to go to sleep.

It was almost completely dark out, and my body and mind hadn’t really processed what just happened.

He stopped?

My mind whirled with anxious thoughts until my body gave up and went to sleep.

—

I was awoken by a feeling.

At first I didn’t really know what was going on, groggy from sleep. My surroundings were bright from the moon in the sky, and I felt for a moment that I was back home in the Godswood at Winterfell.

I was on my side, and a heat was spreading from the bottom of my stomach out toward the rest of my body.

I stretched one of my arms up above my head and went to move my hair back over my shoulder, when I bumped into something hard.

And I remembered.

My body froze, and so did what I now realized was a body behind me.

I looked down and saw Drogo’s hand up my dress. I could feel his hand on my center and his breath on my neck. I turned my head to the side and met his eyes. He was on his side, too, and practically hunched over me.

I blame my shock and confusion for not speaking the word that seemed to have stopped him before.

We looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and it seemed like Drogo was waiting for something. When enough time passed, I swear I saw a slight smirk appear on his lips and he hunched over me even more, cocooning me in his body.

And his hand started moving.

A small moan came out of me, and I was surprised at how... at how good it felt. I've never felt anything like this before. My Septa told me never to touch myself down there, that it was improper. But this felt good.

Drogo’s eyes went up at the corners, and I think his smirk may have turned into a real smile.

I looked away quickly, facing in front of me.

I was tempted to say “no” again. But this felt nice. And it’s been so long since anyone held me kindly.

I sighed out, and tipped my head back into his chest. I moved one of my hands to hold on to Drogo’s forearm.

I should stop this. I’m Sansa Stark, I should be married to a king.

But Joffrey is a king, and he never touched me like this.

Joffrey's touch was cruel, but this wasn't.

And no one was going to come save me. Not mother, not Robb. The Hound was who knows where.

At least this feels good.

The heat at the bottom of my belly started to spread out to the rest of my body in full force, and my fingers and toes tingled a bit.

Then, all of a sudden, it felt like something went off inside me and everything went warm.

“Oh,” I whispered out followed by a long moan.

After it was over, my body went lax. It felt almost like my body was enveloped in a warm bath.

I’ve never felt anything like this before. I didn't know that this was what happened between a man and a woman. Joffrey always said...

I vaguely registered Drogo murmuring, “Zheana” over and over again.

My mind was foggy, it was like I had just eaten a hundred of my favorite lemon cakes.

Ecstasy.

I was so comfortable that I didn’t notice Drogo moving his hand off of me and pulling the bottom of my dress up.

I didn’t register him grabbing my leg just under my knee and hoisting it up.

I didn’t think of anything at all until I felt pain when he pushed inside of me.

It happened so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to think, one moment I was laying there and then in the next moment he had pushed all the way inside me.

It hurt, it stung. He was too big.

I was whining, and tears were coming out of my eyes. Drogo pushed his face into my hair and shushed me, kissing my ear every so often.

He stayed still inside me until I stopped whimpering, and then he started to move.

In and out, I could here our bodies come together obscenely.

He took my maidenhead.

A maidenhead worth kingdoms. 

Did he know? Did he realize what he has just taken?

I whimpered again when it hurt too much for me to keep quiet, and Drogo paused. I could feel his head turn and his eyes looking at my face.

His hand that was below my knee moved back to my center and started to rub again. He didn’t move until I moaned, and then quickened his pace while continuing to touch me.

The sting was still there, but at least there was pleasure, too.

Drogo’s thrusts became shorter, and all of a sudden he grunted, pushing into me a final time.

I could feel him come inside me.

We lay there a moment, both of our breaths heavy.

After a long while Drogo moved out of me and turned me on my back. Both of his hands went to the sides of my face and moved my head so that I was looking at him.

His face was severe as he studied the tear tracks on my face, his thumbs moving through the wet.

He started to talk then, in long sentences in a language that I don’t think that I will ever understand. Three words stood out though, as he said them multiple times.

Chiorikem, khaleesi, atthirarido.

When he was done speaking, he put his nose into my hair again and breathed deeply.

Then his kissed my forehead.

I blinked up at him as he moved back to look into my eyes.

I wanted to think over what had just happened but I must still be in shock because when Drogo moved to lay on his back, bringing me with him so that I laid across his chest, I just closed my eyes and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

The past few days have been boring.

Three days ago was my apparent wedding to a Dothraki nomad of some level of importance.

After the marriage had been consummated, I awoke in a new tent without Drogo, and I've been here ever since.

He must have brought me back while I was asleep. This was probably for the best. I don’t know how I could have looked at him after what we had done and how I had reacted.

Mother would be ashamed of me, surely.

This new tent is much larger, with a bed made of pelts and silks at the back with huge feather pillows. Trunks filled with clothing and jewels lined the space. There was even a low table with pillows around it for eating. Candles littered the ground that were lit at night that made the atmosphere quite cozy, I admit.

The first morning Erri and Kissi woke me up whispering “Khaleesi”. I still don’t know what that means. When I tried to ask Erri about it became evident that her knowledge of the Common Tongue only went so far- not very far at all.

The girls washed me and dressed me in a short sleeveless blue dress the color of the sky, and plunked me down at the table to eat some breakfast of sorts. Jerky of some kind and a variety of fruits, some of which I had never seen before.

And there I sat, for the rest of the day as Erri and Kissi flittered about in and out of the tent working. I was left with my thoughts that I desperately tried to push away. I decided to name as many Great Houses of Westeros in my head as I could, and naming off as many people that I knew who were a part of those houses. It kept my mind busy.

Drogo did not return.

In fact, I’ve not seen Drogo since our wedding night.

The first night I got concerned, that perhaps this was all a part of some elaborate ritual after all. Or maybe I wasn't Drogo's first wife...

But when I went through all the trunks in an anxious haze, trying to find something, anything, to understand my new life, I came upon what were obviously clothing belonging to Drogo. Hide pants, straps of leather, gold armbands that could probably fit around my thigh and still leave room, and various other masculine trinkets.

And with clothing for me being stored right along side his, Drogo was obviously coming back sometime.

But sometime was not the next day, or the next.

The second day after my wedding started exactly the same as the first.

After my morning meal though, I had to ask.

“Erri, where is Drogo?”

Erri had been in the middle of cleaning the table, she looked up and tilted her head at me in thought when I spoke.

“Khal Drogo away,” was what she replied.

“Where?” I questioned further.

Erri just shook her head at that and threw her hands up a bit in the universal way to say that one doesn’t understand.

I sighed loudly at that.

It’s not like I was sad, but I was bored. Being in a sort of stasis after so much happening and not fully knowing what was going on was difficult to sit with.

What was I supposed to do? What was my purpose here?

It’s not like there was a house to run or sewing to do.

I didn't like being left alone with my thoughts. I was running out of Great Houses to run through in my head.

On the third day after my wedding, and after the noontime meal, I sighed even louder upon realizing that I needed to move on to the Lesser Houses.

Erri looked at me for a moment after my sighing, and set down her rag and came around the table to grab my arm.

“Come, Khaleesi.”

I stood with her as she called Kissi from the back of the tent where she was making the bed with new silks. Kissi came up to join us, wrapping her hand around my other arm that Erri hadn’t latched onto. We walked out of the tent.

People were wandering around, and tents went as far as the eye could see.

We started to stroll around.

We walked and walked and walked.

I kept my eyes down, mostly. Still unsure of well, everything.

And I knew what could happen if I looked at the wrong person in the wrong way.

We walked until we came upon what was presumably the end of the sort-of village, where there was a large cordoned off area filled with horses. So many horses I could never hope to count them all.

This wasn’t necessarily surprising, as I knew the Dothraki were prolific horse riders, but who I saw at the edge of the area with a shovel scooping up the horses excrement was.

The Hound.

He was alive!

I moved my arms out of Erri and Kissi’s hold, walking quickly over to where the Hound was working.

As I got closer I whisper-yelled, “Ser!”

His body twitched, and he looked up to meet my eyes, a severe expression on his face.

As I got closer, his face seemed to get more and more severe, the sides of is mouth practically reaching his chin.

He looked fine, but maybe could do for a bath. He was no longer wearing any armour and instead had on some linen pants and a shirt the color of sand.

I was just about to be upon him when Erri and Kissi reached me and grabbed my arms again, pulling me back, Erri saying, “No, Khaleesi.”

What was going on? Why couldn’t I go near him? Surely they knew we were brought in together, that he’s the only familiar face here in this sea of Dothraki.

I looked back at the Hound, and saw his eyes on my arms where the girls held me. His mouth opened and he got out, “Little Bird-“

But he never got to finish that sentence, because a loud commotion started and was coming this way.

What looked about ten horses came into the area, men jumping off their steeds and letting them go to roam with the the others.

And then Drogo appeared. Tall and imposing on his horse, he rode it near the others and dismounted. His large hand brushing over the red stallions neck.

He turned around and talked to some of the men, then his eyes glanced up to see me.

He paused, and then strode through the men that he towered over to come to me.

I froze, I hadn’t seen him in three days and forgot a bit just how scary he looked. With his height and large arms. His bare chest and beard with long hair that had bells in it.

This was who touched me in that... that way a few nights ago.

As he got closer I could see his eyes flick back and forth between the Hound and I.

I looked away, toward the Hound who was looking at Drogo with what looked like contempt in his eyes.

“Verzath Noreth,” Drogo’s deep voice said behind me.

Erri and Kissi let go of me, bowing slightly and saying, “Khal Drogo.”

Drogo turned me around to face him, settling his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them a bit.

He looked over my head, and stared at the Hound for a short while. He stared until I heard the Hound say, “Khal Drogo” quietly behind me.

Was Drogo some sort of high-ranking soldier, then? For even the Hound had to acknowledge him.

Drogo looked back at me, and tilted his head as if looking at me from a different angle would answer some question he had. He moved one hand to rest on the side of my face, fingers sifting through my hair.

Drogo gazed at me for some time, fingers kneading my scalp. My eyes fluttered, it felt nice.

The corners of his moth tipped up for a moment.

Then Drogo said, “Jadat” and turned me around, his hand moving to my lower back as he led me back into the tent village, away from the only person in this entire place that I knew, and that knew me.

I looked over my shoulder at the Hound, and our eyes met. He stared at me until I turned back around.

I did not notice Drogo looking at me as I glanced back, his eyes moving to look at the Hound for a moment.

When I faced forward again I didn’t notice Drogo meeting the Hounds eyes, and moving his arm up around my shoulders.

—

Eating the evening meal with Drogo was odd.

For a man so large and imposing, he actually ate quite neatly.

We had some kind of grilled meat with a soup that tasted like grass.

It all tasted a bit different from what I was used to, but at least everything was edible.

I sat on the floor on a pillow by the table, Drogo taking up space across from me. Erri and Kissi served us, cleaning up when we were done.

There was no conversation. But really, what would we have talked about?

Eating with someone though made me miss home, miss Winterfell. Eating with mother and father with Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and even Jon, was a privilege I now realize. Something I probably will never do again.

If only Robb knew where I was, surely he would come and save me.

No one would want to marry me after finding out that I lost my maidenhead to a Dothraki, of course, but I could live out my days in Winterfell alone- no one could hurt me there, and Joffrey would be too busy being king to bother with me.

When all the plates and bowls were taken away, Erri came to me and grabbed my hand.

She led me away to the side of the tent which held the trunks where most of my clothing was, or at least, the clothing given to me was.

The dresses provided to me here would shock even a Dornish courtesan.

Erri set about undressing me while Kissi brushed my hair out.

Drogo just turned in his seat slightly and watched me.

His elbow braced on the table, with his head leaning into one of his hands, his other hand braced on one of his knees.

He just watched me as Erri took off my dress, as I became naked before him. I wanted to turn around, but knew that that would do no good.

My fingers started to twitch and I saw Drogo notice that. He brought his eyes up to mine then and they stayed there. We just stared at each other as Erri took a damp cloth and started wiping the front of my body. We stared at each other as Kissi went to braid my hair for bed and Drogo said a word curtly, and Kissi stopped, brushing my hair out once again.

No one ever has looked at me like this before.

Joffrey stared at me from his throne as the Kingsguard beat me, with a glint in his eye that portrayed his cruel amusement.

Drogo's eyes held no glint, no coldness or meanness from what I could tell. If anything they almost seemed warm, fascinated, even.

I tried to think about the Lesser Houses of Westeros some more, but was unsuccessful.  

We looked at each other in the eyes until Erri turned me around so that she could reach my back with the cloth.

I had just turned to face the tent's wall when I heard Drogo take in a quick breath.

Erri and Kissi froze.

I heard shuffling, and then I saw the girls step away.

“Esemrasakh,” Drogo cut out. And Erri and Kissi left the tent.

Drogo came up behind me, and I could feel his hot breath blow my hair slightly.

A hand came up, and touched my back softly.

Ah, so he hadn't noticed before.

Noticed what Joffrey and his Kingsguard has done to me.

I’m not totally naïve, it’s obvious Drogo enjoys how I look. Maybe that's even what spared my life when I was brought to him.

Will he be angry at me now that I am so obviously damaged in some way? Will he cast me away to shovel horse dung with the Hound? Will he treat me like Joffrey did now that he knows I was abused once and am used to such treatment?

Drogo has both hands on my back now, tracing where they whipped me.

“You know,” I start, unable to help myself, “Where I am from, there are only two people who could ever do this to me. My father, and the king. My father would never allow such a thing to happen to me, but my father is dead, the king killed him.”

I want Drogo to leave, or shove me out of the tent. Anything, I just want to get away from him, from his gentle touches.

He’ll never know what I said, he’ll never know me. I’m just a thing, too, to him- just like with Joffrey.

My eyes start to fill with tears.

No. Stop, stop it Sansa. Keep it inside, don’t break now. Hopefully there will be a time in future when I’m alone and when my feelings overwhelm me, maybe then I can-

I’m turned around, and I stare at his chest, refusing to look up.

Drogo doesn’t let me hide my eyes, though, and uses a hand to tilt my face up to his.

Our eyes lock, and I can’t help the lone tear that leaks out.

He watches the tear as it makes it way down my cheek.

After a moment he looks into my eyes again, and starts to shuffle me backwards toward the bed.

When the back of my legs bump into it, he lightly pushes me onto the plush pillows and silk sheets.

He straightens up, and takes off his pants and boots.

I’m still naked from the washing, and I brace myself for Drogo to take me again.

But Drogo just gets into bed and lies back, pulling me to rest on top of him.

I’m so exhausted from my memories of Joffrey, that I close my eyes and sleep.

—

My eyes open slowly, a light feeling on my back arousing me from sleep.

The morning light is shining, lighting up the inside of the tent through the canvas. Making everything seem golden in my drowsy state.

I’m on my belly, and my face is on my arm, tilted to the side.

The feeling on my back continues, and it almost feels ticklish.

And then I notice the hand moving up and down my side, and the body pressed up against me.

I must have moved to the other side of Drogo in my sleep, and now it was morning.

As I come to more and more, I realize the tickling feeling on my back is his lips.

Drogo is... he’s kissing my scars.

I’m about to move away when he gets up. I freeze, and go to close my eyes to feign sleep as I hear the rustling of clothes and the thunking of boots.

I keep my eyes closed and my body still even as I hear footsteps come near me.

More movement, and Drogo bends and kisses my forehead before turning and leaving the tent.

When he’s gone I open my eyes, sitting up and bringing a hand to my forehead to touch where he kissed it.

I stay like that until Erri and Kissi arrive to get me ready for the day.

Chapter Text

The afternoon after Drogo discovered my scars, I found myself on a blanket eating my noontime meal a little ways from the village. Erri and Kissi took me to a slight hill surrounded by the ever-present tall grasses and sat me down to snack on more jerky and fruits with a sweet type of ale to sip on. Jorah Mormont joined us.

Here I found myself sitting next to a slaver from the North a continent away from both our birthplaces. We had exchanged pleasantries on our stroll here, and now sat eating without much fanfare.

Even though he was sentenced to death by my father, I knew I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by- he was the only one around who spoke both the Common Tongue and Dothraki, and seemed to have some sense of what the goings on were here.

I cleared my throat, “Ser Mormont, how long have you been with the Dothraki?”

He look up from the fruit he was picking at and with a slight smile that crinkled his eyes said, “Please, Khaleesi, call me Jorah. And to answer your question, I have been with the Dothraki for some time. I travelled Essos almost aimlessly, finally staying with the Dothraki for a while, learning the language and customs.”

“Hmm, so you know quite a bit about the people here,” I trailed off.

“Yes, Khaleesi.”

I paused, looking down at my cup of ale.

“Ser Jorah, what does Khaleesi mean exactly? Everyone seems to be calling me that, even you, but I have no idea what it means.”

Ser Jorah smiled openly at that, “Why, Khaleesi, it means queen.”

What? It feels like my heart stopped for a moment. No, no, it couldn’t be.

“Pardon?”

His smile got even bigger, if possible.

“Yes, it means queen. There is no central power figure like in Westeros among the Dothraki. There are Khals, kings, who lead hordes called khalasars throughout the Dothraki Sea. And you are Khal Drogo’s queen, his Khaleesi.”

I stare at Ser Jorah with what must be a shocked expression on my face.

Drogo is... Drogo is...

“Furthermore,” Ser Jorah continues, “He is fearsome even amongst the Dothraki. He has never been beaten in battle, and leads the largest khalasar in the Sea. It’s why his hair is so long, see, a Dothraki’s braid is cut off if he is beaten.”

Drogo’s braid goes past his back. I always thought it was just something men here did in vanity, but it appears to be more about status.

But a king? That’s what Drogo is? And I am his queen?

I can hear Joffrey snickering at me over the slight breeze.

So I really did marry him then?

“Yes, you did.”

My eyes flick up to Ser Jorah’s face. I must have said that out loud without meaning to.

“Oh, well. This is quite a lot to take in, Ser Jorah.” I look into my cup, feeling cold inside. I must turn cold, so nothing more comes out.

He makes a humming sound, “I admit that I was surprised at this turn on events, Khaleesi. Khal Drogo was actually in talks to marry the Targaryen girl, who is living in Essos in exile. But, when he saw you, he immediately wanted to marry you instead. Khal’s can actually have multiple wives, but the girl’s brother was upset with this turn of events and broke the engagement. Besides, I have a feeling the Khal wouldn’t be interested in marrying her now, anyway.”

This is too much to take in, and it takes all I have in me to stay still and keep my face neutral.

Mother raised me to be the wife a an important man, even the wife of the King. And now, it seems I really am a queen, just a queen my mother would never approve of.

A queen of grass, tents and horses.

“That reminds me, where did you say you were from Khaleesi?”

I look into Ser Jorah’s eyes, he’s still smiling but an almost calculating look passes over his face.

It reminds me of faces I saw in King’s Landing.

“From the Riverlands, Ser Jorah, far away from here. This is all most unexpected for me, I’m sure you can imagine. Pray, would you be willing to teach me some Dothraki? If I truly am married to a Dothraki leader, it wouldn't do for me to not know any of the language.”

The calculating look doesn’t leave Ser Jorah’s eyes even when he agrees to teach me Dothraki.

It’s alright, I am still cold inside.

And I can play the game, too.

—

One Week Later

My leg was hoisted in the air, his hand behind my knee pushing it until it almost reached my shoulder.

His other hand was braced on the bed beside me, one of my hands wrapped around his wrist, holding on.

He was grunting as he pushed into me, and I think I was whimpering.

I almost can't believe that this is really happening.

I was raised to be a proper lady, to run a household, to be a queen...

Well, if what Ser Jorah told me was true, I am a queen- just not one that held any resemblance to what I thought a queen would be.

This last week was filled much like the first few days of my marriage, except it was interspersed with small Dothraki lessons with Ser Jorah, meals with Drogo, and even a ride on the red horse that was gifted to me.

And time in the marital bed, too.

When Drogo took me for the first time after the wedding night, I was tempted to tell him no. But he was kind, and so I let him enter me while I thought about how he kissed the scars on my back.

Every day now he comes to me and takes me, and I just lay there and let him. It’s even started to feel nice, but I haven’t experienced that total body warmth like I did the first time.

I don’t react much, and I don’t say anything.

What is there to say? Drogo only understands the word “No” in the Common Tongue and thus far I’ve only memorized, “Yes” “No” and “Hello” in Dothraki.

I’m also dejected.

In the first few lessons I had with Ser Jorah, I toyed around with the idea of telling him who I truly was, getting him to somehow send a message to mother and Robb back home but-

Well, he hasn’t quite dropped that calculating look in his eyes when he talks with me.

I can’t chance it.

Maybe Joffrey is looking for me and I’m sure he’d pay quite a some to return me to him.

The terror I’d face then...

No.

No, I wouldn’t be telling Ser Jorah. Not matter what he imagines, I’ll never reveal to him who I am even if he suspects.

My position is perilous now as is.

Drogo quickened his pace for a moment before stilling, grunting loudly once before moving off of me and onto his back beside me.

I take a silk sheet and bring it over my naked body.

I had just closed my eyes to try and go to sleep when Drogo moves beside me. I peek up and see that he’s up on an elbow and looking down at me.

He just stares at me for a good long while, not saying anything until he opens his mouth and speaks a slew of words in Dothraki that sound like nothing I’ve learned in my lessons.

After he’s done he just stares at me some more, eyebrows low over his eyes.

They really are a true black, I can’t even see his pupils from up close like this-

“Noreth,” he says quickly.

What?

Another look, then he repeats the word again while picking up a chunk of my hair and waving it in my face.

“Noreth.”

What in the world is he doing? We never talk at night like this. He takes me and then goes to sleep.

Drogo keeps saying the word while waving my hair.

I just look at him blankly.

He stops, gives me a blank look back until suddenly moving an arm.

It was so quick, that I flinch.

I didn’t mean to.

Drogo notices, his eyes flicking sharply to my face.

I just- I just-

He keeps looking at me in the eye while slowly moving his arm back, grabbing his braid from behind him and bringing it over his shoulder.

He holds it and again says, “Noreth.”

What in the world is he- oh. Oh!

He’s trying to teach me a word. And a word he’s said to me before, I recall.

So he was commenting on my hair, then.

I think a small smile lights my face, and his eyes glance down at my lips while I grab a piece of my hair and repeat, “Noreth.”

Drogo nods while still looking at my lips, “Noreth.”

I think that’s all the conversation for tonight until he brings his hand down and touches my lips with his finger and repeats the word for hair.

What is he doing now?

He lifts his finger and I repeat it back to him again. After I’m done he taps my lips and shakes his head a bit.

Could he... could he want to know the word in the Common tongue?

I whisper, “Hair.”

Drogo’s lips quirk, and he repeats after me in that deep, deep voice, “Hair.”

I don’t know why I did it, but in a moment of spontaneity I grab the end of his braid that’s still over his shoulder and tug a little, “Hair.”

He actually smiles this time, just for moment, his teeth flashing bright white against his bronze skin.

He goes to tug my hair, mirroring my action, saying, “Hair.”

He then kisses my forehead before laying on his back.

This time though, unlike the previous few nights, he moves me so that I’m resting half on his body with my head on his shoulder.

I let sleep claim me.

—

In the morning Drogo is gone like usual, but unusually Erri and Kissi seem to be packing up everything in the tent.

Confused I ask Erri what’s going on and where we are going.

Either she understands my words or the confused look on my face. Either way, she responds in a way that I wasn’t expecting at all.

“Pentos.”

Chapter Text

Sansa Stark was born at Winterfell, in the North of Westeros.

She traveled South, then sailed an entire ocean to the middle of another continent.

And now, she was in Pentos, the Free City just across the Narrow Sea.

Married.

Sometimes, at night, she would stand just at the edge of the property, behind Drogo's mansion and past the pool, to stare across the ocean.

Sometimes, if she looked really hard and stood very still, she imagined that she could see home again, across the sea.

Sansa knew that that wasn't true.

She knew, and yet she couldn't help herself.

-

I have been in Pentos for about a moon, staying mostly to myself at the mansion.

This wasn't any trouble, as upon arriving I quickly learned that Drogo didn't just live in a tent- when he felt like it he could go to his nine-towered mansion of pale stone complete with a courtyard and pool and many gardens overlooking the Bay of Pentos.

Ser Jorah told her that it was a gift. A gift! This home, practically a castle, was given to him all so that Drogo would not attack the city.

Sansa also learned from Ser Jorah that Drogo had a residence in Vaes Dothrak, the only city of the Dothraki people, and way on the other side of the Dothraki Sea.

It seems like Sansa was bound for more time in the saddle.

Maybe I should have spent more time with Arya, after all.

Ser Jorah also seemed to be in a mood. He was nice to me, sure, and gave me Dothraki lessons, but Sansa could tell he was aggravated- at her or Drogo she could not tell.

Drogo spent most of his time out in Pentos, doing whatever it is he needed to do. Ser Jorah said it was for talks about trade, nothing that I needed to worry about.

If he only knew what I was raised to be.

Sometimes Ser Jorah would go with, and sometimes not. Once, when Sansa was passing the courtyard, she saw Drogo and Ser Jorah enter the gates to the mansion along with some of Drogo's riders. She could hear the two talking, almost arguing, and Ser Jorah mentioned the name 'Daenerys'.

Drogo responded firmly with, "Vos."

No.

Sansa couldn't be certain, but perhaps Ser Jorah's aggravation stemmed from Drogo not wanting to marry Daenerys Targaryen.

Sansa wasn't a fool about such things, and knew that the Dothraki could have multiple wives. But it seemed like Drogo was content with just one. Her.

And Drogo seemed to be quite happy with his choice.

He was not shy in his touches with Sansa, and continued to lay with her practically every night.

He would still ask me for words in the Common Tongue, and now that Sansa was learning more Dothraki they could actually communicate better.

It wasn't all horrible, Sansa could admit. She was treated nicely- like a queen.

But still, this was the Dothraki. What would her father have thought of this? She wouldn't allow herself to imagine what her mother would think. And her family... oh, what happened? Where were they? And Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, even Jon... No, no, Sansa could not think about these things.

Sansa had gotten quite adept at not thinking about home or her family. She spent most of her time outside lounging by the pool, on a chaise with a silk canopy overhead, reading books that Ser Jorah would bring her. Sometimes she would get in the pool and swim as she was part Tully, after all.

Ser Jorah, if he was surprised, kept it to himself at his learning that I could read. It was a chance I had to take, though, I was getting terribly bored with nothing to do all day.

And being idle never lead to good things.

So he went into Pentos every so often and brought back selections of books in the Common Tongue.

Every morning after Erri and Kissi helped her to get ready she would come outside and sit, breaking her fast while watching the sun move higher into the sky.

Drogo was always gone in the morning, returning in the afternoon, but more often in the evening. If he was home in time, they would eat the evening meal together before going to bed.

It wasn't a difficult way of existing, which just steeped Sansa's guilt even more.

Most of the time she was alone, but she had gotten quite good at it. She was used to being alone in King's Landing, after all. But at least now, she didn't have to worry about others intruding in her space or hurting her.

Sansa felt guilty, for having nothing to do all day. For living in luxury when she knew what her family was dealing with.

But really, what was there that I could do?

Maybe I wasn't a wolf, after all. Just a dog who's every need was taken care of, but never living out it's purpose.

Today was just like any other day, and Drogo was still out, Sansa having eaten her evening meal alone with just the new book she was reading, a small anthology of stories about the First Men.

Sansa laughed internally when she noticed it in the pile of books Ser Jorah gave her. If they only knew.

They knew her as a peasant from the Riverlands, most would probably see Sansa as lucky to marry a Dothraki Khal. But, she actually had one of the oldest bloodlines in all of Westeros. If Sansa allowed herself to really think on this, it may seem that Drogo was actually lucky to marry her.

But she would not think of such things.

The sun was setting, turning the sky bright oranges and purples and blues. It was beautiful, and the sounds from the Bay drifted up to Sansa on a soft breeze.

She was laying on her back, with silk pillows supporting her head, holding the book over her face. A bit of a perilous position, but very comfortable. And no one was around who cared if she looked presentable or not. Her mother would be beside herself. So would her Septa, in fact. But they weren't here to chastise her.

Sansa was all alone.

And honestly, being presentable never really did Sansa much good.

She had just flipped a page when a shadow fell over her, and a weight sat down by her hips.

Drogo.

She moved her book down, and looked at him from above the rim of the book.

He was a beautiful man, Sansa could admit it.

With his hair tied back in a long braid, with bells sprinkled throughout.

The tan skin, the muscled body. Sansa could admit it to herself. She could.

In fact, if this season of her life taught her anything, it was that it really made her wonder what she ever saw in Joffrey.

Yes, Joffrey was a king, it was his birthright- but he was not a King. 

Not like Drogo, at least.

Drogo was looking at her with lowered eyelids, and moved a bit so he was facing her more, arm going over her hip, hand resting on the chaise.

"Hello," he said with that deep voice.

Sansa couldn't suppress her shiver.

"M'athchomaroon," she whispered back.

This was their routine. He would greet her in the Common Tongue upon returning home, and she would reply back in Dothraki.

Sansa moved to put her book down in her lap, and looked at Drogo more fully. After countless nights of being with him, Sansa had lost any feelings of propriety when they were alone.

And as time went on, Drogo seemed pleased that she was becoming more comfortable around him.

It was late, and it seemed like he had just returned, the sky getting darker and darker.

She knew Erri and Kissi and any other servants would have scattered the moment they saw their king go to be alone with his queen outside. There was no one but them out here.

It was safe, with no prying eyes. So unlike King's Landing.

Drogo made a noise deep in his throat and moved his free hand to cup her cheek, and he dipped his head in order to kiss Sansa's cheek. His nose went into her hair, and he breathed deeply before moving his lips to kiss her neck.

They stayed like that for some time, Sansa moving to get more comfortable on the pillows while Drogo kissed and licked at her neck. One of her hands grasped his wrist beside her hip, her other moving to rest on top of the hand that was on her face. She could hear a soft thud as her book landed on a cushion at her side.

Once Sansa relaxed and rid her mind of any thoughts of her old life, she could enjoy it. And Drogo never hurt her like Joffrey did.

In fact, considering who Drogo was and how imposing he looked, it was surprising that he was always gentle with her, with his touches.

It was almost like he was trying to earn her good graces, but that couldn't be so.

He moved to kiss down my neck toward the tops of my breasts before moving to the other side of my neck with his attentions, his fingers in her hair- it was all very exciting. Drogo moved back, breathing hard, before scooping her up off the chaise and moving toward the pool with her in his arms.

He'd done this before. Drogo liked to swim, too, even though she'd heard from Ser Jorah that the Dothraki typically do not like water.

But one night Sansa had went for a late night swim when Drogo returned to the mansion. His eyes twinkled upon seeing her in the pool, and he joined her. It was fun that night, having someone to spend the evening with while doing something she liked.

Drogo dropped her on her feet by the edge of the pool, moving to take off her sleeveless green dress. It was some sort of chiffon thing, something common in Essos. Most of her dresses were some shade of green or red, Drogo obviously liking those colors on her.

Once she was naked save for her gold armbands and chain necklace, Drogo took off his leather boots and hides. Then, he picked her up again and walked the steps down into the pool. Releasing her legs, he wound both of his arms around her waist, walking her deeper into the pool until her feet couldn't touch.

While he was walking, Sansa went to pull her hair up onto the top of her head, using a clip she already had at the back of her head that was holding the sides of her hair up. When she was done, she put her hands on Drogo's shoulders and moved her eyes to meet his.

He'd obviously been watching her, and had a soft expression on his face.

Sansa, unable to fully let herself be with him, chose to ignore the soft look. Instead resting her head on his shoulder, turning to look over at the Bay.

They stayed their like that, Drogo moving every so often a step in the water. His hands wandered, moving from her waist to her bottom to her breasts.

They were getting closer to the edge of the pool in the deeper end. Drogo turned and pressed her up against the side wall, putting his face where her shoulder met her neck.

He stayed like that, cocooned there, and Sansa couldn't help but move her hands over his shoulders and back in soothing motions. He grunted as he hoisted her up higher, hands on her hips. Sansa knew what he was about to do, and so braced herself with one hand on the edge of the pool just as he entered her.

Heavy breathing dominated the space around them. Drogo wrapped one arm around her hips, his other hand moved to the back of her neck, moving her up and down on him. She couldn't help the breathy moans that left her. Sansa had learned that she could feel pleasure in these moments, that she didn't just have to endure- and why deny herself?

Her legs entwined around his, and she rubbed herself against him, trying to get to that place with the bright light and warm feelings.

They came together, and then they stayed connected, Drogo kissing her face and neck and hair over and over again.

He carried her inside, leaving their clothes behind, up to their bed to sleep.

She drifted off halfway there, knowing Drogo would get her there safely.

-

Sansa was excited.

Another week past and it was announced that she would actually be able to go out into the city.

Ser Jorah translated as Drogo told her that since his business was in the market area, she could go and look to see if there was anything she wanted. She would be heavily guarded, of course. But Sansa didn't care- there would finally be something new for her to do. Reading and lounging by a pool all day could only entertain one for so long.

When she was told she smiled so big that it felt odd, not having smiled like that in what felt like forever.

Sansa didn't notice Drogo's eyes light up at her excitement, a slight smile on his lips.

So here she was, walking through stalls filled with trinkets and treasures, fabrics and swords, all while Drogo entered some large building further up the way for some "talks" as Ser Jorah told her.

She had already purchased a few more books, and some swaths of fabric that were not red or green for her to sew new dresses for herself. She was even thinking of maybe trying to create some lightweight trousers for herself, inspired by Arya during their childhood. The Dothraki seemed to not care all too much in matters of fashion, and so Sansa felt intrigued at the idea of trying something new, something she couldn't do at home.

She also got some gold and silver colored fabrics, to make dresses for Erri and Kissi- and also bought some heavier brown fabric to make a cloak for Ser Jorah. Sure, he'd been aggravated recently, but he'd still given her lessons and brought her books.

And he was stuck following her around along with some other Dothraki guards while she shopped. She could make him something. She might even sew a bear on it. It wouldn't be odd for Sansa from the Riverlands to know the Mormont's lived on Bear Island, would it?

She even purchased some fabric in neutral shades, to make some tunics for Drogo. She'd never seen him wear any, but surely he would need one sometime. And besides, she wanted to gift him something for how kind he has treated her.

For bringing her with him today. For buying all the things she wanted today- she knew it was his coin she was using.

Sansa knew that people didn't have to be kind, even if propriety and station required it.

Frankly, I also wanted to be useful, and sewing and embroidering has always been something I not only liked to do but could do well.

Done looking at fabrics, Sansa was walking the market streets, peering at all the things on display. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until...

"Arya?!" She exclaimed. There, by the fountain up ahead, she swore she saw Arya.

She was wearing dusty grey clothes, and her hair was cut short, and she was a bit older- but surely this must be her.

Sansa knew it.

She bolted off, running toward the girl she knew to be her long lost sister.

She could hear Ser Jorah and the other guards shout her name, but she didn't care. She had to get to her. When she got close, calling her name, Arya turned. Her eyes were milky, like they didn't work quite right, but her face was the same.

This was her sister.

Right before she got to the fountain, a group of people walked in front of her, stopping Sansa from reaching Arya. When the people finally moved, she was gone.

Arya must have heard her, she must have. But she left.

Arya left Sansa all alone again.

Ser Jorah and her guards reached her, yelling at her for running away.

Sansa's legs went out from under her, falling to the ground. And she wept.

-

She must have been there for a while, but she couldn't think of anything other than her sister leaving her again like in King's Landing.

Couldn't help thinking of her family, who never sent for her, who never traded Ser Jaime for her.

I've tried to be strong, but I'm tired. Tired of being on my own.

Ser Jorah was talking to her, but she could not hear him over her thoughts.

Sansa kept crying, no end in sight, when strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her off the ground.

Drogo.

One of the guards must have went to go get him. Sansa was lifted into his arms, still crying, and felt him start to walk down the market street.

She heard him talk to Ser Jorah, but it was in Dothraki, and she wasn't in the right mind to even attempt to understand what was being said.

But she did hear Drogo when he put his mouth to her ear and whisper to her, even though she didn't know the words.

"Yer Jalan Atthirari Anni."

Chapter Text

Ever since Sansa saw who she was certain was Arya at the market, she was despondent.

She rarely got out of bed, ate little, and certainly wasn't spending any time with Drogo.

She would think this odd, Drogo not pushing to be together, but she was too sad to care.

Her thoughts of her time in King's Landing consumed her.

Thoughts about Arya leaving her in that city, about mother and Robb leaving her there too.

About what Joffrey and Cersei and practically everyone there did to her.

Then, her thoughts would inevitably move to her father, to his last moments that she was forced to watch, and she would cry and cry and cry.

This was not what a proper lady would do, and probably not what a Khal's wife would do.

But Sansa couldn't bring herself to care.

Besides, her mother and Septa probably would not consider her a lady anymore.

So, she had finally broken, everything that had happened up until this point caught up to her.

Surely the gods would not look down upon her for finally breaking- they had allowed this to happen to her, after all.

Sansa had worked herself up to a point where she was sure Drogo would cast her aside out onto the streets of Pentos and go marry that Targaryen girl. Or maybe he would marry her as a second wife after all, and force Sansa to live with her.

The irony of a Stark and Targaryen being wives to the same man was not lost on her.

But days past, and then a week, and nothing like that ever happened.

Drogo would come visit her, talk with her using words she couldn't understand. He no longer slept in the same bed as her, probably unable to stomach being around her in such a state.

Sansa couldn't stomach herself either.

No one here knew her- the one's who did abandoned her.

Even Sandor was not around.

No matter that he was forced to stay with the rest of the Horde just outside Pentos waiting for the Khal to return so they could move on.

What did all this make Sansa, then? Nothing.

It made Sansa nothing.

It was noontime, she could see the sun high in the sky from the window in her bedroom.

A soft knock on the door roused her, and Erri and Kissi came in with gentle looks on their faces.

"Sansa, go see Drogo," Erri said.

I stared at her for a long moment, before rolling over on the bed, turning away.

I didn't want to see him.

Let him get bored with me, leave me like everyone else.

A soft hand on my shoulder, "Sansa, see Drogo."

Erri and Kissi turned me over and got me out of bed, all with gentle voices and soft touches. Sansa let them. She was so tired. So, so tired.

They dressed her in an almost-sheer dress the color of a sunrise, with cap sleeves, which buttoned up the front. They probably chose this for ease, it definitely wasn't something she would wear if she was to see guests.

But it's not like guests ever came to see her. No one here knew who she really was.

Kissi brushed Sansa's hair until it shone, and all the tangles were out. Erri gave her soft cream slippers to wear, before handing her a light shawl which Sansa wrapped around herself at the elbows.

They led her out of the room, and out to the back pool area, before turning right and going toward one of the gardens that Sansa had only seen in passing during her walks.

She could feel the breeze move through her hair, and maybe even through her body, she was so tired.

Up ahead, once entering the garden area, she could see a table and chairs, two seats already taken up.

Drogo and Ser Jorah.

Oh, this was it, wasn't it? Drogo was going to have Ser Jorah tell her that Sansa was being left in Pentos, her behavior as of recent unacceptable for the wife of a Khal.

Maybe they would be in a merciful mood, and book her passage back to Westeros.

But where would she go? Joffrey has to have been looking for her, surely.

And mother and Robb... what would they do after finding out she had been married?

Erri and Kissi helped Sansa into a chair, Drogo to her left and Ser Jorah across from her, before quietly leaving the garden.

Sansa moved her head to look out at the Bay.

A moment past, and she could feel both men stare at her, and then Drogo started speaking.

"He asks what ails you, my lady," Ser Jorah stated after Drogo finished.

I gulped, turning back to peer at Drogo.

His eyes were dark and intense, staring right at me.

"Nothing, Ser Jorah," I reply.

I cannot look away from Drogo, but can see out of the corner of my eye Ser Jorah moving as if uncomfortable, before telling Drogo my answer.

Drogo's chin dipped a bit at this, saying lowly, "Vosi?"

"Vosi," Ser Jorah repeated.

A dark look crossed Drogo's face. This was it, Sansa knew.

Drogo would cast her aside, be done with her.

It's what she deserved.

But then, a most curious thing happened. Drogo got up from his chair, and walked over to kneel beside her.

He grabbed my hand and said in a soft voice, "Yeri vos adakhat. Yeri disse remekat. Fini ojil, khaleesi?"

"You do not eat. You only sleep. What is wrong, my queen?" Ser Jorah translated.

Drogo's unexpected attention and concern brought tears to my eyes.

Suddenly, the urge to tell him everything became so strong, only the knowledge that Ser Jorah was here stopped me.

His hand held mine, and his eyes so soft.

But I couldn't, I couldn't tell him about Arya.

I closed my eyes and repeated in a whisper, "Nothing."

Ser Jorah didn't need to translate this word, Drogo understood.

Drogo dropped Sansa's hand, and another moment passes. Then, swiftly he stands and punches the table so hard it cracks.

Sansa jumps in her seat, her eyes opening and widening, watching as Drogo walks away, hands clasped behind his head.

He turns around, and for the first time Sansa sees what Drogo must look like in battle.

Dark, hard, unyielding.

His eyes are no longer gentle, and he walks back over, bracing one hand on the broken table and leans in, tilting his head so our eyes meet.

"Anha nesat ato ojil," Drogo started.

Ser Jorah kept up with him as he spoke, "I know something is wrong. Ever since that day at the market. You ran toward someone, abandoning the guards. Who was it?"

His voice could cut stone.

"N-nothing. There was no one," I stammered out.

Drogo raised his hand and slapped it back down on the table.

I jerked in my seat again, eyes going back to his.

He spoke in a louder tone, almost drowning out Ser Jorah as he attempted to translate.

"You've been crying for days, you do not eat, you do not let me into your bed. Who was this person? Were you trying to run away?"

"What? No!"

The table was slapped again, and Drogo moved his face even closer to mine, our noses almost touching.

In the deepest voice I've ever heard, he said, "Fini hash yeri tihat jeser?"

"What did you see at the market?"

We must have looked into each others eyes for an hour, an eternity, unblinking.

Sansa couldn't take it anymore. Why wasn't he just telling her to leave? That he was sending her back from where she came? Or maybe beat her like Joffrey? Why, why, why-

I burst out crying, bringing my hands to my face.

"My- my sister! I thought I saw my sister!" She could slightly hear Ser Jorah telling Drogo my words in Dothraki, but I didn't care. I was inconsolable.

She could feel Drogo cup her shoulder, but she jerked out of his hold and stood up.

"There, are you happy now!?" I yelled before turning and running through the garden toward the pool, running up the few steps and into the mansion.

There was only so much a person could take. Haven't I been through enough?

She passed the various servants going about their work, and saw Kissi drop some bed sheets she must have been in the process of cleaning, surprised at seeing Sansa in such a state. Sansa just kept running, up the stairs and then reaching her room.

She slammed the door behind her before flinging herself on the bed, crying into her pillow.

Oh, how crazy she must seem!

The door creaked open, and Sansa stayed where she was, thinking it was Erri and Kissi coming to check on her.

She did not want to be checked on.

Instead, she heard booted feet walk across the floor, coming to a stop at the edge of the bed.

Sansa's breathing stilled. Was he here to come pull her out of the bed and out of the mansion? Was her outburst the final straw for him? Was she to be whipped and beaten again?

Maybe Sansa was cursed to always experience the same events over and over until the end.

But none of those bad things happened.

Drogo heaved a heavy sigh, Sansa listened to him move, and the thunking of his boots being dropped on the floor was heard.

The bed creaked as Drogo moved to lie beside her.

She closed her eyes tight and shoved her face further into the pillow as Drogo rested his hand on her hip and started to rub from there up her side and back.

In stilted Common Tongue mixed with Dothraki, Drogo said, "You are young, vosma... you will learn, ai?"

Sansa understood. She hugged her pillow tighter to her, curling around it.

Drogo's hand moved to grasp her thigh from the front. He moved his body so it was more on top of hers.

He was all around her, everywhere.

"Kisha astolat yeri inavva silokh, ai?"

She didn't know exactly what he said, but knew it was something about talking tomorrow.

He wanted to continue talking? It didn't go very well this last time.

But maybe...

But the fact still remained that Ser Jorah would translate, and she couldn't have him knowing about this. If he heard her say Arya's name, surely he would realize her lie. No.

"Not with Ser Jorah. Vos Jorah." The words stumbled out before I could stop them.

Stupid, stupid Sansa. How else would they speak with each other then?

Drogo's hand paused it's movement up and down my leg, but continued after a short moment.

"Silokh, kisha astolat. Disse anna ma anna Khaleesi. Yes?"

Was he agreeing? Drogo seemed to curl into me, his mouth next to my ear. "Hmm, Yer Jalan Atthirari Anni?"

That phrase again.

"What does that mean?" I whispered.

Another sigh from Drogo, my hair fluttered from it. Then he answered. I knew it wasn't correct, but it made my heart thud in my chest all the same.

I could feel something inside me start to beat again, after sleeping for so long.

He answered, "Sansa."

-

Soon enough I feel asleep.

Drogo must have fallen asleep too and stayed with me. I awoke once in the middle of the night and he was still there, holding me.

In the morning, Erri and Kissi woke me, concerned looks on their faces.

Drogo was gone, but I could still feel his warmth.

-

It was late morning, and Drogo came back early.

I knew because I could hear the great doors opening and closing, and his voice floated up to my room.

He was speaking with some of his riders, and then I heard him come up the stairs.

Coming up to me.

I was asleep until just a bit ago, and still couldn't bring myself to get out of bed.

I was still sad about Arya and I was embarrassed about my reactions yesterday.

My emotions were in many ways out of my control, so at odds with how I was raised to be- how I was supposed to be.

Drogo's reaction to me was also a mystery.

I could hear Drogo speak to Erri just outside my door, it was opened just a bit, the girls telling me to call for them if I was in need of anything.

And then the door creaked open, and Drogo was there.

Walking over toward me with a hand outstretched he said, "Jadat, Sansa. To eat."

He wanted me to come with him to eat?

He came to my side of the bed, and grabbed my arm, helping me up.

Still in my nightgown, Drogo led me out of my room, down the stairs, and to the open air dining room with a low table and silk pillows to sit on.

There was already food spread out there for the noontime meal- cheeses, breads, and meat, along with some berry wine.

Drogo pushed me to sit on a pillow, facing the outside, and instead of sitting across from me like he usually does when we eat in here together, he sits next to me, draping an arm across my lap and bringing a plate over in front of me.

He serves both him and I food, all while his arm stays where it is.

He starts eating and I go to pick at some cheese, not very hungry still.

Drogo notices, giving me encouraging noises when I do take a bite of something.

Hmm.

Well...

I try to eat everything on my plate.

When both of us are done, Drogo turns to me, the arm across my legs moving to my back, to sit low on my hips.

He got right into it.

"My Common Tongue no good. Vosma, I will learn. You will learn Dothraki. Then, kisha astolat, ai?"

When he speaks slowly, and with simple Dothraki words, I understand him.

I was staring at my plate, not moving or replying.

"Ai, Sansa?"

"Ai," I whisper, "Kisha astolat."

"Davra," He says.

Good. 

-

The day Drogo and I spoke, after eating and going our separate ways for the day, Ser Jorah told me that we were to be leaving Pentos for the Green Grass Sea in a fortnight.

I was sad to leave the ease of life at the mansion, but happy to get away from bad feelings.

Maybe I saw Arya, maybe I didn't. There was no way for me to know for certain and I couldn't tell anyone the truth of the matter.

Drogo continued to come back to the mansion to take meals with me, almost like he was making sure that I ate.

He seemed to still be happy with me, regardless of my melancholy. It appeared that he... doted on me.

The day before we were set to leave I was looking for Ser Jorah to have my lesson. I found him on the front steps in the courtyard, staring blankly ahead.

When I asked what was wrong, he scoffed. Saying only that he was thinking.

When I asked what he was thinking about, he paused and stared at my face for a moment.

He told me that Danerys Targaryen had been married to a man named Hizdahr from Meereen.

He stared at me hard, and I didn't know what to say.

He got up and walked away.

We did not have our lesson that day.

-

I was happy that Drogo did not marry the Targaryen girl.

And then I felt bad that I was happy about such a thing.

What did it matter that he was nice to me, and that I liked that he treated me so?

My family was still fighting in Westeros or missing only the gods knew where, and here I was lounging around on chaise lounges and drinking berry wine from gold cups.

But what was there for me to do?

-

2 Months Later

"My queen's hair is like fire, burning brightly for all to see," Drogo said while running his hand through my hair.

It was early morning, and we were both awake in bed. I was on my stomach with my head resting on my arms, and he was up on one elbow.

The Dothraki had been travelling through the Green Grass Sea for some time, and since then my Dothraki has become much better.

I can converse with Drogo mostly in Dothraki now as long as the conversation is kept to simple words. Otherwise, with the right context, I can get the gist of what is being said.

Apparently we were heading to Vaes Dothrak, to present me there so that the rest of the Dothraki Hordes would know that Drogo had taken a wife.

I had mostly accepted my life filled with relaxing, horse riding, and Drogo. What was there for me to do?

And besides, finally getting away from Joffrey and his tormenting of me was a blessing, I had come to realize.

I have been thinking about finding a way to send a letter home, though.

If Vaes Dothrak truly was a city, that means I could find a way to send a letter to Westeros.

It was risky, but I at least wanted them to know I was alive.

For some reason, this morning, I was feeling a bit nauseous. I'd been feeling this way on and off for a few days, but this morning it was quite pronounced.

In fact...

"Sansa?" Drogo said as I quickly moved out of the bed and vomited up whatever was left of my evening meal in the chamber pot in the corner of the tent.

I could hear him get out of bed, and he knelt down beside me with his hand on my back.

When I was done I peeked up at him, and oddly it seemed like Drogo had a pleased expression on his face.

Why would he be pleased? I could have vomited on him, you know, and I told him as much to try to get the look off his face that was so at odds with how I was feeling. 

He just smirked at my comment and then barked out for a healer,there was always someone outside the tent that would hear any commands Drogo would give, and moved to get me to sit back on the bed.

The healer came, a portly woman with smooth skin, and after speaking with Drogo for a bit, pulled out an earthenware cup from her bag and handed it to me.

"Relieve yourself, Khaleesi."

What? She couldn't be asking, and with them both here...

Drogo's eyes twinkled as he commanded the healer out, him leaving soon after.

I relieved myself in the cup, put it on the low table we used to eat our meals, and returned to sit on the bed.

After a bit of time, Drogo and the healer came back inside.

The healer went straight to the cup on the table, taking out some herbs from her bag and sprinkling them inside the cup.

Drogo stood in the middle of the tent, arms folded, apparently waiting for something, but for what I did not know.

After a few minutes passed, the healer turned to Drogo and said, "Ai, Khal Drogo."

Yes? Yes what? Was there something wrong?

Drogo dismissed the healer, and stood a moment still facing away from me.

Then, he turned. And while he wasn't smiling, and he didn't look all that different, his eyes seemed to have a sheen to them.

He moved over to me, getting down on one knee in front of me.

One of his hands braced itself on the bed by my hips. The other cupped my belly.

And I knew.

Chapter Text

Vaes Dothrak was at once magnificent and underwhelming, Sansa thought.

Upon reaching the Dothraki city, the Dothraki’s only city, Sansa was four moons with child and just starting to show what was growing under her heart.

Drogo seemed to be overjoyed, always putting his hand on her belly whenever he was near, no matter who was there to see him do so.

It was only for a short time that Drogo’s khalasar stayed in Vaes Dotrak, and Sansa was glad when it was time to put the city behind her.

It was not at all what she had experienced in Pentos.

She was presented to the dosh khaleen, wives of previous Khal's, and in a ceremony so barbaric Sansa was sure her mother would faint at even just hearing about it in a letter, was told to eat a horse heart in front of Drogo and some other Khals who were also staying in the city.

Everyone was watching her in that tent, waiting for her to vomit back up the horse heart as she chewed, but it wasn’t too bad. The heart was not unlike some foods that were prepared at Winterfell.

She completed the task easily and without fanfare, her only want at that moment was to wash off the blood that dripped down her mouth to her body and clothes.

The dosh khaleen and everyone in the tent cheered at Sansa fully eating the horse heart, and she could have sworn Drogo’s eyes shined gold, looking at her with so much pride she almost felt proud of herself.

But while after learning of the news of her being with child alleviated some of her coldness deep inside, Sansa still wasn’t happy with herself- wasn’t happy to be left all alone by her family.

She was starting to resent her mother and brother as well.

They left her there in King’s Landing, knowing- knowing - what was to happen to her there.

She could never do the same to her child.

The child that was now being called the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

After finishing the horse heart, and being embraced by Drogo, one of the dosh khaleen stated a prophecy of their child.

Sansa was to give birth to a son who would grow up to become a powerful Khal with a khalasar that would one day cover the earth. All his enemies would tremble before him, and those in stone tents far away would fear just hearing his name being whispered in the wind.

Sansa was conveniently choosing to ignore what was said, not wanting to think about such things, even though it obviously pleased Drogo.

Who knew if she was even having a son? Only the gods could know what was in her womb.

And so, Khal Drogo eventually took his khalasar and his khaleesi out into the Green Grass Sea, to live the nomadic life that Sansa had read about in books at Winterfell.

Sansa never got a chance to send a letter to Westeros, and she never heard about anything that was happening there either.

She was kept away from most of the ongoings of the city, and Ser Jorah was not speaking to her much either.

He always had a tight look on his face now.

No matter, Sansa was just happy to be away from the odd proclamations and cheers of the dosh khaleen.

Now, Drogo had stopped his khalasar in what Sansa thought was the middle of nowhere with only tall grasses swaying gently in the wind as far as the eye could see.

On the top of a low and wide hill perched the many tents of the dothraki, with Sansa in the center tent that she shared with Drogo.

Sansa was in a copper tub, having her first bath after the long travels on horseback.

Erri and Kissi were washing her arms and putting floral-smelling oil in her hair, making it shine.

She didn’t like admitting it to herself, but recently Sansa had been able to relax and turn off the part of her mind that was constantly worrying and wondering- the part of her mind where she would hear the voices of her family that abandoned her.

It’s just... she was always kept comfortable, and Drogo made sure that nothing would ever harm her.

Drogo was nothing like Joffrey.

In fact, he was nothing like Robb or her father either.

And Sansa didn’t know how to stop her mind from whispering to her that Drogo was better than them all, that he would never allow for anything like what those who were meant to protect her in Westeros allowed to happen to her.

And was it so wrong of Sansa to relax? It was not like she could do anything about it all, she was on the other side of the world from her family... from everything that once mattered to her.

The only real choice she ever made was to flee King’s Landing with the Hound.

Was that so unforgivable? Sansa thought of her mother, and how to her it probably was.

The tent flaps opened, and Drogo entered, eyes immediately finding Sansa in the copper tub.

He started walking towards her, his boots stepping lightly on the rugs covering the dirt floor of the tent.

“Mra,” Drogo stated to Essi and Kirri.

Out.

The girls dropped the cloths they were using to bathe Sansa, leaving the tent quietly.

Drogo came to tower over Sansa sitting in the tub, staring down at her with a hard face but warm eyes.

No... no, Sansa didn’t think it was wrong of her to relax.

She was with child, and no one could blame her for finding her peace at the moment.

She gripped the sides of the tub, slowly rising to stand, water dripping off her naked body.

Sansa watched as Drogo’s eyes roamed her naked form and felt as his hands cupped low on her belly, holding her where their child rested inside of her.

Drogo gently lifted Sansa out of the tub and walked them both to the back of the tent to where the bed was.

Sansa smiled.

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen died in her sleep, unknowing that her brother slipped poison into her wine.

Viserys was promised Dragonstone by the pretender Joffrey Baratheon, and thought that surely he would be able to overtake the city once Westeros heard that their true king had returned.

The Iron Throne would be his.

But on his way back by ship to his birthplace, he was pushed over the the railing and into the cold sea, never to be seen again.

-

Arya Stark was no one.

She barely remembers hearing her sister in the streets of Pentos.

It couldn’t have been Sansa.

But never mind, she couldn’t see anything, anyway.

-

Jorah Mormont left the khalasar for three days when he heard word of what had happened to Daenerys Targaryen.

He had tried so hard to install her as Khaleesi, and instead a red-haired girl fell into the life of Khal Drogo who just couldn't bring himself to look away from such fire, much to Jorah's dismay.

Jorah is angry.

Angry at the Baratheons, at the spymaster Varys who sends him orders, at the red-haired girl, and at the Khal who refused Daenerys.

Jorah is angry at so many things.

They were on the way to meet her that day, you know. For Khal Drogo to meet Daenerys as agreed, to see if he would look upon her and accede to marry her.

Jorah knew he would agree, it was well known how beautiful she was.

But then Sansa from the Riverlands appeared.

Jorah attempted to salvage the situation, even after the Khal went and married the girl.

“You should still meet Daenerys Targaryen, as agreed. It is not uncommon to have a second wife. Think of the gold you would receive and of the beauty you would be surrounded by, my Khal,” Jorah said to him.

But Khal Drogo refused.

“Vos,” he would grunt out. Never saying more than that, never giving a reason.

But Jorah didn’t suppose he needed a reason when he saw how the Khal interacted with the red-haired girl.

He'd never seen the Khal like this, like he actually held affection for the girl and wanted her affection in return.

He was perplexed at it all. He didn’t understand, and that bothered Jorah.

It bothered him so much that it was hard for him to even look at the red-haired girl for too long. He was avoiding their Dothraki lessons as much as he could without seeming suspicious.

But there was something just not quite right about her.

She did not act like a random girl from the Riverlands.

She had perfect posture, was exceptionally polite and could sew and embroider as well as any Septa he ever knew.

Sansa from the Riverlands…

Sansa from the Riverlands…

It wasn’t until he returned to the Horde, having centered himself enough to continue his duties, that he received a standard letter from Varys.

The Horde had stationed itself outside of Qohor in preparation for the Kahl's firstborn to make their way into the world.

It was as normal as any letter he had ever received from the spymaster, updating him on what was happening in Westeros and wondering when the Khal would be be in Pentos again.

There were a few errands that Varys wanted Jorah to run in Pentos for him.

It wasn’t until at almost the end of the letter, as Varys was writing about marriage prospects for the young king and the rebuilding of King's Landing after the Battle of the Blackwater. It was as he was writing about the Starks in the North still rebelling and how annoyed the King and his Lannister family were by how much gold they were having to spend on it.

The eldest Stark daughter has still not been found after the Battle, nor has a knight of the Kingsguard called The Hound. Curious that, as they are so recognizable, what with the Hounds tall stature and facial scars and the Stark girl’s bright red hair. The Small Council thinks they may be together and have dyed her hair, but no one knows where they could be and the Starks are still fighting as if the girl has not returned to them.

Bright red hair, large man with a scar on his face…

Jorah knew of the Starks, coming from Bear Island. He was banished by them, though he did it to himself.

He’d been repenting for his sins ever since and thought that he had found such repentance in the Targaryen girl.

When he got back to the Horde's camp after picking up Varys' letter in Qohor, he moved through the tents until he saw the red-haired girl lounging on some blankets by the slow-moving creek the camp was situated by.

Heavily pregnant, she was propped up by pillows and reading a book procured by Jorah at the Khal's behest.

“She likes to read, make sure she always has something to interest her,” Khal Drogo commanded him so many moons ago.

So procure books he did.

From where he stood he could see the bright green cover and knew it was the most recent book he got her on agriculture in the Reach.

Interesting that she chose to read that over the fanciful stories he also got for her.

Movement from his peripheral made Jorah look up and see Khal Drogo stalk towards the red-haired girl. His tall figure casting a shadow over her.

He saw the girl look up and smile a soft smile, and the Khal barked an order at one of her handmaidens to get the noontime meal for them.

He sat down and immediately put his hand on her belly where his child rested below her heart.

Khal Drogo did this whenever he was near the girl, something that surprised Jorah. The Khal never seemed the type to be interested to that degree in the consequences of child bearing. He assumed the Khal would only care when the child was finally born.

The Stallion Who Mounts the World according to the dosh khaleen.

Jorah was unsure if he even believed in any prophecy, let alone this one.

But Khal Drogo was the strongest Khal to have ever lived, amassing the largest Horde and winning every battle he fought. He was so strong that they even knew of his name in Westeros.

Which is why Varys wanted Daenerys Targaryen to marry him.

For Khal Drogo's khalasar. 

For his strength and power.

For his name that made even a Westerosi Lord feel a chill run down his spine. 

But all that careful planning was ruined by the red-haired girl...

Bright red hair.

No, it couldn’t be. Essos was so far away, it would be almost impossible for a girl to travel that alone.

Tall man with a scar on his face.

No one can find her.

If it was so, and if Jorah still believed in the gods, he would have thought that it would have had to have been at their divine will.

Sansa… from the Riverlands.

Chapter Text

-

"Yeri noreth venat vorsa, yer jalan atthirari anni,” Drogo murmured to me one evening alone on the bed in our tent.

Moon of my life.

I knew what that meant now, and a part of me could not believe that such a man could even say such a thing to anyone.

I still was not fluent in Dothraki, that would take some time, but I knew enough know to pick out bits and pieces.

His fingers played with my hair, and then he moved his hand to splay across my large stomach.

It was almost time to meet our child.

"Me jadolat qisi," he said while shoving his face into my neck.

I could feel his breath there and let out a big sigh.

Drogo believed it was a son that I held within my belly, and I had to say I agreed with him.

I had gotten so big I could no longer see my feet when I stood.

I remember mother always complaining when she was with child about how she felt and how people looked at her and how she it seemed like no clothes fit her.

But I quite enjoyed being with child, not being able to see my toes notwithstanding.

After the nausea past after the first few moons of pregnancy, I’d never felt better really.

It’s like all my anxiety and fears vanished, and I felt calm and level headed most days.

The baby also gave me something to think about other than what had happened to me and what was happening to my family in Westeros.

This baby gave me hope for my new family, and inspired me to never, ever let what happened to me happen to my own child.

This child, whether a son or a daughter, would never be left alone to deal with the horrors of the world.

Not like I was.

This child also gave me time to ponder about Jon.

My half-brother was treated horribly by mother… and by myself.

At the time I felt like I understood mother. How could you care or even like a child that reminded you constantly of your husband’s betrayal? How could you be anything but spiteful and mean to such a child?

But truthfully, now that I was facing life in it's fullness, about to have a child of my own…

I felt much regret towards how I treated Jon.

If I ever found out Drogo had betrayed me, ever found out he brought a child he had with another woman home to me and expected me to raise it- of course it would be difficult, but any such feelings of spite and anger would be directed at my husband, not at an innocent child who did nothing wrong and just wanted to be loved.

I had cried much over Jon these past moons.

I was tempted to forgo trying to get a letter to mother and Robb and instead try and send a letter to Castle Black simply asking for Jon’s forgiveness.

I know that Jon would have come and saved me himself from King's Landing if he had known what was going on and wasn't isolated at the Wall.

He would have rescued me, I know it. Even now if I got word to him that I needed rescuing he would forgo his oath and travel across to Essos and find me.

Because he is my brother.

Mother and Robb… well, they knew I was alone in that city and what was happening to me. And yet no such rescue came.

They could have traded me for Ser Jaime. And yet no letter to bargain ever arrived by raven.

I had to escape myself with the Hound.

The Hound was happy here amongst the Dothraki, believe it or not. He worked now sharpening and making swords for them, and when I had finally been able to visit him a few moons back amongst the sea of tents of the Horde he actually looked peaceful and serene.

He told me that I looked happy, too.

Imagine that.

Drogo pulled my attention back to the present when he started telling me about the plans for the birth of our child in Dothraki mixed with Common Tongue.

He was continually learning more of my language, never getting upset when he couldn’t quite pronounce something right.

It made me… happy. Happy that he wanted me to teach him something, share with him something of myself and he seemed excited to do so besides. 

I hardly ever felt the coldness in my heart anymore.

I simply had no time to feel anything other than contentedness.

"Kisha elat okre zohhe os, zhokwa lommat nirat nakhaan ma eveth. Koalakeesi ma maester anha ray assolat ha Qothor movekkhat. I will be with you... Anha elat yeri fichat kishi rizh mra rhaesheser," Drogo said. 

“A maester? And you will be there?” I replied in surprise.

I’ve never seen a maester amongst the Dothraki, they have midwives and healers but no maesters. And I’d never heard of a husband being in the birthing chambers before, they always stayed away as far as I knew in Westeros.

Drogo's hand pressed more firmly on my belly, and his other hand came up to cup the side of my face.

He hovered close to me and whispered, “Yes, moon of my life, I shall be with you as you battle to bring our son into this world. I would not leave you to do such a thing alone. And I called for the maester because I know that is what you have from where you are from. I want you to have everything you need and want.”

He hovered close to me and whispered, "Sek, yer jalan atthirari anni, anha elat yeri vilajero fichat kishi rizh mra rhaesheser. Anha vos esemrasalat yeri tat evat annevalat. Ma anha assolat maester hajinaan anha nesat hazak fini yeri ray finne yeri rekkoon vekhat. Anha zalat yeri ray nakhaan yeri zigerelat ma zalat."

Drogo will be with me... he would not leave me alone to do such a hard thing.

He would not abandon me...

Tears welled up in my eyes, I had been unable to keep my feelings within me ever since becoming with child.

Drogo was so… thoughtful. To both me and the child.

And I wanted my mother, but that just wasn’t possible. And besides, I don’t think Catelyn Stark would want anything to do with her grandchild- the child of Sansa Stark, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

No, Catelyn Stark would never have been here even if she was given the choice.

Sansa says quietly, “Thank you."

They do not have the term "thank you" in Dothraki, but she taught Drogo what those words meant and he understood them all the same.

Drogo smiles, and leans into kiss her.

-

The next day Drogo asked me to sit with him under the wide open tent at the edge of the Horde where he took visitors from Qohor who wished to see him.

The space looked much like how it was when I was brought to him and saw him for the first time.

Where Drogo decided that I was to be his wife.

Filled with fabrics and pillows and low tables, Drogo led me up to sit next to him on top of a large and plush pillow on the floor, right next to his leg where he sat on a low stool.

Two of his bloodriders, Cohollo and Qotho were there, bringing in the wide array of people who wished to meet with the Khal.

And there were many who wished to meet with him.

Sansa had no idea what the various men who looked like nobles from Qohor said to Drogo, as it was all said in what she could make out as some dialect of High Valyrian.

At first Sansa thought that there would be a translator for Drogo when she heard the first visitor speak in quick words, but was surprised when Drogo replied confidently back.

So, Khal Drogo could speak High Valyrian. No wonder he was so interested and easy-going about learning the Common Tongue.

He obviously had been taught and excelled in another language before.

The day went on and hours passed, the sun now high in the sky.

Sansa was kept comfortable and was fed small plates of cheese and fruits and her cup was steadily filled with water or watered-down wine.

Drogo would sip from her cup sometimes in between visitors and would reach for a piece of cheese or a grape from time to time.

Sometimes he would even put his hand on her shoulder or cup the back of her neck- even in the presence of his bloodriders and the men from Qohor.

It seemed like Drogo had no problems showing his affection to her, no fear of anyone seeing it as a weakness.

But Sansa supposed he didn't need to as all the men who came to talk to him had fearful looks in their eyes and rarely glanced in her direction.

They all feared her husband.

Sansa knew what Drogo was, a great Khal who had won many battles, but her experience with him had been mostly soft touches and kind words.

She did not feel such fear in front of Khal Drogo as these men visiting from Qohor surely did.

As the sun started to set, Drogo told her that there would be one last visitor and then they could retire to their tent for the evening meal.

Sansa was glad, her back was starting to hurt and she wanted to lie flat.

She rubbed her stomach lightly, feeling her baby kick, and reached for another plate of fruit that was placed on the low table to her side.

"At alikh voj ahhaz hadaen ma ammithrat, chiorikem," Drogo said while moving his hand slowly from one of my shoulders to the other, slightly massaging my muscles and eliciting a low hum from me.

I could pick out most of what he said now- one more and then food and rest. I could sit for a little bit longer, surely.

"Ai, mahrazhkem," I replied, and I could see Drogo's eyes warm and smile even as the rest of his face stayed serious.

Yes, husband. 

The final visitor arrived and Drogo's hand that was on Sansa's shoulders went to rest on his knee and he faced the man, giving him his full attention.

The man looked just like all the rest, with flowy robes and short- cut hair.

It wasn't until his eyes glanced over at Sansa and quickly moved back to look more closely at her.

Well, closely at her hair.

It wasn't until I heard him breath out and speak in a heavily accented voice, but in Common Tongue all the same, that my body froze up and the piece of strawberry I had lifted half way to my mouth dropped back onto the plate that I knew something was wrong.

"Oh my," the man said in an airy voice and with a gleam in his eyes, "what bright red hair."

Chapter Text

Robb was King in the North, but had none of his family besides his mother with him. And what did that get him?

Jon was away at the Wall. Bran and Rickon were lost in the wilderness, having escaped from the Boltons and Theon's betrayal. Arya was lost, and Sansa was trapped in Kings Landing.

Robb wanted to trade the Kingslayer Jaime for Sansa, but mother said…

No, best not to think on this now. Mother must have her reasons, surely.

After recapturing Winterfell from the Boltons and imprisoning a waif-looking Theon, Robbs forces were tired. It had been so long, and they were no closer to capturing Kings Landing than they were in the beginning.

And mother was inconsolable ever since Bran and Rickon went missing.

Just what was Robb supposed to even do?

Robb and his army were in a holding position in the Riverlands, Caitlyn not wanting to stay too long at Winterfell. 

Catelyn said she would not rest until she had her babes back in her arms.

Though Robb was coming to understand that she did not refer to either Sansa or Arya with such statements, his mother preferring to only talk about the two youngest brothers.

Robb walked into his tent that evening, expecting another fitful night of sleep, when he saw a letter on his desk.

He sighed and went over to open it. It was probably just another letter from Lord Umber complaining about the rations or some such again.

It wasn’t that.

A letter with careful script stated something that made Robb's heart pound and his stomach fall.

A red wolf is wandering the green grasses and will be in Pentos in five moons time. You will find her if you find the Bear.

It couldn’t be…

Sansa.

-

There was screaming and crying in the grand home in Pentos owned by the Dothraki Khal.

His Khaleesi was giving birth, you see.

He had taken her to give birth in peace in his mansion, where they would stay to rest until the child was old enough to travel.

It was to be her first babe, and Drogo wanted to ensure safety for both mother and child.

Sansa had fear on her face as her maids led her to the large pool in the house.

A Dothraki midwife was there and another medicine woman from Pentos that Drogo had hired to make sure everything went well during the birth.

Sansa pushed and pushed and screamed, Drogo in the pool behind here caressing her stomach as she brought their child into the world.

Their son.

The Stallion Who Mounts the World.

After Sansa gave a final shriek, and crying rent the air as the baby entered the world, the boy was placed into the arms of his crying mother.

Khal Drogo looked over his Khaleesi's shoulder, looking into the eyes of the babe who had the same blue eyes as his mother.

“Ērgo,” the red-haired one whispered.

Across the Narrow Sea, the grounds of Westeros shook.

Chapter Text

Vezh Fin Dothralat Rhaesheser.

-

Ērgo has Sansa's blue eyes, but Drogo does not mind.

Even so, everything else about their son resembles him, though Drogo doesn't think he would have cared even if their child looked only as his mother does.

Although, the hair on Ērgo's head looks browner than Drogo's black, and when outside glints red in the sun.

-

Ērgo's hair will become even redder as he grows older, looking like fire racing against the land when on horseback. 

Fire, burning across kingdoms. 

The Stallion Who Mounts the World.

-

Drogo asks Sansa about the name; he doesn’t mind that she’s named him. For she is the one who carried and brought their son into the world, after all.

“My father’s name… I named him after my father,” Sansa said quietly while looking down at Ērgo.

“What was his name, moon of my life?”

Sansa smiles just a little, Drogo can’t look away.

Drogo has never been able to look away from her.

“Everyone called him Ned, but his name was Eddard.”

-

Later, when Drogo learns more of the Common Tongue and the words for it, he will tell her that Ērgo sounds like the Dothraki word "erin" which means to be kind and good. 

It's not really a name for a Dothraki to be called, for the great and fearsome Khal that Drogo was certain his son was going to become. 

But, when he finally told his Khaleesi this, he couldn't help but feel glad of it for the blinding smile and gentle laugh she made as she hugged their son to her chest.

-

Vezh Fin Dothralat Rhaesheser.

Erin rizh mai.

-

Days pass, weeks even.

Sansa cannot believe her own happiness. Every morning, she wakes up with Drogo by her side, her baby between them. She hears the songbirds outside and the noises of Pentos.

Sansa looks at her son and cannot imagine ever leaving him, ever allowing him to be taken, ever allowing someone to hurt him if she knew…

No. No good thinking about such things now.

Sansa had a family.

After hers was lost to her, it's really all she's ever wanted.

She looks at Drogo as he paces the room from where she's perched on the bed eating cut up fruit brought to her by Erri.

Drogo's holding their son his arms, rocking him back and forth- Ērgo was acting a bit fussy when they tried to put him down to sleep this night.

Sansa catches Drogo's eyes, and sees him smile a soft smile, a loving smile.

A father's smile.

-

After weeks and careful planning Robb, his wife, and Catelyn arrive in Pentos and find the Bear. (Or the Bear finds them, who knows how such things as this really work).

It took so much convincing by Robb to get his mother to travel across the Narrow Sea. 

It seemed like she was using every excuse she could, and Robb could not understand this.

Wasn't all Catelyn wanted was her children returned to her?

"But what if Bran or Rickon return," Catelyn said over and over again as they traveled to Essos.

Was Sansa not her child, too? 

So wrapped up in her own mind, Catelyn didn't even bother to pause when the Bear turned out to be none other than the exiled Jorah Mormont.

"Follow me," Jorah said when they met on the pier after disembarking the boat that took them across the Narrow Sea.

The four went through the city in a carriage, the winding roads and noises and smells were so different from Westeros that Robb couldn't believe this was where his sister had ended up.

They passed large homes and buildings, places that looked to be their own castles, but instead they came one after another on the cobbled roads.

The carriage came upon a large mansion, the likes of which Robb had never even imagined- nine towers and high walls and tall gates guarded by what looked like soldiers.

Surely Sansa could not be here. 

The group got out and stood in front of the tall steps leading up to the building, the stone covered in twirling ivy.

Jorah immediately went up the steps and walked to the side of the mansion, to an outdoor hall leading them to the back of the property.

As Robb, his wife and his mother followed, Robb could smell spices and lemon wafting out from the interior. 

It reminded him of Sansa and her love of the citrus fruit.

They were led out to a back garden with a table and chairs surrounded by beautiful flowers and overlooking Pentos.

It was beautiful, Robb thought. 

"Wait here," Jorah said before striding quickly inside just as two maids came out carrying trays.

Tea was served with a plate filled with meats and fruits and breads.

None of them ate or drank anything that was put in front of them.

And then, while Robb was looking out at Pentos and considering how the Gods could have ever put him in this position, he heard his mother grunt.

Turning, he saw a maid had returned with another platter, setting it down on the table with the rest of the spread.

Catelyn was staring hard at the platter, like she was both disgusted by it and intrigued.

The plate was filled with lemoncakes.

Robb heard shuffling coming from the inside of the mansion, Jorah's voice speaking a language he did not recognize and a deeper voice in reply.

More shuffling and a twinkling laugh that had both Robb and Catelyn quickly turning around in their seats to look at the door behind them.

And then they heard something that caused Catelyn to make a sound that was like a grunt, but sadder and more twisted.

Mixing with the laughter of what Robb knew to be his sister's, was the laughter of a babe. 

Chapter Text

Robb had done his duty, forsaking his love, Jeyne, and marrying Roslin Frey. It had to be done, said Catelyn, his mother reminding him of his duty at every turn.

Duty. Honor.

King in the North.

"We must find your brothers," his mother would say to him whenever Robb was trying to make a decision. Trying to be the King.

Duty. Duty. Du--

His wife gasped lightly beside him, causing Robb to look up.

What he saw made him gasp, too. His mother was silent and still as stone.

From beyond the large stone entrance to the mansion came out a beautiful woman with long red hair, and a large smile on her face that reached her twinkling blue eyes. 

Sansa. His sister.

"Mother! Robb!" His sister's voice rings throughout the garden.

She sounded older now, but happy.

How could she be happy?

Sansa ran toward them, and enveloped him. It was the first time Robb had seen his sister in years, and to hold her... he could feel his eyes sting.

She moved to hug their mother, who was still sitting and stony-faced.

Sansa didn't seem to notice.

She was wearing an Essosi dress. Flowy and light pink, her shoulders bare and it was something that would never have been worn in Westeros except for maybe in Dorne.

Robb had never been to Dorne. He hadn't been much of anywhere, really.

He notices his mother cringe away, the first sign of any reaction at all to their reunion.

A shadow looms over the small group of reuniting family.

Robb looks up and sees a monster of a man, somehow taller and broader than any man he'd ever seen before. With dark eyes and dark long hair and a beard and he was nearing Sansa and he put his hand around the back of his sister's neck and-

"Sansa," Catelyn hisses, "what have you done?"

The bright smile slowly vanishes from his sister's face.

The man with his hand on his sister's neck stills, his eyes darkening.

"Mother..." Sansa says quietly.

Catelyn's eyes are filled with wrath, and Robb cannot believe that even when faced with her own daughter whom everyone thought was lost, she could hold that much anger.

But he knew, didn't he? What his mother was like.

Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he ever say anything?

"What is this," Catelyn's voice rings throughout the courtyard, and Robb can see servants peep at them from the windows and Ser Jorah who had fallowed his sister out was frozen to the side of the table.

Sansa stills for a moment, and Robb is about to say something, anything, when the man behind her leans down and whispers into her ear loud enough for them to hear but in a language he couldn't understand. 

"Nevalat, chiorikem. Anha elat yeri."

Sansa takes in a deep breath, and sits in the chair in front of her. The man stays standing and moves his hands to his sister's shoulders.

There is a minute of silence.

Catelyn is staring at the hands on her daughter's shoulders, Roslin is staring out at the sea, and Robb is staring at everything besides the sadness in his sister's eyes.

He is a King, he's supposed to know what to do.

But Robb was never very good at knowing.

Sansa takes a deep breath, "This is my husband, Drogo. He is a Khal of the Dothraki."

Catelyn takes a sharp breath.

They all know what this means.

A Khal. A Barbarian. 

A King.

His mother rages.

"How could you do this Sansa! What game do you think you are playing! We must leave at once, I will not sit here for a moment longer in this place with this man putting his hands on you," Catelyn's voice rises with every word.

Robb should say something, step in. His mother must know that this is not his sister's fault, it couldn't be-

"You are acting like a whore!" Catelyn's voice seemed to ricochet off the walls and the earth, the last word repeating into eternity.

Sansa's eyes were wet.

"Enough," the man, Drogo, stated. His voice was deep and harsh and final.

A King. A King. A King. 

Robb tensed further, he needed to say something, do something, anything-

Catelyn's mouth opened as if to continue her tirade, but Drogo beat her to it.

"Fichat kishi rizh mae mai", he said into the air, as if he knew whatever he said would be listened to.

It was. Robb could see rustling at the windows.

"Eat," Drogo commanded to the table. 

He then leaned down toward Sansa again, "Adakhat," he said more quietly and with less harshness in his voice. Sansa seemed to relax slightly, moving to grab a lemon cake.

They were her favorite, Robb remembered.

Robb went to grab something too, anything to perhaps ease the tense awkwardness surrounding the table.

But he could see the man who was supposedly Sansa's husband move his thumb up and down his sister's neck and their mother could see it too and she again hissed at Sansa, "You let him touch you so casually?"

But Sansa just ate the lemon cake, and Drogo just stared at Catelyn with dark eyes.

Rustling made everyone at the table look up, and Robb could see Sansa smile brightly as a babe was put into her lap by a maid who then stood to the side.

"M’athchomaroon, Erri," Sansa said quietly. 

The babe looked like Drogo in all ways, except for the eyes.

The babe had Sansa's blue eyes.

Robb's eyes.

Catelyn's eyes.

But his mother just looked away, obviously uninterested in what was her first grandchild.

Robb catches Roslin smile. Just a little, just for a moment- something the so emotionless wife of his does so little of.

"Sansa," Robb finally whispers.

Drogo moves one had to the top of the babes head and rests it there, his hand impossibly large when next to something so small.

Sansa speaks, and Catelyn makes that same twisted grunt as before, like his mother knew what was coming all along. 

Roslin's smile reaches her eyes.

Robb is a coward.

Duty, honor, family.

“Mother, I cannot return, you see? I now have a child of my own, and I will never abandon him.”

And that was that. 

Chapter Text

The Khalasar was leaving, heading back into the Great Grass Sea, not to return to Pentos for many moons.

"You can come with us, you know," Sansa said quietly to her brother, but Robb only smiled sadly and continued eating his morning meal at the low table.

"You know I can't do that, Sansa," Robb replied.

A quiet huff from Catelyn was the only other noise heard in the room. Robb's new wife Roslin was quiet as she always was, and Drogo was gone this morning, busy readying his people to take back to the plains.

"You can come with us, it would be the proper thing to do," her mother said harshly.

Roslin tipped her tea over at that moment, spilling over the table and stopping Catelyn before she could continue her rampage of words that she had spewed the entire week that they were in Pentos.

It wasn't an accident, no one at the table thought so.

But Sansa smiled at Roslin, and Roslin smiled back.

-

The week previous was difficult, if only because Catelyn was filled with anger and never had a kind word for her oldest daughter. Sansa quickly learned that her mother only had one thing on her mind, the return of Bran and Rickon, and nothing could compare to that- everything that did not get her closer to their return was simply something in the way of her mission.

Robb was in the way, mentions of Arya were in the way, Sansa and her new life and her son were in the way.

Catelyn was interested in nothing but her obsession. So much so that when Sansa started to ask questions and put forth ideas about what could have happened to the boys it started a screaming fit from her mother that only stopped when Drogo entered the room.

"Maybe they're in Skagos, no one would search for them so far out and you did say their maidservant was familiar with the place."

A hand slapped the table, "You don't know anything, Sansa, you have just been here debasing yourself this whole time. Bran and Rickon could never be in such a place."

Drogo didn't want to leave Sansa and Ērgo alone for too long, ever really, but especially with Catelyn.

And it seemed that no matter how barbaric and wrong and bad Catelyn thought Drogo was, she was also afraid of him to a certain extant.

Perhaps in another life this would bother Sansa, but as it stood she could only be thankful for her husband for keeping her mother quiet.

Robb never had much to say, just looked at her with apologies in his eyes and what Sansa was sure was a desire to beg for his sister to come home with him. He never asked though. Maybe he would have, once, but not now upon meeting his nephew.

Roslin never said much of anything, preferring to look out over the Narrow Sea and sip tea, always saying 'thank you' to the maidservants and smiling at Ērgo.

Sansa thought that she might like her new sister-by-law most of all.

-

The Starks, or what was left of them, were departing Pentos by ship.

Sansa was not going with them, as she wasn't really a Stark anymore, not really.

It was difficult for her, and Drogo stayed at her side holding their son while she gave Robb and his wife hugs goodbye and waved at them from the docks as the ship sailed out into the sunset.

Catelyn never looked back once.

-

Robb, in his inner-most thoughts, wanted to leave everything behind and go with his sister. Just disappear where no one could find him and where his mother couldn't force a crown upon his head and whisper things in his ear about honor and doing what was right.

Doing what she wanted to enact revenge on whomever she wanted.

He realized that was his mother's sole purpose. Whenever Sansa would talk about places they could look for Bran and Rickon, their mother would shoot it down and rage at the idea.

So Robb realized that all of it, all of it, was about Catelyn exacting revenge. She didn't care about actually doing what was right and honorable, she only cared about doing things that would get her closer to hurting those she wished.

That was no way to run a kingdom. 

That was no way to run a family.

And so, before leaving Pentos Robb composed a letter, sending it ahead to the men closest to him in the North. In that letter he asked for a team to be sent to Skagos to search for his missing brothers. And if they were not found there, they would go on ahead and search until they were found.

Robb had to start somewhere.

He had to do something.

And when he was in his rooms below deck on the ship sailing them back to Westeros, Robb told Roslin of his plans to return to Winterfell and dismantle the armies pushing southward and to instead have them guard the North's boards. Of how he was going to make plans to send Catelyn to live with her brother at Riverrun.

After he was done talking, he felt more sure than ever of his plans. Maybe he was still a coward, maybe he didn't know exactly what he was doing. But he knew it was something.

And after he saw Roslin smile, wider than he'd ever seen her smile before, Robb thought that perhaps he was make the right and honorable choices for once.

-

"Remekat chek, rizh," Drogo whispered to Ērgo while holding him in his arms.

Sleep well, my son.

Sansa did not think she would ever tire of seeing Drogo and Ērgo together.

The horde had just stopped and made camp after weeks of traveling. They were now outside the city of Norvos, and while Sansa was sad to be away from their home in Pentos, there was something freeing about traveling through the plains of Essos. 

And perhaps she needed just such freedom after seeing her mother for the first time in years.

Sansa was ready to get far, far away from her mother's harsh words and stares.

She was ready to move on from her life in Westeros. She knew it was bad to think such things, but she didn't want to be who she was before. She wanted to be here, with her family, safe and away from the politics of her birth.

After Erri and Kissi finished helping her change from her traveling clothes made of leather to soft silks for bed, she walked over to her husband and son, resting one hand of Drogo's arm and one hand on the top of Ērgo's head of soft brown hair.

"Kashi ha remekat, shekhikhi," Sansa said.

As she went to grab Ērgo to hand him to Kissi who would take him to their tent to watch over him for the night, Drogo laughed lowly.

"He will not be so little for long, Yer Jalan Atthirari Anni," Drogo said as the maidservants left the tent with their son.

No, their son was already big for his age, and Sansa imagined that he would be as tall as his father and just as strong.

Sansa turned around and laid her head on her husband's chest, his arms coming up around her to hold her close.

It was the first time in weeks that they had had time alone to just be together, and Sansa's eyes started to sting with unshed tears.

Drogo moved his hand to the side of her face, and brought it up so that their eyes met.

He looked at her, his face unmoving, but Sansa could tell her tears bothered him.

So she told him. 

"Anha vigererat mai. Mai anha zhorre affin yalli," Sansa said so quietly that she perhaps thought she didn't say anything at all.

But Drogo's eyes softened, and the hand he had around her waist tightened, bringing her body closer to his. 

"Anha nesat," he said back to her just as quietly.

Drogo picked her up then, and brought her to the bed of soft silks and pillows, and they laid together there for a while, with her head on his chest and his hand stroking her hair.

It was quiet and beautiful and just what Sansa needed.

To feel loved by someone who did not shy away from her when she showed weakness.

They laid there for a long time, until there was no more sunlight coming from the sky and the only thing left for Sansa to hear was the quite sounds of the camp at night and Drogo's heartbeat under her ear.

"Ishish," Drogo stated into the quiet of the tent, "kishi rhojosor laz vitisherat qisi."

Sansa froze for a moment, before looking up at Drogo's face. The candlelight cast a glow onto him, making his eyes shine.

"Ishish," he repeated as he brought his face closer to hers, until their lips almost touched, "kisha laz ray ohara."

She smiled.

And then she kissed him.

And then all who came near their tent that night heard just how much their Khaleesi loved their Khal and wanted to make his words ring true.

-

One day, just as the sun was about to reach it's highest point in the sky, Drogo asked Sansa to accompany him to meet with people from Norvos.

Just like before, in the city of Qohor, Sansa was taken to a wide open tent where Drogo sat on a stool surrounded by low tables and silks and other people milling about. 

When Drogo saw her he reached out his hand, and so Sansa took it, expecting to sit on a pillow at his feet again.

Instead Drogo moved her toward a stool on his left side.

"Nevalat," he stated.

And so Sansa sat next to Drogo, not below him but next to him.

A Khaleesi equal to her Khal.

And as people came to speak with Khal Drogo and ask him for things and his opinions, sometimes he would look over his shoulder to Sansa and ask, "Fini yer dirgat, Khaleesi?"

What do you think?

She would get looks from the various people, for Sansa did not think that Khal Drogo had ever asked for a women's opinion before, at least not so publicly. 

And since she did not speak the High Valeryian spoken by those of Essos, she would ask her husband, "Qisi fini, Khal Drogo?"

About what?

And he would tell her, sometimes in Dothraki and sometimes in the Common Tongue, but he would tell her all the same and then ask again.

"Fini yer dirgat, Khaleesi?"

And she would tell him.

Sometimes he would agree with her and sometimes not, either way he always focused upon her and the words she was saying, and when she was done he would say M’athchomaroon in front of all who were there, be it his blood riders or Norvosi nobles.

He would tell her thank you.

Sansa never expected this, but she accepted it all the same. She was raised for this after all, by her mother and father all those years ago. 

She was raised to be a queen.

And so she continued on.

After some time had passed, Sansa went about asking for some watered-down wine and picking at a plate filled with nuts and various cheeses. 

Honestly, she was about ready to return to her son. It would be about time for him to wake up from his mid-day nap soon.

A man was led in front of Drogo and Sansa then, who looked different from the previously well-dressed nobles.

This was a man who looked like a farmer, and who after introducing himself was explained to her by Drogo that he was a shepherd.

He was shaking when he explained brokenly that after the Horde set up camp, his sheep had had no where to graze. The sheep were so hungry that the shepherd brought them out further into the grasses then he ever had before in a desperate attempt to feed his sheep, when one of them was killed by a wolf. He brought them back closer to Norvos, but still his sheep went hungry as they had no grass to eat, the Horde's camp stretching on for miles around the city.

After the shepherd was finished talking, Drogo turned to look at Sansa. 

"Yer akkelenat, Khaleesi," he said to her.

You judge.

Drogo was telling her that it was up to her, this shepherd's fate.

Ah, how funny time moves and the places we end up.

Would Joffrey have ever asked her to pass judgement? Would her mother have?

Sansa thinks not.

But... but she was raised to do so anyway.

To be a queen.

And so Sansa told her husband that it was not the shepherd's fault that any of this had happened, and as such he should be given a sheep to replace the one he had lost. Furthermore, since the Horde would not be moving for some time, they should offer Dothraki riders to take out and protect the shepherd and his flock as he moves them to graze further out than he would normally, so that no more sheep are lost.

Drogo stares at her for a long time when she finishes speaking.

And then he smiles.

Drogo turns around and faces the shepherd again, explaining what Sansa had just spoken.

The shepherd immediately falls forward on his hands and knees, bowing to Sansa and saying "kirimvose" over and over.

She knew that word- the shepherd was saying "thank you" in High Valeryian.

"Kirimvose, Khaleesi. Kirimvose."

And it was so.