It had been a fort night since the Dothraki
had somehow gotten over their fear of the
waters and crossed the Narrow Sea, for
Shireen to meet the unknown son of Daenerys
Targaryen and Khal Drogo. Rhaego had
presented himself and his Khalasar to the
Red Keep, only to find the scarred niece of
the usuper upon the Iron Throne.
Shireen because very uncomfortable in a
castle full of Dothraki warriors fairly quickly
once they all had made themselves at home.
She had welcomed him and his people in
in order to discuss and finalize things.
She had called the Khal to the small council
chamber, which had been emptied by her
request. She didn’t need the ears of old men
hearing their conversation. She stood in silks
of her house colours; black on yellow, with a
crown similar to her Uncle Renly’s upon her
head.
Most of Rhaego’s men had settled in this ‘Red Keep’
long enough to find the food and the women before
they made their way out of it to make camp outside
the city walls. They preferred it this way. Although he
assumed this usurper’s niece would not like not being
able to keep a closer eye on them. His men had already
attacked a stronghold and two villages in what these
people called the “stormlands” when they were guided to
the capital.
Still, his kahalsar was large, more than half still remained
in Essos, even with those outside the city the palace was
still affected by them. He and two of his bloodriders had
stayed, while those in the camp spoke to his third bloodrider.
Finally, he had been called on by this usurper to speak with her.
He made his way, one of his bloodriders accompanying him
to stay outside the chambers. He was led by one of the
young women of the palace who seemed to serve others. A
slave, he presumed.
He had not particularly dressed up for meeting the ‘queen’ of
Westeros. His long hair was pulled back from his face, bells
dangling from locks within the tail. His chest was bare, save
a leather strap that bore of western blade; a gold dragon sat
the handle over his shoulder. His trousers were black horse
hide, and his feet were covered in boots found typically from
the northern free cities of Essos.
The slave girl knocked before opening the door, and still his
bloodrider stayed by his side. The man looked to Rhaego before
settling his gaze on the usurper, “King Rhaego Fireborn of House
Targaryen, Son of the Great Khal Drogo. King of the Andals and
the Rhoynar and the First Men Khal of the Great Grass Sea and
Free cities, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of Meereen, Prince
of Dragonstone. The one who was foretold, the Stallion Who Mounts
The World.”
When the man’s words ceased he stepped back into the hall and
the door was closed.
“You wish to speak with me Usurper?” Rhaego questioned,
arms crossing over his chest, head tilting as indigo eyes fell on
the woman before him.
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