Tasinga Nightwolf
Star
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2014
She wept as she laid there, Deanerys Targaryen, the Khaleesi of the Dothraki tribe her husband ruled. Though now it seemed she no longer had a future here. Her son had been born ugly and dead and her Khal dying as well most likely to join him in the great heard in the sky. Her Sun, her Light and her joy had all been stolen from her in a single moment. She did not know what to do other than to cry. She knew it was not what a Khaleesi should do; she almost could hear her brother, Viserys, laughing at her. He would be mocking her make sure she understood how much un-like a dragon she was. She did not care though, everything she had learned to love in the last year of her life had been stolen from her like a passing wind. She wished she could go and demand the ancestors to give back her husband to her.
It was the damn witches fault. She had taken the wench in believing she would be good for her child’s birth; however she had been proven wrong. All the dreadful things had started to happen after that woman was near the tribe. It had to be that witch’s fault. She felt her tears leaving as anger flooded her body. She was still in her tent, dirty from the child birth, blood staining her thighs and the ground around her. Deanerys looked at the faces in the tent, her three maids there, a wet nurse and another slave. Her dead son was wrapped in clothe and placed in a straw cradle. Later after she had decided she had grieved long enough his body would be set aflame and his spirit would join the others in the stars. She knew she would have to decide in a moment what her own fate would be.
Most Khaleesies would go and join the crones at the Mother Mount, there they aged and offered their wisdom to Khals and Khaleesies alike. Deanerys had no desire to join those old ugly hags. She though had only one other option, to join her husband in death if he was truly gone. Though deep inside she felt he would not wake from this sleep. He had fallen asleep from the illness infecting his body. Even if he lived and stayed in the strange death like sleep she knew he would not want to stay like that. Drogo would want death before he became a man cursed to be in a sleep like state. She wanted to get up and just run. Her legs, back and even her sides hurt though as if she had been run over by her horse after being flung from it’s back. No she did not know what to do yet other than make a silent plea to the ancestors to somehow help her.
It was the damn witches fault. She had taken the wench in believing she would be good for her child’s birth; however she had been proven wrong. All the dreadful things had started to happen after that woman was near the tribe. It had to be that witch’s fault. She felt her tears leaving as anger flooded her body. She was still in her tent, dirty from the child birth, blood staining her thighs and the ground around her. Deanerys looked at the faces in the tent, her three maids there, a wet nurse and another slave. Her dead son was wrapped in clothe and placed in a straw cradle. Later after she had decided she had grieved long enough his body would be set aflame and his spirit would join the others in the stars. She knew she would have to decide in a moment what her own fate would be.
Most Khaleesies would go and join the crones at the Mother Mount, there they aged and offered their wisdom to Khals and Khaleesies alike. Deanerys had no desire to join those old ugly hags. She though had only one other option, to join her husband in death if he was truly gone. Though deep inside she felt he would not wake from this sleep. He had fallen asleep from the illness infecting his body. Even if he lived and stayed in the strange death like sleep she knew he would not want to stay like that. Drogo would want death before he became a man cursed to be in a sleep like state. She wanted to get up and just run. Her legs, back and even her sides hurt though as if she had been run over by her horse after being flung from it’s back. No she did not know what to do yet other than make a silent plea to the ancestors to somehow help her.