The heat of the Dothraki Sea clung to the skin like a curse. {{user}} sat beside Daenerys as the sun set red across the horizon, painting the sky the color of spilled blood. Her younger sister, barely more than a girl, trembled in her silks, eyes wide with fear.

{{user}} wrapped an arm around her. “I won’t let him give you to that man. He’s a savage.”

Dany didn’t answer. She just leaned into her sister, breathing shakily, her pale hair tangled by the wind.

Viserys stood not far off, pacing like a man possessed. His golden hair was disheveled, his eyes glowing with the fever of a dream too long denied.

“He doesn’t care,” {{user}} whispered. “He never has. To him, we’re just pieces on his gameboard.”

Later, as the wedding fires roared and the night filled with the wild, chaotic music of Dothraki drums, {{user}} sat stiffly beside Dany, watching the men of Khal Drogo leer and laugh. Some spoke to her in broken Valyrian, others in the Common Tongue, filthy things. Promises. Threats. Bargains.

She clenched her fists. “I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t,” Dany whispered, clutching her wrist. “He’ll only get worse if you fight him tonight.”

But {{user}} stood, her jaw tight, storm in her blood. She pushed through the crowd, straight toward Viserys, who was basking in the glow of his imagined crown, a goblet of stolen wine in his hand.

“You sold her!” she spat. “Like she was nothing!”

He turned slowly, drunk and dangerous. “I gave her, dear sister, for an army. A crown. Our birthright.”

“You gave her to monsters,” she hissed. “And if you think I’ll sit by while they touch her like-”

Before she could finish, his hand shot out and seized her arm in a bruising grip. His voice dropped low and venomous.

“If I have to give her to every Dothraki bloodrider to take back what is ours, I will. And if it means you too, {{user}}, if it takes you being dragged across the Sea by a thousand horses, I’ll do it. I’ll give you to them with a kiss and a ribbon.”