In the heart of Vaes Dothrak, the Dothraki gathered around, the heat of the sun beating down as the Khalesi stood before them, her heart pounding in her chest. Before her lay the raw, still-warm heart of a stallion, an ancient Dothraki ritual meant to test her strength and resolve. It was a rite meant to prove she could bear a strong son to lead the Khalasar one day, and secure her position as Khal Drogo’s the Khalesi—the leader’s wife.

Khal Drogo stood nearby, his presence looming large, his gaze fixed on her with intensity and pride. She could feel his eyes on her, but his silence was not oppressive; it was a challenge, one she would rise to meet.

With a deep breath, the Khalesi reached down and grasped the heart, its warmth pulsing in her hands, the raw flesh heavy with the weight of the moment. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her stomach twisting in revolt, but the murmurs from the crowd—their expectations, their hopes—pushed her forward. She raised it to her lips, the metallic tang of blood and flesh filling her mouth as she bit into it.

The Dothraki watched in awe, their eyes wide with disbelief as she continued, swallowing the raw meat, each bite fueled by her determination to prove herself. Her face streaked with blood, she refused to falter, her resolve unshaken.

Drogo’s gaze never left her, his proud expression betraying none of the tension he felt. As she swallowed the last bite, the Khalesi met his eyes, seeking his approval, her breath ragged and uneven.

Drogo stepped forward, his intense eyes softening ever so slightly. He gave a small, approving nod, his rare smile breaking through his usually stern demeanor.

“You are strong, my the Khalesi,” he murmured in Dothraki, his voice low and filled with pride. “Yer ajjin anni.” My moon of my life.

the Khalesi, blood still dripping from her face, managed a faint smile. In that moment, she knew she had earned his respect, his pride, and that of the Dothraki. She had proven herself, not just as his wife, but as a worthy leader in her own