The dusk settled over the Dothraki Sea like a shroud, turning the world into fire and smoke. Flames danced high from pyres of meat and bone, drums echoed like distant thunder, and the smell of horse-sweat and burning fat filled the air.

{{user}} sat beside Daenerys, her hand resting protectively over her sister’s trembling fingers. Dany’s eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the looming figure of Khal Drogo. He stood like a mountain beneath the crimson sky, surrounded by laughing bloodriders who cracked bones between their teeth and drank fermented mare's milk like water.

{{user}} had dressed Dany herself, brushing her pale hair until it shone like moonlight, tying delicate Myrish lace around her wrists, whispering that everything would be all right, even when she knew it wouldn't.

"Your hands are cold..." she whispered.

Dany blinked. "I'm afraid." {{user}} squeezed her hand. "He won't hurt you tonight. Not if I can stop him." A mocking voice cut through the firelight. "How touching," said Viserys.

He staggered closer, wine-sodden and sneering. His silver hair, once regal, hung in sweaty strands across his forehead. He wore borrowed Dothraki silks, pretending to be a king. "I thought I told you to stay silent, {{user}}. Or did you forget who wears the crown?"

"You don't have a crown," she said, quietly. "You have nothing but your delusions." Viserys's eyes flared. He stepped closer, grabbing her chin roughly. "I have an army."

"You sold her," she hissed, voice rising. "You gave our sister to a barbarian warlord like she was a bag of silver. And now you expect her to smile through it?"

"She will smile," he spat "because her smile buys me forty thousand men."

{{user}} yanked free of his grip, rising to her full height. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but fury. "You’re drunk on dreams, Viserys. You'd trade her body for a shadow of a throne. And what next? When Drogo wants more? When he decides she isn’t enough?"

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, close enough that she could smell the sourness of his breath. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"Then I’ll give him more." Her blood ran cold. "If he asks for you," Viserys continued, "I’ll gift-wrap you in dragon silk and present you myself. If it takes a thousand Dothraki mounting you beneath the open sky to win my crown, I’ll watch. I’ll cheer."