‘ours’. the word was enough to offer him challenge, but he held his ground. a hand hanging against the hilt of his arakh, he shifted only enough to block one of her guards from reach. ‘ours’, she had said. but these men were her husbands and his alone. no woman had the weight nor the right command any man. no woman but daenerys, blood of the dragon. this woman was hardly a queen, it seemed, if she was so far from home. he could hear the easy poise in her words and it perfumed her tone like sweet flowers long and well devoid in the dothraki sea, the ground only prickled with stones and sharp blades of grass nurtured beneath the heels of warriors.
❝these men are offensive on their own. they do not need your apologies to sway their fate.
his lips broke under the dark hair that covered his lower face. the stretch reached around him to tug at his braid, the bells adorning his hear echoing gently beneath the everyday noise of the port; the shouts of fish sellers and begging children long parted from the company of kinder sorts. her words held a sort of strength that he had not seen in some time. it sorely reminded him of the only woman to tame his heart, and his tongue, with little more than a glance. and, it only made her that much more desirable; almost sure that she had wonderful stories to tell. ❝you say such kind things… your husband is a fortunate man to have such a well-spoken woman at his call. perhaps i should meet this husband of yours, if you wish it…?
Frightened though she was by the warrior, immovable and near-silent, still Sansa clung to what artifices of courtesy had served so well in a Westerosi court. One need not bear steel or extend their arms in a showy display of musculature to wield strength — Petyr had proven that; a mere refusal to yield, to follow a scripted subservience that must serve this khal well in all other respects, ought afford ample time in which to find a truer means of appeasement. “They have no apologies of their own,” she murmured, “for it is through me alone that they speak.” A bold declaration, one subtly shifting her guards from ‘ours’ to ‘hers’, reality fluid in accommodation of what delicate touch such a meeting required.
No matter the prohibitions, the peace, the lingering propriety, still could violence erupt between Dothraki and knight. Anxious blue gaze followed grasping fingers, silvery proof of his valor, awaiting any whisper that tense words might burst into outright hostility. Yet gentleness — so much as one of the great grass sea possessed — prevailed, bringing forth an inviting smile from the auburn wolf. “The gods were kind in bringing us together.” Not at first, not in those early days when I hated more readily than I loved. Mayhaps all marriages began as such, man and wife both looking out across a silent meal with questions and doubts welling behind guarded eyes. “And it would honor us both to have so esteemed a guest in our home; should you and your men desire it, I would be all too pleased to guide you there.”
she was spoken for– making her even more desirable. he was a man. he so often desired what he was not privy too. and a khal– bearing a hunger that was difficult to quench. tempered fingers dragged along the silk, letting it slip free but catching it again before the wind took it from his reach. another pull of his fingers, the digits took note of the rhythm as she spoke, his eyes between her and the armed men at her back. they posed no threat to him or his blood riders, but he let his free hand gesture toward them, keeping them at bay as their narrowed their approach.
her voice was not unlike the silks she wore. he would capture it, if he could, and keep it caged. inhaling deeply, the pungent scent of fish, shit and perfume swirled in the air, his senses frantic as they tried to catch the softest hints of one so beautiful. her falling gently toward the side, he finally let the silk fall from his fingers, hanging on her words with uncommonly gentle care. she was such a wee thing, a word, or a strong gust of wind, seemed as if it might break her. frail things were always the best, for this reason.
❝i have killed men for their boldness, little lady– your guards… they are your husbands, or your own?
who would he anger should he kill them? he wondered. if he killed them and stole her away from this place.
Gown would tear before this stranger might manage to abscond with a ruby-haired prize. Every instinct demanded that she pull trailing silks from his grasp, no thought to insult or incitement, and make haste back towards home’s high-walled shelter. So long removed from the capital and its intrigues, daily fears of loss, of harm, of betrayal, still Sansa looked upon strength only to wonder how the bearer might wield it against her. Lord Baelish’s household guard comprised itself of more than knights, all manner of sellswords purported to excel in their given arts compensated heavily for their loyalty, yet she continued to prefer the company of those traditionally trained whenever need or boredom summoned his wife to market.
Such men seemed ungainly when standing opposite Dothraki riders, muscles shifting beneath flesh baked under an Essosi sun, coiling like pit vipers unburdened by mail or broadswords. Though the girl knew little of combat she desired no bloodshed, nor any terse exchange of words or threats; with but a glance she bid her guards sheathe exposed steel, eyes darting back to look upon glowering accoster. From her time spent within Lannister grip Sansa learnt easily how best to identify power and those who held it, a skill honed with instruction from wily husband; the khal staring down possessed greater influence than even Cersei, though mayhaps a lion queen would contest the value of such might.
“Ours,” she corrected gently. “And I apologize if they have given offense; ‘tis a poor guard that thinks too belatedly on his lord or lady’s health, you must agree. My husband and I share all manner of things, our swords and shields least of all. No doubt he would quite enjoy making the acquaintance of such an esteemed warrior as I now have.”
the presence of any guard went unnoticed. promises had been made to illyrio towards the like of keep his men in-line, as if they were dogs to be chain and beaten when they offered insult to outsiders. they were well able to maintain themselves and to only engage in any altercations they could win, while inside the city. fat merchants made for very little sport, after all. but surely, if an arakh were to cut them open, waist-length, they would bleed as any other man. but, for now, they kept their calm, and their wits, about them. because so long as they were in the city, they were among the enemy. and, as khal, his actions were even greatly monitored. but still, he found himself staring, feet moving on their own and mind thanking them for the course.
stopping near to the little lady, his head ducked on so much that he could catch a glimpse of her face. skin soft and tight, he recognized her for only a child, as it was. age was no deterrent for most in his khalasar, as men were men and women were women, but this was pentos, and he was being watched. his hand falling open, he felt the smooth slither of silk skin being laid across his palm, he gave it nary a glance as he spoke to her.
❝you should be careful… many thieves here.
Beyond what sensational histories the maesters of her home imparted on Essosi horse lords, Sansa still knew very little of khalasars and Dothraki hordes. To her they seemed most akin to Ironborn, that scrawny boy grown into a salt-blooded traitor, a race of men whose favored currency splashed on flagstones and coursed through bluish veins. What need, then, had any rider of a covered market, the bundles of flowers and bolts of silk and ornaments of hammered silver, gold, and bronze? Did they not prefer the taste of horse flesh, to gain their spoils by right of conquest rather than the paltry exchange of coins? She knew for certain only that they took what lay most desired, a dangerous inclination, as guards bristled.
“P—Pardon?” Never had she felt so rough a hand, callused from a life of clutching reins. At her back Sansa heard steel rasp against scabbards, two swords pulled free just enough for polished blades to wink in late afternoon’s sun. Though heavy, his touch neither hurt nor restrained, an almost fatherly press against bared arm; she offered them no motion to advance. “And so my husband sees to it that I am ever escorted.” Smile played across rosy lips, as though her guards and the curved blade hanging low from his waist were mere japes, a pantomime of menace in a peaceful street.
“You speak the Common Tongue well, ser. Mayhaps I should expect no less of one so familiar with the avenues of Pentos…and their inhabitants.”
THE RED WASTE HAD FALLEN TO HIS BACK. the journey back to the city had taken weeks, under the strain of high temperatures, and the slow pace at which the khalasar moved. his people were his family and his BURDEN, but inside the walls of pentos, he found his solitude. there, his palace stood atop a hill, not so unlike the other palaces within the city. but his was a gift. and the pentosi looked upon its walls with worrisome disdain. their fears, were warranted. but this day, the khal walked with only two of his blood riders at his heels, stopping to taste a bit of smoked pork offered to him by a vendor. the taste was rubbery– CHARRED.
he spit it out, lip curling back gently in distaste, his eyes wandering up only in time to catch sight of something– someone: HAIR, A LIVING FLAME, and skin, sweetly pale; his attention was drawn.
None in Pentos cared overmuch about the crimes of her father; what did the machinations of perfumed lords squabbling over a chair of swords have to do with spices and silks and slaves? A pretty wife to a genial, generous lord from across the Narrow Sea, Sansa’s appeal found roots in neither blood nor rumor. Such relative anonymity did not remove all manner of risk, however; guards followed her on every errand, hands ‘pon the hilts of their swords, watchful for those who might seek to take advantage of her husband’s wealth and affection. Dothraki riders, she knew, stood chief amongst their worries. Despite the city’s efforts to keep itself untouched by raids there remained men disinterested in foregoing such spoils.
As she hurried back from the market, purchases of silk thread and airy fabrics well-suited to summery climes bundled and awaiting delivery the girl caught sight of one such warrior. A khal, if the length of braid and its ornamentation served as any guide. Startled to find him staring Sansa looked away, shoulders tense, trailing further from the road as she drew near.
should an exclusive partner go inactive for 1+ month, then i will become tentatively open to interactions with duplicates. when/if they return then exclusivity may resume.
