#got drogo

[novaursa]

Savage Crown

- Summary: Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Khal Drogo

- Note: This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago. I don't have time for something longer or a series about it, but I hope you like it none the less, dear anon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The hall is grand but oppressive, a crumbling remnant of a better time. You stand in the shadows behind Viserys. The air is thick with the smell of incense and sweat, a testament to the preparations Magister Illyrio had overseen for this meeting. Your brother stands tall before you, his silver hair glinting in the light, his pale violet eyes filled with barely contained ambition.

Daenerys, your younger sister, is beside him, her head bowed, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river down her back. She looks like a lamb to the slaughter, meek and silent under Viserys's command. It sickens you, though you dare not let it show. Your brother is not forgiving of defiance.

And then you hear it—the heavy footfalls of horses, the deep, guttural voices of the Dothraki. The door to the hall creaks open, and Khal Drogo strides in. He is magnificent and terrifying, a towering figure with dark skin bronzed by the sun, long hair braided with bells that chime softly as he moves, and eyes like onyx. He surveys the room with the air of a conqueror, his presence commanding every ounce of attention.

You cannot help but stare. His gaze is piercing as it sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on Daenerys. Viserys steps forward, his voice filled with practiced charm.

"Great Khal Drogo," he begins, his tone obsequious, "I present to you my sister, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She is—"

Drogo's gaze shifts mid-sentence, moving past Daenerys and falling upon you. Your breath catches as those dark eyes lock with yours, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. He takes you in, his expression unreadable but intense, lingering far longer than he did on your sister.

Viserys notices and falters, his voice sharpening with irritation. "My youngest sister," he emphasizes, stepping to the side as if to block Drogo's view of you.

But the Khal doesn't seem to care. He steps forward, his gaze still fixed on you, and speaks for the first time. His voice is low and rough, a deep rumble that seems to resonate in your chest. The Dothraki words are foreign, incomprehensible, yet you feel the weight of them as he gestures toward you.

Magister Illyrio interjects with a nervous laugh, stepping in to translate. "The great Khal wishes to know… who stands behind the prince. He says you are like silver fire in the darkness."

Your heart pounds. Viserys stiffens beside you, his face a mask of barely concealed fury. "She is not for you," he snaps, his composure slipping. "She is my elder sister, and she is of no consequence. It is Daenerys who will wed the Khal, as agreed."

Drogo's lips twitch, the closest thing to amusement you suspect he allows himself. He says something else, short and commanding, and Illyrio hesitates before translating. "The Khal says he will decide what is of consequence."

You can feel Viserys trembling with rage beside you, but he dares not insult the Khal further. Drogo turns to one of his bloodriders, speaking in a low tone. The man nods, and Drogo turns back to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he steps back. Without another word, he and his men stride out of the hall, their heavy footsteps fading into the night.

The silence is deafening. Viserys turns to you, his face a storm of fury. "What did you do?" he hisses, his voice venomous. "You stood there like some… temptress! Do you want to ruin everything?"

"I did nothing," you reply, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach. "I simply stood where you told me to stand."

"You will not ruin this for me," he growls, stepping closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Nothing compared to the dragon. Remember your place, sister."

Daenerys says nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. Illyrio steps forward, trying to ease the tension. "My prince," he says placatingly, "this could be… an opportunity. Khal Drogo is a man of strength and desire. If he has taken an interest in your sister—"

"I don’t care what he desires!" Viserys shouts, cutting him off. "Daenerys is the one who will wed the Khal. Not her. Not… her."

You say nothing, meeting his gaze with calm defiance. In that moment, you realize something: Khal Drogo had chosen you. Whether Viserys liked it or not, the Khal’s attention had turned away from his plans, and it would take more than his temper to change that.

As the torches flicker and the silence stretches, you feel a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. Whatever happens next, your life is no longer your brother’s to control.

The Dothraki celebration is wild and untamed, a tempest of sound, movement, and firelight. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wines, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and blood. Flames leap high into the dark sky, the orange and red light dancing across the sea of bronze-skinned warriors, their shouts and laughter echoing into the night. Drums pound in an unrelenting rhythm, matched only by the ferocity of the revelers.

You sit beside Khal Drogo on an ornate wooden throne covered in furs and adorned with braids of horsehair, a place of honor overlooking the madness. His hand rests casually on the armrest, his face stoic but his eyes watching the festivities with quiet satisfaction. You feel his presence beside you like a storm contained, powerful and commanding even in stillness.

Your dress, a blend of Valyrian silk and Dothraki leather, feels strange on your skin, a mix of your heritage and the savage culture you've been thrust into. You feel the weight of eyes on you—not just the Dothraki, who marvel at their Khal’s silver-haired bride, but Viserys’s gaze as it burns into the side of your face. His fury radiates across the distance between you, as palpable as the heat of the fires.

Viserys sits further back, his face twisted with anger. His hand grips a goblet of wine so tightly that you wonder if it might shatter. Daenerys sits meekly beside him, her eyes downcast, her small frame shrinking further into the shadows with every passing moment. She dares not speak, not when Viserys is like this.

Finally, Viserys’s venom spills over. He slams the goblet down onto the low wooden table in front of him, startling Daenerys and drawing the attention of those nearby. His voice is sharp, cutting through the revelry like a blade.

"How dare you," he seethes, his words directed at Magister Illyrio, who sits nearby with a plate of half-eaten lamb before him. "You promised to help me. And instead, you give her to the Khal?"

Illyrio dabs at his mouth with a silk napkin, unperturbed by Viserys’s outburst. "My prince," he says smoothly, his tone carefully measured, "the Khal chose as he wished. You know how the Dothraki are—no one tells them what to do, not even I. Be grateful that he accepted a bride from your house at all."

"Grateful?" Viserys’s voice rises, his face flushing red. "Do you think this is what I wanted? My elder sister married to a savage, while my plans fall apart? She was never supposed to be part of this!"

Illyrio sighs, setting his napkin down with deliberate patience. "And yet, here we are. The Khal accepted her, not Daenerys. Would you rather he had taken offense and left you with nothing? No crown, no army, no future?"

Viserys rises to his feet, his fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage. "This was not the agreement! You swore—"

"The agreement," Illyrio cuts in, his voice firm now, "was to forge an alliance. And we have. The Khal is pleased, and the alliance is sealed. Your plans remain intact, my prince, whether the bride was Daenerys or—"

"Enough!" Viserys snaps, his voice cracking. "Do not speak as if you have any authority over me! I am the dragon, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Across the space, you feel Drogo shift beside you. His eyes flick briefly toward the commotion, then back to you. He says nothing, but you sense his irritation awaking beneath the surface.

You glance at Viserys, a mixture of pity and disdain bubbling within you. He is a boy playing at being a king, too blind to see the fragile position he truly holds.

Daenerys, seated behind him, dares a glance at you. Her expression is a mixture of fear and apology, though she says nothing, her small hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"You shame yourself, brother," you call out, your voice calm but carrying easily over the din. The words are like a slap, freezing Viserys mid-rant. His head snaps toward you, his violet eyes blazing.

"You dare speak to me like that?" he spits, his voice trembling. "You forget your place, sister. You belong to him now, do you not? You are nothing but a slave to this savage."

The Dothraki around you grow quiet, their laughter and music fading as they turn to watch. You feel the weight of their eyes, and of Drogo’s, but you refuse to back down.

"I belong to no one," you say firmly, rising to your feet. "I am the blood of the dragon, just as you are. And I will not be diminished by your petty tantrums."

Viserys takes a step toward you, his hand twitching as if he might strike you, but before he can, Drogo speaks. His voice is low and commanding, a single word in Dothraki that sends his bloodriders forward, placing themselves between you and your brother.

Viserys freezes, his bravado crumbling under the weight of their silent threat. He glares at you, his lips curling into a sneer, but he does not move closer.

The dread hangs heavy in the air until Drogo stands, his towering presence a clear statement. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then turns to the bloodriders and gives a short command. They back away, though their eyes remain fixed on Viserys.

Drogo says something else, a string of Dothraki words spoken with quiet authority, and Illyrio translates, his voice calm but firm. "The Khal says the dragon must learn respect, or he will be taught."

Viserys’s face turns ashen, his bravado utterly gone. He mutters something under his breath and sits back down, grabbing his goblet and drinking deeply to hide his shame.

The festivities slowly resume, the anxiety easing as the Dothraki return to their revelry. But you remain standing, your gaze locked with Viserys’s, your heart pounding with the realization that you have just defied him—and survived.

The aftermath of your union with Khal Drogo is a stillness that feels almost sacred. The furs beneath you are soft and heavy, the firelight from the brazier casting flickering shadows across the walls of his tent. The air is warm and heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, leather, and the faint sweetness of oils from your earlier ceremony. Drogo lies beside you, his body a fortress of muscle and heat, his breathing deep and even.

You rest your head on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat a steady, grounding sound. It feels surreal—this closeness to a man you’ve only just begun to understand. His presence is overwhelming, his silence louder than most men’s words. Yet, there is a calmness to him that you did not expect, a quiet strength that intrigues you.

Tentatively, you trace your fingers across his chest, marveling at the scars that speak of battles won and stories untold. Drogo doesn’t stop you, though his dark eyes open slightly, watching you with curiosity.

“Drogo,” you murmur, testing his name on your tongue. It feels strange, foreign, yet powerful. He hums in acknowledgment, a low sound that vibrates through his chest.

“I want to understand you,” you say softly, your voice a whisper in the dim light. “But I don’t know how.”

Drogo tilts his head, studying you with a quiet intensity. After a moment, he lifts his hand, calloused and strong, and brushes a strand of silver hair from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a contrast to his otherwise imposing demeanor.

You take a deep breath, searching for the few Dothraki words you’ve managed to learn. “Kirekosi…?” you begin hesitantly, the word for “how” feeling clumsy on your tongue.

A ghost of a smile touches Drogo’s lips, and he responds in Dothraki, the words flowing like a river. You catch only fragments—something about strength, perhaps, or heart. Frustration wells up in you, not at him, but at yourself for not knowing more.

“I don’t understand,” you admit, shaking your head. “I need to learn.”

Drogo sits up slightly, propping himself on one arm. His hair falls over his shoulder, the bells woven into his braid chiming softly. He speaks again, slower this time, pointing to his chest as he says a word.

You frown, repeating it. “Ramasar?”

He nods, tapping his chest again. “Ramasar,” he repeats, then points to you. “Chiorikem.”

You blink, the realization dawning on you. “Ramasar means… land? And chiorikem woman?”

Drogo’s smile broadens, and he nods, clearly pleased with your understanding. Encouraged, you sit up fully, wrapping the fur around your shoulders. You point to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “And you?”

He smirks, tapping his chest again. “Lajak,” he says, his voice rich with pride.

“Lajak,” you repeat, tasting the word. “A warrior.”

He nods again, his eyes gleaming with approval. The moment feels like a small victory, a step toward bridging the chasm between your worlds.

Buoyed by his response, you press further. “Why did you… choose me?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady. “Not Daenerys?”

Drogo’s expression softens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek. He speaks slowly, his voice a deep rumble. Though you don’t understand all the words, the emotion in his tone is clear—admiration, perhaps even respect. He ends with a word you recognize: anni, meaning “mine.”

Your breath catches, the simplicity and certainty of his claim leaving you momentarily speechless. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He chose you, and that is enough for him.

But you want more. “Anni,” you echo softly, meeting his gaze. “And you are mine.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then he nods, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. It is not a grand declaration, but in his world, it is enough—a promise made in the quiet of the night.

You lean into him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that is both gentle and bold. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer, his hands firm but reverent. In that moment, words are unnecessary; the connection between you is deeper than language.

When the kiss ends, you rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “Teach me,” you whisper. “Teach me your words, your ways. I want to know everything.”

Drogo pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Annithilat,” he says, the word unfamiliar but spoken with a weight that makes you shiver.

“What does that mean?” you ask, tilting your head.

He takes your hand, pressing it to his chest where his heart beats strong and steady. “Annithilat,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “Courage.”

You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Annithilat,” you repeat, the foreign syllables feeling natural now.

For the first time, Drogo chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes your heart skip. He pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time since your arrival in his world, you feel truly safe. Truly seen.

The night stretches on, and with every word, every touch, the distance between you and the Khal grows smaller. You know the journey ahead will be difficult, but as you drift to sleep in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel a flicker of hope. Together, you will bridge the divide. Together, you will learn.

[karuselii]

Book Danaerys targaryen when she was sold off to Khal drogo 💔

[m00na333]

Mirri Maz Duur

Too many of you want to paint this women as evil or chaotic evil. I'm sorry but in doing so, you are missing a key part of sub-text. Mirri Maz Duur's character answers the question of "would you kill baby Hitler?" with "absolutely." And yeah, she's pretty vindictive and cruel. And maybe you see that as a moral failing, but this woman saw the Dothraki rape, pillage, and massacre her people.

"The Stallion Who Mounts The World will lead no khalasars."

I don't know man, but if you read the book series "feudalism and colonial violence are bad, actually, and wreak havoc on everyone involved but specifically the small-folk" and thought that the jingoism survivor/rape victim who saw the opportunity to prevent further suffering, further violence and took it is ontologically evil, you missed some key ideas.

[goldensunflowe-r]

You've no right to a braid!

You've won no victories yet!

My rightful queens don't need to win any victories because they already conquered our hearts.

[nouketou]

From Aerys II to Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons

The end of the Targaryen line

-> the return of the Valyrian traditional face markings and Daenerys obviously wears both marks, as the Mother of Dragons would

-> Rhaegar wears the earrings of Duncan Targaryen found in the ashes of Summerhall

-> Young Griff wears an inverted interpretation of his father's earrings, in order to accentuate his Aegon Targaryen's story

-> Daenerys's earrings wears earrings that reminded her of her mother's crown

-> I decided to include a real baby Rhaego, as Daenerys dreamed him and not as Mirri Maz Duur described him, also he has a big scaly birthmark (similar to Rhaenyra's daughter) the shape of a dragon

-> Missandei is baby

[daeneryscel]

hot take maybe but the only reason most show runners/producers/writers/etc. age up the (female) characters from book to show adaptation is to overtly sexualize them and not face mass amounts of scrutiny for it.

put 13 year old daenerys next to 30 year old drogo and the audience understands that daenerys is a victim to him and not an equal. put 22 year old emilia clarke as daenerys next to 32 year old jason mamoa as drogo and they’re seen as a budding romance with a tragic ending (by the general audience) due to their on screen chemistry.

flash forward to today, and now we’re dealing with 21 year old milly alcock playing rhaenyra from 14-19 and how her relationship with (28 year old fabien) a mid twenties criston is seen as -morally acceptable- and not a result of a degenerate pedophile taking advantage of and grooming his charge. “ser criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from ser criston?” rhaenyra was 14 when rumors started speculating that she slept with an almost 30 year old criston. a criston who had know her since she was 8 and had been her sworn shield since she was 9. obviously seeing a teenager in the early stages of puberty next to a fully grown man would emphasize rhaenyra being THE victim, as opposed to the show having an 18-19 year old explore her sexuality and seek out ‘consensual’ sex with her peer bodyguard. the discourse has even reached the point where certain stans try to paint the much younger woman as the perpetrator and aggressor of this event, who forced the unassuming man into having sex with her.

i’ll even take this a step farther, and bring up how if they had shown a 19 year old alicent abusing a 10 year old rhaenyra it would be identified and mutually agreed upon as a reprehensible act on alicent’s part. instead they’re of similar age, so people can attempt to paint the picture as two women of equal standing hating each other, and not a much older woman bullying a motherless child. once again however, some stans even go so far as to try and paint alicent as a victim of rhaenyra, and not the other way around. further cementing this is how both versions of alicent are younger than both versions of rhaenyra, AND how criston is still played by an actor who is younger than older!rhaenyra despite his character being the same age as daemon in canon.

they know exactly what they’re doing too, considering they aged alicent down to give her that innate compassion one typically feels when seeing children being abused on tv (something that can no longer be applied to rhaenyra). despite that never being her story; *she* was the abuser, and rhaenyra was her victim. criston’s victim. it’s a nasty cop out, and i wish more people would call out how sickening it is to flip the switch and attempt to make abusive individuals more sympathetic than the *actual* victims of said abusers.

[llonelygoddess]

How they react to...Finding out you're pregnant

Romantic Pairings: Ned Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy, Jaime Lannister, Khal Drogo, Jorah Mormont, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei, Podrick, Gendry

Ned Stark: This man is over the moon when you tell him you’re expecting. He’s raised 5 already but for you he’d raise another 5 if possible lol He’s always got his hands on your belly and asking if you need anything. His favorite thing to do is talking to the baby later at night when you’re asleep, whispering how much it’ll be loved and cared for by the both of you.

Margaery Tyrell: Thrilled. You two definitely planned this pregnancy so she’s thrilled to hear you’ve finally conceived. She’s keeping Maesters around the clock just for you and making sure you have regular check ups. You both love looking at all the fabrics and books and toys you’ll be gifting your baby. She wants this child to have everything she had and more, so beware your child may be spoiled rotten lol

Pre Reek!Theon Greyjoy: Theon doesn’t even know what to say. He’s nervous about what that would mean for you and the child title wise. Would the babe be labeled a bastard? Would you be treated as a whore? The questions will drive him crazy if you don’t bring him back down to earth. As much as he’s there for you, you have to be there for him during this time.

Jaime Lannister: In the beginning he’s more worried than anything. Knowing how crazy Cersei is he has to hide you away, promising to be with you soon. Once he finds a way to sneak away to you for good, he’s all hands on deck. He’d learn to cook a bit, take up the cleaning, even learn to stitch a little to give the baby an embroidered blanket. It’s not what you expected but considering his other kids barely know him it makes sense how serious he is about this one. He wants to get it right this time.

Khal Drogo: He sees you as his goddess, mesmerized with the way you carry his child. He kisses your belly and announces it to the whole Khalasar. During your pregnancy he doesn’t baby you, finding beauty in your strength, but he is wary of you being around the other men. They’re rough and callous and you are soft and breakable, something that keeps him up at night. Whenever he goes out riding he always comes back with a gift that he presents to you in front of everyone.

Jorah Mormont: He never thought he’d be lucky enough to have children, especially with someone as special as you. He’s definitely crying when he hears the news. He can’t help it, a family of his own is all he’s ever wanted. Even knowing how strong you are, he’ll ask you to stay home and to let him do any and all work that needs to be done. He’s heard horror stories of pregnancies going wrong and he refuses to let anything happen to you.

Brienne of Tarth: Finding out you're pregnant would be the scariest moment of her life. Which isn't to say she doesn't want kids, but the world you live in wasn't ready for a relationship like yours. Two non-men finding love within each other wasn't accepted, let alone them raising a child together. Eventually, through many talks with you and Podrick, she calms down enough to enjoy this special moment in time with you.

Missandei: When Missandei first finds out, she's immediately in preparation mode. With the life she's lived she knows how cruel and evil life can be, so she takes it upon herself to make everything as perfect for you and the babe as possible. She’s asking Danaerys for healers and compiling blankets and toys from nearby towns. You’ll want for nothing with her by your side. When she’s not in crisis mode she’s sitting with you in bed fantasizing about the languages and history she’ll teach the baby.

Podrick: He gets so overwhelmed when you tell him he faints. Poor bb. When he wakes he asks if it was a dream and when you tell him no he kisses you. He’s another one that never really thought about having a family but he’s more than ready and capable of doing it. He’s always gushing about you and the baby to Brienne or really anyone who’ll listen. Loves to put his ear to your belly and just listen.

Gendry: He never planned to have kids so young, but when you told him about the baby he realized this was his moment to step up and be better. Being a Lord now he’s able to take care of you in ways he never thought he could. Giving you a handmaid and guards is just the beginning of how he wants to support you. He worries all nine months about whether he'll be good enough for your babe, so please rub his back and tell him he'll be the best dad ever. And he will.

[gabityaby]

Art by @mourningstorms in Twitter or X or whatever

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title: Hearts of Fire

Daenerys Targeryen x reader X khal drogo(slightly)

---

The air was thick with the scent of blood and incense as the Dothraki gathered in the sacred tent, their voices rising in a cacophony of anticipation. At the center of it all stood Daenerys Targaryen, silver hair cascading over her shoulders, her violet eyes set with steely determination. Beside her, you stood just as resolute, your fingers intertwined with hers as you both faced the daunting task ahead. This was a ritual meant to prove strength, resilience, and the power of life growing within Daenerys. But the Khaleesi was not alone, for you had bound your fate to hers long before the Dothraki had ever known either of your names.

When Khal Drogo had chosen Daenerys as his Khaleesi, you had been a part of the bargain, an unconventional condition that neither he nor his people had expected. The blood of the dragon burned hot in both of your veins, and your love for each other was as fierce as the flames that had birthed you. Drogo had seen the fire in your eyes, the unwavering loyalty you held for Daenerys, and had accepted the challenge of marrying not just a dragon, but two.

Now, the Dosh Khaleen—the ancient crones who led the ceremony—looked on with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. No other Khaleesi had ever brought her heart-bound to this ritual. But this was not just any Khaleesi, and you were not just any woman.

As the crones brought forth the raw, bleeding heart of the stallion, the murmurs of the Dothraki quieted. The heart was massive, still warm, and the scent of fresh blood filled your nostrils. It was a symbol of the life growing within Daenerys, the life of the stallion who would mount the world. But for you, it was also a symbol of the bond you shared with her, the unbreakable connection that had brought you both to this moment.

Daenerys took a deep breath, her grip on your hand tightening as she stepped forward. You could feel her fear, her determination, and you gave her a reassuring squeeze in return.

"We do this together," you whispered, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Together," she repeated, her voice a vow as strong as any oath.

The Dosh Khaleen began their chant, an ancient and haunting melody that echoed through the tent. Daenerys raised the heart to her lips, taking the first bite with a grimace that she quickly hid. The taste was foul, the texture tough and chewy, but she forced herself to chew and swallow, her eyes flicking to you for strength. You stepped closer, your free hand brushing a strand of her hair away from her face as she continued to eat, each bite a struggle.

When the time came for you to join her, you did so without hesitation. The Dothraki watched with bated breath as you bit into the heart, the taste just as revolting as you had imagined. But you didn't falter. The blood of the dragon did not yield. You would not falter.

The ritual was gruesome, the task daunting, but together, you and Daenerys persevered. Bite after bite, the heart began to disappear, the blood staining both your lips and hers, a symbol of the shared strength and love that had brought you to this point.

As the heart was finally consumed, a hush fell over the tent. Daenerys swayed on her feet, but you were there to steady her, your arms wrapping around her waist as she leaned into you, exhausted but victorious. The Dothraki began to chant her name, their voices rising in a roar of approval. The stallion who mounts the world had been proven, and the Khaleesi had shown her strength. But as you held her close, you knew that the real victory was not just hers, but yours as well.

Khal Drogo stepped forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours and Daenerys's. There was a fierce pride in his gaze, a recognition of the bond you both shared. He placed a hand on Daenerys's shoulder, then on yours, a silent acknowledgment of the strength you both possessed.

"You are both my Khaleesi," he declared in his deep, resonant voice, the words carrying a weight that the Dothraki understood. It was unprecedented, a union of three, bound not just by tradition but by love, respect, and fire.

As the ceremony came to an end, the Dothraki began to disperse, their excitement turning to celebration. You and Daenerys remained in the tent, the tension of the ritual finally giving way to relief. She turned to you, her violet eyes softening as she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing away a smear of blood on your cheek.

"You were incredible," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "I couldn't have done this without you."

You smiled, leaning into her touch, your heart swelling with love. "Neither could I, my love."

The two of you stood there for a moment, lost in each other, the world outside forgotten. In that instant, it didn't matter that you were in a foreign land, surrounded by people who still didn't fully understand your bond. All that mattered was that you had each other, that you were stronger together than apart.

As the sounds of celebration grew louder outside, you and Daenerys shared a kiss, the taste of blood still lingering on your lips, a reminder of the ritual you had just endured. It was a kiss filled with promise, with the fire of dragons, and with the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

Together, you would conquer, you would rule, and you would love, bound by fire and blood, forever.

Request anytime 😊

[davinamikaelsonalwaysandforever]

Jon Snow is quite literally narratively haunted by the dead:

His bio dad got his chest smashed in by his cousin's hammer because he stole his lady love.

His mother, he dosen't know about, died giving birth to him.

His stepdad got beheaded as a traitor, which set off the War of the five Kings.

His girlfriend died in his arms after telling him he knows nothing. ironic.

His sister Rhaenys was stabbed to death, and his brother Aegon got his head smashed in by the Mountain. His other brother/cousin Robb went out via Red Wedding style, as did his wolf, whom Robb likely warged into after his death, so technically he died twice. All of them died because of Tywin Lannister.

His two stepmothers (Elia and Catelyn) were brutally murdered on the Lanaisters behalf, with one of them currently haunting the narrative as the Walking Dead via Lady Stoneheart.

His grandfather, Rickard, was killed by his grandfather, Aerys, as was his uncle Brandon, which set off a rebellion.

His grandmother died giving birth to his aunt, Daenerys.

His uncle Viserys was crowned by his uncle Drogo, who later got an infected wound and was mercy killed by his aunt Dany.

His cousin, Rhaego, was killed by a Maegi during a blood ritual to save his uncle. Their deaths were later used by auntie Dany to bring dragons back into the world.

His great-uncle, Aemon, died on a voyage to Oldtown, which Jon sent him on. On his last journey, Aemon at last saw the truth. His last act was trying to send help to his great-niece, Daenerys, to bring her home safely and make her understand that she and her dragons are the only hope against the coming great war for the dawn.

And now Jon Snow is dead as well, stapped by his own man, pending to be ressurected.

Wherever you look, death touches this character. If Daenerys Targaryen is the daughter of death, then Jon Snow is the son of death. Death shaped these two characters into who they are today. It's also why Jon is destined to be the King of Winter, with his Bride of Fire by his side. Together, they will defeat death and bring about the dawn of a new age.

“Old powers waken. Shadows stir. An age of wonder and terror will soon be upon us, and age for gods and heroes.“ -AFFC (GRRM)

[novaursa]

Khal Drogo Masterlist

main list

- Savage Crown - Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you. - mature 16+

[fall3nangel333]

season 1 daenerys you’ll always be famous

[0bsessiv3s0ul]

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen

[gracefletcher]

Game of Thrones EW cast photoshoot for S1.

2010.

[westerosiladies]

[polysucks]

Sandor Clegane and Jorah Mormont: Broken Men and the Paths to Redemption An analysis of how Sandor Clegane and Jorah Mormont’s treatment of Daenarys Stormborn and the Stark sisters reveals their overlapping sense of duty and morality

An Essay by Polysocial

Word count: 1,849 Time to read: 6 - 15 min CW for the usual asoiaf themes, the defense of Sandor Clegane and the depiction of Jorah Mormont as a fuckin groomer. Also the victimization of the underage women in ASOIAF. Also bad jokes. and I repeat myself alot. i have no beta im just a loser with a word processing program, a liberal american education, and too much time on my hands. You've been warned.

Sandor Clegane and Jorah Mormont are two men defined by their flaws, shaped by their circumstances, and searching for atonement for two extremely different reasons. Though their lives and choices are distinctly different, both wrestle with their own personal definitions of loyalty, self-worth, and the complexities of their relationships with the women they intend to protect. Their opposing paths shed quite a bit of light on the nuances of obligation, devotion, and the struggle to find meaning in a world that often seems devoid of it and the goreghe does an excellent job exploring the vast array of tones and shades in the beauty and the beast trope he is so evidently fond of.

Sandor Clegane: The Hound’s Bitter Sense of Duty

The Hound is a man defined by violence not only by his own design as a defense mechanism but also perpetuated by how he is treated before he even has a chance to open his mouth. From a young age, he was conditioned to believe his intrinsic value as a person lay in his ability to serve others through the only thing he knows holds worth in providing—brutality and violence. The Clegane family name, elevated to nobility through merciless service to the Lannisters, set the foundation for Sandor’s cynical worldview. His scars—both physical and emotional—are a demonstration of his brother Gregor’s cruelty and the dehumanizing system they are forced to exist in that values strength over compassion.

Though Sandor rejects the concept of honor (especially when it pertains to him), deeming it a hollow façade for the selfishness of the powerful (I mean, he’s got a point), his actions often contradict his words. His protectiveness toward Sansa and Arya Stark respectively and independently exposes a deeply buried and guarded sense of morality. He serves neither out of duty nor personal gain (It could be argued that he “kidnapped” Arya and took her to the Twins for personal gain, but I ain’t going there rn) but because he recognizes their vulnerability and sees in them a reflection of the innocence he never had the chance to love and cherish before it was ripped from him. This reluctant politesse, however, clashes with his belief in his own worthlessness, creating a tragic tension within his character.

Sandor’s relationship with Arya starkly demonstrates this complexity. Though he often threatens her with violence, his bark is worse than his bite [beat for applause]. His threats serve as a disguise, a way to maintain control and protect Arya in a dangerous world. The threats he does act on, however, such as knocking her unconscious during the Red Wedding, are harsh but motivated by a twisted sense of care. Sandor views himself as a necessary evil, someone who must act as a shield against greater horrors (one that was never offered to him), even if Arya herself resists his help. His dynamic with Arya mirrors his own self-perception: gruff and crude on the surface, but marked by an underlying love and genteel that he cannot fully suppress—no matter how hard he tries.

Jorah Mormont: Privilege and Self-Inflicted Exile

Jorah Mormont’s life is a stark contrast to Sandor’s [dodges tomatoes]. Born into privilege as the heir to Bear Island of the north, Jorah squandered the opportunities granted to him. His downfall—selling poachers into slavery to fund an extravagant lifestyle—was a choice born of greed and desperation, not necessity. Unlike Sandor, who was forced into servitude by circumstance, Jorah’s exile and subsequent loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen are the consequences of his own failures and choices he made with personal goals in mind.

At first, Jorah’s service to Daenerys is self-serving, a way to reclaim the honor he lost (it’s not even about his family name either like bro ur dad is so disappointed in you and here u go worshipping a fuckin pregnant teenager--). Yet as his love [crowd boos] for her grows, his devotion becomes what he considers selfless, albeit still flawed. His betrayal when he serves as a spy for King Robert emphasizes the infirmity of his moral compass. Jorah’s love [crowd starts waving pitchforks] for Daenerys is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness, blinding him to the boundaries of their relationship and leading him to undermine her independence and strength in significant ways. Where Sandor sees himself as unworthy of redemption, Jorah clings to the hope that his obsession with displaying loyalty will earn him forgiveness and worthiness.

The Lens of Obsession: Jorah’s Idealization vs. Sandor’s Humanity

Okay hear me out another reason Jorah Mormont and Sandor Clegane are two sides of the same sword [Limp Bizkit – Break Stuff plays ominously from a JBL pill speaker in the crowd] in how they perceive and treat the women in their lives. Jorah’s devotion to Daenerys Targaryen is tinged with an unsettling obsession that often prioritizes her physical beauty over her strength and accomplishments. While Jorah admires Daenerys’s power, he punctuates his observations about her with a fixation on her body and appearance. He deifies her, placing her on a pedestal as though she is more goddess than human— this idealization showcases his incapability to see her as a whole person. (I mean, you could argue that he doesn’t see a single woman as a whole person. He talked mad shit about his wife who died in labor, and then his bitch wife who left him bc she didn’t like the north and bc he only liked her for her tits in the first place). His love for Daenerys, while (one can argue) is genuine, is also possessive, defined by his desire to be the one who protects and supports her—whether or not she wants or needs that from him.

Jorah’s fixation on Daenerys’s beauty exposes the imbalance in their dynamic. While she emerges as a formidable leader, determined to reclaim her birthright and liberate the oppressed (yas queen slay the masters go off), Jorah’s gaze often reduces her to an object of adoration and lust. This dynamic is further complicated by Daenerys’s repeated rejection of his advances. (I mean I can say a whole lot about dany’s sexuality and how she lets her most trusted hand maidens finger her to completion but wont return the Old Man’s advances. AS SHE SHOULD!!!!!! She deserves that. At least ur handmaidens love you girly. And they give a fuck about your pleasure, bc we all know Jorah would just hit it and quit it I bet he doesn’t even know women can have orgasms what a loser) She values him as an advisor and ally but does not reciprocate his romantic (AHEM! Sexual!) feelings. Jorah’s inability to fully accept this boundary leads to moments where his actions undercut her autonomy, as he seeks to align her decisions with his own desires.

In stark contrast (THIS IS MY TED TALK I WILL REPEAT PUNS IF I WANT!!!!), Sandor Clegane never idealizes or deifies Sansa or Arya Stark. He treats them as vulnerable young people in need of protection, not objects of desire or symbols of purity. Even when drunk and speaking bluntly about Sansa’s coming of age, Sandor’s observation is neither predatory nor obsessive.

“You look almost a woman… face, teats, and you’re taller, too, almost… ah, you’re still a stupid little bird, aren’t you?” – Sandor, ACOK: Sansa II

Sansa, from her own perspective, notes that Sandor’s demeanor, though rough, is not threatening. Despite his intimidating presence and harsh words, he is surprisingly gentle with her, displaying a rare restraint that compares dramatically with the violent world around them.

Sandor’s treatment of Sansa and Arya reflects a vital difference in how he views not only women, but the people around him. He sees them as human beings, shaped by their circumstances and vulnerabilities, rather than as ideals to be worshipped or possessed. For Sandor, Sansa represents innocence and a longing for the kindness he never experienced, while Arya embodies resilience and defiance. He respects their autonomy, even as he takes on the role of their protector. Unlike Jorah, who seeks validation and redemption through Daenerys’s love, Sandor does not expect gratitude or recognition from the Stark girls, nor does he ever once make that claim. His acts of protection stem from a sense of morality, not a need to earn their approval or affection.

Jorah’s idealization of Daenerys ultimately reflects his own insecurities and selfish desires. (UNHAND THE UNDERAGE GIRL!!!!) Sandor does not see himself as a hero, and he does not attempt to force his guidance upon the Stark girls. His loyalty is unspoken, and his protectiveness is practical rather than symbolic.

Ultimately, the difference lies in perspective: Jorah loves an idea of Daenerys that is inseparable from her beauty and his longing for her, while Sandor simply recognizes the humanity of Sansa and Arya. Where Jorah seeks to possess, Sandor seeks only to ensure survival.

Parallels: Redemption Through Relationships

Despite their differences, both men find paths to salvation through their relationships with Sansa, Arya, and Daenerys. For Sandor, protecting Sansa and Arya offers a chance to defy the cruelty of the world that shaped him. His actions reveal a taste of honor he claims to disdain, even as he refuses to believe in his own worth. For Jorah, serving Daenerys becomes a way to atone for his past mistakes, his love [Fred Durst is hyping the crowd up for my subsequent ass kicking] for her driving him to act in ways that he considers selfless, but are clear to the readers (though probably not to dany, as all we see of Jorah is from her perspective) is objectively self-serving.

Yet, their redemptive arcs are far from straightforward. Sandor’s rough treatment of Arya and his constant growling threats mask a reluctant kindness, while Jorah’s devotion to Daenerys often borders on possessiveness, revealing his inability to fully respect her independence. Both men are broken, their flaws and virtues intertwined, but their journeys show that even the most damaged individuals can find moments of greatness. (which if you have talked to me at alllllllll in dms you will know that this is like. My overarching opinion about this series and how the geurge depicts humanity through flawed characters as a moral and ethical grey area. There is no “good vs evil” there is no black and white thinking.)

Conclusion: The Trained Dog and the Devoted Bear

Sandor Clegane and Jorah Mormont embody the complexity of loyalty and redemption in a world rife with moral ambiguity. Sandor, the trained dog, snarls and snaps but ultimately protects those he cares for, his actions speaking louder than his words. Jorah, the devoted bear, offers his unwavering loyalty to Daenerys, though his love often blinds him to the ways he undermines her autonomy. Both men, shaped by their pasts, find meaning and redemption through their relationships, even if those opportunities remain incomplete. In the end, their stories remind us that even in the darkest corners of the human soul, there is a capacity for change and a longing for something better.