vorsakhal - Tumblr blog

[vorsakhal]

♞ | @zcldrizes​ asked: ❛ “ he can’t talk! you ripped out his tonsils, love! ”

                                       》 memes are open!

They had become arrogant these Westerosi. They think that Dothraki on their lands without bloodshed is an alliance, a weakness. Potential to turn them on their Khaleesi and bring power to their own armies.

But his people were no fools. The Stallion may follow power but it was not unwise to show loyalty to strength. Deanery’s had learnt the Khalasar and many had followed despite previous failure. They looked to her and they saw the evening stars across the night lands shining before the dawn. They saw victory, they saw - they saw change. 

That is not something his people had taken kindly but here they were outlanders. The paler ones who wore faces like death hidden in jewels though they could speak to him like an invalid. They could talk of him before his face and he would be none the wiser, a jester in court, and their tongues did not lash at only him. 

Drogo had played civil more than any would expect, his patience was long from years breaking more stubborn mares than the witches of this court. He had fed ponies with more bite than half the whores who spat him now and he could wait longer. His endurance would last countless years if his moon only asked it of him. 

Barbs and blades at his throat were nothing. He knew his power, he knew his strength. He the Khal who had walked from the dead, who had loved a Dragon and been loved in turn. He had no ignorance of how gifted he was -- but a slight to what was his? That no man would stand. 

And they did not. He noted the way the knight and the watcher move the same. Fingers twitching, eager to guard what they thought was theirs to do so and his wife looked to them with amusement, fondness. She knew these men and their want from her and she wielded it as a weapon. 

The pride in that thought is not unnoticed. A woman worth her weight in gold who could level cities, he would feel only offence if did not look to her with open awe. 

But neither were quick enough to strike. Not like he was. Soft in their mercy, blinded in their lust. It was good to note, he would need that later when he came for them in their beds and he reminded them that whilst his Khaleesi was free to love as she wished they had no hope of owning her. 

Everything is so delicate in foreign lands even the skin on his throat parts like silk beneath his fingers and when he closes his hand around his insides and wrenches back it is not even enough force to bring a cart horse to stop yet it has the man on his knees gurling, gasping. He would die tonight, bleed pathetic and forgotten on the floor. Another bone for the saddle she rode, another meal for his children. 

They were growing after all, their mother would want them cared for. 

Be ghi t yeri khaleesi  

The warning comes from him a snarl. Caged in gilded manners. He did not ask for this, their lies and heavy tongues. Enchanting colours the work of darker magics and politics as polluted as the lands that led him to cross the poison sea in hope of more. 

Disgust guides him to throw gore to the floor at his feet and bring his boot to the mans head, pushing failing limbs back and watching him crumple under the weight. Someone in the halls is gagging, stomach weak, their lust for battle nothing but a sickness. 

He mourns for their children who would grow broken and bent. 

Her voice is moonlight through the haze and dark eyes raise up to where she stands, glowing on the steps. His wife so soft and beautiful but her hands speak of wars and her smile is sharp with hunger. Had she missed his brutality? His efficiency? Drogo would hope. these men would bring her only ruin. He would bring the world to ruin for her.

Vo mae. Yeri guar. To mae hatif yeri,  yeri ar vroz, ki yeri cokka ma vos ki ma yeri atthar. 

The challenge is spat before them, rising on his feet to stalk past the so called fighters and their panting breaths, sinking down to press a kiss to her brow with a low hum of appreciation. The scathing gesture over his shoulder one of dismissal to this false kahlasar - this court.

Yeri  tih athfiezar       

[vorsakhal]

𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴  𝚂𝚄𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚈 :  𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴  𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  !

BOLD  WHAT  CONSISTENTLY  APPLIES italicize  situational ,   not  always REPOST ,   DO  NOT  REBLOG  ! 

Tagged by: @arcusignis thank you so much ah!!

Tagging: all of y’all with feisty bastard children

𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ,  𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐓  𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆  . . .

fight honorably   /  FIGHT  DIRTY /  prefer   close - quarters /  PREFER  RANGE /  chat   during  /  go silent  /  low pain tolerance   /  HIGH  PAIN  TOLERANCE /  attack  in  bursts /  ATTACK  STEADILY  /  GO  FOR  THE  KILL /  aim  to  disarm  /  FIGHT  DEFENSIVELY  /  strike  first  /  PROVOKE  EASILY  /  PROVOKE  THEIR  OPPONENT  /  tease  /  get visibly frustrated  /  SHOUT  WHILE  ATTACKING  /  use  strategy  /  focus on their battle   /  experience  conflicting  thoughts  during  battle  /  rush  in  recklessly  /  TRY  TO  READ  THEIR  OPPONENT  BEFORE  FIGHTING  /  FIGHT  WILDLY  /  fight calmly and / or apathetically  /  FIGHT  WITH  ANGER  /  fight with excitement  /  FIGHT  BECAUSE  THEY  HAVE  TO  /  fight  because  they  want  to  /  FIGHT  WITHOUT  REGARD  TO  WOUNDS  /  run  away  when  wounded  /  HIDE  WOUNDS  /  TAKE  A  BLOW  TO  PROTECT  ANOTHER  /  prefer  a  blade  /  prefer a gun  /  PREFER  TO  USE  THEIR  ABILITY  /  PREFER  A  BOW  /  prefer a shield  /  prefer a pole arm  /  prefer  a  personalized  weapon  /  prefer magic or spells  /   prefer  brawling  /  their greatest weakness is physical  /  their greatest weakness is mental  /  their  greatest  weakness  is  emotional  /  transform  for  battle  /  FIGHT  AS  THEY  APPEAR  /  rely on strength  /  RELY  ON  SPEED  /  USE  EVERYTHING  THEY  HAVE  /  hide their full potential  /  exhaust quickly  /  high  stamina  /  doubt  their  strength  /  proceed with caution  /  behave  arrogantly  /  brag  after  landing  a  hit  /  belittle their abilities  /  use psychological tactics  /  use brute strength  /  avoid  civilians  / strike  down  civilians  /  damage  surroundings  /  avoid damaging surroundings  /  signature fighting style  /  MAKING  IT  UP  AS  THEY  GO  /  MASTERED  SKILLSET   /  learning their skillset  /  fancy footwork  /  sloppy footwork  /  messy  fighter  /  elegant fighter  /  accept defeat  /  REFUSE  DEFEAT  /  beg for mercy  /  compliment  their  opponent  /  INSULT  THEIR  OPPONENT  /   use unnecessary movements ( flips, twirls )  /  MOVE  EFFECIENTLY  /  barely move  /  prefer to dodge  /  PREFER  TO  BLOCK  /  defend  their  blindside  /  has no blindside  /  USE  ALL  AVAILABLE  ADVANTAGES  (  EX :  USE  A  GUN  BUT  ALSO  THROW  PUNCHES ,  KICK  OUT  WHILE  BLADES  CLASH ,  ETC.  )  /  strictly use one main method  /  play around  /  hold back  /  FIGHT  RUTHLESSLY  /  show  mercy  /  wait for opponent to be ready  /  STRIKE  WHEN  OPPONENT  ISN’T  READY  /  fear  death  /  fear  pain  /  fear killing  /  HAS  PTSD  /  avoid fighting  /  has  lost  a  fight  /  HAS  WON  A  FIGHT  /  HAS  KILLED  /  refuses to kill  /  WANT  TO  DIE  STANDING  /  would succumb slowly .

[vorsakhal]

                      ❝ All my life men like you have sneered at me.           And all my life I’ve been knocking men like you into the dust. ❞

⚔️

[vorsakhal]

Dany & Drogo - Modern Verse

COMING HERE WAS NOT PART OF HER PLAN ; running in general, perhaps, with bruises that lined her cheekbone and the threat of more pain should her stay at home have lingered. Over eighteen, and yet locked within custodial grasp of a brother who cared not for a sister, but more for the power he had over her. And for perhaps her entire life, she’d been reminded of one very real and ever present fact ; that she belonged to him.

Crescendo had been reached that very same night, and in moment of impulse had she fled before she could be subjected to another night of it. Bruises still ached on her frame, and between bus and train and physical running, and the storm that had driven her to seek solace here – she’s freezing, clothes soaked to flesh and shivering, hair tousled and her arms tightly wrapped around herself, and looking an absolute mess she’s positive, but terrified at the thought of returning.

Within a mess of hay and still trembling even as those voices approach, petite stature curls back further by the moment, as though perhaps she could shield herself with the way she’d clutching her knees to her chest – or as though she could vanish, by sheer power of will, from those scrutinising glances. Worse, what if they called the police and they sent her back?

Hues settle then on the tallest of those men who approach – and perhaps intimidating to the sight, but there’s something more gentle than she expects, as he seems to crouch down before her. Still, she’s trembling, clothes ripped and blood evident on her flesh from the way those branches had snapped and torn at her clothing, and her ankle aches and the bruise on her cheek is more swollen than ever – had she not endured worse, at the hands of her brother?

Dark hair frames a face that otherwise might be pretty, and the way one of the men seem to stare at her only unsettles her further. She knows that look all too well ; sees it everytime she returns home. That, above all else, was why silvery locks now fall in such a darkened shade – and that, above all else, had earned the most recent of beatings, in turn.

Chest rises and falls now, as that gaze is taken from her finally, leaving her alone only with the tallest of those strangers. She’s pale, still trembling, still freezing, but somehow calms at the way both palms face towards her in gentle acknowledgment that she might be safe – that she is okay – that he’s no intent to hurt her.

Somehow, she trusts that might just be the case.

Swollen lips part then to murmur, and hand grasps bruised ankle a little tighter now, as amethyst hues flicker up. Now, a sense of something more present than just fear ; exhaustion, and the haunting of something she’s not quite ready to admit just yet, even if all of her life depended on it. Instead, her trembling seems to cease just a little, as she breathes.

“Please… I’m not here to steal anything.”

Voice softens then, and Daenerys finds it in her to speak, though tears burn in amongst frightened gaze.

“I couldn’t… I can’t go back… I had nowhere else to go…”

His question strikes her then, as she realises he is indeed talking to her, and her head shakes once more. In truth, she’s no idea how far she’s come, and the thought drives more panic within already skittish frame. But despite herself, her voice rings once more, albeit reluctant as she breathes.

“M-my name is Daenerys…”

It would take a fool to think she had come here in this condition intentionally. A farm full of strange men and she was bleeding, soaked through to the skin with a storm at her heels. There’d be no travelling for the night, not unless needed though he supposes the local police force would take her if he called for it. Their name held weight enough, even outside of their ranch.

Drogo takes a moment to take in the state of her. Blood patches that speak of injuries. She’s likely freezing and any longer would make her ill. Though he questions the pupils and pale skin it’s not his place to judge until he knows more. He couldn’t well expect her to survive the night alone out there, it was over an three hours walk back to the city. A horse or truck would get her faster and he’s inclined not to trust her to return either. 

She looks like she’d take either and run for her life, using the fuel to get as far away as possible. Whatever she was running from the terror is clear in her face.

His mother and sister would kick him black and blue if he left her out in the world on her own and afraid. Yes, his brothers lavished themselves in company but none of them would touch her, especially if he reminded them he’d remove their hands for it. She’d be safe enough, he’d station a hound outside her door to help her feel safe. 

The words are reassuring but also precisely what he expected to hear. It’s not like anyone would be willing to admit it if caught. Still, nothing was out of place and given she was tucked in the hay shaking from the rain and thunder he imagines she was hoping to find a first aid kit and sleep somewhere dry for a few hours. 

The answer he goes to give is cut off when suspicions are confirmed. She is running. From what - he would not ask tonight. Though he would tomorrow, he needed to know if he need ready the guns and inform his siblings to bar the doors tighter. Angry family were just as dangerous as bandits and thieves. 

“I believe you. If you were, you’d be in better shape for it. You’re cold.” 

Pushing up Drogo looks about for the blankets stored about the barn. They’re designed to keep the mares warm in birth but they’re thick, clean, soft as anything. They’d keep her warm as he ushered her back to the main building, the rest of his family would want a say in if she stayed or not but given his sister was soft hearted and his brothers already curious - little convincing would be needed.

Daenery’s. Not a city girl name but it was unique enough that should Irri call Mormont the officer may be able to give them confirmation she was safe enough to remain. 

Drogo is gentle, slowing down as he reaches out to drape the thick quilt around her shoulders, watching the way she flinches from his hands but holds steady. They’d done some damage, whoever they were and he thinks of his sister. How she had looked after she had returned to them from a broken marriage ... 

No. She wouldn’t be kicked out just yet, he’d make sure Mormont was discreet as well. 

“Daenery’s. I’m Drogo. The idiot before me was my younger brother Rahkaro, he is harmless but has wide eyes. I am going to take you back to the main house, you’re freezing. You need a change of clothes and something warm to drink. Can you stand?” 

He would carry her if not. She would weigh next to nothing, notable in how much smaller she is when he stands at her side and gestures in question before taking her hand. Giving a tight smile and hoping that Irri would be better equipped to handle it than he is. 

“How did you find your way into the barn? We’re usually better than this at keeping our lands protected. You’re on the Khal farm lands, my brother was worried you were looking to take our horses. I do not even think you could ride right now if you were.” 

[vorsakhal]

Did I tell yall the hc I have for the first quote unquote friend or somewhat friendly person drogo has over past the sea is a stable hand who he bonds with over horse care?

[vorsakhal]

Great fighters in Game of Thrones

Requested by anon

[vorsakhal]

                            ♞ | Headcanon | The Dothraki

Important Note: This Headcanon will be delving into my portrayal and ideas on the Dothraki as a culture, including inner workings, ideals and beliefs. It will include and build on what is known in canon as well as what I think would work alongside it. 

However please be aware the Dothraki do not have a modernist ideal on humanity. They have a lot of beliefs and habits that will upset some people, writing this out and including it is not me agreeing with it it’s just how they are. Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it better. So a coverall TW for de-humanisation, slavery, rape mentions, exclusionists, war, violence ect ect ect

So as mentioned this is a long ass HC giving my ideals and how I will handle the Dothraki whilst writing Drogo. This post will be a link back for anyone curious as to his views or the views of his people. 

Firstly: Social standings and positions within the Dothraki. 

To clear something up, a lot of canon states the Dothraki see women as lesser but it’s a lot more complicated than that. Women who are not of their Khalasar or are not Dothraki at all - they are lesser, but so are their men. It is a matter of us vs them, gender isn’t as simple. 

The Dothraki do not think women can lead individual Khalasars because they believe a woman who has personal agenda is a woman who will betray their people to protect what she loves first. A mothers instinct above all, but a mothers love is the strongest thing and so without a khalsar she is more capable leading which leads to the Dosh Khaleen, ex-wives of Khal’s who have died who now watch over all of the Dothraki from Vaes Dothrak. All of the Khalsar are their children and the mother mountain protects them, they will always do best for their people. Their word sits above everything, so the strongest men bow to them. 

It’s this reason women cannot enter the mother mountain, they are already gifted by her, able to give as she did. Men will ascend it to seek her blessing and newly risen Khal’s will bath in the womb of the world lake to be granted her protection.

It is not that women are lesser so much as they are considered blinded by a bond beyond what men can have. They can become warriors, they can become Khaleesi, reminded of their loyalty by their Khal but they cannot become Khal. A woman who cannot become a mother is not blinded and so can become a healer, a confidant or advisor. 

Women who can not fight or ride are considered useless, just as a man would be if he could not do the same.

Now that that’s cleared up, in order top to bottom is the Dothraki social standing. 

Dosh Kahleen

Khal Khalakka

Khaleesi

Bloodriders

Jaqqa Rhan

Healers - Barren born first then the Eunich Healers

Hunters and Cooks

Seamstresses and Smiths

Scouts 

General Warriors

Slaves

Outsiders

It’s common enough knowledge they also worship the Stallion, their God who will allow them passage to ride in the night lands but they also believe in the Gods of the sun and moon who guide them in the Stallions name. They have their own idea of Hell, reserved for the men who died inhonorable deaths or betrayed their Khalasar. Women will only find their way to hell if they murder their Khalakka or betray their Khal. 

It should be noted that what the show does a SHIT JOB of showing is that the Dothraki are a roaming farming culture. They have their sacred lands and fields, moving between each of them, taking and cultivating as they go. They will “gift” (their idea of trading) horses in return for gifts of what they need, alongside weapons, slaves and food. They are adept with herbs, berries and poisons - they kind of have to know what’s safe for them and their horses for gods sake. 

As a warrior culture they’re capable healers in their own right. Barren women are taught herbs, polstices, bandaging and protection. Eunich men know how to use fire and needles to burn away problems. 

( Yes this is canon, yes I stand by the fact that if Dany had allowed the Dothraki to work instead of the witch he’d have lived (that parts actually shaded about IN canon). Yes I will hand fight GRR over it anyday )

The Dothraki view on outsiders comes with a tainted history that dates back to the wars for the seven kingdoms. Many Dothraki have not forgotten the stories of slaughter and pillaging and rape, they give it back tenfold in the name of it. Vaes Dothrak remains the only place willing to trade with outsiders due to the fact it was never breached when the ships first crossed. Cities learnt not to try again. 

Because of this however they see anyone they consider not Dothraki to be less than animals. They are nothing but a gift from the Gods to use as a tool of their fitting be it to fuck, eat, kill or trade. They have no sympathy or empathy over it because they do not see them as people to begin with, however, some outsiders will be granted a pardon. If taken in by a Khalasar the way Mormont and Dany were they are typically given clothing and markings to wear that will tell people they are one of them.

If they do not wear the clothing or markings it is a dismissal of that Gift, other Khal’s and Khalasar have every right to deny them as an outsider once more.

When it comes to sexuality the Dothraki have a view that they don’t really care. As long as a Khal sires an heir everyone else is pretty much free to do whatever they want as their heirs will matter little and their bloodline adds only to the Khal’s power. Yes this means wlw and mlm relationships are common, enough that they even speak openly about it. It also means that the women are not the only one raped and taken, despite what outsiders might think.

Because of this Marriage is held as more sacred than other parts of Westeros. It is not a bid for power but done because they wish too, after all a Khal is only interested in strong women and you can only climb the ladder with your strength. It makes Drogo’s marriage to Dany all the more strange and it’s why some of them reject it as violently as they did. To them he brought her, he didn’t love her when he married. He swore off women of their own kind for Dany and it was essentially a sell out of what could be a stronger union. 

It’s also why Dany’s demand that any women raped be married is taken so seriously. To them it would mean buying a wife, a sign of weakness again. 

Polygamy is also common, on both sides. Women can take multiple men and if they disagree they can fight to the death for her. A man can take multiple women, the same option is offered.

Sexuality and Sex is not considered shameful. It’s strange to cover yourself or your desires among the Dothraki as they consider it hiding your truth from the Gods. Women are not shamed for taking many men, infact a women who can take more men is considered stronger and more capable.

The Jaqqa Rhan are the mercy men. A group of warriors who sweep battlefields after the battle and behead and burn bodies of the dying or injured who have not yet died. This is given only in battles where the enemy has earned a Khal’s respect. If the Khal deems the fight too easy or the enemy too weak they will leave the soldiers to die in the fields.

In terms of the Khalasar as a whole they move as a herd. Each warrior and soldier has a part to play to the betterment of their people and group. Scouts, Cooks, Healers, Seamstresses and even the slaves are all considered vital and important in the unified strength of a band. Because of such each member takes their part seriously, to the point of being willing to kill if someone attempts to replace them. 

Outsiders, slaves and other Khalasar members are able to become a member of a Khalasar by proving themselves to the Khal. To become one of them and be considered Dothraki is to be safe, to have strength and protection and food and clothing. 

Typically this is done in a great act, by proving yourself in battle of the Khal’s behalf OR bringing them a gift of great value. Personally delivering something to impress a Khal and pledge your loyalty will likely grant you favour faster than being noticed in battle but it is harder to do if you do not know the Khal’s preferences. 

The Khal is unlikely entertain an outsider who does not prove themselves with offerings or blood first, to come with nothing and no show is an insult and demand.

Politics is an odd affair. To the Dothraki what betters the Dothraki is more important than their own wants. In that, they’re oddly diplomatic. The Khal and Dosh Khaleen will meet and decide in the event of war, famine or crime. Anything that does not effect the larger group is dealt with privately, most Khal will have an advisor with a silver tongue to deal with wanting outsiders. 

They do not write or agree to written contracts however, to deal with the Dothraki is a matter of keeping your word. If a mans promise is broken his arm will be as well. If it becomes known among the Dothraki you are dishonourable and prone to manipulation and you piss off enough of the Khals, the Dosh Khaleen will place an open invitation and a gift for whoever first brings them your head.

Each Khalasar has it’s own unique markings, paints and colourings. Drogo’s Khalasar have paints of blue that drag like claw marks along skin. Others use yellows and whites in intricate swirls and loops. These markings are identifiers, helpful when crossing wide expanses of open country and more so finding your kin in Vaes Dothrak through the crowd.

Each Khalasar is expected to return to Vaes Dothrak once a year to receive the Dosh Khaleen’s blessing. There they will trade whatever they have found, collected or harvested in their journeys and there is where outsiders are safer to approach and impress if they wish to join or bargain. Within the walls of Vaes Dothrak everyone is considered equal bar the Kahl’s, Khaleesi and Dosh Khaleen. Warriors and Healers intermingle and even slaves are allowed small comforts under watchful eyes. 

Just as most do the Dothraki also have their own festivals, note worthy dates and celebrations. 

They celebrate a fall harvest with a great party beneath the harvest moon, they will sing, chant and give offerings to the sun and moon there in hopes of safe travels. 

They celebrate the spring, a time in which mares breed and new Stallions find strength though it’s typically used as an excuse to fuck and drink for a few nights it is also the time in which they will parade horses through Vaes dothrak and most offerings of marriage are done then. 

They also have the cold silence. A night spent with no sound in which they are given strength for their travels by khals past. To make a sound on this night is to offend the spirits and spook their stallions, you will be killed. 

ANYWAY that rounds that up for now! Thank you for reading :D

[vorsakhal]

(     *     THE WITCHER PROMPTS   !    

trigger warning for murder.

❛  how ironic, our paths cross again! so near and yet so far.  ❜

❛  fear not, we’ll meet again, i assure you…  ❜

❛  you’re making a mistake. this man’s a murderer.  ❜

❛  you fail to grasp the basic rules governing this world.  ❜

❛  you’re a genetically modified killer with no place in modern society.  ❜

❛  but we’ll tend to that problem next time. farewell.  ❜

❛  death, the final judgment.  ❜

❛  the beast has met its end once. it doesn’t fear death, it is death.  ❜

❛  how will you defeat human villainy? you who died and still walk amongst the living?  ❜

❛  not enough food, nowhere to sit, and nothing but small talk.  ❜

❛  i’m a relic, someone from the past, so i’m rather attached to the old customs.  ❜

❛  i’ve the good of the kingdom at heart.  ❜

❛  let me tell you, friend — a serious slashfest is in the works, one without pardon.  ❜

❛  the defeated will be picked apart by crows.  ❜

❛  you’ll be forced to fight for a new order, comrade — or against it.  ❜

❛  we will fight for our traditions and customs, for our land and our women.  ❜

❛  i wouldn’t deceive you — i think you’re one of us, it’s a cause we share.  ❜

❛  i don’t know the enemy yet, but i will soon, and when i do…  ❜

❛  the time of the sword and axe will come, blood will flow in the streets.  ❜

❛  know this, comrade, there will be no room for your neutrality.  ❜

❛  you traveled a long path, fraught with danger.  ❜

❛  you demonstrated courage and goodness.  ❜

❛  face your enemies without fear. safeguard the helpless.  ❜

❛  never lie, even if it means your death. that is your oath.  ❜

❛  destiny will give you no rest. a long road lies ahead.  ❜

❛  i see death and blood. i see frosty chaos.  ❜

❛  take this sword as a sign of my favour.  ❜

❛  go, and do what must be done.  ❜

❛  look into my eyes, and you will see your death.  ❜

❛  you’ve delivered death too often. retribution awaits.  ❜

❛  i was wrong about you. you’re a blind, rabid dog biting anything that moves.  ❜

❛  someone needs to finish you off.  ❜

❛  chaos followed in your wake.  ❜

❛  every one of your decisions brought further devastation.  ❜

❛  does your neutrality not taste bitter?  ❜

❛  wherever you walk, death and chaos follow.  ❜

❛  you dare to oppose me. i sense your weakness, as your life seeps from your wounds.  ❜

❛  with every drop, death draws nearer.  ❜

❛  you stand no chance against me.  ❜

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                           The Mother Of Dragons

》A gift for @zcldrizes because who doesn’t love the wife all the way!! And also because she’s an angel tbh <3

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                            What Is Dead May Never Die!

》A gift for @tymptir for sharing her Problematique (TM) love of the Greyjoys with me all the way through dragging me into this fandom. 

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Drogo: honestly fuck westeros, fuck the Westerosi, fuck most of you, this place sucks

Also Drogo: *pointing to the wildlings* you're alright

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A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.

Pam Brown

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♞ | @zcldrizes​​ | Plotted Starter! | Modern Verse

Their family had held this ground for generations now. One of the longest running breeders left in the country, their Stallions were brought from across the waters as much as within them and they had never failed to meet expectations. 

Thankfully Drogo rarely needs to deal with those who seek the bred. His sister is more capable at handling people than he is, his preference is for the stables. Grooming, cleaning, training. Breaking in stubborn mounts as needed and seeing the trust that forms after. He is good at that. Good with the horses that warm to him quick as morning. He is less good at this. 

The girl looks at him like she might have a knife to his throat any second though he highly doubts it. She’s trembling like a leaf, more likely to fall over before she could knock him down but he edges back all the same, eyeing her warily as the his youngest brother leans about his shoulder in curiosity. 

“How did she get past the security?” 

Drogo tilts his head at her and notes how she sways attempting to keep them both in sight. Blood loss? No, she didn’t seem quite to that level. Maybe an intoxicated camper who had fallen in to their territory? Odd though, most knew better than to tresspass. The rich liked their horses well kept, too shoot was not uncommon. 

“I have no idea. Irri is out asking now, Qhonno is looking for holes in the fences. Do you think she’s here too steal? Got caught?” 

Drogo gives a rough sound in answer as Rakharo reaches over his shoulder, the water pale full and seeping into his shirt before he rolls his eyes and takes it from him, reaching back to press his elbow hard into the others stomach. 

It’s a possibility but none of the Khalasar have missed their rounds or duties. None of the usual watch are acting oddly and none of their alarms have gone off, the electrified fences were all untriggered last he checked.

No. He doubted it.

His brother is being his usual self, acting like he’d never seen a girl before. They each had their days to leave the ranch and Rakharo went to the city more than most, he was no idiot and the girl was injured, tired, if his guess was right potentially high as well. She needed medical help not a balless rancher oggling her. 

“Go and get me the first aid kit, you idiot. Tell Irris to come by. There are too many men here. We don’t want her to have a heart attack and die on us.” 

Dark eyes follow his brother as he stumbles back sheepishly and gives a mock salute as though they follow the flag at all. They’d been here long before the Khal family aren’t likely to move, tradition too seeped into their blood by now.

There is more at hand than handling his family however and Drogo turns slowly again to her. He doubts she can move in this state, not without throwing up and choking most likely. She needed to sit, breathe before she reached a panic attack. Perhaps they had startled her as much as she him, the Ranch is a large stretch of land, to some it might just seem an empty farm until they reach the inner stables. In the dead of night it’s no wonder someone would think to come for shelter, or to steal. 

That is to be determined when she can speak without looking an inch from death. 

He keeps his movements slow and for a moment is startled by how much it feels like trying to calm a furious wild mare. It’s almost enough to make him laugh if she didn’t seem so skittish, instead his brows draw down. Letting her see both of his hands as he inches forward, offering one of them freely.

“I am not going to hurt you, I will help you sit up now, if you let me. Do you know your name, where you are?” 

[vorsakhal]

♘ | There’s so many characters I wish Drogo got the chance to interact with and I will >:( about it forever

[vorsakhal]

Loki & Drogo & Sleipnir

♔—- The plan had been a simple one. Shift into a beautiful mare desperate for attention. Svadilfari would chase after the mare and the mare would run for the rest of the night, keeping the massive stallion’s attention away from its master. Once morning came and the deadline Svadilfari’s master had to finish his building project expired, Loki would return home with a job well done. Odin wouldn’t acknowledge the work the young prince did, but at least he wouldn’t have any ridicule to offer. Life would return to normal for a little while, until the next crisis arose.

Loki never returned home. At least, she hadn’t returned home for nine months.

Simple and foolproof, that’s what she thought. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right? But a force existed in the Universe that often pushed the energy that if something could go wrong, it would. Loki’s life seemed to be a perfect example of that. Running away from Svadilfari proved far more difficult a task than Loki expected and while his attention had been pulled away from his master for the entirety of the night. The events that took place that night, however…

Humiliating didn’t even begin to cover what Loki felt in the aftermath. A secret that Loki would likely tell no one aside from the few who would not be able to be left out of the loop. She hadn’t hidden from Heimdall’s sight that night, though afterward, she wished that she had if only to spare herself the shame associated with what transpired.

Keeping the truth from Odin rapidly became her top priority. She couldn’t always explain the sense she got when she knew something would happen before it did. Visions that played out as if she were there occasionally greeted her in her sleep and even more rarely during waking hours. A lot of the time, it turned out to be nothing. At least, that’s what it seemed like, but perhaps those events simply hadn’t happened yet.

Images of Odin’s reaction to Sleipnir haunted her shortly after his conception. Even if they were nothing more than nightmares, Loki knew the truth of her father. Odin would not react well to the shame that Loki brought upon her family. He would deny their relationship. He would never let Loki be the mother that she unsuspectedly was. He would kill Sleipnir or worse, he would use him for some convoluted scheme that would inevitably put Sleipnir’s life in danger.

Regardless of how the conception happened or why, Loki was expecting, and no matter what happened, protecting her unborn child became her top priority.

But the Goddess couldn’t rely entirely upon herself. Still young, Loki had very little experience with parenting, let alone being pregnant or a mother. Sleipnir’s pregnancy was no straightforward or ordinary pregnancy, either, and she quickly realized that if she reached out to no one, the physical strain alone may be too much for her. Her body might succumb to the stress before she ever gave birth.

Calling for Heimdall seemed like the only option. He could get in contact with Asmund, get the healer far enough away from Odin that he could help care for the Goddess without Odin’s eye lingering too intensely on him. Heimdall proved to be just as helpful as the healer who had cared for Loki since the time the prince was a young child. Tricky, true, as Odin’s hold on Heimdall made it difficult to Heimdall to provide any sort of service or help that went against Odin’s wishes, but they were nothing if not clever at maneuvering in gray areas. Loopholes were Loki’s specialty, but she quickly learned that Heimdall was just as talented with them. Maybe even more so. After all, the Watcher did have quite a great deal of practice and a lot more years than Loki did.

Keeping Sleipnir hidden from Odin forever, though, proved impossible. He had eyes everywhere and with stolen magic, he would eventually find out about Loki’s child. Where in Yggdrasil could Loki take the baby where he would not be found and hunted down by the All-father? Surely, the prince could not think of one, but Heimdall had an answer for that as well.

Nowhere within Yggdrasil would be safe for the child, but if Loki removed Sleipnir from the Nine Realms and outside Odin’s domain? Now that could work. After all, Odin’s reach only went so far and if he pushed too far into territories that were not his, he would risk war. Multiple wars. Death, destruction, and the risk of a change of power… One baby was not worth losing everything that the one-eyed God managed to steal for himself.

After the birth and a brief period of time with the eight-legged colt, they decided one a realm. A bit old-fashioned for Loki’s taste. It reminded her of a primitive Midgard, but there were people who would take care of Sleipnir when Loki could not be there. Loki, as any new mother faced with the decision of not only hiding but leaving their newborn child, seemed skeptical. Despite the time and research that went into selecting an appropriate hiding place, Loki didn’t want to give up her child.

“Loki,” Asmund whispered, again and again. “You are not giving up your child, but we must protect him. You already know what would happen should Odin get his hands on Sleipnir. You are doing this for his own good and you will be with him. You know you will. As much as you possibly can.”

“But I do not wish to be away from him at all,” Loki would reply in such a hushed tone, she wondered if Asmund could even make out what she said at all.

Asmund, as always, was right, though. One of the traits Loki both loved and loathed about her mentor and healer. Arguing with him proved to be a fruitless endeavor every time and if it weren’t for the fact that Loki knew Asmund only spoke against Loki’s wishes when he had good reason to, she might have been more inclined to argue. All right… she argued anyway, but in the end, she knew what needed to be done.

As Loki touched down on the realm with Sleipnir, it was with knots in her stomach. She stayed long enough to calm the young horse and assure him that he would not be alone, explained as much as she possibly could about the people who would likely come for him and take him in as their own, and swore that he was not being left behind.

Sleipnir understood before they ever left, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a negative opinion of the entire plan. The last thing the boy wanted was to be separated from his mother. No child who had the comprehension to understand what was going on would want to be away from a loving and devoted parent and Sleipnir argued the whole way, offered alternatives, promised he would remain hidden so long as he could stay with Loki. The poor boy desperately tried to reason with his guardians, but he was young and he was naïve. Despite his best intentions, he simply could not come up with a plan that those older and wiser than he hadn’t already considered.

With a heavy heart, a promise that Sleipnir would be safe, and a swear that she would return as quickly as she possibly could, Loki returned, disappearing before the Dothraki approached. They were not people kind to magic and while Loki knew very well what they would think of Sleipnir, they weren’t quite ready to come face-to-face with such a powerful magic-user. For Sleipnir to be taken in, cared for, and protected, he didn’t need to be associated with something that would be regarded with scorn and suspicion.

Three years.

Three years passed, though it wasn’t quite that long for Loki. Time passed differently from realm-to-realm and time on Asgard seemed to move a bit more slowly in comparison to the world that Sleipnir currently lived on.

Loki wished to return to her son sooner, but after Loki’s disappearance after the assignment, Odin sent her on, the All-father kept her on a tight leash. Getting out of the palace was difficult enough, let alone getting off-realm, but Heimdall, at the very least, kept an eye on Sleipnir for Loki while the Goddess could not.

Once she finally touched down onto the realm she’d left her child, it did not take long to gain notice. Her magic was as loud as it was powerful and for suspicious and superstitious people who carried fear or hatred of those who could wield power like Loki’s, they would surely take notice of her approach. She didn’t hide, didn’t attempt to conceal what she was, only willingly opened her arms to those who approached her to show that she held no weapons and meant no harm. What did she have to fear from them? While these warriors were skilled and powerful, she did not fear them. Many horrors had come and gone. War was something Loki knew at an age she never should have touched such violence.

A slave girl came to greet her and quickly led her through the camp. She’d save her judgment on that tidbit later… The poor girl looked terrified, though Loki wasn’t entirely sure if that was because of those who owned her or because of her. Either would realistically be a reasonable assumption given how unkindly folks around these parts took to magic.

Ironic, given that the very being they worked so hard to protect and care for was a product of that very same magic.

She followed the girl silently, carrying herself with the same sort of regal air she’d adopted after years in the palace of Asgard. Not necessarily cocky or as if she believed herself more important than those around her, but with a posture that definitely spoke of power. She commanded respect without demands. The warriors, she noted, were not posed to attack. Good. They weren’t reacting with immediate hostility. Hopefully, that would improve her odds of seeing Sleipnir.

Directed to a man named Khal Drogo—the man who had been looking after her son, at that—the slave girl quickly moved off to the side, presenting Loki without putting herself between the mage and her master. Loki’s emerald gaze flickered over the man before her briefly, noting the definition of his muscle, the length of his hair, the tattoos that littered his body, and the fierce look of protection and determination in his eyes. Taking him in over the course of a few sections, the excited young stallion that stood behind the impressive man.

Prancing and nudging the Khal would have been a better description, really, and any hardness in her expression melted into relief. “Hello, darling,” Loki murmured in an ancient tongue that only Sleipnir would recognize. At least, she hoped he would remember it. She all but ignored the man who stood between them for a moment. “I am so relieved to see you happy and healthy. I am so sorry I’ve been away so long.”

Sleipnir’s continued excitement over the reappearance of his mother satisfied her enough to smile and turn her eyes back to the man who stood as her son’s protector. Sleipnir had been treated well, loved and cared for… Thank the Gods.

“Loki,” she answered, her language morphing to something the man could understand. “My name is Loki. And what may I call the man who has watched over my child with such devotion and care?”

The change to the tentings were notable beyond anything the Khal had seen in his years and he had seen more than most to meet his age.  Warriors found silence where their usual cries rang, slaves and workers alike dismissed orders to peek up at the Goddess and the women of the Khalasar stood taller upon sight, proud to meet the mother of their Godling just as much as their men were.

It was welcome. These years had been long, battle from battle and though the Godling grew strong he did not grow quickly. Drogo wondered if their air was wrong to encourage it, or the Gods infallible age left no rush to them. Seeing the mother brought with it a rush of inspiration and hope, she would give aid to what he needed, she would guide them to protecting him. 

If she proved to be who she claimed. From looks there was surprise. She walked two legged with the face of a beautiful woman, human enough if not for the fire in her eyes. Many glanced to the stallion and her with open confusion, a tinge of judgement that was wiped away when another took his gaze to press a sword to their back in warning. 

There would be no judgement here for their Gods. 

Still the boy was persistent, stilling only a little when Drogo reached behind him to press a large hand to his muzzle and hush him. His mother would be seen if she proved to be but he must place their Godling first. Many in this land would use their magic to corrupt, Maegi who sought to lie a claim that was not theirs. He would watch her first, see if the words sounded true. 

What came from her mouth was no tongue of their world. He may not know them all but it sounded like no words to date. His eyes find Mormonts across the vast crowd and there is shock and awe in their depths. No words he knew either, a lingering sort of possibility. No magic pollutes the air with them, it seems nothing more than talk. Talk he could not understand yet, however. 

Yeri anna ei mae? 

The Godling at his back has no doubt and Drogo is in no place to question him. Humming lightly with a small stroke to the boys muzzle before he steps aside, allowing the Stallion to shake him off and prance his giddy excitement. He knew better than to rush to her now, though he was young the people needed him to be proud, their reunion would continue inside and the Khal gives the Godling a look of approval for his restraint. All men knew what it was to miss the hands that bore them, especially as children. 

Yeri nee naemas. Tih hash ya homme theyr vojjor tha mae msae. Yeri anna Drogo, anna ahm Khal. 

She speaks their tongue as if born too it. No outlander could truly find the roll behind their throat, always left with a breathlessness, raw and untrained. Though her name is foreign and he tucks it away to learn later. 

He wonders now if the nightlands spread past Dothraki reach to lands beyond his eye, if the Stallion speaks a thousand tongues made to reach for every Khalasar beyond his understanding. It is a thrill to think that the Gods might rules beyond the poisoned waters and perhaps their reach would allow it, if Drogo and the horses might follow. 

It is something to consider but for a later date. He has no desire to ask for rewards and rights. Protecting Sleipnir was a Khal’s duty. They were born and trained to do it, warriors of strength and speed to ride the winds of fate as it took them and he had been rewarded with the finding, given the gift of audience. Greed would bring suffering and whilst curiosity may be strong his people were his worry. 

This war would rage for longer and the steed must be ready for it. His mother would be a step towards preparation and understanding. Though Drogo had learnt to speak and listen it was not a clear cut truth. So much was lost between them, he is sure, a bridge with that would allow him to help where before he was hindered and should Loki need to leave again he would be able to provide as Sleipnir needed rather than playing charades with the small one. 

It is enough for now and Drogo raises his hand, two flicks of his fingers and a sharp whistle and the Khalasar falls over themselves to return to the norm though eyes linger in abundance. 

To the girl he gives an incline of head. She would find her reward with the quarter, her bow is dismissed for a raising of the tent entrance. It was better to speak inside where thick fur walls would muffle voices and their Godling could find his mothers embrace without being gawked at like a war trophy. 

The sounds of joy begin to build quickly, no doubt a great celebration would spread by sunrise. He would not stop them. His people had guarded and gathered for weeks on end, they would do well with time to dance and fuck and fight. Time to remind them the delights of life that they fought for. 

The sound of battle songs would be a better thing than the silence of worship. Were he a God, he would rather his people genuine. Drogo can only assume it would bring the other two a semblance of home as well. 

Sleipnir is the first inside and he awaits to see if the Goddess will follow. Offering a minute twitch of his lips in smile. 

Insie. Anna hat yeri, lame ki vorsa.      

Ducking into the warm lit tent is a breath of relief. The fires give a welcome glow and the sounds of drink and chaos fall quieter as he turns to close the opening, sinking to the floor so that he is no longer in the way of their reunion, instead he lets his shoulders fall and studies her instead.

Loki appears younger than expected, graceful. She moves like the Westerosi royals that once sought to gentrify his lands but her hands are strong as a Khaleesi’s should be. She is not so simple but strange all the same, the silks and softness that adorns her leaving whispers in her wake. 

She would need attire better fitted to Dothraki wilderness, he would have them sewn and cut tomorrow alongside the blades they had prepared to be presented in true ceremony. Offerings and welcomes. 

The tongue he had learnt to speak with the boy was not one he would have learnt with any other choice. Superfluous it seemed, too gentle, leaving him rougher in comparison because it was not his way to be still he offered it, rising his chin and brow in tandem.

“My people are wary of outsiders, you have my sympathies for their first actions. We have been alongside Sleipnir for three winters now, many are fond of him, to keep him alive and well is all we wish.” 

[vorsakhal]

Me crying to @zcldrizes and @tymptir on Discord like:

[vorsakhal]

Emilia Clarke & Jason Momoa on Graham Norton 10/25/2019