Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

In the end, his instincts hadn’t failed him yet and this… urge he was feeling was little more than an extension of those instincts, right? Swallowing thickly, Jon reaches for the eggs and places his hand on one. It’s warm, but not physically. No, to the touch it’s actually quite cold… but even as his fingers spread over the petrified scales of the egg’s surface, Jon feels a warmth inside of him, suffusing his very soul.
 
His breath hitches and then suddenly he’s moving. Pushing out of the tent, he finds himself shouting commands. It’s all of his own volition, it’s not like something has taken control of his body, wresting it away from him… but he’s definitely being guided. Still, he’s decided to let whatever this is guide him, so guide him it does.
 
Soon enough, Viserys’ body has been retrieved under Jon’s orders. Wrapped and bound of course, so that darling Daenerys doesn’t have to see her brother lifeless and dead. Jon gets the impression that the last female Targaryen has led something of a sheltered life. She was little more than Viserys’ pawn, despite having the blood of Kings and Queens flowing through her beautiful body.
 
Regardless, Viserys’ wrapped body is placed atop a hastily constructed funeral pyre, the wood brought forward and latched down, before being coated in oil. Jon himself nestles the petrified dragon egg at the base of the pyre, though he does let Daenerys help, watching as she carefully and gently sets down one of the three eggs, biting her lower lip all the while. He can’t say for sure if she’s staring at the dragon egg so intently because she wants to avoid even catching a glimpse of her brother’s shrouded body, or if she’s simply as engrossed as he is at this point.
 
Jon lights the pyre himself, taking Daenerys by the hand as they stand at the forefront of those gathered and watching. For a brief time, everyone watches, as the fire burns and grows, feeding off of the wood and the oil and the air itself. But once the blaze is… substantial, Jon finds himself once again being guided, urged even. For anyone else, what he does next would be a death sentence… but for him and Daenerys…
 
There are cries of shock and concerned shouts as Jon and Daenerys step past the outer ring of the pyre, and further in. Khal Drogo’s khalasar roars as their Khal’s killer and usurper seems inclined to commit suicide. Jon even think he hears the Mercenary Captain shouting out in concern… perhaps even Jorah Mormont’s hoarse Westerosi accent calling out to him and Daenerys.
 
Once they’re amongst the flames, but still visible, Jon turns around with Dany at his side. The two of them stand there, the fire licking at them but not truly touching them, and Jon makes eye contact with his lieutenants, with the Mercenary Captain, with all of those watching. The shouts of alarm and cries of worry die down as everyone realizes that he and Daenerys are untouched by the flames, left unburnt despite being in the midst of a raging and growing inferno.
 
It’s not long before the flames do cover them both from view though, and then it’s just Jon and Dany. As he looks to his khaleesi, to his Queen, Jon smiles at Dany, who in turn smiles back. Even amidst the flames, her smile is a tentative, shy thing. Even as the fire does finally reach their clothing and burn it off their bodies, she blushes and averts her gaze as he looks down upon her.
 
Without questioning it, Jon lays Daenerys down on the ground before the burning pyre, before the dragon eggs nestled at it’s base. His cock rises betwixt his legs, and he spreads Daenerys’ thighs apart, even as her pale skin starts to develop a layer of ash from the burning wood next to them. He too is not invulnerable to the gathering ash… and yet, there’s no difficulty in breathing. It’s almost as if the fire is breathable to creatures such as them… to dragons such as them.
 
Jon thrusts into Dany without a second thought, causing her to moan, though it’s mostly drowned out by the roaring flames around them. Still, those same roaring flames make it wholly impossible to focus on anything but Daenerys Targaryen and her contorting face as he fucks her and she expresses her pleasure, honestly and happily beneath him.
 
He takes her right there on the hard ground, the only saving grace being that it’s not exactly cold, given the circumstances. He fucks her on her back, and she welcomes him with open arms, her soft body his for the taking, her soft lips his for the kissing. Jon takes and Jon kisses, and Jon has his way with the beautiful young woman, the last female Targaryen. In a way, she is the last Targaryen period, even if he is Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son.
 
After all, was he not raised a bastard? Was he not raised a man of the North? It was difficult at times to reconcile that with this, with his new path. He was a Northman… but he was also a Dragon. This… all of this felt so very right, and Jon has no problem with giving in, seeing where his urges will lead him. And lead them somewhere they do.
 
Eventually, Jon spills his seed inside of Daenerys, only for him to cling to him all the tighter, demanding more without saying a word. So, he gives her more. He takes her and claims her and makes her his all night long, unloading into her womb, thrusting into her clenching cunt again and again and again. It’s during this time that they both hear it… more than hear it, they FEEL it. The eggs crack and begins to open, but also, the creatures within them being born, being awoken… they leave their marks on the world as they fight their way free of what is now their prisons.
 
Three little dragonlings, so very small, crawl all over Jon and Daenerys as he makes love to his khaleesi. Black, red, green. Their coloring is certainly interesting, and Jon won’t deny being all too interested in them… but he’s also more than a little distracted by Daenerys herself. Still, eventually the time comes when he and Dany have to pull apart. The fires die out, the pyre and the wrapped body upon it both burnt to a crisp.
 
He and Daenerys are the only ones left standing… them and the three infant dragons clinging to their naked bodies. Standing tall and proud, Jon cares not for his nudity as he leads Daenerys out of the circle. The red and green dragons have come to perch on his shoulders on either side, while the black dragon clings to Daenerys’ back, peeking its head over her shoulder.
 
The khalasar in its entirety watches with wide eyes as their new Khal performs what must look like miracles. Or perhaps witchcraft. Jon is all too ready for a challenge, ready for someone to attack him when he is seemingly defenseless, naked and without steel to protect himself. He’s almost looking forward to it, because right now he does not feel weak or helpless. Right now, he thrums with power, with strength, with energy that he can’t quite put a name to.
 
He would gladly kill a man right now, oddly enough. Any man who came at him, he would put in the dirt as a show of force to those who claimed to follow him, that he was not to be tested. He wanted it… he welcomed it. And perhaps that was why no such challenge came. Perhaps these men, these simple mortal men, could sense something had changed, something monumental.
 
Jon and Daenerys are left thoroughly unmolested as they return to their tent with their new dragons. Food is brought, cooked horse meat that the dragonlings snatch up quite greedily before either Jon or Daenerys can eat. Bellegere slips in when she can and tends to him as well as Daenerys, seeming happy to take up the role of maidservant as she cleans them off. More like her eventually arrive, treating Jon and Dany like the King and Queen they are… or rather, the Khal and khaleesi they are.
 
Jon can’t say for sure what the future rightly holds… but as he interacts with their new dragons, he won’t deny that this feels right. That these actions feel like a step in the direction he’s supposed to be going.
 
-x-X-x-
 
They make good time to Vaes Dothrak. Upon arrival, Jon camps his Khalasar outside of the city and then ventures in with Daenerys and several of his Dothraki Lieutenants at his sides. The dragons as well, come with them, already beginning to grow but still small enough to ride on their mother and father. Jon hasn’t come up with names for them yet, but the one with black scales still clings to Dany, while the red and green love to sit atop his broader, more masculine shoulders and vie with one another for his attention.
 
Regardless, despite the oddity of an outsider such as himself being named Khal, especially by a khalasar as large as Drogo’s, Jon is let in. Or perhaps that’s precisely why he’s let in, because his khalasar is massive and seemingly utterly loyal to him at this point. He’s certainly killed enough of the dissenters and challengers that the majority of the rest better be loyal.
 
Regardless, he and Dany are brought to the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, to speak with the High Priestess. The moment she lays eyes on them, she gasps. Luckily, Jon has been practicing hard on their journey here, and has a much stronger grasp of Dothraki now when she begins rapidly speaking. Even still, she’s a bit fast and he’s not sure he catches all of it.
 
Furrowing his brow, the young man steps forward and leans in, causing the two small dragons on his shoulders to do the same.
 
“Sorry… what was that last bit? Stallion Who Mounts the World?”
 
The High Priestess begins to speak again, and Jon follows along as best as he can. Apparently, it was a prophecy. The Stallion Who Mounts the World was supposed to be the Khal of Khals. He would unite the entirety of the Dothraki people under his banner and ride to the ends of the earth with them at his back. There was something about ‘all the people of the world’ being his herd as well.
 
Jon just shakes his head, a little surprised.
 
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
 
The High Priestess gives him an exasperated look and finally slows down a bit, speaking more carefully, though still in Dothraki.
 
“Because you… you are the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”
 
Jon just gapes, more than a little bewildered by the very idea. He was… what? How did that work? Jon believed in the Old Gods, which meant he probably had to believe that the gods of Essos were at least partially real as well. Though to be fair, the Godswood were a very physical representation of the Old Gods. On the other hand, he’d seen the Godsway on his way in. Lined with the spiritual monuments and holy paraphernalia of a hundred different religions on both sides, it acted as a physical representation of the Horse Lords’ Gods in the same way, didn’t it?
 
Still…
 
“How can I be he? This is my first time in Vaes Dothrak, and a few months ago I was not… I could not even be said to have knowledge of Essos, let alone the Dothraki.”
 
The High Priestess gives him a bit of a glim eye at that.
 
“Obvious, that is, from your atrocious accent. Still, I am sure. You come to us, already in your power. Do you not feel it? Your very presence sings to my ears.”
 
Feeling more than a little bewildered by the High Priestess’ zealotry, Jon is almost relieved when another of the Dosh Khaleen steps forward, up to the side of the older woman and gives him a sympathetic smile. This woman is obviously foreign in nature, at least to the Dothraki. But then, it was clear that Khals took brides based off of beauty rather than bloodline. Perhaps half of the Dosh Khaleen that Jon could currently see were of Dothraki descent. The rest were outsiders, and the one who spoke up now was one such of those.
 
“Great Khal… the High Priestess speaks truth. Long has the prophecy of the Stallion Who Mounts the World been with us. Longer than any of us have been alive. It comes from a time far, far in the past… before the Dothraki had a word for the creatures on your shoulders… a word for dragons.”
 
Jon’s eyes widen at that, his nostrils flaring as comprehension hits him. The dosh khaleen who has spoken up changes languages from Dothraki to Low Valyrian and lowers her tone so that only Jon and Daenerys hear her, likely to avoid upsetting the High Priestess.
 
“After all, your majesty… a simple horse could not hope to mount the world, now could it? Not like a dragon could…”
 
When she puts it like that, Jon supposes it makes some sense. The Stallion Who Mounts the World… the ancient Dothraki who had no word for dragon, would of course have had to have some way of describing them, given that they lived just north of the Valyrian Free Hold. In a way, that took some of the bite out of their prophecy, out of such a strong statement. If the Stallion Who Mounts the World was how they’d seen dragons, then yes, he did fall under that definition.
 
And yet, it was equally clear that the High Priestess of the Dosh Khaleen expected him to fulfill this prophecy in it’s entirety, starting by subjugating her entire people. It was somewhat surprising, that the Dothraki Widow wished for an outsider such as him to conquer every khalasar and bring them all under his banner for the purposes of riding to the ends of the earth, but at the same time Jon supposed he understood.
 
It wasn’t about purity of blood or family names with the Dothraki. Hell, they didn’t even seem to have surnames, as far as Jon could tell. It was about strength and power… and that, he had in spades. Still, Jon supposed he had a choice to make here. He’d come all the way to Vaes Dothrak, only to be declared the subject of a prophecy that he wasn’t sure he was looking to fulfill.
 
Leading one admittedly large khalasar was one thing, but conquering the entirety of the Dothraki… did he really want to jump down that rabbit hole? This might be his last chance to depart, taking his dragons, Daenerys, Bellegere, and the mercenaries hired by the Iron Bank and departing. Or… he could take on the whole of the Dothraki in a bid to see this prophecy potentially fulfilled.

-x-X-x-

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