( ACT I; sleeping dragon. )
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chapter 12: reconciliation.

WATER all but vanished for the Khalasar, leaving them with a scarce amount and no sure way of finding more. Not only were they running short of water, but they were scarce on hope for the Waste seemed determined to take them all as it's casualties grew and perhaps end the return of the dragons before they could ever grow into the fearsome beasts they would once be. The retinue awaited on the return of the three bloodriders that Daenerys had ordered to scout the different directions in hope of finding help, but the wait was strenuous and hard. Many had lost hope and those who were weak began to slowly decline toward an imminent death. Along the trek, some were forced to leave the dead behind to be consumed by the rust colored sand.

Along with the retinue and Daenerys and Jorah, Vaegon lied on his back in the shade of a boulder, it offering the only relief from be blistering sun above. Evening was luckily approaching, so they all would be able to escape the heat for the night but would face the cold to come. The impending change of the weather day in and day out was wearing down on them. During the time that the retinue had been wandering the desert, Vaegon's skin had turned a shade of pink and brown throughout his body and it pained him to lie on the ground due to the sunburn he'd developed.

On his chest lied Rhaellor, curled in on himself within his own leathery wings as he peacefully slumbered. Vaegon looked down at the hatchling, envying the dragons ability to resist the nearly unbearable heat. He watched as Rhaellor's tail flicked in his dreams and hoped that the dragon's return wouldn't fall short because of mere starvation and thirst. He prayed that wherever Daenerys' bloodriders had ventured, they brought back good news that would save them all. Even better, he prayed they brought water.

His tongue was dryer than it had ever been, his lips chapped and cracking and his silver hair turned a shade of dust brown due to the abundance of dirt and sand that had accumulated in it. His skin, as everyone else's, was covered in a seemingly permanent layer of dirt or grime that appeared as if it may never go away. Whenever he thought of a having a bath or even a drink of water, his mouth seemed to water with thirst. He thought back to their stay at Illyrio's estate, which had overlooked the Narrow Sea in Pentos. He cursed himself for ever agreeing to leave civilization. Yet, they wouldn't have their children if they hadn't.

"I don't know how much longer I can bare this," Daenerys uttered from where she sat propped against the boulder. Her once beautiful braids had loosened and turned into an array of tangles long ago, her locks turned a shade of brown as well. In her lap Haelyx lied, sound asleep as Rhaellor was while Drokar remained perched on her shoulder, his bright beady eyes gazed around. Luckily, the dragons had managed to maintain their health, lessening the worries for Daenerys and Vaegon.

"We must hold on, Khaleesi," Jorah tells her, despite him looking as if he were ready to give up himself. "All we need to to do is keep moving. Every second we move we are one step closer than we were before."

"If only we could find a stream somewhere," muttered Vaegon. "Or mud. At this point, I'd be willing to consume that."

"We've traveled constantly since we fled the grass sea," Jorah uttered. He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid there won't even be mud, Your Grace. I could only hope that we've traveled far enough west to perhaps near a city."

"I hope whoever helps us," Vaegon surmised. He thinks of a death by starvation or thirst and couldn't imagine allowing himself to meet his fate by such pitiful meansl. "Does not turn us away. The Dothraki have a reputation and I could see their presence a factor in whether or not we're allowed into their gates."

"My people will be accepted," Daenerys is quick to defend them. Still, she was carrying a hostile attitude about her. "And if they will deny us because of them, we'll bring fire and blood upon them once our dragons have grown."

"We have other things to worry about than promising death to those who turn us away," Vaegon growls lowly, the first time he'd snapped at his sister in quite a while.

Her features still soften in shock before she looks away in silence. Vaegon feels guilty for a moment for snapping at her, but turns his attention toward Jorah nonetheless.

"How big is this waste?" He asked. "Will we ever make it out of here or will we find ourselves to be consumed and mummified in the sand?"

"I wish I knew, Your Grace," Jorah sighed. "I truly do."

Vaegon sighed heavily as he lied his head back on the ground. He gazed around at the sky, at the rocks and the waste that surrounded them and dreamed of being back in the Dothraki sea again, a thoguht he never would think to have. As he looked, he spotted a figure in the haze of the heat. Appearing in the mirage-like distance, a horse trotted in their direction. Vaegon squinted his eyes to make sure it wasn't a play at his imagination and sat up, gently lied Rhaellor on the ground where the hatchling cried in protest for being woken from his slumber.

"There," Vaegon pointed with his finger. "Is that Rakharo's horse?"

All attention was drawn to the horse that was finally nearing them, it covered in sweat with a bulge protruding from its saddle bag.

Ser Jorah was the first to meet the horse as he snatched the reins of the wheezing animal.
He halts the exhausted animal, bringing it to a stop as it breaths heavily and it's mouth foams white.  As a Dothraki comes to holds the animals reins, the knight makes his way to the saddle bag, which is soaked and dripping crimson. Vaegon holds his breath as Jorah reaches his hands into the bag, where the slightest bit of dark hair is visible from where Vaegon perched. Jorah's grim expression confirms the worst of possibilities. Leaving the contents, he holds the braid in his hand.

One of Daenerys' handmaiden's, Irri, rushes over and cried out in devastation. Her hand rests on the bad that held Rakharo's severed head as she let out cries of grief. Daenerys is quick to make her way over to comfort the woman, many others following as well including her other handmaiden Doreah following. Still, Vaegon held a resentment toward his sister and the girl for what was plotted against him.

Jorah returned to Vaegon's side, a grim expression still painted on his features. He allows himself to slump to the ground next to the Targaryen and the pearlescent hatchling. Rhaellor looks up to the knight with an intuitive azure gaze, cocking his head.

Jorah gives a weak side smirk to the dragon before directing his attention back to Vaegon. "There are still two other riders," he muttered. "All we can hope now is that they bring news. Otherwise, we won't leave this desert alive."

♜

THE blistering day eventually waned into a cold evening, meaning fires were pitched again and all huddled together to brave the chilliness of the desert night. Vaegon sat at a small fire on his own, his dragon in his basket for the evening. He held his knees to his chest as he looked up into the sky at the galaxy of stars that seemingly swirled in the blackness. He knew few constellations, but he was able to point out a few. He wondered if the night heavens were as cold as he was then, barely staying warm from the pitiful excuse for a fire that barely simmered in front of him. He recalled how warm Drogo's pyre had been, when he held Daenerys in it until they had drifted in a sort of slumber.

"Can we talk?"

He draws his attention away from the night sky to Daenerys, who hovers near the edge of darkness. She holds herself with her arms, appearing to be shivering. She looked weak, he notes, yet they all did. They were still starving and thirsty. He pats the ground next to him, offering for her to take a seat.

She gratefully accepts, sitting next to him and immediately putting her hands to the fire. They are nearly inside the flames themselves, but the two had learned that they had an immunity to its destruction ever since they'd hatched the dragons together. They'd found it was an efficient way to gain warmth.

"Was there not a fire for you to warm yourself at?" He asked curtly.

"I wanted to sit with you," she answered defensively. "I wanted to discuss some things."

"Well," he sighed. "We might as well. Here we are lost in a desert. We have all the time in the world."

She rubs her hand together after allowing them to warm for a while before drawing her knees to her chest as Vaegon was, holding them with her arms.

"This. . . quarrel we've had," she begins. "Since Viserys sold me to Drogo and we moved from Illyrio's villa. Since all of this misfortune has befell us. It has been anything less than pleasant."

"Oh, I know," Vaegon scoffed.

She seems to ignore his mock reply. "I don't want to keep doing this. We need each other now more than ever. I've hurt you, you've hurt me," she reaches over to place a hand on his arm, her touch warm. They look each other in the eye for the first time in a while. "Our dragons need us. We brought three dragons into this world after they were believed to be extinct."

"You sent your handmaiden into my tent," he accusingly muttered. "To sway my feelings away from you. Did you think that I might just forget everything we had and turn to a servant?" Daenerys adverts her gaze shamefully. "I would have never done such a thing to you. I endured a year of following the Dothraki around endless fucking grass, watching another man own you, of you carrying his child. Do you think that me trying to return to Pentos was so wrong?"

"No," Daenerys sighs. "You are right. You never had to come let alone stay as long as you did. Viserys only came for his promise of an army. You came for me."

He feels himself open up the slightest towards her after building a wall for so long. She finally understood what she had done, which was giving him a sort of peace. He wasn't sure how long they'd had animosity towards each other but he was finally ready to allow it to fall.

"I could have left after Viserys was killed," Vaegon continued. "I could have went my own way to claim a throne that is rightfully mine. But I stayed. I put off a throne for you."

"I'm sorry for hurting you," she says softly. Her violet eyes are full of emotion. "For all of this. Please forgive me."

Vaegon sighs as he leans over to pull her towards him with his arm. He holds her as her head leans in to rest on the crook of his neck.

"I forgive you. And I'm sorry as well," he murmurs. "For trying to leave. I was wrong."

They listen to the crackling of the fire for a few moments as they enjoy each other's presence one more. Vaegon feels a bit of hope return to him, but there was still far to go. He had Daenerys back, at least, but they still remained in a desert, hungry and thirsty.

"I can only imagine seeing our home," Daenerys ended the silence. "Seeing the Red Keep. I always imagined what the dragons skulls looked like."

"They're massive," he tells her. He can't remember much from his young years in King's Landing, but the most memorable were the skulls. "Balerion's skull is the largest. It was larger than the largest carriage ever made and hung just above the iron throne. They say he could swallow an oxen whole."

They both smile at the thought and he turns to look down to her. Having Daenerys back was all that he had wanted, but the death of his brother, her khal husband, and her unborn son had to happen before they could be together. He wondered if fate would make them fight for each other. What else would come? What else would they be forced to lose?

"We'll have it back," Daenerys hums. "Once again dragons will soar the skies and the Seven Kingdoms will be at peace. You'll be a just ruler."

Vaegon believes he will be. He hopes he will be. The only thought that was still unsettling to him was the subject of his future wife. Would he be forced to give up Daenerys once again to take up a high lord's daughter? He hated the thought.

"I will be," he promises her and himself.