( ACT I; sleeping dragon )
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chapter 2: a time of trials.

A wedding is meant to be something of light hearted celebration, of a union that will benefit the world. It was never an occasion that was intended to be dreaded, abhorred by the brother of the bride. Despite the savage celebrating that was taking place before him where he sat near Viserys and Magister Illyrio below Daenerys and Drogo, he couldn't bear the thought of the inevitable. Would Drogo take her as the Dothraki are rumored to take their horses? Forcing her into a far cry situation from what she was ever meant to see. They were a vile people, he knew, more akin to animals than humans. The thought of their savagery sickens him, thinking that any other man but he might know her in the way he did.

Their couplings were no known fact. It was a secret kept from Viserys for years now as a way of preventing him from possibly destroying what they have. Vaegon and Daenerys had lied together more times than one might count, all for love yet their brother was never meant to know. Vaegon had been seven-and-ten when he'd first lied with Daenerys, she being four-and-ten at the time. They were young and wild with lust, one might say, but the two's spark never faded after. He had been her first, but she had not been his. A visit to a Pentosi pillow house when he was five-and-ten had done away with that.

So, it was incredibly heart breaking to see her sit beside the savage, a man that made Vaegon look so small, knowing that he would eventually take her.

Merchants, nobles, and those alike had been humbly coming forth to the new Khal and Khaleesi, offering wedding gifts from all over the known world. Snakes, jewelry, herbs, cloths and silks, animals, gold; there seemed to be no end. The Dothraki were not known for being meek people, as the gifts were carried away by slaves without a word expressed. Disgusting looking foods were being friend and roasted all around, emitting somewhat pleasant smells as long as one did no gaze into the pans. In the area below them, which served as a dance floor, Vaegon was disgusted to see the way that the savages danced, some even beginning to rip away the garbs of the dancing women to begin a public display of carnal lust. The sounds of the drums beating and the people hollering worsened it all for him. He wished he could leave the scene, but it was obvious it would offend the Khal.

His violet eyes moved toward Daenerys, seeing she is less than pleased to be sitting next to the Khal. She is ever so slightly leaned away as to not touch the man's olive toned skin. Her brows were furrowed and her lips held tight together. The site is heart breaking, truly, and the longer Vaegon looks and thinks about her, he grows angrier.

"When will I get to meet with the Khal?" Viserys asked Illyrio haughtily, drawing Vaegon's attention. "I need to begin planning the invasion. The celebrating has went on long enough."

"You will, Your Grace, once their omens favor war," the Magister replied.

Visery sneered as he lifted his horn chalice to his lips. "I piss on Dothraki omens. I've waited well over fifteen years to get my throne back."

"That is if we ever make it to Westeros," Vaegon muttered from where he sat. He watched the people as he spoke. "We won't by doing nothing except fucking, drinking, and dancing. These people are savages."

"That is the smartest thing you've said in a while, brother," Viserys mockingly praised Vaegon before looking to Illyrio. "At the pace we're going, winter will have arrived by the time we get there."

Down below, the carnal display of lust comes to a reeling halt as another Dothraki screamer comes for the other. The two engage in a quick melee dual with their curved blades, which is a short lived battle before one of them is inevitably disemboweled with his entrails bursting from his opened gut. Vaegon gags slightly, forced to look away. He couldn't understand what Viserys had been thinking when he'd thought that a Dothraki horde would be easily controlled under his command. Not when they acted like such savages on a regular day.

"A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dumb affair," Illyrio enlightens them both.

Soon, a man of lighter skin that stands out above all makes an appearance to Daenerys and Drogo. It seems as if he is garbed in Westerosi attire, especially with the straight blade holstered at his hip. Vaegon didn't know much of Westeros, for they'd fled when he'd been but three, but anyone would be able to pick a Westerosi in a crowd. The man greets Drogo in the Dothraki tongue before looking to Daenerys.

"A small gift," the man says as he hands Daenerys what looks like leather bound books. "For the new Khaleesi. Songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms."

"Thank you, Ser," Daenerys says softly while she looks up to him. "Are you from our country?"

"Ser Jorah of House Mormont, from Bear Island," he introduces himself. He looks toward Vaegon and Viserys as well in greeting. The site of a Westerosi man was relieving to Vaegon during such an occasion, to say the least, for the Dothraki were nearly too much for even he. He didn't think he'd stand much of a chance against such savages if he truly expressed his feelings on the event. "I served your father for many years. Gods be good, I hope we all serve the rightful king." He looks to Viserys, then Vaegon, but for a few moments longer, the man's green eyes lay on the younger man.

Jorah then bows before he steps away to disappear into the crowd. At Vaegon's side, Illyrio gets to his feet and motions for his slaves to bring forward a chest to Daenerys' feet. As they open it, Vaegon feels his heart skip a beat as he lied his eyes upon the eggs of a dragon. He looks at each one in astonishment, one green, one black, and one golden, all scaly and stone-like. His gaze drifts to Daenerys, who looks just as astonished. She gingerly picks up the black egg as if it is forged of delicate glass. It was known that dragons were all but extinct, the last dying within the Dragon's Pit of King's Landing as no bigger than dogs. It was a horrible thing to think that such beasts were allowed to waste away into nothing.

"Dragon eggs, Daenerys, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone but they will always be beautiful," The Magister tells her before taking a seat once more.

"Thank you, Magister," she utters in disbelief as she gazes at the egg in her hand. She turns it to get every view possible, running her fingers along the scaled surface. A small piece of her wanted to believe they weren't stone at all.

All of Vaegon's momentary disbelief is quickly washed away as Drogo stands, casting a shadow yards long in front of him. Vaegon can feel his heart pounding. As much as he wishes not to, he understands what is to take place now. The Dothraki were quiet, looking upon their Khal. He looks to Daenerys, who submissively places the egg back into the chest before rising as well. Vaegon wants to leap to his feet in protest, but knows he'll never be able to save her if he's dead.

Drogo makes his way down the steps first, with Daenerys following. Vaegon rises to his feet in despair, yet he cannot look away. He steps forward to push his way through the crowd, where he can see her. From the crowd, a white horse is brought forward and the reins are held by Drogo. She pets the white steed softly, before looking back and catching the eyes of Vaegon. She looks away in pain, before speaking to Ser Jorah, who had came forward from the crowd once more.

"Ser Jorah, I do not know how to say thank you in Dothraki," she says to him.

"There is no word for it, Khaleesi," he tells her. She frowns slightly, before Drogo comes forward to grab her. In one swift movement, he places her on the back of the white horse. Her violet eyes shift toward his, the most pained of looks crying out in her eyes. Viserys had wandered to the side of her horse after emerging from the crowd.

"Make him happy," he ordered her, the slightest of smirks appearing on his lips. Vaegon decides then that he will do something to Viserys once she is gone.

And so, as the white horse becomes but a dot in the distance toward the sea, Vaegon feels every semblance of his self control ride with it. Dany was riding into the grass, riding toward a life of horridness. Because of Viserys, she was sold into marriage. Because of Viserys, Vaegon could no longer have her. Because of Viserys, she would be raped by a stranger under the sunset of the sea.

Once the sun finally did sank behind the sea, the night had become a quiet one once the Khal had left, the celebrating coming to a halt until he would return. Vaegon marched toward Viserys' tent, ready to finally fulfill the desire he'd kept at bay for years. He would rid the world of Viserys, of his cruelness and vanity. In his hand was a knife, one he'd found among some of the drunken Dothraki. It was a crude weapon, but even a rock would have sufficed for what he'd planned to do. He was going to drag the blade crossed his brothers throat so that there was no point of return, no chance to escape death.

He was so blind with rage that he hadn't noticed the person following him. Only a hand was able to stop him in his place, where he swung around to meet whomever it might be in a nearly furious fit.

"Your Grace," Ser Jorah uttered. His eyes drifted toward the dagger in Vaegon's hand. "Where are you going?"

Vaegon blinked a few times as he tried to focus in the darkness. Once he'd gained his bearings, he looked to the knife and then to the knight.

"Ser Jorah," Vaegon uttered. "What is it?"

"You have a dagger in your hand," the older man said. "And you look as if you are troubled. May I assist?"

Vaegon was unable to speak for a few moments as thoughts coursed through his mind. Was he truly going to kill Viserys? Would he have, if Ser Jorah hadn't stopped him? He chucked the knife at the ground.

"She doesn't deserve this," Vaegon finally let out. "She doesn't deserve to be sold away like this, to be taken by some savage and used as a fucking broodmare!" He began pacing. "She deserves to be with me, not this Khal. He has raped her by now, I know it, taken her as a hound takes a bitch."

Despite Jorah not knowing the prince very well, he tried understanding the young man's pain. He did indeed believe it cruel to sell away a young girl of but sixteen, but he was merely present with the Targareyn's to keep watch of their doings, to serve as a spy. Robert Baratheon had promised a pardon if he could fulfill all his duties when the time came. 

"Your Grace, I understand that you despise what your brother has done," Ser Jorah told him. "But taking a wrong course of action won't change anything. I know for myself. Doing something like this could destroy any chances of helping her. Heed my advice."

"I-," Vaegon stutters. "I just can't stand seeing her be taken like this."

"You love her?" Jorah asks. "More than as your sister?"

Vaegon knew that his House had been the only ones to regularly practice incest, to keep the dragon blood pure. He also knew it caused their madness, yet he couldn't diminish his feelings for her. He didn't care what anyone else thought of him. He nodded meekly, feeling the first sign of tears well up behind his eyes for the first time in years.

"I promise you, things will end the way they need to," Jorah promised. "This may seem like an end of times, but there is much left for you to do. You have yet to see your home again, a home you haven't seen since you were a child. You are a dragon, my prince. One of the few left."