Work Text:
Drogo's mouth curved into a frown around the unfamiliar syllables. Dany knew he was frustrated at his slow progress, but it was hard to hide her enjoyment.
For so long her husband had been a stranger to her: tall, imposing, fierce… and as unreadable as a slab of stone. What had prompted him to want to learn her language, she could not have said. She had been learning dothraki, herself, and had thought that would be enough. For Drogo, it seemed, it had not been enough.
She had been taken aback when he first asked to learn, but Drogo had often surprised her in ways that left her delighted, and this was not altogether different from his gift of the silver mare—a small gesture that revealed his true heart. Indeed, it was hard to fear him now, watching him struggle so earnestly to conquer even these few words.
Dany smiled encouragement and went through the words with him again, emphasizing the correct pronunciation and word order. Drogo might be annoyed, but she had no doubt he would succeed with time. After all, her husband had never known defeat. No warrior alive could best him. What chance had mere words?