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“Why do the Dothraki have braids?” She had asked her brother before he married her off to Khal Drogo, a powerful and rich warlord who promised to help them take back their kingdom.
“Just…because. Why does it matter what the savages do? You are Daenerys Targaryen, not one of them. You don’t need to trouble your silly little head with their customs.” Viserys, a cruel brother to Dany, refused to speak of it further. Though they shared blood, he didn’t care about her or anything else. All he cared about was his ‘rightful throne’ which he could not get without the Dothraki horde.
When Daenerys first saw her future husband, she was scared. His eyes seemed hateful and he never smiled. He did not speak to her when they first met, and she was afraid he did not like her. His skin was dark, and he was shirtless. She could see countless scars on his shoulders and chest and quickly averted her eyes. He was a killer, and there was no doubt that the men who caused those scars were rotting in the ground somewhere. His hair was blacker than night and in a braid down to his waist.
Magister Illyrio, the arranger of the marriage, leaned in and whispered “It is said when a Dothraki loses a battle he must cut off his hair. It appears that your Khal has never lost a single battle. Lucky girl.” And with that, Drogo rode off.
During their wedding, countless Dothraki fought for the privilege to do just that, fight in front of the Khal and his new Khaleesi. One man got his head smashed in, another got his intestines spilled out onto the ground. After each battle the winner cut off the looser’s hair. Daenerys felt like she was going to be sick. She turned her head away from the violence, choosing to study her new husband instead. His face was still, but not cold. She even saw him smile once or twice at his people. They were celebrating with good food, fights, and women which pleased everyone. Daenerys called for Ser Jorah, the exiled head of house Mormont. Viserys hired him to be the protector and adviser of his sister while she was with the Dothraki.
“Ser Jorah, do you know their language?” She asked curiously, wanting to get more information on the strange language. It was much harsher and louder than the common tongue.
“I do my Khaleesi, would you like me to translate anything for you? I believe that is part of the reason your brother requires my services. I will translate anything you like.”
“I don’t want you to translate, I want you to teach me. If these are going to be my people, I should be able to speak their language. I shall require lessons at once.” Her tone was not the least bit harsh, even though she was making demands. She wanted to say something to Drogo, but she was unsure of what she wanted to say. What do you say to a great Khal of the Dothraki?
“How many battles have you been in, my Khal?” She asked Drogo through Jorah.
“Many. It is impossible to count. I have never been defeated, not once. That is how I came to become Khal.” This was one of the first times she heard him talk, and it surprised her a little. She expected his words to be harsh and angry, but when he spoke to her it was delicate and soft.
“Is that why your hair is so long?” She meant it to be a serious question, but he laughed.
“Yes, Khaleesi, that is why my hair is so long.” When he called her Khaleesi, she couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time she had smiled all week.
The celebration soon ended and the people, her people, soon scattered and she was left alone with Drogo. Even Jorah left, and Daenerys quickly realized what was supposed to happen next. She was afraid. She had never had sex before, and it was quite obvious that the Dothraki were harsh lovers. She had seen many displays of…affection during the wedding celebration that made her insides hurt. Drogo led her to a beach where they were completely alone. He cupped her face in his rough calloused hands and instantly saw the fear in her eyes. He rubbed his thumb over her smooth cheek and sighed. Affection wasn’t something he was known for, but he was going to try. Slowly, he inched towards her bending his head to touch their foreheads together. She looked up into his eyes, and instead of seeing a blood thirsty killer, she saw Drogo, a man just like any other.
“No?” He asked, touching their noses together. She knew what he was asking. She took a deep breath. She was a Targaryen, and she was brave. She leaned in and placed a kiss on his rough lips. He responded, bringing their bodies closer together. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist. She broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, and saw only want. She kissed him again, and felt a spark. This time, he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted, an answer.
“Yes.” She said quickly before kissing him again passionately. By the end of the night, Daenerys was not afraid of her husband anymore.