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The moon was ugly.
It wasn't always this way. Jhogo remembered laying on the back of his chestnut as a youth under a clear night and staring up at its shining face, marveling at how its light silvered the hills of tall grass. The stars danced and twinkled beside it, adding their own light to cut through the blackness of night. Wispy clouds drifted in the wind and covered its face, giving it the same sly, seductive appearance he had seen many women of the khalasar give khal Bharbo. If he could, he would have stayed up all night marveling.
Now whenever he turned his face to the night sky, all he could see was a craggy, old thing. The holes that puckered its surface reminded him of the pox-ridden faces of Western men that stunk up the markets they passed through. The light it casted, a light that once made his eyes sparkle in wonder, was now dull. Even the stars no longer made him pause his pacing. How could they when their beauty was effortlessly bested more each day by someone who stole the very air from his lungs with but a mere glance? She never paused at a glance, though, instead arresting him with eyes of rich gems that delighted in their power over him. Her laughter--never mocking--put the gentle songs of the winds winding through endless grass to such shame, it hushed in her presence.
His whip furled and unfurled around his wrist. The leather was freshly oiled. Were someone to attempt to sneak up on him, their airway would be cut off before the crack reached their ears. He was antsy, his body thrumming with barely tamped down energy. Every little sound drew his eye, made his hackles rise, yet none of them were what he was listening for. It was a sound that never ceased to send chills down his spine, while sending a thrill straight to his gut. He used to think he'd grow used to it, to not be both fearful and elated at the graceful, leathery flapping; now he knew better. No one ever could grow accustomed to such beasts--no one, save her.
A trilling screech made his head snap side to side. It sounded as if it came from every which way, silencing the thousand nighttime creatures chirping and purring and croaking. A pale shadow passed over a moon half-hiding its face in deference. Even from this distance, he could hear her voice twist through the wind, the numberless bells in her otherworldly silver hair mere accompaniment to the music of her laughter. Somewhere out in the distance, the other two dragons raised their bone-rattling roars in greeting to their sister and mother.
Before Viserion touched down on the soft earth, Jhogo was on his hands and knees, head bent low. Tiny shudders racked his body--was it anticipation, excitement, religious fervor? Jhogo hardly knew anymore. All he understood was his head spun at the mere thought of her.
Her dismount was whisper-soft. Long had she discarded the notion of wearing sandals when riding upon her children. "I can hear their thoughts better," she once said. Irri asked her what she meant, but she only shrugged, saying it was too instinctual to explain any more than that.
The grass parted, bowing as though they knew the Khal of Khals approached. Her tanned feet bore two pale stripes where her sandals usually rested. Jhiqui decorated her toes with paste made of crushed, red bugs and glossy oil. They caught the dim light, making every inch of her dazzle for all to see. "Blood of my blood."
Jhogo couldn't suppress his shuddering breath. He lifted his head, yet his eyes remained downcast. He heard the soft smile in her voice. "You are far too theatrical, Jhogo."
"I am unworthy of the Mother of Dragons," he said.
A laugh. That laugh sent his heart racing, drowning out all sounds of the world, of life, leaving only her vibrating presence. Were he a lesser man, he'd have wept.
"As I said," Daenerys's delicate fingers barely kissed the tip of his chin, though they forced his flint eyes to meet her amethyst, "you are a dramatic one."
It was unseemly the way his gaze greedily devoured her. Despite all the strength he possessed, he failed to control himself. A medallion belt hung loose around her hips, barely keeping the pants of her riding leathers on her slender, toned frame. In place of a vest, she wore only enough to cover her breasts, leaving the rest of her torso bare. Beads of sweat clung to her skin, begging to be gently wiped off, to be licked off as though the finest delicacy an unworthy such as he could dare dream of. Wind-swept braids fell down her back. Most would look as though attacked by the very gods of the gusts themselves, yet she never looked anything less than an image of perfection.
When he finally lifted his gaze back to her face, he knew she saw how he looked at her. Her eyelids were heavy, a mischievous curl to her lip. Many times her eyes darkened much like they did now as they stared at each other--into each other. Her hands moved to his shoulders and pushed him back until he was sitting on his feet. She sank into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, caging him in. Fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck. Their faces drew nearer until their lips were but a hair away. He could taste her night meal on her breath, with an undercurrent of spicy-sweetness that was her ever-present scent. "Khaleesi," he whispered, throat so tight his voice was barely audible.
She shook her head. "I am not khaleesi now." She ran the tip of her nose along the side of his. Goosebumps made every hair on his body stand on end. "Who am I, Jhogo?" His name coming from her plush lips was more powerful than any blood magic a maegi could muster.
His hands tightened on her hips. Her breath hitched. Her body moved just a centimeter closer. The black of his pupils swallowed the brown as his eyes consumed every detail of her face as though he had not already committed every pore to memory a thousand times over. "Daenerys."
In the light of a moon Jhogo once thought the most wondrous creation of all, her pearly teeth were as sharp as her children's. "What a good boy."
Any restraint he had snapped. Surging forward, he caught her lips in his own. Their tongues greedily sought the other's out, intoxicating themselves on the taste of their lover. Daenerys's nails dug into his scalp, trailed down his neck, and slipped under his vest to leave crescent-shaped indents on his flesh. His moan was more a whimper, both grateful and pathetic. He felt her smile against his lips.
Winding her braid around his wrist as he oft did his whip, he pulled her head back and exposed the long column of her throat to him. Though they were faded and hard to see in the low light, the reminders of their last encounter remained. He set to revitalizing them. She gasped and pulled him impossibly closer, needing his hot mouth on the sensitive skin of her neck. No matter how many times they did this, never did she grow less responsive to his every touch.
The grass cushioned them as they fell forward, Jhogo atop Daenerys. Viserion spread her wings, casting a shadow over the pair. So lost were they in the other, neither registered the dragon beat her wings and take flight, seeking out her brothers to play with while their mother engaged in her own fun.
Jhogo didn't deserve this honor, didn't deserve her, didn't deserve to draw breath at the same time as she; yet he drank from her with avarice and nary an ounce of shame.
The moon never looked more hideous.