[This chapter was originally called "The Wedding." In reality, most of the Pentos arc was practically me using chapters from a fanfic called "Game of Thrones: The Prideful One." as a template. When I started the story, I didn't intend to publish it, so I didn't care where the words came from as long as they expressed my idea. Now that I've made progress, I feel compelled to rewrite the scenes so that they are entirely my own. But don't worry, the plot won't be much different, as it will still follow the series closely. Thanks to everyone for your readings and your understanding in this matter.]
In the months that followed, Vlad became a guest once again at Illyrio's mansion, and the initial tension gave way to a more pleasant routine. Over time, Daenerys began to relax in his presence, growing more comfortable during their walks through the gardens and the afternoons spent sharing wine and conversation.
Vlad was an eloquent man when he wanted to be. He spoke to Daenerys about his battles, the years he had spent in the Dothraki Sea, and how he had awakened there with no memory, barely clothed in a tunic. Of course, he omitted the part about remembering his past life, but even without that detail, his story was fascinating. He told her how, after defeating the khal in combat, he had to fight even harder to earn the respect of his men. But now, everyone respected and feared him.
He didn't say it with pride or boastfulness; it was more as if he wanted to teach her a lesson. Perhaps that's why Daenerys listened intently, as if there was something important in it for a reason she didn't yet understand.
Vlad tried to skip over the part where Daenerys should have been broken so that she could mature, not because he suddenly loved her, but because he didn't have time.
As the days passed, her objections to the marriage began to fade. Vlad wasn't just handsome and enigmatic; he was also someone who treated her with respect.
Daenerys, accustomed to being treated as a bargaining chip or a burden, for the first time felt like a person. He didn't look at her as a prize or possession, but as herself, as if the respect he showed her was the most natural thing in the world. That simple gesture was enough for her to no longer feel as much fear when imagining a future with him.
Vlad noticed her change in attitude and continued his subtle courtship, giving her gifts such as books about the histories of great rulers, hair ornaments, and even assigning former Valyrian slaves to serve as her handmaidens. He didn't forget to comment to Mera and Alyssa to instruct Daenerys in the... complexities of being a woman and a wife, as he doubted Viserys had properly educated her in those matters.
Viserys, on the other hand, became increasingly insufferable. Unable to stand that the attention no longer centered on him, he paraded around the mansion with airs of grandeur, boasting about his impending invasion of Westeros, about how he would crush his enemies and claim the Iron Throne, almost as if he were already fighting on the front lines.
He was often heard making disparaging comments about Vlad when he thought he couldn't be heard. His attitude became more childish as the time for preparations dragged on, and his tantrums went from pathetic to annoying.
When the hundred riders Vlad had summoned for the wedding arrived, the presence of those warriors seemed to especially offend Viserys. He felt overshadowed and, in a desperate attempt to prove his superiority, ended up in a duel.
During a training session, while making moves with a wooden sword with the coordination of a dead fish, he allowed himself to mock the "poor swordsmanship" of the Dothraki warriors.
One of them, who understood the common tongue, took this as an insult and challenged him to combat. The confrontation was brief and humiliating: Viserys fell to the dust in three moves, his chest bruised and tears in his eyes. Vlad intervened before the warrior could do him real harm, but still, Viserys whined and demanded that "the head of that savage" be brought to him.
But it seemed that humiliation wasn't enough to shut Viserys up. In the following weeks, he dedicated himself to complaining about his "horrible battle wounds," showing off his bruised torso as if he had survived an ambush. His complaints were constant, and every dinner became an opportunity for him to recount how, after a "brutal duel," he was wounded by an opponent who used "dirty tricks" to defeat him.
At that point, Vlad just wanted him to shut up. He was about to ask if they could speed up the wedding preparations if it meant finally getting rid of the endless whining of the beggar king.
Luckily for him, the preparations were completed a week later, leading to a Dothraki-style wedding.
The wedding took place in a vast square on the outskirts of Pentos, where hundreds of Dothraki gathered to honor their khal and his new khaleesi. A Dothraki wedding required no vows or priests; it was enough for a man to claim a woman before all. That was sufficient.
There were no chairs or elaborate decorations, just carpets spread over the earth, colorful tents, and bonfires scattered everywhere. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of roasted meat. The drums began to beat loudly, marking a primitive rhythm that soon gave way to dancing, shouting, and the first fights.
Men and women danced without shame, engulfed in wild and violent movements. Some women, semi-naked, twisted their bodies to the frantic beat of the drums, while drunken warriors punched each other amid laughter or broke wine jars over their companions' heads. The spectacle was raw, noisy, and savage.
Daenerys sat beside Vlad, visibly uncomfortable. Her eyes darted away every time a dancer removed her clothes and began to move as if putting on a show for everyone, or when two men began to wrestle for the right to "mount" a woman. Her elegant dress, custom-made by Illyrio, only accentuated the contrast with this wild environment.
Vlad, on the other hand, appeared unperturbed. Dressed in black with a dark red cloak draped over his shoulders, he watched the celebration with a slight, almost indulgent smile.
One by one, the blood riders, captains, and even merchants from Essos approached to present their gifts: swords, saddles, wine pitchers, leopard skins, candied dates, and even a bronze crown. Vlad accepted each gift with a few words and a nod.
Finally, Illyrio approached with his heavy and ceremonial gait, accompanied by a couple of servants carrying a black wooden box. With both hands, the magister presented it to Vlad.
—Mi lord, mi lady—he said in a hoarse voice, looking Daenerys in the eyes—. Dragon eggs, Daenerys. From the shadowy lands beyond Asshai. They have petrified, but they will always be beautiful—he announced grandly, nodding to Vlad, signaling that this was his part of the deal.
Vlad accepted the gift, his gaze lingering for a moment on the eggs while he watched Daenerys caress them with fascination.
Illyrio bowed slightly and withdrew, just as a scream echoed above the noise.
Two men, who just a moment ago had been fighting for the dubious privilege of taking a dancer in the middle of the square, began a battle, crossing their weapons with the intent to kill. One of them quickly emerged victorious, cutting the other across the stomach, causing him to fall as his entrails spilled onto the ground.
Daenerys visibly recoiled in disgust.
—I see that, like me, you do not appreciate the subtleties of Dothraki celebrations,—Vlad commented with irony.
Daenerys blinked before replying with sincere discomfort, for she had learned that with Vlad, she could speak freely:
—Yes... well... it's rather indecent...
Vlad chuckled softly.
—It's no different from what men do in Westeros, Daenerys. Only there, they do it behind closed doors,—he shrugged—. Men bleed for money, women, or glory. It is the women's task to contain our stupidity.
Illyrio, however, responded to the prince, who was shocked to see a man die before him.
—A Dothraki wedding without at least two deaths is considered boring, my prince.
Before Viserys could retort, a man dressed in dark leather approached. Stocky, with a short beard and a weathered face, he wore a sword at his side. He bowed before them with respect.
—A small gift for the new khaleesi,—he said in a deep voice, handing over a bundle of books tied together—. Stories and songs from the Seven Kingdoms.
Daenerys looked at him in surprise, showing genuine interest for the first time:
—Thank you, Ser. Are you from my land?
—Yes, my lady. Ser Jorah Mormont, from Bear Island. I served your father for many years,—he replied proudly.
He then turned toward Viserys, who watched him suspiciously, and added courteously:
—May the gods allow me to continue serving the rightful king.
Viserys nodded haughtily, clearly pleased to receive the respect he thought he deserved.
—We thank you, Ser Mormont,—Vlad interrupted abruptly, fixing his gaze on the man. He knew exactly who he was and what he sought, but for now, the knight could be of use to him.
The celebration continued for some time. Vlad, though he did not appreciate unnecessary deaths or unchecked savagery, understood that he could not expect Dothraki men to change so quickly. Not yet, at least.
When the moment arrived, Vlad calmly stood to retire to his wedding tent. With a subtle gesture, he indicated for Daenerys to take his hand. The women had already prepared the interior with soft furs and a bit of privacy for the newlyweds. A pity that Vlad had plans to consummate the marriage with a frightened girl. But still, he had to make it seem as if he would.
Although Daenerys had become less reluctant to the marriage and even found some attraction toward Vlad, a wave of terror flooded her as she understood the meaning of that gesture. What girl wouldn't have felt the same? Alyssa and Mera had had a talk with her, explaining the mechanics of what the marriage entailed. And yes, Daenerys was terrified.
Even so, gathering all the courage she could, Daenerys took Vlad's hand with her eyes fixed on the ground, ashamed, as they walked through the human corridor the guests had formed to let them pass.
The festivities still raged in the square as Vlad led Daenerys to the wedding tent. Outside, the drums kept pounding, and the laughter and shouting of the Dothraki filled the night. Inside, however, silence reigned. The tent was dimly lit by oil lamps, and the air smelled of incense and furs.
Daenerys entered with hesitant steps, her eyes fixed on the interior. She sat on the edge of the bed, made of thick furs and cushions, and remained there motionless, hands clasped in her lap and shoulders tense. She was breathing fast, eyes lowered, clearly on the verge of panic.
Vlad watched her in silence for a few seconds. Then, with a soft but firm voice, he stepped a little closer.
—You can be at ease —he said at last—. I have no intention of sleeping with you tonight.
Daenerys looked up abruptly, her eyes wide as saucers. She opened her mouth to say something, but it took her a few seconds to find her words.
—But Viserys insists that... that we must... —she stammered, swallowing hard—. To seal the alliance...
Vlad let out a short, mirthless laugh.
—Viserys lost any right to decide over your life —he answered calmly, stepping closer until he stood before her—. You are MY wife now. And he would do well to remember that.
His words struck like cold water. Daenerys stared at him, mouth open, unsure if she should feel offended or relieved. She lowered her gaze again.
—Even so… I am your wife. You should… just do it —she said softly.
Vlad crouched in front of her, so close their faces were only inches apart.
—Sex can be something tremendously pleasurable, Daenerys —he whispered—. But only if both people want it. Otherwise... it's a farce. Or something worse.
She looked up again. For a moment, their eyes met, and the tension shifted. It was no longer fear, but something harder to define. Confusion, perhaps. And a hint of curiosity.
—Then... what should we do? —she asked in a very low voice.
Vlad leaned in closer, and his lips brushed hers slowly and gently. It was a soft kiss, almost innocent. Daenerys felt goosebumps rise on her skin.
—Sleep —he finally replied after pulling away, with a faint smile.
Before she could react, he carefully scooped her into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He laid her beside him on the bed and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her to his chest.
She remained stiff at first, confused, disbelieving, her heart pounding in her ears.
—I don't understand... —she began, not really sure what she was asking.
—Go to sleep, Daenerys —Vlad murmured, closing his eyes as he spoke—. We'll talk about this when there's no pressure.
The warmth of Vlad's body, the silence of the tent, and the accumulated tension of the day began to take their toll. Slowly, Daenerys's eyelids grew heavy, and her breathing steadied. Within minutes, she had fallen asleep in his arms.
Vlad, on the other hand, remained awake a while longer. He stared at the fabric ceiling of the tent, thinking of nothing in particular, and let out a long sigh as he felt the weight of his new wife resting peacefully against him. After a few more minutes, he finally closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him too.