Ride || Closed

The ride from Starfall in Dorne to the Dothraki Sea was a long one and from the time their boat had docked in Meereen, Ayleth knew there was a chance she could never see Westeros again. There wasn’t much she’d miss there anyways, but it had been her home. Stepping onto the soil of Essos meant a big change in the way she lived, but it was something she had always been ready to face. While she may have been only seventeen, she was wise beyond her years and more adept at battle than most men who had trained their whole lives. She looked a lot more mature than any seventeen year old should; she was a shapely young woman, built of slender muscle and curves, with dark brown hair and fair skin—despite being exposed to the sun nearly all her life--but the thing that gave away the most about her was her eyes. They were bright, vivd violet(as were most Dayne’s), but with flecks of blue around the iris. Her mother always said that while her features were quite stony and provided no tells of her true emotion; her eyes could never lie.

She’d traveled with a group of people her father had sent with her; a translator named Markos who claimed to know all there was to know about the Dothraki and three guards. Ayleth needed neither, though no one knew that she could speak Dothraki and had studied all she could about them before arriving. If she were to become the bride of a khal, to become a khaleesi, she needed to know about the people and their customs. As for the guards, she was more than capable of defending herself and everyone who knew of her knew that. At her insistence, Ayleth brought her handmaiden Emory with her and was certain she would not part with her even after a marriage was arranged.

“The Dothraki may see your blade and see it as a sign of insolence and distrust, my lady,” Emory stated softly. They sat in a large tent they’d erected at the outskirt of the Dothraki Sea; two of the guards and Markos had been sent out to find a khal and bring him to Ayleth. She was to serve as their gift to whoever wanted to claim her as one. It wasn’t the aspect of an arranged and abrupt marriage that bothered the young woman; it was the idea that whoever she was married to could potentially treat her as just an object or mare to breed with. That she would not allow.

“The Dothraki are a dangerous people who would not hesitate to kill the guard outside and come for us next,” Ayleth responded, shooting her handmaiden a look. “We both know this. Besides, the Dothraki only respect those who earn it. If I have to draw my blade they will both respect and fear me.” Emory was about as stalwart as a daisy in a rainstorm and Ayleth knew it was all she could to keep from quivering at the thought of an ambush by horselords. “You’re safe with me, Emory,” the dark-haired woman reassured her, offering her a rare smile that seemed to be only reserved for her these days.

“My lady,” the guard peeked his head through the tent to eye both women, “Markos and the guards are back. They appear to have riders with them.” Ayleth nodded once in reply and looked over to Emory.

“Do I look gift-worthy?” She asked, brows lifted slightly. They’d taken the time to make her look presentable. She wore fine gown of deep brown fabric and leather that was paneled with a sheer, purple fabric down the sides that exposed her waist and legs and a long, full and flowing skirt that allowed her to easily move. Her hair was intricately pleated and pulled over one shoulder, smelling of cloves and lavender. They’d rimmed her eyes with black kohl, which was more practical for her to see in the desert than anything, but it made her violet eyes pop all the same. Ayleth insisted that she wore her scabbard and sword of black, rolled Dornish steel and just for safe measure, she'd tucked two daggers into each of her boots as well.

“If there is a khal with them and he turns you away, he is either blind or stupid,” Emory retorted smartly and the two of them dissolved into soft laughter.