Sacred oils, applied directly to the affected areas

"The Ointment!" His men cried, almost in unison. In this — Dany noted — they seemed united. She shifted uncomfortably on the spot, the glee on their faces, and on the face of the Khal at the mention of this 'ointment' could not mean anything good. The Khal nodded, "The Ointment it is!" He bellowed, before turning to the crowd of wives gathered a little ways away from him and his Bloodriders and clapping his hands twice. "You know what to do," He said. The wives looked at one another, then scurried away over to the pack horses, returning moments later. What looked to be the most senior among the wives (certainly among the oldest, judging by her hair and stooping posture) brought forth a great jar, the other wives close behind her. As the wives approached, their Bloodrider husbands parted like the blades of the Dothraki Sea in the wake of a hurricane, and the wives gathered once more in formation around Dany.

She suppressed the urge to clap her hands back over her aching, soon-to-be sunburnt teats and instead kept a close eye on the old woman with her jar. "What is this?" She demanded. "What is that? Tell me!" The old woman looked up at her and, with a single-toothed smile, replied: "The Protective Ointment," and with that, the other wives grabbed at her arms, her legs, two even held the length of torn fabric that had been trailing from her hips ever since the Khal's tearing of her dress.

"What are you—" she was interrupted as the old crone opened up the jar, sending a sweet-smelling fragrance into the air, jammed her hands deep inside it, then withdrew them. Dany saw now the ointment they had discussed: A thick, white substance the elder wife had now applied liberally to her hands. Dany wondered at what exactly was going to be done with it. "Where are you putting—" she was cut off again, this time by her own yelp of surprise. The old woman had taken her hands and placed them, quick as a striking viper, directly onto her pale, pert breasts. The cold was unbearable, that was her only thought as she bucked, reeled and squirmed like an eel, the other wives forcing her to remain upright and in place as the cream was applied to her chest. It didn't just stop with the initial maneuvre either; to Dany's shock and still-mounting horror, the woman was now massaging the cream in and around her breasts, making them bounce and jiggle this way and that as she did so.

A great chorus of woops and cheers went up among the men of the Khalasar as the old woman set about her indecent work, and it seemed to Dany almost as if she were playing to the crowd, manipulating her mammaries in those particular ways that would be the most humiliating to Daenaerys and, to the men, titillating. A stream of curses in every tongue she knew spewed forth from her mouth as the ice cold **** on her poor breasts continued. The terrible heat of the before had been replaced by a cold as deep and piercing as winter, and what was worse was the spectacle that was being made of it. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't stop it, couldn't pry herself free and run, or at least free her arms so as to shield her perfect tits from being used as fodder for future sexual fantasies and a current impromptu show. "UNHAND ME!" She shrieked. "I AM THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF THE SEVEN—" She was cut off again by a squeezing of her nipples.

"You be quiet, now!" The old woman chided. "Or it will get worse!"

"Worse?!" Dany was indignant. "How could anything be worse than this?!"