The Humiliation Continues

Dany had lost track of time. Logically, it couldn't have been hours since her ill-fated attempt to get out of her nude walk through the grasslands had gone off the rails, and yet it felt as if it had been. There she was, utterly naked and bent over as if she were trying to entice someone to come and enter her, an old woman stood before her, 'applying ointment' to her arse cheeks while her hands and legs were held in place by a gaggle of Bloodrider's wives.

From Khaleesi to a cheap source of entertainment and sexual thrills for Moro's Khalasar. Almost as profound a fall from grace as that of the Targaryen Dynasty, from rulers of a continent to being deposed and reduced to two frightened children, all those years ago. Viserys would laugh if he saw her now. Come to think of it, her dear brother would most likely enjoy the view as much as anyone else, if not more.

Dany's attention drifted back to the crone behind her, who was still busy kneading and manipulating her round and shapely bottom, slathering the ointment deeper into the skin with each revolution. As if chiding her for her inattentiveness, the crone spanked Dany's left cheek.

"Ouch!" She cried, turning to look at the woman over her shoulder. "Stop that!" Her rebuke sounded unconvincing, perhaps because there was the smallest part of her that thought the sensation was almost...pleasurable? No, she rejected the idea. To be manhandled like this, her most intimate places prodded and exposed, it was unconscionable. Not only a Targaryen princess, but also a Khaleesi, a Mother of Dragons, leader of armies and ruler of cities! She would not be reduced to moaning like a common whore at the touch of this hideous old hag in front of an audience of dozens, if not hundreds!

"I will repay you for this—this...indignity!" Dany hissed at the old woman. "One day, I will return and destroy every last one of you with steel and dragonfire! This I—" Dany yelped in surprise as the seemingly endless pawing at her backside came to an abrupt stop, the old woman barked out a command so quickly she hadn't the time to process it, and the other wives swiftly swept her feet out from under her. Dany was bewildered, scarcely able to understand what had just happened when the small group of women grasped her legs, and back, flipped her onto her front and spun her to face the audience once more.

Dany, utterly dumbstruck by the speed of all this, could only gape, her face a mask of absolute shock as she found herself suddenly facing the crowd she had heard jeering, wolf-whistling and chanting in approval of her humiliation up until now. For several long seconds she could only look through the crowd at all those faces: Young and old, fat and thin, men, women...every type of Dothraki one could imagine, and the last and worst of them all, Khal Moro, absolute glee plastered across his rough-hewn features.

But there was something worse. She was so preoccupied by taking in all the faces before her that she hadn't quite registered what it must mean, that she could now see them, that she was now...facing them. A late afternoon breeze tickled her, playing across the delicate skin of her legs, then further up, so that she felt it on her thighs. Finally, right as she looked down, she felt the breeze — like a cool, cool kiss — on her lips, the other ones...down below. Dany paled, and heard herself scream. All the while, as one great organism, she heard the Khalasar laugh...