DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES!

The Mer Khaleesi

Chapter 1

Standing on the stone terrace of a vast mansion, Syleria Ardrion, the youngest princess of the House of Ardrion, watched the sun rise into the sky. The day had arrived. Today was the day she would meet the man her father had sold her and her sister to. King Qaran of House Ardrion, fifth of his name, had a dilemma. His city was on the brink of war with an enemy clan, whose weapons and troops vastly surpassed their own. He needed an alliance, one that would tip the scales back in his favour. Selling two of his daughters to a Dothraki Khal had been an easy decision. After all, between his five wives, he had over thirty daughters. The two he had sold were his two youngest daughters, from the wife he liked the least. He would not miss them. They would be more useful as an offering in the potential war. If exchanging two of his many daughters earned him an army, he would make that exchange without batting an eye.

He had told them in such a dismissive fashion. The week before, he had summoned Syleria and her sister Ossania to his chambers. Without a care for their thoughts or feelings on the matter, he had told them that they were both to wed a Dothraki Khal in the coming weeks. Ossania had tried to protest, begging and pleading with their father not to sell them to a stranger from a faraway land. Their father the King had silenced her with an effective backhand. As daughters, it was their duty to marry their father's choice, he had told them. Syleria had expected nothing less. As the youngest daughter of the least favoured wife, she had actually expected to spend her days cooped up in the castle of Worosa, the kingdom of her father. A politically useful marriage to a powerful man who would aid her father was actually an honour for her. It was more than she had ever expected from him. All of her sisters had been married, or at least betrothed, by the time they were sixteen. Her eighteenth year was nearly upon her and there had never been even a murmur of her own marriage. According to rumours told to her by unkind older siblings, when the King had been informed of her birth, he hadn't even looked up from the chicken leg he had been eating. A chicken leg had been more precious to her father than she was. It was a harsh reality she had come to accept. If she had been born a boy, everything would have been different, but the same could be said for every single one of her sisters.

The kingdom of Worosa was shrouded in myth and legend. Like the House of Targaryen whose descendants – people say – descended from dragons, the House of Ardrion, the ruling family of Worosa, descended from Merfolk. It is said that a thousand years ago, the ruling King of Worosa, King Qaran the First, had been walking along the beach below his mighty castle and had heard the most beautiful, the most melodic voice the Gods had ever created. Following the soft song of the voice, he had discovered a breath-taking young woman lying on a rock, combing her fingers through her white hair as she sang to herself. Her face and breasts seemed like they had been designed by the Gods themselves, but it had been her bottom half that had held his attention. Instead of legs, she had had the tail of a fish. She was the stuff of legend; a mermaid. Entranced by her beauty, King Qaran had approached her and the two of them had made love on that rock, next to the ocean and under the rays of the sun. After that, he had never seen her again despite visiting that rock every day, but upon taking another walk along that beach nine months later, instead of melodic singing, he had heard an infant crying. He found the infant on the same rock on which he had made love to the mermaid, and he had known in that moment that the child, a daughter, was his.

The daughter, who later became Queen Ilaasa the First, had her father's form, legs included, but her complexion was unique. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, with veins visible all over her petite body. The same white hair of her mother. Lips so light they could only just been seen against her skin. And eyes the colour of ice. Ilaasa, despite being a fierce warrior in her time, had always been petite, bordering on small, with a narrow frame and slim waist. Olden paintings and carvings of her depicted her only just reaching the chests of her male subjects, and those paintings were surely being favourable to their Queen. This unique complexion became famous in the kingdom of Worosa. Supposedly, whoever had that pale skin, white hair, and ice blue eyes was a chosen embodiment of Osheyvora, the God of the ocean.

However, that legend soon ran its course. Over the next few hundred years that followed, as the realm had expanded, as knowledge had increased, the mythical complexion lost its reverence. Instead of being viewed as chosen full-blooded descendants of their Mer ancestors, anyone born with the white skin and hair was no more special than any of their more natural looking relatives, who were still Mer-descendants. Despite Syleria being the only one of her generation with this godly appearance, she was the youngest daughter. And that made her useless.

Until that day.

!"!

Syleria waited in the bathing chambers of the mansion as the servants ran her a bath. The door to the room opened, and her sister joined her.

"Good morning, Syleria." Ossania greeted with genuine affection. As the two daughters of the least favoured wife of the King, the two sisters had clung to each other all their lives. Their siblings and half-siblings either ignored them or treated them like filth, either because they were older than the girls or their mothers had more of the King's respect and affection.

Syleria smiled in return. She didn't speak much. As a child, speaking had always earned her glares, criticisms, disparagements, or even physical abuse. Her keen and sharp mind had quickly come to associate speech with pain, and thus did not speak unless necessary.

Ossania kissed her sister's pale forehead with her rosy lips. Like the rest of her siblings, Ossania had the dark hair, tan skin and average build of her father's family. Syleria was definitely the dark horse in the family, or in this instance, the white horse. As Ossania pulled her head back from her younger sister, the girl wrapped her arms tightly around her, holding her to her tiny frame. "Are you afraid?" Syleria nodded against her breast. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Magister Illyrio told me that this Khal is the mightiest of all the Dothraki. It will be a good match for us, Silly." Syleria chuckled softly at her sister's affectionate nickname for her.

The door opened again and one of the servants entered. "You must bathe now, Princesses. Magister Illyrio says that the Khal is expected at noon."

Both sisters looked outside at the sun. It was reasonably high in the sky. Removing their robes, they slid into the hot water in the large marble bath, feeling their skin almost thank them as they fully submerged themselves. Being descended from Mermaids, the sisters and all their family needed prolonged exposure to water. Not only to be comfortable and to keep their skin from drying out or even cracking, they needed it to survive and were most comfortable when they were submerged in water, hot or cold. They were amazing swimmers and could hold their breath underwater for a very long time.

The sisters curled up together under the water, taking comfort in the other's presence and touch. They stayed under the surface until Ossania felt the need for air, then popped their heads above the surface. Judging by how much the sun had moved in the sky, they had been under the water for nearly an hour.

"What do you think will happen?" Syleria asked quietly. Through non-use, her voice was soft and gentle, almost a whisper.

"I don't know." Ossania answered honestly.

"Will he like us?"

Ossania smiled kindly. "He'll like you at least. How could he not?" She teased, trying to keep her sister's spirits up. Of all her siblings she would never have wished this situation upon, it was her little Silly. Syleria was the sweetest soul she knew; she did not deserve to be married off to a brutish horse lord. How would she cope with being forced into a marriage with the great Khal, a man who supposedly ripped grown men to pieces with his bare hands? Only time would tell, but Ossania was not optimistic.

!"!

Syleria, Ossiana, their father and their host Illyrio, who was going to be the acting translator and advisor for the betrothal, waited on the terrace. Illyrio had gifted the sisters with new dresses woven from the finest and softest silk in the land. Ossania's dress was a beautiful olive colour that complimented her skin tone, while Syleria's was white. With her skin being so pale, most colours made her seem washed-out. Their hair hung down their backs, Ossania's straight as a poker while Syleria had soft waves and curls.

The King grew more impatient with every passing minute. "Where are they?" He demanded, his fists clenching at his sides.

"The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality, my lord." Illyrio explained patiently.

No sooner had he said it, that the sound of hooves reached their ears. Only a few moments later, the courtyard below them was flooded with Dothraki horsemen. Bare-chested warriors clad in handmade clothing made from animal skins, with curved swords hanging on their belts. Illyrio stepped forward and greeted the lead rider in fluent Dothraki.

"You see the one at the front, daughters?" Their father spoke. "That is Khal Drogo, the fiercest Khal in the land. His hair, the braid of a Dothraki is never cut. They only cut it off when they are defeated in battle, so the whole world can see their shame." Syleria noted how the Khal's braid trailed down his back and even spilled onto the horse he was riding. "Khal Drogo has never been defeated. And you will be his wives." He put his hands on his daughters' shoulders and squeezed. Syleria flinched as the rings on his fingers dug into her skin, but she remained silent.

At the bottom of the stairs leading down to the courtyard, Illyrio beckoned the two girls. "Come forth, Princesses." He urged gently.

Syleria slipped her hand nervously into Ossania's, feeling reassured when she received a comforting squeeze in return. The two of them made their way down to the mighty Khal as he sat upon his horse. When they reached the bottom of the steps, they dipped into low curtsies, as was the custom in their land. Syleria kept her eyes on the ground, trembling too much to meet the fearsome man's gaze. They straightened up slowly and waited in silence as Illyrio introduced them.

"Khal Drogo, this is Princess Ossania of House Ardrion, and Princess Syleria of House Ardrion." After that, he continued on in Dothraki again. The language was impossible to understand, merely sounding like it was composed solely of Ks and Js and guttural throat sounds.

"Look at him, Silly." Her sister whispered in her ear, squeezing her hand again. She had been watching the Khal the whole time and had noticed that he only had eyes for her little sister. She herself had received only a cursory once-over before his eyes had returned to Syleria. She wasn't bothered by it, knowing that the Khal was most likely transfixed by her sister's complexion, which differed so drastically from his. "Look at him, Syleria." She urged quietly.

The younger girl had to take a deep breath through her nose before raising her head and forcing herself to meet the Khal's eyes. His eyes were so dark; the brown was almost black. There was a large scar on his left brow, only just missing his eye. She wondered how he had gotten it. She didn't know how long the two of them stared at each other. His rugged face gave nothing away, no sign of his thoughts or feelings. After what seemed like an hour, he turned his horse around and rode off without a word, his men following behind him.

Syleria's heart sunk a little as an odd sadness filled her. He hadn't liked her! He hadn't said a single word to her, and had ridden off without looking back. She had ruined her father's chances of getting an army to protect their homeland! She dreaded to think of the punishments he would bring down upon her.

"What was that?" Her father demanded from the terrace. "Where did he go? Did he not like them?"

"Trust me, my lord, if he didn't like them, we'd know." Illyrio commented dryly. So the Khal had liked her?

"But what about the ceremony?"

"The ceremony is over. There will be a feast tomorrow, to celebrate the union, but that is all."

"Good. Good." He clapped his hands happily, as the four of them began to walk through the expansive gardens of Illyrio's home, the sisters still clinging to the other's hands. Originally, the King had wanted Illyrio and the Khal to travel to Worosa, but Illyrio had pointed out that his mansion was closer to the Dothraki territory than the kingdom was; it would perhaps put the Dothraki in a better mood not to have to travel so far. With that fact brought up, the King and the two sisters had travelled to Illyrio's mansion on the coast for the meeting.

Illyrio started unsurely, "My lord, there is something we should discuss."

"Well? What is it?" He barked.

"It seems that only Princess Syleria will wed the Khal." That stopped the whole family as they strolled through the gardens. Only her, Syleria thought. But why? He must have many wives already. "You see, my lord, a Dothraki marriage consists solely of one man with one woman. And I believe from what we all just witnessed, Khal Drogo chose Princess Syleria for his bride." Only one wife? How strange.

"What about Ossania?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, but the Khal did not choose her, only Syleria."

"But…But…" He flummoxed. King Qaran was rarely at a loss for words.

"All will be made clear tomorrow, my lord. For now I believe there is nothing to do but wait for the dawn."