The consummation of marriage is a must in all peoples. It is something that symbolizes the union of those two bodies, it is the unification of the two souls. And with the Dothraki that is no different.

Without help, Kali came down from her mare and left Drogo to take care of everything. He climbed a small rock, and watched her surroundings - a place surrounded by high rocks, piled with boulders and with a vast view of the ocean right in front of her. The salt water that horses can not drink and the Dothraki never crossed before. The sea breeze was blowing her long hair as Khal Drogo approached her, and stood by her side.

"Only today," Kali said. "I will be treated like a mare. Today, only and exclusively. "

She referred to the way the consummation of a Dothraki marriage was made. The man riding the woman, just like the horses. This was something Kali had always despised in her people. Of course, it was their culture and it was all that they knew but there were so many other pleasurable forms in the act of sex, in the act of love... Forms that Ragnar, a traveler with whom she crossed path had shown her.

Kali remembered the way Ragnar's hands had passed through her body, loving every bit of her... loving her! That, before being killed by a traitor for whom one of her warriors fell in love. She could still see the blood flowing in hot spurts from his wound on his chest, the wheat-colored blond hair - so different from those of her people -, stained red when Kali begged him not to leave.

Kali knew she would never feel anything like this again.

"I do not intend to be the one waiting for you when you decide to ride other women. If you fuck them, I will do the same with other men. If you challenge me, I'll challenge you. If you humiliate me, I will humiliate you a hundred times more. I am your equal, I was a Khaleesi long before I was your wife, and I will always be. I will not be demoted to my people, who have always had a representative to be proud of. Understood?"

She had almost heard Ragnar's strong, beautiful laughter at that moment, carried by the sea breeze. It was because of that courage that I felt in love with you, He had once told her when they were in bed, naked and enjoying the warmth of their bodies and the softness of the skins that covered them.

Oh Ragnar...

Drogo made a hoarse noise with his throat, looking at Kali and taking her hand gently - more softly than Kali thought possible for such a robust man.

"You just asked me why I chose you and not the foreign girl. I told you I wanted an equal, and I told the truth. I will not humiliate you. I will not challenge you. I'll come to you in case of doubt and I'll listen to you whenever you want to talk." Drogo said, looking deep in her eyes. "You have the same power as I do. Your voice will be heard by my khalasar just as mine always was. You will not be treated like a mare. But tonight, we must honor the Great Stallion."

They were silent for several minutes, watching the sun descend more and more on the horizon. Drogo's warm hand still held hers.

"There was a man once..." Kali began to say, feeling the look of her husband on the side of her face. "Ragnar was his name. We had plans... We were getting married. He was so strong, so beautiful. He was everything I ever wanted, and he loved me with all he had. My heart was his."

She felt Drogo's hand tighten slightly, and when she looked at him, she saw that his jaw was closed... Of what?

"What happened?"

"Just... It did not happen. It was not meant to be. He was murdered. But I avenged him. His blood dripped from my hands, and I smiled as I cut his throat. The throat of the killer of Ragnar." Kali sighed. "I'm telling you this because ... I don't know if I can ever love you. My heart still belongs to him, and I don't think it will ever cease to belong."

Khal Drogo - the man to whom the rest of her life belonged - took her gently on the chin and joined their lips. I intend to change that, he thought.

Their lips felt good together, almost as well as they felt with Ragnar.

Ragnar...

It should not be Drogo kissing her. It should not be his lips caressing hers. It should not be his hot, rough hands undressing her clothes, caressing her skin, folding her into the rock on top of the animal skins he had placed there before. It should not be the warmth of his body to warm hwe own, and it should not be the limb that now entered her body when he mounted her. It should not be Drogo.

It must have been Ragnar's moaning that she heard, it must have been himm the one that made her moan at that moment - because even if he was not, she felt so good.

Oh Ragnar... My Ragnar...

Closing her eyes, she could almost feel him, coming and going inside her. Whispering in her ear sensual things and promises of love. It must be Ragnar releasing his seed inside her, his warm hands caressing her belly full of hopes of bearing fruit.

But it was Drogo who had done this, not Ragnar. And it was Drogo who had laid her on his chest, caressing her long brown hair, kissing her forehead.

It was Drogo who now promised her the world as Ragnar had once done when they both lay in the starlight.

It was Drogo, not Ragnar.

Not her Ragnar with a sensual accent, with his lion-like look, his wheaten hair tied in a tight braid. Not her Ragnar who smiled with provocation and passion, and who laughed and played with her.

It was Drogo, with his stout stare, dark hair so long because he had never been beaten before. It was he who studied her with his brown eyes, which sometimes seemed to await something from her, and which at this moment had told her, "Sleep well, my wife."

It was Drogo, not Ragnar...

But being Drogo didn't seem so bad.