It's a daughter. Not a son. Not the Stallion Who Would Mount the World.

Khal Drogo's eyes bore into the hide tent. His Khaleesi's screams had stopped. Every muscle in his body tensed, yearning to run towards the tent, to his little moon's side. But he stayed still, rigid. It would do no good for his men to see him so anxious. A moment later there was movement at the tent flap and the Khalasar's head midwife appeared. She looked to him and nodded, standing aside and holding the flap open for him. Drogo's control broke and he rushed to the tent.

Daenerys clutched her newborn daughter to her chest. Worry filled her heart as she waited. This was not the son that had been prophesied, this was a daughter. This was not Rhaego but another, a child she did not know and yet Daenerys loved her all the same. If only Drogo would see how beautiful their daughter was, but her sun-and-stars had been promised a son. His anger at being denied an heir might be enough for him to cast her and their daughter aside. It would be his right as the Kahl to take another if his wife was unable to produce an heir. Daenerys bit her lip, her heart beating loudly in her chest, fear bringing tears to burn her lavender eyes. In her arms her daughter shifted, mewling softly.

When Drogo entered the birthing tent his eyes were immediately drawn to his pale, silver haired Khaleesi laying on her bed of fur holding a tiny babe to her chest. For a reason unknown to Drogo a bubble of apprehension rose in his chest and with it a swell of pride. The child the moon of his life held was his, his first born, the Stallion Who Would Mount the World. Slowly he approached the bed and sat next to his Khaleesi.

The tiny newborn was so small. Drogo was a large man and as he looked at the child in his Khaleesi's arms he suddenly became afraid that if he held the babe he might crush it. His little moon shifted nervously at his side. He glanced at her. She looked anxious even as she clutched the child to her tighter and would not let him see her beautiful pale eyes. Drogo waited. He had learned that if he waited long enough his little moon would eventually tell him what was bothering her.

"My sun-and-stars," Daenerys whispered fear in her voice.

Drogo frowned. He did not like the tone of his Khaleesi's voice. "What is wrong moon of my life?"

Daenerys bit her lip. He would push their daughter aside, she was sure of it, but she must tell him. Slowly she lifted her gaze, finally meeting his burning brown eyes with her pale violet ones. "Meet your daughter," she said quietly.

Drogo stiffened. Daughter. Not son. Not the Stallion Who Would Mount the World. Slowly he studied the sleeping baby girl. She was wrapped in linen, tiny tufts of silky sable hair already on her head. Her skin was like his, the color of burnished copper. Her eyes were closed so he could not see their color but he suddenly hoped they were like her mother's, a pale violet that sparkled and seared him to the bone. But still, she was not a boy.

Drogo reached for the babe. Daenerys stiffened. "You will not hurt her," she said her voice suddenly strong.

"No, moon of my life," Drogo said his voice rumbling deep in his broad chest, "I will not hurt her. She is my sky and you are the moon of my life."

Tomboy101: I'm sorry! I couldn't help it! Hope you liked it. Don't own Drogo or Danny!