Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. […] Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond shaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lysene girl. “These are no common servants, sweet sister,” her brother told her as they were brought forward one by one. “Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love.”
Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.
And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.
“You forget that they were ourdragons too. Irri and I, we raised them beside you. We swore ourselves to you on the Red Waste and they are no less a part of you than the heart inside your breast. […] I was told to keep the dragons alive so I did. I owed it to you—it was the only way to keep you alive.” [♪]