Khal Drogo and I will share it together. Aggo, take this back to my litter, if you'd be so kind. The wineseller beamed as the Dothraki hefted the cask.
She did not realize that Sir Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say, "No." His voice was strange, brusque. "Aggo, put down that cask."
Aggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. "Sir Jorah, is something wrong?"
I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.
The merchant frowned. "The wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes of you, ser."
Sir Jorah moved closer to the stall. "If you don't open it, I'll crack it open with your head." He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands, yet his hands were enough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered with coarse dark hairs. The wineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammer and knocked the plug from the cask.
Pour, Sir Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany's khas arrayed themselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes.
It would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe. The wineseller had not put his hammer down.
Jhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a light touch on the arm. "Do as Sir Jorah says," she said. People were stopping to watch.