Chapter 31: The Dragon Among Dragons
As the last princess of her house, her birth caused her mother's fatal labor, marking the beginning of a harrowing 13 years of wandering and suffering. She was eventually sold like a slave to the Dothraki.
Fortunately, Khal Drogo, though rough, treated her relatively well.
But the God of Death soon came for her again. Her brother was killed by her husband, and her husband and unborn son were sacrificed by a witch to the dark forces—the other face of R'hllor, the Lord of Light.
This was only the tragic first half of her life.
During her years in Slaver's Bay, while freeing others from their chains, she unknowingly placed a shackle around her own neck.
After years of struggle, she finally returned to Westeros, only to realize she was never the prophesied savior. Instead, she was merely a stepping stone for the true hero to ascend the throne.
Her loyal followers died one by one, while those who survived harbored hidden agendas. Those who loved her, like Jorah Mormont, met tragic ends, while those she loved betrayed her.
Even her dragons, treated as her children, became prizes for the victors in the game of thrones.
(P.S. Daenerys's death is inevitable. Even if A Song of Ice and Fire remains unfinished, her fate is already sealed. She is a reformer of the decaying old world, but when has any revolutionary pioneer survived their cause?)
It seemed like two of the unluckiest individuals had been brought together, compounding their misfortunes.
But now, with her new perspective, Dany refused to see herself as unlucky—except for the initial period after her sudden reincarnation.
She wouldn't allow herself to live as a victim of misfortune. Anyone who crossed her would find their own luck swiftly souring.
"Lynesse is the daughter of House Hightower, isn't she?" Dany recalled, venturing a guess. "I remember that the legendary 'White Bull,' the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was also from House Hightower?"
"Yes, Ser Gerold Hightower was Lynesse's great-uncle," Jorah replied.
"That's the Hightower family we're talking about! How could she do such a thing without bringing shame to her house?" Dany asked in disbelief.
"I've already brought shame to my own house. I'm a man without honor," Jorah said, his voice laden with anguish.
"She could've gone back to her family. Did she?"
"I heard she's now the favorite concubine of Prince Tregar. Even his lawful wife is wary of her," Jorah replied, as though choking on the words.
But Dany wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet. She pressed on, "Did you ever try to see her again? Did you visit Lys after you returned from the Rhoyne?"
Jorah's expression darkened further. This towering, steadfast man seemed on the verge of collapse.
"The trade prince is rich and powerful. Before I even reached Lys, he intercepted me personally. He—"
"He threatened to kill you?" she asked hesitantly.
This was a thorny issue.
Dany didn't need to know all of Jorah's secrets, but if this wasn't clarified, what would happen if they encountered Lynesse in the future? Could she still trust him then?
"He didn't need to. He simply painted a clear picture of the situation—urging me not to make futile struggles and spare everyone the embarrassment. But if I insisted on causing trouble, I would soon vanish without a trace on the western continent of Essos."
"I wasn't afraid of his threats," the knight emphasized solemnly. "I left only after ensuring Lynesse wasn't coerced in any way."
Those two adulterers were probably scheming behind your back long before, Dany thought.
"Do you still love her?" she asked, almost casually.
"Love? Love! Love and hate," Jorah answered, his voice cracking under the strain. "Your Grace, I beg your leave—I'm feeling overwhelmed."
"Wait," she called after him, asking directly, "Do you have feelings for me beyond loyalty to your queen?"
Like the original Daenerys, she couldn't reciprocate his love. But she also didn't want to exploit him as a backup.
She preferred to lay everything out clearly—either they moved forward together or parted ways amicably.
Without Jorah and the ties to Westeros, she could fully integrate with the Dothraki and rely on them.
Jorah's expression turned complex—a mix of embarrassment at being exposed and relief that she recognized his feelings. He stopped in his tracks and smiled faintly. "The first time I saw you, I thought you bore a striking resemblance to her, Daenerys."
In truth, Jorah was only sincerely, if obliquely, expressing his feelings: that he harbored for Daenerys the same overwhelming affection he had once felt for Lynesse.
For Dany, this response was a total failure. Zero points!
You're completely doomed, do you know that?
"I am nothing like her. Even though Drogo is dead, I will never marry another man," she said decisively, making her rejection crystal clear.
Drogo had been a stranger to her, but even in death, he served as the perfect shield and an ideal excuse to hand out polite rejections.
If the Faith of the Seven ever learned of this, they might even follow the precedent of "Saint Baelor" and give her the title "Saint Dany."
Jorah, too, understood her intent. He replied, "Your Grace, I am your Queensguard—your sworn protector."
With that, he bowed deeply and left with heavy steps.
As a Queensguard, Jorah had forsaken his claim to land, vowed never to marry or father children, and pledged his life to serve his queen.
The next morning, just as dawn began to break, Dany mounted her silver mare. On her back was a modified wicker basket, and from it, three dragons stretched their snake-like necks, probing around her waist and shoulders while occasionally letting out rough, raspy cries of "hiss-gah."
The horse's hooves clicked crisply against the cobblestone streets, echoing through the deathly quiet city, shrouded in a thin mist. Dany felt as if she had stepped into a dreamlike world.
"Khalessi."
"Khalessi, are you leaving the city?"
As she approached the city gates, two Dothraki warriors emerged from the gate's shadow, yawning as they greeted her.
"I'm going to train the dragons. The plains outside are more spacious," she instructed them to remove the "gate"—a crude door made of tree trunks lashed together like a wooden raft.
Although her three dragons were already capable of flight, Dany's standards were far stricter. The mere thought of the clumsy, cow-like dragons from the television series filled her with dread for the future.
Poor maneuverability, sluggish movements, weak legs unable to stand firmly, prone to collapse upon landing, wings fragile as tattered cloth, scales that couldn't even withstand crossbow bolts, and necks so long and vulnerable…
How could such creatures dominate the world with so many weaknesses?
The night before, she had melted down Drogo's golden medallions and reforged them into golden chains, now gleaming in segments. She cradled her dragons in her arms, fastening a short length of chain—no thicker than a pinky finger—around each of their legs. Each chain consisted of three segments, no more than 10 cm long, adding roughly a pound of weight to each leg.
"Come on, Black One. You're the eldest. Be a role model for your siblings," she said, as she had done before, tossing the dragon gently into the air.
Clatter-clatter—thud!
The black dragon flapped its wings vigorously but managed to fly less than ten meters before crashing headfirst into the sandy ground.
"Hiss-gah!" The black dragon turned its head, letting out a plaintive cry as it stared at Dany.
"Crawl back on your own," she said without looking up, as she tied the same "shackles" onto the white dragon.
Clatter-clatter—thud!
The white dragon fared even worse, barely tracing a parabolic arc before slamming into the ground.
"Hiss—whoosh!"
The white dragon, enraged, spewed a thin jet of red flame into the air.
"Don't waste your energy. Get back here and continue," Dany shouted sternly.
But the white dragon refused to listen. It flailed its wings in a desperate struggle, circling aimlessly while haphazardly spraying dragonfire.
Fuming, Dany marched over and flicked its tiny head with her finger.
"Hiss-gah!" The white dragon roared at her, clearly angry as well.
Unlike the black dragon, Dany couldn't establish a mental bond with the white and green ones. They neither understood her words nor her gestures, making the training process exceedingly frustrating.
With no other choice, Dany bent down, steadying the white dragon's body and helping it stand upright before guiding it step by step back to the wicker basket.
She couldn't carry him—once she did it the first time, there would inevitably be a second.
The main reason she insisted they walk back on their own was to train their leg strength and improve their balance on land.
Over the past few days, Dany had noticed that while dragons possessed an innate sense of spatial awareness, their footing on the ground was laughable—less steady than a waddling duck. Ducks had only two legs; dragons had two legs and wings that doubled as forelimbs.
If walking was a struggle, how could they possibly run?
Dany didn't expect them to outrun galloping horses, but without agility and speed on the ground, a dragon that landed would lose its momentum, leaving it vulnerable to being surrounded, trapped, or injured.
No amount of training would make their wings durable enough to withstand anti-dragon ballistae. Their vast wingspans made them easy targets, even if their torsos could dodge crossbow bolts.
If forced to make an emergency landing in the middle of an enemy formation, lacking the ability to break through quickly could spell disaster.
After a full morning of weighted flight training, Dany didn't remove their chains at noon. Instead, she carried the dragons along as she searched for food.
Some Dothraki were tasked with finding prey for the dragons. Earlier that morning, Afanti and the older Dothraki, while herding horses, had also scoured the sandy plains and nearby hills for small animals.
Very small animals.
Black One's first "kill" was a scorpion no larger than a palm.
Whoosh! A thin jet of dragonfire reduced the scorpion to a sizzling crisp, leaving only a pinch of black ash on the sand.
"Don't burn it! It's too small—completely not worth it!" Dany chided, patting Black One on the head.
In her constant dragon-linked state, she shared an almost telepathic bond with Black One.
"Khalessi, there's another scorpion here!" Afanti called out from atop a sand dune.
This time, Black One darted like lightning, his snake-like neck striking as swiftly as a black blur. Dany barely registered the motion before the scorpion was clamped in his jaws.
"Crunch-crunch!" The scorpion's tail thrashed violently, stabbing repeatedly at the corners of Black One's mouth. Dany noticed the gleaming, dark-purple stinger piercing into the soft tissue of his gums several times.
"Are you poisoned? Do you feel unwell?" she asked anxiously. She had heard from the Dothraki that this type of red scorpion could paralyze a horse with a single sting.
The Dothraki wouldn't even eat the meat of a stung horse. Instead, Dany had ordered it smoked into jerky to feed the dragons.
Jorah had reassured her that in the Targaryen dynasty's centuries-long history of dragons, there were no records of one ever succumbing to poison.
"Dragons are born of flame. Beneath their skin lies molten lava," Jorah had said.
While she didn't believe their physiology was quite so fantastical, she agreed their bodies must generate immense heat.
Touching a young dragon's scales felt like holding a scalding-hot handwarmer.
Their blood must be even hotter.
After a while, when Black One showed no signs of discomfort, Dany finally felt at ease.
(End of Chapter)
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