Chapter 18: When Ash Falls Soft

The morning after the fires spread, a hush fell over the camp.

No horns. No mourning songs. No blood spilled for vengeance.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that came when people waited for the next command.

Drogo was dead.

The news arrived in the same clipped tones that had delivered his decline. No body. No ritual. He had stopped breathing under the stars with his horse beside him, his bloodriders standing motionless as the sky turned gray.

None of them tried to take his place.

They didn't have to.

Daenerys said nothing when she heard.

She only gave a small nod, barely visible, and turned her eyes to the dragons roosting above.

Drakaina stretched her wings against the wind, letting the morning light hit her scales in red arcs. Rhazal perched high and still, watching the hills with twitching eyes. Vaedron remained hidden atop his spire, impossible to read.

No one in the camp approached us. They didn't need to.

The khalasar had already begun folding into ours. A slow merging — fewer questions, more bowed heads. Dothraki warriors lined their horses beside ours. Their women brought water, wood, food, and silence.

Power recognized power.

In the days that followed, I spent more time near the command tents. Dothraki from both groups now ate at shared fires, learning each other's rhythms.

It wasn't warm, exactly. But it was smooth.

The dragons helped.

Drakaina's territorial flights marked clear boundaries. No one crossed them. Rhazal had taken to landing near the stables, his presence enough to hush even the loudest among them. And Vaedron… they never saw Vaedron, but his absence unsettled them more than his presence might have.

Rumors spread quickly:

That we had more dragons.

That we could command them with a look.

That Daenerys had been born in flame.

That I had walked out of Valyria itself.

None were true.

None were denied.

On the third evening after Drogo's death, Melyria approached me near the outer well.

"Some of the riders want to burn his things," she said. "They asked if Daenerys would say something."

"Let them burn what they wish," I said. "But she won't stand before them. Not for him."

"She already said no?"

"She didn't need to."

That night, fires burned again — smaller this time.

His saddle, his blades, his banner. All turned to ash. No ceremony. No words.

I watched from the tower steps as Daenerys stood alone, eyes reflecting the flames without blinking.

Not grieving.

Just watching.

I stepped beside her but didn't speak. She didn't reach for me.

We stood that way until the fire died down.

The next day, I visited the hidden chamber again.

The eggs were unchanged. Still warm. Still waiting.

But the silence in the room had shifted. It wasn't heavier — just more expectant. The kind of quiet that comes before a storm breaks over a still sea.

I touched each egg once, fingers trailing across smooth stone — deep red, silver-violet, orange.

They didn't need me.

But I would be ready when they did.

Outside, Melyria found me with a scroll in hand.

"From the coast," she said. "Slavers passing near Astapor."

I took it. Read quickly.

Their route was predictable. Their numbers light. Easy to intercept.

Daenerys would want to move soon — she was too still lately. This would give her purpose again.

"Send a rider to scout the path," I said.

"And after that?"

"We prepare."

That night, Daenerys joined me for the evening meal without a word.

We ate quietly under the stars, the dragons overhead shifting in the darkness like shadows given form. The fire beside us crackled low. No one came near.

"You think we'll take the cities?" she asked eventually.

"Yes," I said.

"All of them?"

"Every last one."

She didn't nod. Just picked up a fig and bit into it.

"We'll need an army."

"We'll find one."

"Slaves?"

"Not forever."

She leaned back, eyes lifting to the sky.

"I used to think I'd follow Drogo to Westeros. That he would conquer the world for me."

"And now?"

"Now I don't want anyone to do it for me."

I smiled faintly.

"That's good. Because it's ours to take."

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