The wind shifted, stirring sand along the walls of Qarth, curling about the soldiers' polished shields like smoke. A hush fell over the assembled khalasar, their eyes flicking from Daenerys to the gilded gates, calculating the danger and the absurdity of defiance.
Ser Jorah's shadow fell long beside her. "Khaleesi," he murmured, low enough for her alone. "Be careful."
Careful.
The word tasted of chains.
Behind her lay the remnants of a khalasar that had once thundered across the world. Before her stood a city fat with water and shade.
And these men would let her people die outside their gates. The merchant's laughter carried back to her, light and dismissive.
Daenerys stepped forward.
At once the soldiers stirred. Spears lifted in a ripple of bronze and gold. Leather creaked. Sand whispered beneath shifting boots.
"Thirteen!" she called.
Her voice rang clearer than she felt.
The men in silk slowed.
"When my dragons are grown," she said, and now her voice did not tremble, though her heart beat like a war drum in her chest, "we will take back what was stolen from me."
She thought of a house with a red door. Of a brother's madness. Of fire.
"We will lay waste to armies," she continued, her silver hair whipping in the hot wind. "We will burn cities to the ground."
The Thirteen had turned to face her now. Some smiled. One frowned. The bald merchant's eyes narrowed slightly, though his lips remained curved in that same false courtesy.
Daenerys lifted her chin higher.
"Turn us away," she said, "and we will burn you first."
Silence fell.
The bald man's lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. "Ah," he said, pointing with a jeweled finger. He stepped forward, each movement measured, his silk robes whispering across the sand.
He walked forward slowly, "you are a true Targareyan. Only, as you said a moment ago, if we don't let you into the city, you will all die. And so.."
From the group, another stepped forward a man whose skin gleamed darkly beneath the sun, polished like onyx. His gaze swept over the khalasar with a faint edge of scorn.
"To retreat in fear before a little girl," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "is unbecoming of the greatest city that ever was—or will be."
The bald man's hand shot up in a precise gesture. "The discussion is over, Xaro Xhoan Daxos," he said, voice even, commanding. "The Thirteen have spoken."
"I am one of the Thirteen," Xaro said, stepping forward, silk rustling around him. "And I am still speaking."
The man snapped back, voice tight with barely concealed fury. "The girl threatens to burn our city to the ground—and you would invite her in for a cup of wine?"
"She is the Mother of Dragons," Xaro replied calmly, his hands folded in front of him, unshaken by the other's fury.
"Do you expect her to watch her people starve… without breathing fire?" his eyes flashing.
Xaro inclined his head slightly, a faint smile curving his lips. "I believe we can allow a few Dothraki through our gates without dooming the city. After all, here I stand a savage from the Summer Isles and Qarth still stands."
"Our decision is final," the fat man declared, voice rich and solemn.
"Very well," Xaro said smoothly.
He raised a hand, fingers curling like a serpent's. "I invoke Soumai," he said, the words ringing across the courtyard with ancient authority.
From the folds of his silks, Xaro drew a curved dagger, the blade catching the sun. "I will vouch for her," he said, voice steady, "her people, and her dragons in accordance with the law."
Daenerys watched the scene unfold, her violet eyes scanning the faces of the Thirteen, lingering briefly on Xaro's calm resolve. Ser Jorah stood just behind her, ever vigilant, yet even he seemed caught in the weight of the moment.
From the khalasar within Irri's arms, Rhaego listened. Swaddled beneath the folds of cloth, his small body seemed almost invisible, yet his mind was wide awake.
"I can hear everything from here…" Elena thought, marveling at the clarity of sound. "This is incredible. Is this… some kind of dragon trait?" The heat of the desert, the tension in the air, the voices of the Thirteen it all reached her ears as if amplified, every syllable etched into her memory.
"This is the moment… the moment they will grant us entrance." Her tiny fingers clenched the cloth.
"I just hope I can remember everything that happened… everything that's supposed to happen in this story. I can't let it go wrong… not now."
Even in silence, the desert and the city walls seemed to pulse with anticipation. The fate of the khalasar, the dragons, and herself teetered on the edge of a single decision.
They were soon granted entrance into Qarth, and the city welcomed them with cautious curiosity. After days of navigating its winding streets and shimmering markets, Daenerys and her handmaidens were settled in a villa of their own, tucked within the heart of the city's merchant quarter. The walls were high, painted in warm ochres, and the balconies offered a view of the bustling city below.
On one such balcony, Dany knelt beside little Drogon, the biggest of her dragon children, holding a raw cube of meat between her fingers. Her voice was soft, melodic, almost playful.
"Dracarys," she murmured, and the tiny dragon tilted his head in understanding.
A small hiss of smoke escaped his nostrils, then a flicker of flame licked the meat, scorching it golden-brown. He chomped delicately, savoring the taste.
Dany and Doreah exchanged delighted smiles, their laughter bright in the afternoon sun.
Meanwhile, in Irri's care, Rhaego wriggled and squirmed as she changed him into fresh clothing, washing the dust and sweat from his tiny skin. His laughter bubbled up in pure delight, his little fists waving as he tried to reach out to the world around him.
"No, wait! That tickles! Ahhhh!"
Elena thought from inside Rhaego's mind, a mixture of frustration and glee flooding her consciousness. Her body may have been small, soft, and helpless, but her mind was sharp and fully aware.
Irri smiled down at him, unaware of the storm of thoughts whirling inside the infant.
Such a spirited little one, she murmured, brushing back a strand of silver hair from his eyes.
"Let him sleep, Doreah," Daenerys said softly, her fingers brushing Drogon's snout one last time before she gave it to Doreah.
"Yes, Khaleesi," Doreah murmured, smiling down at the tiny dragon as she tucked him into the basket.
Daenerys turned back, walking toward Irri. She lifted little Rhaego into her arms, cradling him close.
Her voice was low, almost tender, as she spoke to him, "Well, look at you, my tiny dragon… there's my sweet little Rhaego."
Irri bowed slightly, returning to her task of polishing Daenerys' boots, the faint scent of leather and wax filling the villa.
Rhaego's gaze wandered across the room, and his eyes fell on a blue woven silk dress folded neatly at the side of the bed. Recognition flickered in his mind.
"Ah… I know this." Elena's consciousness stirred within him.
"After a few days here, it's easy to forget which timeline I'm in. Most of what I saw before was in cut scenes. But here… this is continuous. No edits. No pauses."
Doreah approached, holding the dress up for Daenerys to see.
"Did you see the dress Xaro had made for you?" she asked, a gentle smile playing across her lips. "They say he is the wealthiest man in Qarth."
As she neared, presenting the shimmering fabric, Daenerys' violet eyes scanned it with faint suspicion and curiosity.
Irri replied quietly, her voice carrying the soft weight of acknowledgment: "It is known."
Doreah tilted her head thoughtfully. "And if Qarth is the wealthiest city in Essos—"
"The last time a rich man gave me a dress," Daenerys interrupted, her voice cold and measured, "he was selling me to Khal Drogo." Her hands lingered on the silk, tracing its intricate patterns, weighing it as if deciding whether it carried trust or treachery.
Irri's eyes lowered for a moment, a whisper of respect in her expression.
"May he ride forever through the Night Lands." She murmured in Dothraki, her tone solemn, like a prayer carried over the desert winds.
"Xaro is our host," Dany said softly to Doreah, her fingers adjusting the folds of Rhaego's swaddling. "Yet we know nothing of him."
Doreah's eyes flickered with a quiet knowing smile.
"Men like to talk of other men when they are pleased," Dany murmured, the words echoing the very ones Doreah had once whispered to her, long ago.
Doreah returned the smile, a faint warmth tugging at the corners of her lips, as if memory and present had met in that simple truth.
"Sly fox," Elena thought, swaddled tight in Daenerys' arms.
"That woman… that's the same one who betrayed Dany, who… slept with Xaro. Holy shit. I can't believe I'm watching this unfold before it even happens."
Rhaego's gaze followed Irri as she tended to his clothing.
"I don't know exactly what will happen next… but I know one thing. She will die here, trying to protect the dragons from being stolen." Elena's gaze swept towards Dany above her.
"And Dany… she'll leave me in Irri's care, because I know she won't let anyone see me. No one must know I exist—no one must steal me. Not now, not ever."
A shiver of helplessness ran through Elena.
"I'm trapped in this tiny body. I can see the threads of what's coming, and there's nothing I can do…"
After a time, Daenerys and Doreah departed for the gathering, their silks whispering as they vanished beyond the carved doors of the villa.
Irri remained behind to tend what Daenerys guarded most closely, her dragon children.
Rhaego sat propped against cushions upon the bed, tiny hands grasping at the dark scales of Drogon. The little black dragon chirped and nuzzled against him, warm as banked coals, his wings fluttering in small, restless beats.
Across the room, Irri fed the other two Viserion pale as cream, Rhaegal gleaming green in the lamplight. They snapped delicately at strips of meat, smoke curling faintly from their nostrils.
Irri glanced often toward the bed, smiling at the sight of prince and dragon together.
Drogon crawled clumsily into Rhaego's lap, claws catching in the fabric of his swaddling. His head butted against Rhaego's chest with surprising affection.
"They look like little winged lizards," Elena thought in quiet amazement. "And yet… They are dragons. Real dragons. And I'm touching one."
The scales were warm beneath her fingers. Not rough as she had expected but firm, alive, humming faintly with heat.
Elena shifted slightly and looked behind her shoulders.
Her wings.
Small, tucked against her back, not nearly as impressive as Drogon. She flexed them deliberately this time, feeling the stretch of membrane and the faint pull of muscle.
A careful flap.
Then another. "Still tiny, she thought. But they're growing. I can feel it."
She glanced toward Drogon's wings as he fluttered clumsily in her lap.
"If they grow… she wondered. If I grow… will I be able to fly like them? To rise above the skies?"
Drogon chirped again, as if in answer, smoke puffing gently into the air.
A reckless thought crept into her mind.
"If I have wings…"
Her gaze drifted to Drogon as he tore into his meat, a curl of smoke escaping his nostrils.
"…can I breathe fire too?" The idea sent a thrill through her.
Elena hesitated. "How does one even do that? Do I inhale deeply? Or is it something you push out?"
She pursed her tiny lips and drew in a careful breath.
Warm air filled her lungs — but beneath it, she felt something else. A faint heat gathered low in her chest. Not painful. Not yet. Just… there.
She tried to exhale sharply.
Nothing.
Only a soft puff of breath, Drogon tilted his head at her, curious.
Elena frowned inwardly.
"Great. I either just blew air like a fool… or I almost set the bed on fire."
She tried again, slower this time focusing on that small warmth coiled inside her.
For the briefest heartbeat, her throat tingled.
A whisper of heat escaped her lips, not flame, not truly… but warm enough that Drogon gave an excited chirp in response.
Across the room, Irri did not notice.
Elena's heart pounded.
Okay.
That hadn't been my imagination, the heat was real.
Tiny. Untrained.
But real.
She swallowed carefully, resisting the urge to try again immediately.
"Not now. Not where someone can see."
Her gaze lifted toward the balcony doors where Daenerys had disappeared earlier.
"If I can breathe fire… even a little… everything changes."
Drogon nuzzled her cheek as if in approval.
It was only the smallest flame but even the greatest fires begin that way.