The great eastern summer seas stretched endlessly, a restless expanse of blue and silver under the wind-whipped sky. The ship rocked gently, carrying the small company across waves that glittered like shattered glass. Above them, Drogon cut through the air, vast as a hunting hound, wings slicing the wind, his black scales catching the sunlight.
Rhaegal and Viserion followed, their own wings beating with rhythm and purpose, casting fleeting shadows across the rolling swells below.
Daenerys leaned against the ship's railing, violet eyes following Drogon as he banked and wheeled, the wind tossing her pale hair. Beside her, Ser Jorah's expression was a mix of awe and concern, eyes tracking the dragons with the reverence of a man who had seen impossible things and still could not believe them.
Below deck, the Dothraki shuffled uneasily, their hands pressed to railings, stomachs protesting against the motion of the waves.
Not one of them had ever fared well at sea.
Daenerys' attention, however, was caught by another figure: her son. Rhaego, small yet unmistakably fierce, ran along the deck on sturdy toddler legs, torso bare, loose pants flapping with every step. His tail flicked behind him, balancing his movements as he darted between barrels and ropes, already possessing the stance and curiosity of a child nearly eight years old.
Ser Jorah's voice came low, awed. "I still can't believe it. Just a year ago… he was barely a babe in your arms. And now... look at him. He grows as fast as his dragon siblings."
Daenerys watched him, lips pressed into a thin line, a quiet ache twisting in her chest. "He should not be… this fast," she murmured, voice soft, almost lost in the roar of wind and waves.
"But… I should not be surprised. He was born of fire and blood… of something beyond this realm. He will always walk a path different from other normal children."
Drogon dipped low, talons skimming the waves before plunging his head into the water. With a swift jerk, he surfaced, a large fish clutched in his jaws. With a few powerful wingbeats, he landed upon the deck, talons clacking against the wood. He tore into his catch, scales shimmering like black iron under the sun.
Daenerys stepped closer, hands outstretched, running a gentle palm along Drogon's neck.
"You're growing too," she whispered, voice catching in wonder and worry.
"They're all growing fast," Ser Jorah said, tone almost incredulous, eyes darting from Drogon to Rhaegal and Viserion.
Daenerys' gaze softened, a shadow of sadness brushing her features. "Yes… but not fast enough," she said, voice low.
"I can't wait that long," she continued, voice tight with impatience.
Drogon let out a deafening screech, wings snapping against the wind, before dipping low and climbing again into the skies. Daenerys followed him with her gaze, violet eyes fixed on the black scales that shimmered in the sunlight.
"I need an army," she added, more to herself than to anyone.
"We'll be in Astapor by nightfall," Ser Jorah said, keeping pace beside her. "Some say the Unsullied are the greatest soldiers in the world."
Daenerys' lips pressed into a thin line. "The greatest… slave-soldiers in the world," she said, a note of discontent in her voice. "The distinction matters far too much to some people."
"Do those people have any better ideas about how to put you on the Iron Throne?" Jorah asked, voice dry, but his eyes sharp.
Dany paused, almost speechless at the question. The wind whipped her hair across her face, and for a moment, the world seemed impossibly wide and bright.
"It's too beautiful a day to argue," she said.
A sudden noise cut through the moment a retching from below. Daenerys stepped closer to the railing, hands gripping the wood as she looked down.
"You're right," Ser Jorah said, leaning beside her, tone threaded with ironic amusement. "Another lovely day on the high seas."
Dany's violet eyes swept over the Dothraki below, bent over the rails, their stomachs rebelling against the motion of the waves.
"Don't mock them," she said, low and measured.
"They are the first Dothraki ever to be on a ship." Her voice carried a note of reason, of pride in their courage.
"They followed me across poisoned waters," she continued, eyes narrowing on the horizon. "If they can do it, others will, and with a true khalasar—"
Her words were cut off by Ser Jorah's hand on the railing. "The Dothraki follow strength above all, Khaleesi. You will have a true khalasar when you prove yourself strong… and not before."
Dany fell silent, letting his words settle like stones in her mind. The truth of it struck her: strength alone would command loyalty, respect, and fear. She pressed her hands to the railing, eyes on the endless waves, and let the lesson sink deep into her heart.
Suddenly, little Rhaego came scampering up the wooden steps of the upper deck, his tiny feet pounding against the planks, tail swishing wildly behind him.
"Mother!" he shouted, voice bright and full of joy.
Daenerys turned, violet eyes lighting up. A smile broke across her face as she crouched low, arms outstretched, ready to scoop him into her embrace.
"There's my brave little dragon," she murmured, voice soft but full of warmth. "Running across the deck like you own the sea already."
Ser Jorah let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Looks like someone's already grown too big for his boots… Your little one's got more energy than the Dothraki here combined.," he teased, voice gentle but amused.
Rhaego grinned, bouncing in place as he clambered into Daenerys' arms. "Someday, I'll grow big and strong and protect Mama," he said, puffing out his chest a little.
Both Daenerys and Jorah laughed, the sound carrying across the deck, mingling with the wind and the cry of Drogon overhead.
Daenerys ran her fingers through Rhaego's soft hair, letting her hands drift to his tiny horns. They were no longer just small studs, they had grown a little longer, gleaming faintly in the sun. She traced each horns, pride and love in her eyes.
Rhaego noticed her attention and straightened proudly, nudging his horns against her palm.
"Look, Mama! See? I'm growing strong!"
Daenerys laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Yes, my little dragon," she whispered, voice full of awe and affection. "You are growing strong… just like you were always meant to."
Rhaego's tail wagged excitedly, brushing against her arms, and his almost-grown wings fluttered behind him in happy anticipation.
"Damn right, Mama," Elena thought fiercely through Rhaego's mind.
After everything that happened before, I won't let anyone die before me. Determination blazed in her heart.
I have to play cute and childish for her sake… she reminded herself, watching Daenerys' smile.
Still… seeing your child grow so fast… it's a little saddening.
He was her son, yes, but more than that, he was something extraordinary, born of fire, blood, and fate, growing far too quickly for her heart to fully grasp.
Rhaego turned his eyes gaze toward Ser Jorah, his wings twitching behind him and his tail swishing in excitement.
"Uncle Jorah… do you think you can teach me how to use a sword someday?" he asked, his voice innocent but earnest.
I really want to learn swordsmanship, Elena thought.
If breathing fire and flying away is all I can do… how can I protect Daenerys?
Ser Jorah paused, his eyes flicking first to Daenerys, searching her face for even the smallest sign of worry.
She loves him too much to let him risk himself, he thought, then looked back at Rhaego, who watched him expectantly, innocent and unknowing of the weight behind the question.
A small, almost hesitant smile curved his lips. "I'm sure you have a talent for it, just as your father did… but only if your mother approves, little prince," he said carefully, his voice gentle, carrying both encouragement and the unspoken caution of a man who knew a queen's heart.
Daenerys' violet eyes soften as she looks at her son. Her lips curved slightly, part pride, part hesitation.
She reached out and brushed a strand of his white hair
"You want to learn to fight?" she asked gently, voice low but steady, hiding the flicker of fear in her heart.
Rhaego nodded enthusiastically, "I want to protect you too, can't I?"
Dany's violet eyes softened, a smile tugging at her lips. She knelt lower, cupping his small face in her hands.
"Oh, my little flame… you will protect me, yes, but first you must grow strong, clever, and careful. I won't let anything happen to you."
She pressed her forehead gently to his, her voice trembling with both pride and the fierce love only a mother could feel.
"One day, you'll be my sword and my shield. But for now, you stay safe in my arms."
Ser Jorah's lips curled into a soft, fond smile as he watched the tender scene between mother and son. The bond between them was fierce and unbreakable was as plain as the sun glinting on the sea.
Rhaego hugged Dany tightly, arms wrapping around her neck, his small tail flicking with happiness.
"Okay, Mama… You promise," he murmured, his voice full of trust.
Dany pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, holding him close, letting the moment linger. "I promised and I'll always protect you, my little dragon," she whispered, her heart swelling with love.
After a while, as the sun began its slow descent, the sky shifted into deep hues of orange and blue, the sea reflecting the colors like molten glass. The wind softened, carrying with it the scent of salt and distant land.
Daenerys stood at the prow, her silver-gold hair glowing in the dying light as she watched the horizon.
And there it was.
Astapor.
Its walls rose from the coastline like a great wound against the earth, ancient and formidable. Even from afar, she could make out the towering harpy statue that crowned the highest peak a vast wings spread wide, talons outstretched, as if claiming dominion over all who approached.
The city of slave-soldiers.
The city where she would find her army.
The wind tugged at her clothes as her dragons circled above, their silhouettes cutting across the sunset. Behind her, the sea stretched endless and uncertain. Ahead lay power… and chains.
Daenerys did not look back.
"Ready yourselves," she said quietly, though her voice carried.
The waves carried them forward, toward Astapor and whatever destiny awaited the Mother of Dragons.