Back on the Balerion, near the docks of Astapor, a small storm raged within the captain's quarters.
"But Mother, I want to come with you! Why can Drogon go and not me?" Rhaego begged, clutching the folds of her blue dress. His violet eyes glimmered with desperate insistence.
Drogon, restless in his wooden cage, screeched loudly.
Dany knelt, resting her hands on his pale hair. "Rhaego… Drogon is needed for the good masters," she said slowly, her voice measured.
She avoided revealing too much, unwilling to worry him unnecessarily.
Ser Barristan stepped forward, voice soft but firm. "Young prince… you are best here, in the quarters. Safe. Too precious for the eyes of the Good Masters to see."
His gaze flicked toward Rhaego, and the words carried a subtle warning: a half-draconic child more than any dragon might draw unwanted attention from men like Krazny.
Yet Rhaego persisted, pressing closer to her. Inside, he thought something sharper than his words would ever speak.
"But I have to see this… This is the one I cannot miss. Out of all the events I've watched from this story, I cannot, will not, skip this chance."
"Mother!" he said aloud, voice trembling but determined.
"I promise I will behave. I'll be a good boy. I'll only watch!"
Dany hesitated, pride and fear warring in her violet eyes.
"Rhaego… this is dangerous. You are still a child. I cannot—"
Ser Jorah stepped forward, voice low, carrying a weight only she would heed. "Khaleesi… he is not an ordinary boy. Soon he will grow faster than any man, stronger than many men. But even so, the world is cruel. If he is to grow strong, he must see it.. not from shadows, but with your eyes upon him. You will protect him… but he cannot be kept hidden forever."
Dany's eyes lingered on her son, so small and yet so fierce, and considered his words. Ser Jorah spoke the truth.
Rhaego was growing at a pace no ordinary child could match, and the world beyond these walls would not wait for him to be ready.
Finally, she exhaled. "Very well. You may come… but you must stay only at Ser Jorah's side. And you do exactly as he says." Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument, yet beneath it was the quiet tremor of pride.
The Dothraki bloodriders carefully lifted Drogon's cage, cloaked with wooden covers, toward the ship's deck.
Ser Jorah gave a small nod to Rhaego.
"You will see, my prince," he murmured.
"What I have spoken is true. The world will not coddle you. It will demand fire from your heart, and strength from your hands. You are a Targaryen. You are a dragon. And dragons… do not linger in shadows."
Rhaego's small hands tightened around Dany's as they moved toward the deck. His mind burned with anticipation, and even Dany could see the spark of destiny in his gaze.
For once, she allowed herself to hope that the boy she held might one day see the world for what it truly was and rise to meet it.
Daenerys lifted a small cloak, the same deep blue as her own dress, and paused. As her hands hovered over Rhaego's shoulders, her eyes caught the faint outline of his wings. They were not small, just the size of his body, but noticeable.
Rhaego noticed her hesitation and glanced over his shoulder.
"I can fold them more," he said, voice casual, yet with the confidence of someone who had learned a trick of his own making.
He slouched slightly, and with a quiet stretch, his wings curved inward, folding neatly against his back. When he turned to her again, the delicate membranes were hidden, nothing protruding beyond his frame.
Against the smooth line of his back, a subtle pattern traced the bones where his wings had nestled as if they had never existed at all.
"See?" he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Daenerys let a soft laugh escape. "I see… How did you learn to do that?" she asked, draping the cloak carefully over him.
Rhaego shrugged, settling into the folds of the fabric.
"I found it out myself," he said. "It was uncomfortable sleeping belly-first all the time… and then, I just… figured out I could fold them in."
Daenerys's smile deepened, a mixture of pride and quiet wonder in her eyes.
"A clever dragon," she murmured.
As they stepped off the deck of the Balerion onto the sun-warmed docks, Missandei waited patiently, her eyes scanning the arrivals. Rhaego, his small figure hooded and clutching Daenerys' hand, spotted her first.
A wide gasp escaped him internally. Is that… Missandei?! I love her! Elena's thoughts screamed, heart pounding.
His favorite character in all the stories, here in the flesh, just as beautiful and sharp as he had imagined. Without a second thought, Rhaego slipped his hand from Daenerys.
"R-Rhaego!" Dany's voice caught, low and startled, but the boy had already sprinted ahead, his little legs carrying him across the docks.
He launched himself at Missandei's knees, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, unrestrained hug.
Missandei froze for a moment, startled by the sudden embrace from the small hooded child. Then she noticed the shock of white hair, the deep violet eyes peeking from beneath the hood… unmistakable.
Dany hurried after him, worry creasing her brow, Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan close behind. Missandei gently patted the boy's head, her smile warm but cautious.
"Is he… your son, Your Grace?" she asked softly.
Dany took a deep breath and nodded, a quiet pride flickering in her eyes. "He… he's never done this before. Not with anyone. Not even a stranger."
For the first time, Dany witnessed the innocence and boldness of her son reaching out in pure trust, and it struck her in a way words could not capture.
Ser Jorah leaned slightly toward Daenerys, his voice low enough that only she would hear.
"Perhaps the boy can sense kindness, Khaleesi," he murmured, the faintest hint of teasing in his tone. "Some creatures can. Horses. Hounds… dragons, perhaps."
Daenerys glanced at him sidelong. "He is not a hound."
"No," Jorah said softly. "He is not."
Ser Barristan, walking just behind them, cleared his throat. His voice carried the steady gravity of an old knight who had seen too much of men.
"If that is so," he said, eyes resting briefly on the small hooded figure clinging to Missandei, "then may the gods have mercy on any cruel man to feign innocence before him."
His expression hardened, just slightly.
"For if the prince can truly discern hearts… he may one day strike down those who hide wickedness behind gentle smiles."
Jorah gave a faint grunt of agreement. "Let us hope he learns the difference."
Ahead of them, Rhaego tilted his face up toward Missandei, smiling as though the world held no shadows at all.
Daenerys watched in silence, pride and unease twined together in her chest.
Daenerys gently took one of Rhaego's small hands from Missandei. Her voice dropped to a quiet murmur, almost just for him.
"Rhaego… remember what you promised? Stay by Ser Jorah's side. Behave, yes?"
The boy's lips curved in a tiny giggle. Then, as if needing reassurance one last time, he hugged Missandei tightly again before dashing toward Ser Jorah's side.
Ser Jorah shook his head with a soft chuckle, leaning close so only Rhaego could hear. "You almost gave your mother a heart attack, boy. Aye… careful, or she'll turn that fire on you before you even reach the plaza."
Rhaego grinned, shrugging as if it were all part of the game, and settled beside Jorah.
They continued along the cobbled walk, the sun falling over the stoned halls, casting long shadows that flickered with the movement from them.
Missandei walked beside Dany, her gaze drifting occasionally to her son, and asked softly, "How old is he?"
Dany's eyes flicked toward the hooded child at Jorah's side, a small figure already carrying himself with surprising composure.
Dany laughed quietly under her breath, the sound soft yet carrying a note of awe. "He is no ordinary boy. He may look like a toddler, but he is only just a year old."
Missandei's head snapped toward her, disbelief written across her features. "A year…? How… how is that possible?"
Dany's violet eyes glimmered, calm but full of pride. "Just like the dragons. He grows fast… as they do."
Missandei fell silent for a moment, her eyes returning to the child.
Rhaego behind them and Ser Jorah Mormont, small steps steady, unhurried. The hood shadowed most of his face, but not enough to hide the faint gleam of pale hair beneath.
"…And he will keep growing at this pace?" Missandei asked carefully.
"I don't know," she admitted at last. The words were quiet. Honest.
"He was small enough to fit in my arms a year ago," she continued, her voice softer still. "And now…"
She trailed off. Missandei followed her gaze. To anyone else, he might have seemed a boy of seven or eight.
But they both knew the truth.
Dany let out a faint breath, something between a laugh and something far more fragile.
"I thought I would have years," she said. "Time to watch him stumble, to hear him speak his first words, to… hold him as a child."
Her eyes flickered, just for a moment.
"And now it feels as though it is slipping through my fingers."
Missandei looked at her, something gentle and understanding in her expression.
"He is still your son," she said quietly.
Dany's lips curved faintly but it did not reach her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "But not for as long as I hoped."
The gates of the plaza of Astapor opened as they entered, stretched wide beneath the sun, the Unsullied assembled in perfect rows, their dark bronze helms catching the light. Rhaego's small hooded form clutched Ser Jorah's hand.
Rhaego's small hooded figure clutched Ser Jorah's hand as they stepped forward. His violet eyes widened beneath the hood. He looked to his mother, who walked with her usual calm command showing no weakness.
From the distance, Kraznys's sharp voice rang out, carrying across the plaza. Missandei's soft tones translated to Dany as they walked: "The master says they are untested, your grace."
Dany's violet eyes scanned the assembled soldiers, taking in the precision, the disciplined stillness, the almost unnatural calm in their stance.
Missandei continued, translating as Kraznys's words came fast and measured. "He says you would be wise to blood them early. Many small cities lie between here and your destination… cities ripe for sacking."
Ser Jorah's hand tightened slightly around Rhaego's, the boy's small fingers gripping back. Behind them, the Dothraki carried the covered cage of Drogon, the dragon hidden beneath its wooden frame. Even hooded and cloaked, Rhaego's violet eyes followed the moving mass with fascination.
Missandei's voice flowed, translating each calculated syllable. "Should you take captives, the masters will buy the healthy ones for a good price."
Kraznys spoke again in harsh Valyrian, and Missandei's words flowed over Dany's ears. "And who knows? In ten years, some of the boys you send may return as Unsullied. Thus… all shall prosper."
Finally, they reached the center of the plaza. Kraznys stopped, the whip in his hand coiled with practiced ease, its golden harpy catching the sunlight and glinting sharply. He held it before him as if to measure the woman who will command the unsullied soldiers.
Her gaze lifted to Kraznys, steady, unflinching. In the rows around them, the Unsullied waited, eyes forward, every movement controlled. The slaves behind the masters watched silently, some daring to peek from between columns.
Even Rhaego, pressed close to Ser Jorah's side, felt the weight of the moment—the tension in the air, the unspoken threat in Kraznys's stance.
And yet… beneath it all, a spark of excitement twined through his small chest.