*A Song of Ice and Fire* is filled with prophecies, over ninety percent of which come true. Among them is the Dothraki crone's prophecy to Daenerys: her child will be the Great Stallion that rides the world.
This "Great Stallion" was not a literal prediction of her giving birth to a horse.
The Dothraki hold a unique reverence for horses. They drink mare's milk at birth, eat horse meat and drink fermented mare's milk in adulthood, ride wild steeds throughout their lives, and even bury their finest horses with them in death.
For the Dothraki, the "Great Stallion" is a metaphor for a strong, virile young man.
Unfortunately, the prophecy was misinterpreted. Daenerys didn't give birth to a child; or rather, her child wasn't a boy, but three dragons!
Dragons, the ultimate force in the world—aren't they the very Great Stallions that ride the world?
Having watched the hit TV series *Game of Thrones*, Second-Generation Daenerys naturally understood the crone's prophecy far better than Jorah or anyone else present.
But this truth could neither be spoken nor dared. To reveal it might mean having her now-unremarkable dragon eggs stolen, or worse, losing her own life.
*Every fool knows that dragons are far more dangerous than any mighty Kao.*
*Mmp, if the prophecy is so accurate, why can't they prevent dark magic? The witches of Horse King City are so one-sided in their studies.*
*Well, Drogo's death might be a release for the Second-Generation Daenerys. The problem is... the timing of her transmigration is terrible. If Daenerys had immediately purged those dark thoughts from her mind, knowing the Witch-Demoness's wicked schemes, she would never have let the child miscarry, let alone sacrifice it to the devil.*
*Losing the infant might save the Khaleesi's life, but the child is no longer hers alone—it's hers now. This child, she will protect it at all costs.*
*Daenerys made up her mind and once again refused Jorah's plan to 'elopement' with her. Following him would be a death sentence, and they'd likely never even escape the grasslands.*
*When Iriqi brought hot water, red wine, and other supplies, Daenerys's attempt to clean Drogo's wounds with the wine proved nearly useless. As she wiped, purple-black pus and blood continued to flow unabated.*
*After half an hour of futility, Daenerys reluctantly boiled silk in poppy milk and wrapped it tightly around Drogo's chest.*
*It wouldn't heal the wound, but it would numb it and ease his pain.*
*She instructed Iriqi to clean Drogo's body with cotton cloth and then ordered Doreah to move a chest.*
It was a bronze-ornamented cedarwood chest, one meter long and thirty centimeters wide and high.
"Doreah, spread my bed here," Daenerys said, pointing to the central bonfire in the yurt.
Kao's yurt was enormous, spanning two hundred square meters. At its center, a circular opening in the roof let in the night sky, while a raised iron hearth below blazed with a roaring fire, warding off the chill of the evening.
"Won't it be too hot this close?" Doreah hesitated.
"I'm not afraid of heat."
This was true.
The moment she arrived, Daenerys had confirmed the Targaryen family's "True Dragon's Body" was real. At least, she felt no scorching heat from the sun.
While Doreah spread the bed and folded the blankets, Daenerys opened the cedarwood chest. It was lined with soft velvet, and three massive "stone" eggs lay nestled within.
They were about the size of ostrich eggs, but compared to the uniform color of bird eggs, the stone eggs Daenerys gently caressed were far more beautiful.
In her previous life, born into a common family, she had never seen such exquisite jewels. Yet she was certain that the Heart of the Ocean on the Titanic, the sapphire in the British Queen's crown, and these three dragon eggs were not even worth a clod of dirt.
These three dragon eggs were a wedding gift from Governor Illyrio of Pentos, fossilized eggs from the Shadowlands that had existed for tens of millions of years, now petrified into crystals. They resembled fine porcelain, glazed earthenware, or glass, especially with their resplendent, multicolored patterns that made one think they were inlaid with jewels and diamonds.
The surfaces of the three fossilized dragon eggs were covered in tiny scales. As Daenerys ran her fingers over them, they gleamed with a metallic luster in the setting sun.
One was deep green with bronze-like flecks, said to contain a green dragon; another was a pale ivory with golden stripes, housing a white dragon; the last was black as the midnight ocean, with vibrant crimson waves and whirlpools swirling across its surface.
As Daenerys stroked the eggs, a faint warmth rose from them. The intense heat that radiated from their surfaces made her almost moan with pleasure.
"Doreah, come feel them. Aren't they hot?" She withdrew her hand and turned to her handmaiden.
Doreah, puzzled, rubbed her hands over the three dragon eggs. "They're cool, just like before?"
Daenerys waved her hand, telling Doreah to prepare dinner—that big, fat goose.
The goose, weighing four or five pounds, was more than half eaten by Daenerys: one leg and half a breast.
The meat, stewed with turnips and apples, turned out surprisingly delicious. Dipping her black bread in the broth, Daenerys absentmindedly consumed nearly three pounds of food.
*Hmm, this girl's constitution is truly remarkable—so resilient and durable. Could it be due to her True Dragon bloodline?*
"Hic... Doreah, give the rest of the goose to Ser Jorah. Irri, Jhiqui, help me wash up," Daenerys said, burping contentedly.
Irri and Jhiqui were Dothraki, who preferred roasted horse meat. Doreah had a small appetite and was satisfied with half a bowl of soup.
Ser Jorah, like Daenerys, was a foreigner who didn't care for the Dothraki's food.
After her bath, Daenerys watched Irri feed a large bag of thick horse milk to the unconscious Drogo before preparing to sleep.
Only three people remained in the silent, spacious tent. Not far away, Drogo's body twitched intermittently, his pain nerves stimulated by dark magic, and he let out occasional raspy moans. Daenerys slept on the side of the bed near the campfire, with Irri sharing the same bed on the outer side.
Three handmaidens took turns sleeping beside her each night to attend to her needs.
The Horseman girl was remarkably carefree; even as her Kao was on the brink of death, she pulled the feather quilt over herself and drifted into a deep sleep.
Daenerys, naked, pressed three dragon eggs tightly against her skin, as if drawing in the energy of life and primal force.
This was no illusion; the dragon eggs truly had healing properties.
Daenerys was a princess of a fallen kingdom. Months before her birth, her father and brother's thrones had been usurped by Robert Baratheon. Had it not been for a loyal old knight who smuggled her and Viserys to Braavos, she would likely have met the same fate as her nephew—hurled against a wall and smashed into a bloody, pulpy mess.
For the first five years of her life, the old knight cared for her, allowing her to live a few years of comfortable commoner life. After his death, her young brother took the infant Daenerys and began wandering through the Nine Free Cities.
From the age of five to thirteen, they fled the assassins of the usurper, covering tens of thousands of miles. This was no exaggeration; they truly traveled tens of thousands of miles.
The narrow streets and dark alleyways of the Free Cities on the western continent of Essos had all witnessed the presence of the two silver-haired Targaryens.
Initially, the governors, grand dukes, and wealthy merchants of these free trading cities were eager to welcome the Targaryen descendants. But as Robert Baratheon solidified his grip on the Iron Throne, the doors that had once been open to them began to close one by one, and the siblings' lives grew increasingly difficult.
Over the years, they pawned all their jewels and even their mother's crown.
The money they received quickly dwindled, leaving them destitute and the subject of ridicule among those who knew their story. In the taverns and alleyways of Pentos, Viserys earned the nickname "Beggar King." As for Daenerys, she was too timid and fearful to even inquire what people called her.
As a result of this deprivation, Daenerys suffered from stunted growth, remaining thin and frail with no curves to speak of. Living under the constant threat of Viserys's "Sleeping Dragon's Wrath," she became timid and submissive, her posture hunched over like that of a little old woman.
If not for the "Ice and Fire" world's most beautiful bloodline, Drogo might never have looked at her twice—Viserys had been worried for years that his sister would be unsellable.
After all, every Targaryen was a handsome man or a beautiful woman; their family possessed a hereditary legacy of striking looks and refined bearing.
Daenerys didn't start her period until she was thirteen, and she'd never ridden a horse before. She was forced to ride for days on end in the harsh, nomadic life.
In the early days, the brutal nomadic life nearly broke her. Daenerys seriously considered suicide as a way to escape.
One could argue that Daenerys was the unluckiest person in the world of *Ice and Fire*. Compared to her, the misfortunes of House Stark were mere child's play.
The Starks lost their father, mother, and brothers, and their kingdom (the North). Was that considered tragic?
Daenerys had already experienced far worse. Setting aside national grievances and personal vendettas, her individual journey was one of constant hardship. She grew up hungry, barely surviving, until she finally met Drogo, who truly loved her. Within days, she lost her lover, her protector, and her son.
Her future was destined to be even more tragic. While the Starks still had a chance to rise again, she continued to plummet into an abyss without end, never stopping.
*Who dares claim they've suffered more than me?!*
Alright, enough of that.
On that day, Daenerys was physically and mentally shattered, on the brink of death, and nearly took her own life.
What transformed her body and spirit was the dragon egg.
Through a soul-connection with the dragon within the egg during her dreams, her injuries healed overnight. From flesh to soul, she felt as if she had been purified, revitalized, and reborn.
This was a fantasy world, with dragons and magic.
Daenerys's blood was different from that of ordinary mortals.
"Little one, give Mama strength. Baby dragon, give Mama strength," Daenerys murmured, cradling the black dragon egg as if casting a spell.
*Ugh, still speaking Chinese.*
Aside from the continuous waves of heat, the dragon egg showed no other abnormalities.
Daenerys placed the egg beside a feather pillow, leaned over, and stared at the flickering flame inches away, her expression shifting.
*I've taken over this body. I must do everything I can to protect her child. For her sake, I have to try.*
Gritting her teeth, Daenerys extended her palm toward the dancing flame.
Back in modern society, she'd often seen viral TikTok videos of people attempting extreme barbecue challenges—roasting ice cream, air, you name it.
Today, she wanted to scream: *Who among you has ever roasted yourselves alive?*
Daenerys was about to roast human flesh—well, her *own* flesh.