"He said he can cure your illness?" Davos knew how difficult Greyscale was to treat. Stannis had scoured half the continent to enlist the combined efforts of numerous Maesters, yet the disease still left its mark on his face. Davos couldn't imagine anyone else possessing such power.
"Did he say when he'll treat you?" Davos pressed.
"He said it's not possible yet and asked me to wait a little longer."
Shireen refused to reveal the messenger's identity. Davos wondered if the person was deceiving both of them. The letter claimed Shireen's uncle would be burned alive and that Davos would soon be released from the dungeon. These predictions would soon be verified. Whether the messenger truly intended to save Shireen or had ulterior motives would become clear.
Davos decided to wait until the messenger contacted him again before considering sending Shireen away.
***
After leaving Dragonstone, Drogon flew straight for the grasslands. He had only been able to nibble at his meals in Westeros and had never felt truly full. Now, he was so weak from hunger that he could barely keep flying.
Gritting his teeth, he crossed the Narrow Sea and flew through the Free Cities, finally spotting the beautiful Dothraki Sea.
He ventured deep into the grasslands, ignoring a small khalasar that wouldn't have been enough to fill his teeth, and headed straight for a large one with over ten thousand people. To his surprise, Drogon's arrival didn't cause much panic, and driving the Dothraki away from their food proved more difficult than usual.
*They must have learned I'm a good dragon,* Drogon thought. *One who just wants to eat and not kill.*
After driving the others away, he ate while observing the crowd. Their eyes showed no fear, mostly curiosity as they watched him feast and drink, occasionally pointing and murmuring.
Since Drogon's visits to the grasslands, tales of his meat-stealing exploits had spread throughout the Dothraki Sea. They knew he not only stole meat but also drank mare's milk and ate blood-filled Dothraki pies.
Yet each time, Drogon left behind coins. The Khal told him that these coins could be exchanged for several times the value of the meat he consumed outside the grasslands.
Now, the Dothraki didn't fear Drogon's visits; they eagerly awaited them. They could witness the miracle of a True Dragon while also making a tidy profit.
After the 10,000-strong khalasar had eaten their fill, Drogon, as usual, left behind two gold coins. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed several women kneeling in his direction, muttering words he couldn't understand.
Drogon hadn't expected such a grand display of reverence for a few gold coins. Just as he was about to spread his wings and fly away, he felt several milky-yellow light points converge in his mind.
Sensing the yellow points and observing the kneeling women, Drogon realized the word: *Faith Power*.
During his previous journey across the Dothraki Sea, light points had also gathered, but he hadn't understood why. Now, he finally did.
He had previously studied the white points absorbed from immortals and the converging milky-yellow light points. He discovered that the yellow points nourished the white points, causing them to grow, though the growth was so minuscule that it would be imperceptible without careful observation.
Today, witnessing the unusual reactions of the Dothraki women after their worship, he finally understood how to gather the yellow points and what the white points absorbed from immortals truly represented.
After some thought, Drogon named it *Divine Light*. With the white point, he could absorb the yellow light points—Faith Power.
Faith Power nourished the Divine Light, which in turn nourished his physical body.
Having figured out the trick, Drogon discovered another way to strengthen himself beyond just eating.
*I'll have to give them a bit more gold in the future,* he thought, watching the kneeling women.
Nodding to the women who prostrated themselves before him, Drogon suddenly flapped his wings and soared into the sky. A deafening roar erupted from his throat as he threw his head back and bellowed at the heavens: "ROOOOAR!!!"
He then unleashed a torrent of fiery dragon flames into the vast sky.
*It's probably a good idea to show off a little muscle now and then,* he mused. To gather Faith Power, Drogon didn't mind putting on a little fire-breathing show.
The Dothraki on the ground, seeing Drogon's display of power, didn't know what had angered him. They didn't dare run, fearing he'd specifically target escapees.
The smarter ones, remembering Drogon's nod to the kneeling women, quickly followed suit and prostrated themselves. As more people knelt, the others, whether they understood or not, quickly mimicked them—anything to avoid provoking the dragon.
In a short time, a dense sea of kneeling figures covered the ground, making those still standing stand out like sore thumbs. They scrambled to their knees, and finally, even the Khal of the entire khalasar lowered himself to the earth.
As soon as Drogon finished roaring, he felt the familiar trickle of yellow dots surge into him. With each additional person kneeling, the flow of Faith Power grew stronger.
Drogon hadn't expected that simply flexing his muscles would have such a profound effect. He circled Khalasar once in the sky, nodded toward the Khal, and then soared away.
The Dothraki and their Khal, seeing that their prostration had earned Drogon's approval, grew even more devout, further increasing Drogon's harvest of Faith Power.
Two hours later, feeling the waves of milky-yellow light, Drogon returned to Astapor in a state of satisfaction.
After observing the positions of the two dragons from the sky, he quickly determined the Dragon Mother's new residence. Finding a secluded spot to set down his pack, he took flight again and charged toward the Golden Dragon Viserion, beginning their daily dragon-taming routine.
Viserion, who had been happily soaring with Rhaegal, suddenly sensed something amiss. He turned to see a tiny black dot hurtling toward him at breakneck speed. He only managed to twist his body sideways in time, but the impact still struck his wing, nearly sending him plummeting from the sky.
Even this collision was restrained; had Drogon struck with his full force at such speeds, he would have torn through Viserion's wing and been unable to withstand the impact himself.
Drogon had originally aimed for Viserion's flank, but the dragon had dodged, leaving only a glancing blow on his wing. Yet Drogon was even more pleased by this. His training hadn't been in vain—even at his incredible speed, Viserion had detected him and reacted.
Having been frequently ambushed by Drogon and dragged into fights, the two dragons were well-accustomed to it. Every time they soared through the sky, they kept a close watch on their surroundings. Today, however, with no sign of Drogon, they were particularly uneasy, scanning the skies for him from time to time.
Inside Daenerys's chamber, she had been idle since morning after discussing the future governance of Astapor with Jorah and the others. She had planned to depart that afternoon for Yunkai, the next city in Slaver's Bay, but the team remained camped, waiting for Drogon.
Daenerys wasn't particularly anxious to reach Yunkai, but Drogon's prolonged absence was making her restless.
He had never been away this long. If Jhiqui's flint pouch hadn't been stolen, she would have already sent out a search party.
"Khaleesi, Drogon has returned!" Jhiqui, the maid, burst into her room to report.
Knowing how worried Daenerys was about Drogon, Jhiqui had rushed to tell her after seeing the three dragons fighting in the sky during her shopping trip.
"Where is he?" Daenerys's spirits lifted at the news.
"In the sky." As soon as Jhiqui finished speaking, Daenerys hurried out of the room and looked up. The three dragons were locked in a fierce aerial battle.
-----------------------
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