Among the camp battlements, under the harsh midday sun, stood Daenerys's tent, pale silk taut against the wind, a quiet area amid the ordered ranks of Unsullied and the loose sprawl of Dothraki.
Inside, she leaned over a rough table covered with a map of Yunkai, its yellow walls drawn in faded ink. Ser Jorah stood to her left, arms crossed. Ser Barristan waited at her right, hands clasped behind him.
Grey Worm stood a pace back, spear planted, face impassive. Daario Naharis lounged near Jorah, one hip against the table.
Rhaego stood just behind his mother trying to see the map clearly over the table. His tail swayed slowly behind him, tip brushing the rug.
Dany traced a finger along the eastern wall. "Where?" she asked.
Daario leaned in and pointed. "There."
Dany looked at the spot, then at him. She couldn't quite see from her angle. Daario moved sliding behind Jorah, edging closer to her.
Rhaego's eyes narrowed. A low hiss escaped him.
"Don't try anything funny," he said, voice low but sharp.
Daario paused, smirk twitching then raised both hands in mock surrender and stepped back. He placed his finger on the map where Dany could see it.
Ser Jorah let out a quiet scoff. Dany smiled small, amused at her son's protective glare.
"It's alright, little flame," she said softly.
Daario tapped the map. "There. A back gate. My men use it when they visit Yunkai's bed slaves."
Jorah raised a brow. "Your men. But not you?"
Daario shrugged. "I have no interest in slaves. A man cannot make love to property."
Daario continued, undeterred. "This is where we enter the city. Very few guards. They know me. They let me inside."
Barristan shook his head. "We're not going to sneak an army through a back gate."
Daario shrugged again. "I kill the guards. I take your two best men and lead them through the back streets which I know well. We open the front gates. Then comes the army."
He spread his hands. "Once the walls are breached, the city will fall in hours."
Jorah looked down at the map, hand on chin.
"Or perhaps you'll lead Grey Worm and me to the slaughter, cutting the head off our army. The masters of Yunkai will pay your fee… and you won't have to split it three ways, since you've already slaughtered your partners."
Rhaego smiled, tail swinging once in approval.
Daario met Jorah's eyes, unwavering. "You have a very suspicious mind. In my experience, only dishonest people think this way."
Jorah sighed and glanced back at Grey Worm. "You command the Unsullied. What do you think?"
Grey Worm paused stance firm, eyes steady.
Dany spoke in High Valyrian, soft but clear. "You are a leader now. Do you trust him?"
Grey Worm looked at her, then answered in the same tongue. "I trust him."
Dany relaxed her shoulders just a fraction. "You leave tonight," she said.
Jorah nodded. "Very good. We'll prepare."
He turned to leave. Grey Worm followed. Daario lingered, gaze fixed on Dany open, appreciative, almost hungry.
Rhaego stepped forward, cutting between them.
"Well?" he said, voice small but firm. "You should go then."
Dany looked down at her son, smiling softly then back at Daario.
"You heard him."
Daario's smirk returned slow, amused. He gave a small bow.
Dany exhaled quiet, steady, then she looked at Rhaego.
"You're very protective," she said.
Rhaego huffed. "He talks too much."
Dany laughed soft, surprised. "Perhaps." She pulled him close, arms around his shoulders.
"But he chose to kneel," she murmured. "That is something."
Rhaego scrunched his nose. "I still don't like him."
Dany pressed her lips to the top of his head right between the horns.
"I know," she whispered.
Whatever came next battle, betrayal, or alliance her son would be there.
Watching… Guarding.
And growing.
And she would be there to guide the fire… until he learned to wield it himself.
Sooner or later night fell over the battle camps. Many Unsullied stood guard outside Daenerys's tent, spears upright, faces hidden in shadow.
Inside, Dany sat on the low red couch, legs tucked beneath her. Ser Barristan stood nearby, a cup of wine in his hand, staring into the flame of a lantern as though it might tell him something.
Missandei entered quietly, carrying a wooden tray with strips of cooked meat still sizzling faintly. Rhaego, sprawled on the cushion beside his mother, perked up at once.
He reached out happily, grabbing one strip with both hands, and tore into it with sharp canines, grease shining on his chin.
"Thank you, Missandei," he said around a mouthful.
Missandei smiled soft, warm. "You are welcome, little prince."
Dany watched him eat, a small smile touching her lips. She reached over and brushed a lock of silver hair from his forehead.
"You're growing too fast," she murmured.
"Soon you'll eat the whole tray before I have a bite."
Rhaego grinned cheeks bulging tail flicking once in delight.
They spoke quietly for a time, small things, gentle things to pass the waiting hours.
Then Dany rose from the couch. She walked toward Barristan, arms folded, eyes on the tent flap.
"We've been waiting a long time," she said.
Barristan turned his head, cup still in hand.
"Haven't we?" she asked.
Barristan shrugged small and said nothing.
"I don't know," she said, voice low and tense.
"You tell me. How long does it take to sack a city?"
Silence pressed down.
Then sudden footsteps outside. Heavy. Purposeful.
The flap swept aside. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm stepped through.
Their armor was drenched in blood dark, sticky, not their own. Jorah's face was streaked with it; Grey Worm's spear tip glistened red. Both men breathed hard, chests rising and falling, but their eyes were steady.
Barristan turned fully. Dany's eyes widened. She walked toward them quick, slow steps on the rug.
Jorah drew breath.
"It was just as you said," he said, voice rough with exertion but proud.
"They did not believe it until it was too late. Their slave soldiers… threw down their spears and surrendered."
Dany paused, pride flickering across her face then looked past them.
"And Daario Naharis?" she asked.
Jorah did not answer. He only looked at her. More footsteps lighter, confident.
Daario brushed past Jorah and stepped into the light.
His face was bloodied. A cloth was draped over one shoulder black and gold, the symbol of Yunkai. He knelt on one knee before her, head bowed.
"The city is yours, my queen," he said.
Dany smiled regal, serene.
Rhaego watched from the couch belly-down, still munching his meat, cheeks puffed, tail flicking once in quiet curiosity.
Dramatic entrance, he thought.
A day passed. The sun rose hot and merciless over the sands, turning the horizon into a shimmering line of gold and dust. Now the camp stirred with a new purpose. Dany was busy, walking among the Unsullied ranks, speaking with captains.
While Rhaego had slipped away.
He stood in a small clearing behind the supply wagons, barefoot in the sand, wearing a loose black tunic and pants. In his hands he clutched a makeshift sword a straight stick he'd found near the cookfires, roughly the length of Longclaw.
He swung it clumsy at first, tail throwing off his balance, then again with more force. The stick whistled through the air, but the arc was wide and wild.
He nearly tripped over his own feet.
Man… I am not good with a sword, he thought. Or am I just that bad?
He huffed small, frustrated and tried again. The stick sliced downward, missing its imaginary target by a foot. His tail lashed in annoyance.
Then footsteps.
Rhaego's tiny pointed ears twitched. He froze mid-swing, head turning sharply.
Ser Jorah Mormont stood a few paces away, arms folded, watching him with that quiet, steady gaze.
The knight's face was lined with dust and fatigue from the night raid, but his eyes softened when they met the boy's.
"You're holding it wrong, my prince," Jorah said gruffly. "Too high. You'll tire your arms before you land a blow."
Rhaego lowered the stick, tail flicking once in surprise, then excitement.
"Ser Bear!" he said, grinning wide. "Can you teach me?"
Jorah exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
"I'm no teacher for a dragon," he said. "You've got fire in your throat. What do you need a stick for?"
Rhaego pouted, tail drooping. "I wanna fight like you," he said.
"Able to swing swords effortlessly."
Jorah's expression shifted, something old and pained flickering behind his eyes. He looked away for a moment, toward the yellow walls of Yunkai in the distance, then back at the boy.
He stepped closer and crouched so they were eye to eye. "If this is about your mother, your already protecting her," he said quietly.
"Every day you stand beside her, you remind the world who she is… and who she has left to fight for."
Rhaego's ears perked. "But I didn't fight last night, when you were sacking the city," he said, voice small. "I just waited with Mother."
Jorah gave a small, wry smile. "And that's why you're better than most men already."
Rhaego blinked, confused.
"Fighting is easy, my prince. Any fool with a sword can swing it. But standing still while the blades are drawn, watching your mother ride into danger, knowing you can't follow yet… that takes a different kind of strength. The kind most men never learn."
Rhaego looked down at the stick in his hands, then back up.
"I wanna be stronger," he said. "So I can stand with her. Not just watch."
Jorah's throat worked once. He nodded slowly. "You will be," he said.
"And when that day comes… she'll need you more than she needs any knight."
A moment passed quiet, warm.
Then Jorah spoke again, softer. "You ever wonder why your mother does all this? The cities, the chains, the fighting?"
Rhaego blinked. He knew, of course he knew. He knew the books, the show, the ending she was supposed to have. He knew the fire, the throne, the madness.
But he couldn't say that. Not to Jorah. Not to anyone.
So he tilted his head, like a child who genuinely wondered.
"I guess…" he said slowly, "she wants to make things better? For the people who can't fight?"
Jorah nodded once, slow.
"Aye," he said.
"That's part of it. She sees the chains and she remembers her own. She remembers being sold. Being afraid. She remembers a brother who promised her a throne and gave her nothing but words."
He looked at Rhaego, really looked.
"But it's more than that. She does it because she believes she can. Because someone has to. And because she's afraid that if she stops… the world will go back to the way it was."
Rhaego's tail stilled. He looked down at the stick in his hands.
"So… she's scared too?"
Jorah's voice dropped… rough, honest.
"Every day. But she doesn't let it stop her. That's what makes her strong."
Rhaego stared at the stick for a long moment. Then he looked up, violet eyes bright.
"Can I be strong like her," he said.
Jorah reached out, hesitant and ruffled the boy's silver hair, careful of the horns.
"You already are."
He rose, offering a hand. "Come. Let's fix that stance before you hurt yourself."
Rhaego grinned, tail flicking happily and took the offered hand. Together they walked back toward the practice ground, exiled knight and dragon-boy, under the merciless sun.
And somewhere in the quiet between them, a promise settled.
Rhaego would learn to fight and Ser Jorah would teach him.
And both would do it for the same woman, the one who had given them purpose when they had none left.