The open fields north of Yunkai gave way to low mountains and dry grass that whispered under the wind. Daenerys sat on a flat rock, silver hair loose and catching the late sun. Drogon rested beside her, massive head across her lap, black scales warm against her thighs. He was already the size of a warhorse, yet he lay still as she ran her fingers along the ridges of his horns and the ridge of his brow.
High above, Viserion and Rhaegal circled together, bronze and cream flashing against the sky, their wings cutting long shadows over the earth.
Dany watched them, one hand still stroking Drogon's scales. The black beast rumbled low and content, almost purring.
A voice came from behind her, deeper now, the sound of a young adolescent boy on the edge of manhood.
"Mother."
She turned.
Rhaego walked toward her, Ser Jorah a pace behind. He had grown again, already nearing her height, tall for what his years should be. Lean muscle showed under his sleeveless tunic, shoulders broader, yet his face stayed youthful: soft cheeks, bright violet-slitted eyes, wavy silver hair falling just past his pointed ears with tiny braids knotted near the nape of his neck.
The black horns curving from his head beneath his hair were a bit longer now, sharp-tipped and gleaming. Golden bracers glinted on his forearms, and loose dark pants hung low on his hips, secured by a red cloth wrapped and knotted at the waist. Patches of iridescent white scales shimmered faintly along his shoulders and upper arms, catching the light like scattered obsidian.
He ran the last few steps and dropped down beside her on the rock, legs dangling.
Dany studied him, really looked. Several months to roughly half a year has passed after the success of taking Yunkai. Now he sat nearly eye-level, horns catching the light like polished obsidian.
Rhaego grinned, pointing upward. "I think they caught prey."
Dany followed his finger.
"Look!" he said cheerfully.
Viserion and Rhaegal dove together, wings tucked, screeching, then flared at the last moment and released their catch. A bloodied goat fell, tumbling end over end, guts spilling as it struck the ground with a wet thud.
Dany flinched. Drogon lifted his head sharply.
The two smaller dragons landed hard, talons ripping into the carcass, tearing and gulping. Drogon rumbled, shoved forward hissing, snapping, trying to shoulder them aside for the best pieces.
Dany reached out instinctively, hand on his wing.
"Shh, easy."
The black dragon whipped around suddenly, eyes blazing, jaws parting in a low, guttural growl.
Dany startled, stumbling back on the rock.
Rhaego moved faster. He swatted Drogon across the snout not hard, but sharp enough to make the beast blink.
"Hey!" Rhaego scolded. "Don't be so grumpy. That's our mother."
Drogon shook his head, snorted smoke, growled once more then turned his back on them. Viserion and Rhaegal snatched the remains of the goat and launched skyward, wings beating hard. Drogon followed with a final irritated huff, black shape climbing after them.
Dany's hair whipped in the downdraft. She steadied herself, breathing fast.
Rhaego scooted closer, shoulder brushing hers.
"It's okay, Mother," he said, half-teasing, half-assuring.
"He's just in that phase. You know… how kids get when they start rebelling against their mother."
Dany let out a small, surprised laugh. "Is that so?"
She reached over and ruffled his hair, fingers grazing a horn.
"I seem to recall you can understand them. Is that what Drogon told you?"
Rhaego shrugged, grinning. "Not really. It's hard to explain. All I can say is he's just one big grumpy beast."
He laughed. Bright, boyish and leaned against her side. Dany smiled, resting her cheek against the top of his head for a moment.
"Grumpy beast," she echoed softly. "Like someone else I know when he's hungry."
Rhaego snorted, tail flicking once against the rock. "Me? Never."
Above them, three dragons circled once more black, bronze, green then banked north toward the distant horizon.
Ser Jorah stepped forward from the path behind them, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at his bearded face.
"Seems the boy is right, Khaleesi," he said, voice low and fond. "Dragons cannot be tamed. Not even by their mother."
He glanced at Rhaego, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Well… except one."
Dany turned to him, surprise melting into laughter. It came soft and bright, the kind she rarely let escape these days.
Rhaego flicked his long tail once sharp, playful the tip brushing the rock with a soft scrape. His ears flushed pink, but the corner of his mouth curled up in a half-smirk.
"Very funny, Ser Bear," he muttered, though his violet eyes sparkled.
Jorah chuckled, a low rumble and looked out at the sky where the three dragons had vanished into the haze.
The road to Meereen stretched long and dusty under a merciless sun. Line after line of Unsullied marched in perfect rhythm spears upright, boots striking the earth like a single heartbeat. Behind them, Dothraki riders circled the flanks, and overhead the dragons turned lazy spirals against the blue.
Daenerys stood on a narrow outcrop near the cliff's edge, the sea glittering far below. Missandei waited beside her, hands folded, tokar catching the breeze.
Dany gazed north, "Have you ever been to Meereen?" she asked quietly.
Missandei nodded once. "Several times, Your Grace. With Master Kraznys."
Dany's eyes remained on the sea. "And?"
Missandei's voice stayed calm, measured. "They say one thousand slaves died building the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Some say more."
Dany crossed her arms, the wind tugging at her silver hair.
"And now an army of former slaves is marching to her gates."
She glanced sideways at Missandei. "Do you think the Great Masters are worried?"
Missandei's lips curved small, almost imperceptible. "If they're smart, Your Grace."
Dany smiled briefly, sharp and turned her gaze back to the horizon. They stood in silence for a time, listening to the sea and the steady tramp of boots below.
Then suddenly beneath the cliff a rush of wind swept past them, fast and warm, whipping Dany's hair across her face.
She looked up.
Rhaego soared overhead, dark wings wide and gleaming, silver scales flashing in the sun. He banked sharply, circled once, then dove low enough that his shadow passed over them like a living thing.
"Did you see that, Mother?" he shouted from above, voice bright and laughing. "I didn't even wobble!"
Dany laughed clear, delighted, hand rising instinctively as though to catch him.
Missandei watched him climb again, a soft smile on her face.
"Only a few months ago he could barely clear the ground without tumbling," she said. "Now look at him."
Dany's smile lingered, but something quieter moved behind her eyes. "He grows so fast," she murmured. "All of them do."
She looked down at her empty hands, hands that had once cradled him against her chest, small and warm and fragile.
"I used to hold him so easily," she said, almost to herself.
"Now… I'm not sure my arms could reach around him anymore."
Missandei stepped closer, voice gentle. "He is strong, Your Grace. Stronger every day. And he is yours. When the time comes, he will protect you, as fiercely as you have always protected him."
Dany turned to her, violet eyes searching. "You think so?"
Missandei nodded. "I know so. He already does it in his own way."
Above them, Rhaego let out another joyful shout, wings beating hard as he spiraled upward, chasing Viserion and Rhaegal into the clouds. Dany watched him go, a mix of pride and quiet sorrow on her face.
Then she straightened, gaze returning north. "Meereen waits," she said.
Missandei followed her eyes. "And when we reach it," she replied softly, "the dragons and your son will be ready."
The Unsullied marched on beneath them, steady as a heartbeat and on the horizon, the dark shape of the city grew closer.
Then suddenly a shout echoed from the front of the column.
The line halted as one. Shields clashed together; spears lowered slightly. Dany's eyes widened. Missandei was at her side, and they both started walking to investigate.
Rhaego, circling high above, banked sharply. He as well flew toward that made the march halted.
Dany moved quickly, pushing through the ranks until she reached the head of the column. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan stood there, staring ahead. Missandei stayed close.
Dany stopped.
A child no more than ten, hung crucified on a wooden pole driven into the earth. The body was pale, almost blue at the nails and lips, skin stretched tight over bone. The pole pointed north, toward Meereen, a silent marker on the road.
Jorah's voice was grim. "There's one on every mile marker between here and Meereen."
Dany leaned closer, breath catching. "How many miles are there between here and Meereen?" she asked.
Jorah sighed heavily, reluctant. "163, Your Grace."
Dany stared at the child's face small, frozen in pain. The realization settled like ash in her throat: every mile, another body. Every mile, another child.
Jorah spoke again, quieter. "I'll tell our men to ride ahead and bury them."
Barristan stepped forward. "You don't need to see this, Your Grace."
Dany's voice cut through calm, steel-edged. "You will do no such thing. I will see each and every one of their faces."
She stepped closer to the pole, gaze fixed on the dead child. "Remove their collars before you bury her," she said.
Then she turned and walked away, back toward the column, silver hair catching the wind.
High above, Rhaego crouched on a rocky outcrop, wings half-folded against the sun. His violet-slitted eyes narrowed as he watched the scene below. Then he looked north, toward the distant dark shape of Meereen on the horizon.
A slow smirk curled his lips. "We're close," he murmured to himself. "And while Daario is away… I can have a little fun with this new and improved body."
He rose to his feet, both hands resting on his waist, tail flicking once behind him. The wind carried the faint sound of Unsullied boots resuming their march.
And Rhaego spread his wings once more.