"Khaleesi, we've found something!"
As the sun, a fiery furnace that had baked the earth all day, dipped below the horizon, the Dothraki emerged from their sleeping bags. After a quick meal of dried meat and fermented mare's milk, they resumed their excavation.
First, they had to clear the ashes left by the ancient Dragon King's cremation. At first, it was uneventful. The demon's body and the cursed Valyrian Dragon King had both been reduced to charred bone fragments under the intense flames.
Even the virus Daenerys had worried about was likely killed by the heat.
When the Dothraki jumped into the pit, they found it looked no different from Drogo's cremation site. Growing bolder, they began digging through the ashes with their bare hands.
Soon, one of the Dothraki raised his arm, caked in black, sticky ash. He held a palm-sized, jet-black iron tablet in both hands and shouted to Daenerys, "Khaleesi, we've found an iron tablet! I suspect it's a relic left by that Dragon King."
Jorah took the tablet first, washing off the grime with sand before examining it closely. He then handed it to Daenerys. "This is Valyrian steel, marked with a dragon sigil and ancient Valyrian runes.
Our earlier speculation was likely correct. This tablet probably served as a form of identification, much like the hand-shaped brooch of the King's Hand."
In the Kingdom of Westeros, the King's Hand was the chief advisor to the king. The King's Hand could design their own personal insignia, which could be a brooch, a cloak clasp, or a necklace worn over the chest. All such insignia featured a small metal hand.
The iron plaque felt slightly heavy in Daenerys's small hand, reminding her of her newly acquired 6.5-inch Huawei phone—similar in thickness and weight, but only about a third of the size.
Valyrian steel was, in essence, still steel. If analyzed in a laboratory, it would show no fundamental difference from ordinary steel. However, during its forging process, the Valyrian civilization added a unique magic that made it nearly indestructible.
Moreover, weapons forged from Valyrian steel possessed a powerful anti-magic effect, such as the ability to slay White Walkers.
Ignoring the hefty weight of the metal, the engravings on the plaque were exquisitely detailed.
The front depicted a massive dragon with wings poised for flight, its claws gripping a gleaming longsword. The craftsmanship was both refined and lifelike, conveying the dragon's majestic presence and even allowing one to discern the gems on the sword's crossguard.
Around the dragon was a circle of runes, but Daenerys, who knew the most authentic Valyrian script, couldn't understand a single one.
The other side of the iron tablet was equally incomprehensible. Unlike the front, it was crudely carved with a mountain peak.
When she gently ran her fingers over the mountain pattern, she could feel the distinct ridges and hollows.
At the peak, there seemed to be wisps of smoke or fire. The carving was too crude for Daenerys to be sure whether it was black smoke or the top of a large tree.
"If the front pattern is truly the family crest, with the dragon holding a sword, the dragon might represent the Dragon King himself. Everyone, pay close attention! There might be a Valyrian steel greatsword buried in the sand," Daenerys said, her voice filled with excitement as she encouraged the people in the pit.
As it turned out, her hopes had been too optimistic.
By the time the moon was high in the sky, the men had dug through the surrounding sand, delving four or five meters deep. Water had seeped into the pit, but they found nothing.
Jorah shook his head and sighed. "In those circumstances, escaping Valyria was already a miracle. He wouldn't have had time to go home for his family sword. If the sword the dragon holds is real, its weight and size must be comparable to Ice, the Stark family sword."
Ser Jorah described Ice to Daenerys: it was wider than his palm, as dark as black smoke, and stood a head taller than she did.
Daenerys felt a little embarrassed. Although she was only 14 and a bit underdeveloped—with neither breasts nor hips—she wasn't particularly short. Without measuring, she knew she was about 1.6 meters tall.
A head taller than her 1.6 meters meant the sword must have been over 1.8 meters long, even if it didn't reach two meters.
"That long? Even if you could lift it, wouldn't it be awkward to swing?" she asked curiously.
"Eddard Stark beheaded dozens of heads with that sword every year for decades. He trained until he was practically a machine with it," Jorah said with a tone full of resentment and mockery.
He had nearly become experience points for Ned's greatsword skill.
Ultimately, Daenerys accepted Jorah's analysis. Two-handed greatswords couldn't be easily carried, and the deceased Dragon King hadn't had time to go home and retrieve his sword.
Before midnight, Maester Caleotte dug up over twenty black dragon bones of varying lengths from the sand. The longest exceeded ten meters, while the shortest, when stood upright, reached Daenerys' waist.
Many of the bones bore clear signs of fracture, further proving that the severely wounded dragon had been unable to fly and had plummeted from the sky.
"Enough digging for now," Daenerys said, clapping her hands to halt the men in the pit. "This should be enough dragonbone to craft a curved blade for every KaLS man."
"Your Highness, dragonbone can only be used for sword hilts; it cannot be forged into blades," Jorah reminded her. "Using it with ordinary steel would be a waste. In fact, unless it's a Valyrian steel weapon, there's no need to use dragonbone at all."
"You said the dragonbone was very valuable," Daenerys countered.
"It is. There's so little of it in the world. But you don't need money, do you?"
"Who would refuse more money?" Daenerys waved her hand dismissively.
Before leaving, Daenerys ordered the dragon's skull buried, piling the earth into a small mound.
This was her treasure; she couldn't let others find it.
If the original dragonbone were exposed, even a fool would know she had discovered a dragon corpse in the Red Waste.
Now that it was buried, even she wasn't sure if she could find it again.
The truth was, there were too many similar low hills on this plain, and no distinctive landmarks nearby. Piling stones or propping up wooden poles only worked for a short time; the wind and sand would soon bury them or knock them down.
"Big Black, do you remember?" she asked her Black Dragon.
The Black Dragon did have some intelligence, but compared to humans, it was truly brain-dead—the kind of underdeveloped, truly brain-dead.
However, dragons possessed an extraordinary sense of direction. By entering the Dragon Dream and Dragon Spirit, merging her soul with the Black Dragon's, Daenerys could clearly sense that dragons possessed not only the five senses but also beyond six or seven.
*Uh, her dragon hadn't comprehended the Little Universe.*
Just as birds navigate using Earth's magnetic field, dragons had similar methods.
For example, Daenerys once tested this by leaving the dragon in White Cloud City, then riding her Little Silver Horse in a random direction for several kilometers before hiding in a patch of grass. All three dragons accurately found her.
At that time, she had deliberately severed her connection to the Dragon Dream.
Daenerys could receive the seventh and eighth senses transmitted from the Black Dragon, but she didn't know what they were and couldn't analyze or utilize them.
After several repeated questions and flying Big Black back to test again, leaving a two-kilometer gap, Daenerys was drenched in sweat before she could barely confirm he had truly memorized the instructions.
"Oh, Ser Jorah, did the Targaryens of over a hundred years ago have any methods to increase a dragon's intelligence? My dragon is too stupid," Daenerys complained to him in the pre-dawn hours as the caravan made its way back. "It would be fine if he were just stupid, as long as he obeyed me. But dragons are naturally rebellious. The Black Dragon is manageable, but I can barely control the Green and White Dragons. Communication is too difficult."
"I don't know," the bear-like man said, shaking his head. "Bear Island is too far from the center of power. I'm not familiar with the nobles outside the Starks."
"But you're the legitimate son-in-law of House Hightower, and House Hightower controls the Citadel," Daenerys reminded him.
After all, Jorah Mormont had been a pampered guest of House Hightower for years. He must have visited the Citadel several times and at least met some of the learned Doctors there.
*Hmm, Maesters are also ranked by level: Maester's Apprentice, Maester, Doctor, and Grand Maester. Their rank is determined by the depth and breadth of their knowledge.*
"Back then, I had no interest in Maesters or the Citadel, and frankly, I still don't."
The journey back to White Cloud City was uneventful. Two days later, they returned with the dragonbone.
In the days that followed, Daenerys took the dragons out of the city to exercise during the cooler hours of dawn and dusk. During the scorching midday heat, she began giving them cultural lessons.
The dragons grew larger and larger, transforming from slender "kittens" into bulky "Pekinese" and now showing a tendency to become more like "mongrels."
As their size increased, so did their daily food intake. The lizards, scorpions, and sand snakes of the Red Sand Plains could no longer satisfy them.
So, Daenerys began using food as an incentive for their studies.
This process was incredibly difficult.
For math class, she demonstrated elementary arithmetic operations to the Black Dragon while he was in a Dragon Dream state. For language arts, she opened her mouth wide, vocalizing sounds and explaining meanings through their soul connection.
Physical education was even more challenging. Daenerys struck their scales with a wooden stick. At first, the young dragons' scales shattered like brittle eggshells, and white smoke seeped from the wounds, the blood burning away before it could drip.
Because of her soul connection with the Black Dragon, Daenerys constantly soothed and encouraged the little dragon within her mental sea. Though the Black Dragon roared in anger, he reluctantly cooperated with her.
The White Dragon and Green Dragon were far less compliant.
A month after their birth, Daenerys completely lost her Dragon Spirit connection with Little White and Little Green. The closer she grew to the Black Dragon, the greater the distance between her and the other two dragons.
Not only could she no longer attend language and math classes, but even physical education became dangerous. Once, when Daenerys struck Little White's back hard enough to draw blood, the little dragon recklessly sprayed Dragonflame at her wrist.
Dragonflame burned hotter than wood fire. For the first time, she was injured by the flames. A blister the size of a cockroach formed on her wrist, painful and itchy, and it took four or five days to heal completely.
The only comfort was that it left no scar.
Perhaps she could truly draw strength from fire. Perhaps, due to her increasingly close Dragon Spirit bond with the Black Dragon, her wounds healed faster and more completely than normal.
Take the knife scar on her abdomen, for instance.
To keep her plan a secret, Daenerys refused to let her maids assist her with bathing for the next two weeks.
She explained that water was scarce and that from now on, everyone would use fine sand to cleanse their skin.
She also had a sand bed prepared, covered in soft white sand.
Before sleep each night, she would strip naked and rub herself against the sand, clearing away dust—the fire burning away grease and dead skin cells.
But after two weeks, Daenerys began living the decadent life of a "slave owner."
She was astonished to discover that the scars on her abdomen were fading with each burning session, eventually disappearing completely, leaving her skin as soft and smooth as before.
Perhaps the high temperatures were stimulating blood circulation, causing cells to become overly active in the flames?
That was the scientific explanation.
A more magical interpretation was that dragons and fire possessed restorative powers.
Just like over a year ago, when the original Daenerys first married Drogo. Weak and unaccustomed to life on horseback, she was daily exhausted to the point of collapse, her inner thighs raw and bleeding.
Yet after a single Dragon Dream, all her injuries vanished overnight, leaving her body as robust as that of a native-born horse-girl.