Her family was gone, and even if any remnants remained, Daenerys would not recognize them.
Now, Drogo was the person she was closest to. Yet before this towering, imposing man, whose presence crushed all around him, she still felt a soul-deep reverence—a binding fear—that once drove her to learn unspeakable arts from Doreah.
After the dragons' birth, when she became the true Daughter of Dragons, the suffocating pressure had eased somewhat.
But now, it had returned stronger than ever.
In her heart, Daenerys told herself:
"I am the daughter of the true dragon. He is merely one among many mortal kings. A true dragon does not kneel before men."
But thinking it was easy—acting otherwise was instinct.
Already, she had dismounted her beautiful silver mare and was kneeling behind Drogo, humbling herself without protest.
Everyone understood:
At this moment, she was merely the Khal's Khaleesi—the woman behind the king. Only in the silent depths of the night could she hope to have any power over him.
Drogo was born a king, thriving even in adversity.
With the dragons now part of him, Daenerys suddenly felt her earlier confidence laughable.
"I once thought I had grown beyond fear," she thought bitterly, "but I see now—I am still lesser than even my brother Viserys. Though he was a beggar king, at least he clung to his pitiful pride until the very end."
Hiss…
Her kneeling seemed to displease Rhaegal and Viserion.
They flapped their wings angrily, scratching her lightly before sliding off her body, leaving faint red marks on her pale skin.
Freed from their mother's embrace, the two dragons surveyed the gathering.
Ignoring everyone else, they clumsily clambered onto Drogo's scorched warhorse, then up to his shoulders, joining Drogon atop his head.
A strange phenomenon occurred:
The fire still clinging to Drogo's body seemed to flow into the little dragons, making steam rise thickly from their scales.
Drogo noticed it all—but he didn't dwell on it.
Dragons were miracles, born of magic and flame—creatures that defied all earthly understanding.
His main focus was elsewhere:
The Bloodstreak Lion King—the only being present that hadn't yet submitted.
The lions lay prostrate, seemingly with their king's consent.
The Lion King itself moved calmly, stepping through the mass of fur, past the trembling Dothraki, and finally stopping before Drogo.
It had over a thousand followers and overwhelming power.
Yet Drogo, gazing down at it, saw the truth: fear.
The Lion King did not fear Drogo—it feared the dragons reflected in his eyes.
Hiss! Caw!
The little dragons, sensing defiance, flared their tiny wings and hissed, shooting faint flickers of fire from their mouths.
A lion capable of swallowing them whole staggered backward in terror.
Lions feared fire.
Dragons were rulers of flame—beings closer to gods than beasts.
Drogo's interest in a further bloodbath waned.
He had defeated Mago, absorbed over a hundred warriors—there was no point in fighting the lions.
He turned slightly and beckoned Daenerys over.
Peeling the young dragons from his body, he placed them into her arms.
"My Khaleesi, my bloodriders, my khalasar—head west. I will follow."
No one dared disobey.
Mounted or on foot, they quickly disappeared from view, leaving Drogo alone with the Bloodstreak Lion King.
Drogo had absolute faith:
His people would have been crushed by the beast tide. Alone, he still believed he could survive.
Free from distractions, he made a reckless decision.
Hyah!
Gathering all his strength, Drogo pressed down on his warhorse's shoulder.
The exhausted beast collapsed to its knees with a groan.
Dismounting in a single motion, Drogo hoisted the lion cub in his arms and approached the Lion King.
"I mean no offense, big guy," he barked gruffly.
"Everything I did was for survival."
The tone was savage, even if the words were soft.
The Lion King snarled in response, baring its teeth.
Drogo smiled coolly, unfazed.
He set the cub down carefully at the Lion King's feet, wiped the spilled milk off its fur with a handful of red sand, turned on his heel, and walked away.
No fire. No horse. No allies.
Only a king's pride.
ROAR!
The thunderous roar behind him made Drogo freeze.
"Fucking beasts—bullying the weak!"
Swearing under his breath, he turned back, fists clenched, ready for battle—yet secretly harboring a sliver of hope.
Arwoo…
One soft cry from the cub, and silence fell.
Drogo exhaled deeply.
He had gambled correctly.
The cub—more affectionate than even his dragons—had chosen him.
The Lion King growled at the cub, trying to intimidate it.
The cub growled back—small but fierce.
Sweat trickling down his spine, Drogo silently urged the cub to win.
Miraculously, the cub triumphed.
The Lion King bowed—lowering its massive head.
Drogo's mind raced.
This cub... it's not just the heir. It's the true king of the pride!
It all made sense.
The lions obeyed the cub's cry more readily than the Lion King's roars.
With newfound confidence, Drogo walked forward, arms wide open, welcoming the cub as it bounded toward him.
He ruffled its head affectionately, murmuring farewell in every language he knew:
"Thank you, goodbye, sankō, goodbye..."
But the cub clung to his leg, whining pitifully, staring up at him with glistening eyes.
Drogo laughed helplessly.
The little beast didn't want to leave him.
He tried to walk away—
The cub stumbled after him, clinging even tighter.
In the end, Drogo surrendered.
Pointing to the cub, then to himself, then ahead, he said:
"Fine. You're coming with me."
The cub barked joyfully at the Lion King.
The Lion King growled anxiously—then, after a long conversation, charged at Drogo.
Startled, Drogo pushed the cub aside and braced himself.
One lion? He could handle that.
"Come, then! Let's play!"
He tossed his blade aside and squared up.
The Lion King lunged at his throat, exposing its belly.
Drogo kicked it viciously, dodging its bulk.
The Lion King snarled and turned—but Drogo was quicker.
He planted a hand on its skull and flipped over, landing atop its back.
Before it could react, he smashed a fist into its nose.
CRACK!
The Lion King shrieked in pain.
Drogo rolled off, brushed the dust from his body, and stood victorious.
The Lion King lay groaning, blood gushing from its nose.
The cub rushed over, whimpering beside its fallen protector.
It had been a calculated victory.
Drogo knew lions' greatest weakness: their sensitive noses.
The Lion King, true to its pride, eventually rose, shook its head, and pushed the cub toward Drogo before turning away.
Drogo finally understood:
It had tested him. It needed to know if he was strong enough to protect its true king.
ROAR!
The Lion King roared one last time—and the pride surged toward the open plains of the Dothraki Sea.
Drogo cradled the cub, watching them go.
And as the dust settled, he realized:
The little king in his arms—
was crying.
.
.
.
🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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