As the first ray of sunlight slipped through the seams of the tent, Drogo opened his sleepy eyes.
He had only rested since the early hours, but for him, it was enough.
Drogo felt as if he had transformed into a human-shaped dragon — fire was his strength, flames his nourishment, and the raging blaze his spirit!
After being tempered by several infernos, he could feel it: his skin had toughened, and his fists packed far more strength than before.
This was a good thing.
For a mortal to step into the realm of miracles, Drogo had no fear — only a greater hunger for more.
Daenerys, though aching all over, forced herself out of bed, yawning, determined to personally help her husband prepare for the day, fulfilling her duty as a proper wife.
However, Drogo gently yet firmly refused her.
Instead, he wanted to comb his wife's hair — something he had always wished to do.
Although Daenerys' once-lustrous locks were now completely gone, Drogo had noticed tiny silver buds beginning to sprout atop her head.
Hope filled him. Soon, he believed, he could once again run his fingers through her silky hair.
Not just her — Drogo touched his own scalp and felt the faint prickling of new hair growth.
It had been less than a day since surviving the inferno, and already, the first stubble had returned.
The Dothraki were a race known for thick hair — he was sure his mane and beard would soon grow back, fiercer than ever.
Provided, of course, he didn't set himself ablaze again.
After dressing, Daenerys was about to call for Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah to assist Drogo with washing, but he stopped her.
He pressed a finger to her lips and whispered mysteriously:
"Turn around and wait for me."
Though puzzled, Daenerys obediently turned her delicate body away.
Satisfied she wasn't peeking, Drogo tiptoed outside like a thief.
Snowball, the white lion cub, tried to follow but was promptly kicked aside.
Drogo, a true iron-willed man, disliked clingy creatures — with the sole exception of his wife.
Outside, he accepted from Irri the new lion cloak that the handmaids had stayed up all night sewing.
He sniffed it — it smelled not of blood or hide, but of fragrant oils.
The craftsmanship was even finer than the cloak he had lost in the flames.
Drogo genuinely praised them:
"This is magnificent! Thank you for your clever hands!"
In the past, the Khal had been distant and merciless.
No matter what they did, the handmaids had never earned even a nod.
Now, overwhelmed, they nearly wept.
"To receive the Khal's praise... even the gods must be rejoicing," they stammered, holding back tears.
Drogo, feeling a pang in his heart, ruffled their heads affectionately, silently cursing:
"This damned, ugly world..."
He knew he could not truly heal their pain.
So, burdened by guilt he could not express, he returned to his tent to make it up to Daenerys.
He had always regretted losing the lion cloak he had once given her.
That was why, when he saw a whole dead lion among the retreating beast tide, he brought it back.
Now, he silently crept behind her and gently draped the new lion cloak around her shoulders — mimicking the romantic gestures lovers might make in the world he had once known.
The warmth, the softness, the luxurious scent — all wrapped around Dany like a loving embrace.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She turned and flung herself into Drogo's arms.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
"My sun and stars, you make me the happiest woman alive."
Drogo stroked her back tenderly, replying from the depths of his heart:
"My moon of my life, to have your beauty is to be the luckiest man in all the world."
But their tender moment didn't last long.
Snowball pounced onto Drogo's leg.
The hatchlings twined around their arms and shoulders, begging for attention too.
Though they could have simply ignored the beasts, the mood was broken.
Laughing in mock annoyance, Drogo and Daenerys each grabbed two little troublemakers and gave them a rough (yet loving) scolding.
To outsiders, it might have looked wild and violent.
But in truth, it was no different than parents playfully scolding naughty children.
Daenerys could no longer bear children, and so these strange creatures had truly become their family — their heirs to ambition.
Dragons needed no explanation.
As for Snowball — Drogo believed that one day, when they returned to the Dothraki Sea, the white lion would drive beast tides before them, sweeping all enemies aside.
After Daenerys' hands grew red from playfighting, Drogo called a halt.
The little beasts blinked innocently up at their parents, still eager to follow them wherever they went — unaware they had just caused chaos.
Emerging from the tent, Drogo immediately summoned Jorah Mormont to gather the entire khalasar.
Once assembled, Drogo paced slowly before them, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the solemnity of the moment.
He drank in the awe and reverence in the men's gazes, the smoldering admiration from the women.
When he caught Daenerys shooting him a slightly exasperated look, he finally stopped at the center.
Standing tall, breathing deeply, Drogo raised his voice in a rousing speech:
"My people!
Good morning!
I know your hearts are filled with fear and uncertainty.
But remember this:
Together, we forged a miracle!
Against impossible odds, we won a victory that will be carved forever into the history of the Dothraki.
We must believe that even in adversity, miracles are possible!
Let us march forward!
Let us not bow to hardship!
Let us not kneel to death!
I will lead you away from this wasteland.
I will stamp our footprints across every corner of the world!
And the first place we shall trample —
is the fabled golden giant city at the end of the wastes, on the edge of the Black Salt Sea...
Qarth!
The bridge between East and West!
The gate between North and South!
The so-called center of the world!"
Few among the khalasar knew the name "Qarth."
Even those who had heard of it had never seen it.
Leaving the Dothraki Sea behind forever meant embracing life as outcasts.
Yet none wavered.
Their trust in Drogo was absolute.
Their cheers split the sky:
"Father of Dragons!"
"The Unburnt!"
"The Mightiest King on Horseback!"
Each new title crowned him anew.
Each was earned by blood, not gifted by birth.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown — but Drogo did not falter.
Instead, the weight only stoked the fires of his ambition.
He would climb ever higher — until the heavens themselves bowed before him.
Originally, Drogo had intended to avoid Qarth, knowing the dangers whispered of in prophecy.
But in its center lay the mysterious House of the Undying —
and Drogo, driven by a deep, gnawing need to glimpse the shape of fate, could not resist.
"Howl!"
To answer his people's fervor, Drogo threw back his head and roared to the heavens.
"Hiss! Crackle!"
"Awrooo!"
The barren wasteland became a deafening arena, filled with cries both human and beast.
Daenerys smiled — a wild, beautiful smile.
Her whole body trembled as if struck by lightning.
Her husband's plan matched her secret hopes perfectly.
Wherever the hooves of the Dothraki rode, they would plunder and conquer.
And Qarth — the legendary city of gold — would be the first to fall.
With treasure beyond imagining, they could buy the great ships they needed.
And then...
Westeros — the land that was her birthright — would no longer be a distant dream.
.
.
.
🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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