Seeing that the Dragon Mother was asking directly, Drogon didn't try to hide it. He simply nodded. She had already guessed—there was no point denying it now.
"It's a pity you can't write," Daenerys said thoughtfully. "If you could, then we'd be able to—"
She stopped halfway through the sentence and suddenly turned her head, staring at the small black claws resting on her shoulder.
She reached out, lifted Drogon down from her shoulder, and set him gently on the table. Taking one of his forelegs, she spread his four clawed fingers apart and asked excitedly,
"Drogon, your little claws are so nimble—surely you can write too, right?"
As she spoke, Daenerys picked up a quill, dipped it lightly in ink, and examined Drogon's claws. Then she compared them to her own grip, pried his fingers open, and carefully slid the quill into the gap that roughly corresponded to where a thumb and forefinger would be.
Drogon: [...]
Once the quill was in place, Daenerys held Drogon's small black claw and began teaching him how to write letters, guiding him hand over claw.
This ti, Drogon didn't resist. His claw held the pen, moving slowly as Daenerys guided it across the page.
He wasn't in any hurry to truly "learn" how to write. A dragon writing every day—wasn't that exhausting? Even if he mastered it, unless there was a real need, he had no intention of scribbling all the ti.
Back on Dragonstone, letting Shireen know he could write had been purely out of necessity for communication.
Now that Daenerys had discovered he could read, and given how clever he was—and how flexible those claws were, flexible enough to roast at for himself—there was no way she'd believe he couldn't learn to write. She definitely wouldn't let him off easily.
Of course, he already knew how to write. He'd always used his left claw before. The right claw Daenerys was holding, however, still moved like that of a complete beginner.
With his right claw occupied, Drogon had to balance himself using his left. Worried he might topple over, Daenerys let him lean lightly against her.
Her silver hair brushed against his neck, tickling faintly. His claw moved back and forth in her grasp, and the closeness made him feel utterly content. He let her guide him along, stroke by stroke.
Less than ten minutes later, Drogon's head drooped—and he nodded off.
Daenerys: ???
I'm teaching you how to write so seriously, and you're falling asleep?!
[It's just… too comfortable… I drifted off…]
Seeing Daenerys put on an exaggeratedly stern expression, Drogon hurriedly perked up, pretending to be attentive again, all while continuing to enjoy the feeling of her guiding his claw.
Daenerys was just about to scold him when she heard his thought. She couldn't help but smile.
It seed she, too, was enjoying this little writing lesson far more than she'd expected.
A few minutes later, just as Drogon was about to drift off again, an ill-tid question suddenly rang out beside him, jolting him awake.
"Your Grace, what are you doing?"
"Ah! I—I'm teaching Drogon how to write," Daenerys replied, startled by Missandei's sudden shout. She quickly set the pen down and turned to her young advisor.
"Write?" Missandei asked in amazent.
You're playing around, aren't you? Teaching a dragon to write? she thought.
Seeing the doubt on Missandei's face, Daenerys explained, "Do you rember the secret ssage that arrived just before Grey Worm was injured? The mont I finished reading it, Drogon rushed out to save Grey Worm and Barristan. Don't you think that ans he can read Valyrian?"
At Daenerys's reminder, Missandei suddenly understood. Back then, she'd been so worried about Grey Worm that she hadn't thought about how lightning-fast Drogon's reaction had been.
If he hadn't understood the words, how could he have known where to go without anyone saying a thing?
Missandei looked at the crooked letters on the table, then at Drogon, whose eyes were already a little unfocused.
"Why does Drogon look like he's about to fall asleep?"
[Sharp eyes you've got.]
Drogon yawned and instinctively leaned toward the Dragon Mother again.
Daenerys felt a bit embarrassed. "Maybe… learning to write for the first ti is just too tiring."
Missandei glanced at Drogon's short little claws—only four fingers—and nodded in agreent. Writing with paws that small really did seem exhausting.
Seeing that Drogon had completely lost interest and truly looked drowsy, Daenerys had no choice but to gather him into her arms and let him sleep. She herself picked up the Targaryen family history book and began reading again.
Watching Drogon fall fast asleep in Daenerys's arms, Missandei couldn't help but sigh inwardly:
Learning to write really does seem harder for a dragon than fighting.
That afternoon, Drogon woke up groggily and found Daenerys lying beside him. For a mont, he couldn't understand why he was sleeping next to her in broad daylight.
Only after thinking for a bit did he rember—he must have fallen asleep halfway through practicing writing, curled up in her arms.
What he didn't know was that Daenerys had held him while reading for two full hours, barely daring to move. Only when she was utterly exhausted did she finally carry him to the bed and lie down with him.
---
The next day, the academy officially began classes.
All five established disciplines opened their first lessons, though at staggered tis so students could attend more than one course without schedule conflicts.
The first class was Tyrion's course on governance. Before the lesson even began, the classroom was already packed—except for a few empty seats in the very front row.
Just before class ti, Tyrion entered with several people behind him. The once-noisy room fell silent the mont the students recognized those following him, and everyone rose to bow respectfully.
Daenerys smiled and nodded at the thirty-plus students before taking a seat in the front row.
The students had heard from Darcy, who handled registration, that an important figure would be attending the Hand's first lecture. They had been speculating about who it might be—but none of them expected the Queen herself to appear.
Along with Daenerys ca Jorah, Grey Worm, Missandei, and Hizdahr zo Loraq. Nearly half of the Small Council was present.
They weren't there rely to show support. They genuinely needed to hear Tyrion's lessons.
As mbers of the Queen's council, each of them had administrative responsibilities—Daenerys included.
They weren't just attending today. They would be sitting in for days, perhaps even longer.
Tyrion swept his gaze across the classroom. Most of the students were children of slave masters or nobles, with only a handful of plainly dressed commoners mixed in.
He had t a few of them during registration, but most were unfamiliar faces. He began with a brief introduction:
"My na is Tyrion Lannister. Here at the academy, I serve as both Head of Governance and instructor."
So students hadn't known exactly who Tyrion was. After hearing the murmured explanations around them—that he had once been Hand of the King in King's Landing, and was now the Queen's Hand—they quickly straightened their posture and abandoned any lingering contempt.
After his introduction, Tyrion formally began the lecture, starting with city administration.
His teaching style was witty and engaging, frequently weaving in real examples from King's Landing. The students listened with rapt attention; so even felt a growing curiosity about the largest and most populous city in the world.
The hour-long class passed in a flash, and Tyrion's lecture ended without feeling burdenso at all.
The second lesson was Shireen's class on the history of House Targaryen. Thanks to Queen Daenerys herself being a Targaryen, more than fifty students had signed up.
…
(Special thanks to Backadice)
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