Daenerys had already learned from Xaro Xhoan Daxos that he possessed more than eighty ships.
But with so few followers—and most of them being Dothraki—those ships were useless.
These horsen didn't just lack the ability to sail; simply being on a ship was enough to take half their lives.
The captives and a few dockworkers who hadn't escaped could barely operate five vessels between them.
Still, Daenerys felt more than satisfied—especially since neither the Pureborn nor the remaining eleven mbers of the Thirteen would ever allow her to take all of Xaro's fleet.
She had the won and children transferred onto her own ship.
The Dothraki warriors spread across the other four, watching the captives.
But their "watching" was mostly symbolic—
anyone who had witnessed dragonfire would never dare flee into the open sea.
Qarth, the greatest port city in the known world, was a crossroads of rare goods from every corner of Essos.
Once food and fresh water were loaded, Jorah led the n in purchasing pepper, zebra hides, sourgrass, and other Qartheen specialties using the gold looted from Xaro.
If they made it safely to their next port, these goods would bring a handso profit.
With everything loaded, the five ships finally set sail.
Only after the harbor shrank into the distance did Daenerys and Jorah allow themselves a long, steady breath.
The Dothraki, however, looked as though they were sailing straight into the underworld—faces pale, expressions stoic with despair.
The mont the ships began to sway, they vomited endlessly.
Even the fiercest bloodriders were reduced to trembling wrecks, wishing soone would just challenge them to a duel and put them out of their misery.
"They're suffering because of ."
Daenerys looked at their weakened forms—not with mockery, but with a deep, solemn weight.
They had left their holand, crossed poisoned waters, and followed her into the unknown.
She had a duty to protect them.
A sharp "Ssshh!" split the air.
Drogon soared freely above the great blue sea, exhilarated as never before.
This was where a dragon belonged.
He shot upward toward the heavens, then dove into the waves to snatch fish from the depths, playing with reckless joy.
Only after circling the fleet several tis did he perch lazily on the railing to rest.
"Khaleesi… what did you see inside the House of the Undying?"
With a mont to breathe, Jorah finally asked the question burning in him.
He still didn't understand why Pyat Pree had insisted she enter.
"We misunderstood one thing," Daenerys said softly. "Xaro never wanted . He wanted the dragons.
But Pyat Pree… he wanted , not them."
"You…?"
Jorah frowned.
"Yes. If not for Drogon, I would already be dead."
She reached up and stroked Drogon's warm, scaled neck as she spoke.
"Inside the House of the Undying," Daenerys continued softly,
"I saw all sorts of visions.
I saw the Iron Throne covered in ash…
I saw Drogo and my son…
And I saw Ser William—the man who rescued from Dragonstone."
She paused, then added:
"I also saw a hall filled with corpses… severed limbs everywhere. One figure had a wolf's head and a man's body. It was terrifying."
[Did she… foresee the Red Wedding?]
Drogon's mind-voice echoed in shock.
"Red Wedding?"
Daenerys blinked in confusion when she heard Drogon's thought.
A wolf's head?
Was that referring to House Stark?
Was it their doing—or sothing done to them?
Either way, she didn't waste sympathy.
The usurper's lackeys could die for all she cared; the fiercer they fought, the better for her.
She went on:
"I also saw my brother Rhaegar… I'm sure it was him. He looked so much like Viserys.
He was holding a baby.
He said the child was Aegon Targaryen—the prince that was promised."
"Wasn't Prince Aegon smashed to death by the Mountain?" Jorah asked.
"It should have been him.
But I didn't have ti to reach them."
[That's your white-horse prince!] Drogon's mind chid suddenly.
"Huh?"
Daenerys snapped her head up, startled, staring at Drogon perched high above her on the railing.
"My white-horse prince… you ntioned before he hadn't appeared yet.
But Aegon was supposed to be dead.
So does that an he wasn't killed?
Was he rescued?"
Her thoughts spun wildly.
She forgot—just for a mont—that Drogon wasn't supposed to know she could hear him.
[Why are you staring at ? Go on—finish the story!]
Drogon tilted his head, curious.
He wanted to compare her visions with his own—especially the one where he died under a storm of arrows.
Could it really happen?
Feeling Drogon's gaze, Daenerys suddenly realized her mistake.
If she kept staring like that, he would grow suspicious.
And Drogon was far too clever.
If he discovered she could hear his thoughts, he would guard them—and she'd lose her greatest secret forever.
"A-ah… Drogon, you look bigger again!" she blurted out, reaching to stroke his neck.
It was ant as a distraction, but once she touched him, she froze.
He had grown.
His scales glimred darker and glossier than before.
The crimson webbing of his wings glead like fresh blood.
The contours of his hide were fiercer, more majestic—terrifying yet beautiful.
"You're… getting handso," she murmured in awe.
[So she noticed—haha!]
Drogon laughed proudly to himself.
The mysterious white motes he absorbed hadn't enlarged him much, but they had strengthened his body and sharpened his appearance.
"H-handso, but still just a little dragon…" Daenerys added quickly, covering her fluster.
She then resud recounting the prophecy:
"The Undying told I am the daughter of death, the daughter of storm.
That I am destined to light three fires—one for life, one for death, one for love.
To ride three mounts—one for bed, one for dread, one for love.
And to face three betrayals—one for blood, one for gold, and one for love."
"The fire for life must be the pyre that birthed the dragons.
The fire for death… perhaps dragonfire."
But what troubled her most were the betrayals.
"Miri Maz Duur betrayed for blood.
Gold… that must have been Doreah.
But the one for love… what is that supposed to be?"
Drogon glanced at Jorah.
[Ser Jorah seems awfully quiet.]
Hearing Daenerys analyze the betrayals, Jorah stiffened and looked away—
only to et Drogon's burning crimson gaze.
The dragon's eyes were deep and sharp, far too knowing for his age.
Jorah felt exposed, as though stripped bare by a creature that should've been an animal.
Jorah?
Daenerys's heart trembled.
Could he be the one who betrays her for love?
Impossible.
He had protected her again and again.
He'd saved her from poisoned wine.
He had shown nothing but loyalty.
But if not him… was it soone connected to him?
Soone he knew?
A quick glance at Jorah's slightly unnatural expression made her stomach twist.
But she could not confront him—not now.
He was her most reliable shield.
If she accused him wrongly, she would lose him forever.
Better to watch quietly… and stay alert.
As for the betrayal of love—
Drogon knew perfectly well it referred to Jon Snow.
But he didn't know what to think of it.
Daenerys burning King's Landing…
Her desire to continue her conquest…
And Jon, torn by love and duty, forced to choose…
It was tragic for them both.
[Sigh… I cannot let her walk the sa dood path again.]
Drogon exhaled in his heart.
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