Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

When the baby dragons were first born, they looked like malnourished kittens, skinny and frail. Their bodies were so scrawny that only their necks, tails, and wings were distinguishable, making it seem like they had no torsos at all. Holding them in her hands, Dany could barely feel their weight.

However, everything changed when they spread their wings. Their wingspans were three times their body length, each wing a translucent masterpiece of delicate skin, vibrant in color, tightly stretched over long, slender bones.

Dany's own childhood had been harsh. Starting at the age of five, she had wandered between the nine Free Cities, living a life of poverty and hunger. Her poor nutrition and young age left her underdeveloped—at 14, her figure was slight, with a chest no larger than an apple. She was incapable of producing enough milk to feed the dragons.

The baby dragons were starving, constantly craning their necks and screeching, their cries resembling the whistle of a steam train. From their noses and mouths, bursts of scorching white smoke would occasionally escape.

Dany tried feeding them dried meat, mare's milk, raw bloody meat, and even cooked meat, placing everything in front of them. But the baby dragons only sniffed at the offerings and turned their heads away.

Frustrated, she grew increasingly anxious, and Jorah had no solutions either. Dragons had been extinct for over a century before these three hatched. Their existence had survived only in bedtime stories and legends.

It wasn't until Dany's first fire bath that she discovered the answer. Her black dragon wriggled out of her arms and hungrily gnawed on a charred bone from the fire.

That was when Dany understood—dragons only ate fire-roasted meat, and it had to be completely charred.

They were still too young to breathe fire and roast their own food, relying entirely on her to prepare their meals.

The first undeniable proof that dragons were magical creatures wasn't their birth in flames but their astonishing appetite.

Dany conducted an experiment herself—they could consume food three times their body weight in one sitting!

(Note: This isn't exaggerated. It's a canon detail from A Song of Ice and Fire. Without such an appetite, Dany's dragons wouldn't grow fast enough to help her combat the White Walkers.)

Compared to them, human competitive eaters were no match. Even the legendary "Big Eaters" of lore paled in comparison.

This defied Dany's understanding of science—she couldn't fathom where all that food went.

Once, she pressed on her black dragon's belly, trying to feel the movement of food inside. But there was no end to it. The dragon kept eating, its belly kept shifting, and it never stopped.

Because of their insatiable hunger, the dragons grew visibly larger by the day.

Dany was delighted, dreaming that she might soon be able to ride them.

But for her to ride them, the dragons would first need to learn to fly. Every time her gluttonous dragons tried to take off, they barely made it two feet off the ground before crashing back down in a heap—a pitiful sight.

One morning, as the yolk-colored sun struggled to rise above the horizon, Dany was thrilled to see her baby dragons finally able to glide through the air like paper airplanes.

After every feeding, she would carry her dragons in a basket to an open field to train them in flight.

Golden-red sunlight spilled across the land as Dany gently held a dragon in her hands and tossed it into the air.

The little dragon flapped its wings furiously and shot forward, only to crash moments later. Dany bent down to pick up another dragon from the ground.

The fallen dragons would crawl back to their mother, lining up obediently for their next attempt at flight.

During these moments, a group of children, as muddy as little monkeys and dressed in nothing but shorts, often watched from behind distant hills. With their almond-shaped eyes wide with curiosity, they peeked at Dany and her dragons, occasionally letting out gasps of delight.

Around ten in the morning, the Dothraki women shouted loudly, calling their children home for a meal and a nap.

Typically, the children would sleep until around four or five in the afternoon, after which the group would tidy up and continue their journey.

Among the Dothraki, except for the khal and bloodriders, children only had mothers—they rarely knew their fathers. In most cases, it was impossible to tell who the father was.

The khalasar would collectively raise the children. Once grown, the boys became warriors who followed the khal into battle, while the girls took on the role of bearing the next generation.

This was how the Dothraki had lived for countless generations.

But perhaps things were beginning to change. Change, after all, had already begun.

Dany hoisted her basket again, carrying her three baby dragons, and strolled back to her tent.

First, she used fine red sand to scrub away the dirt from her body. Then, after sharing some dried meat with her dragons, she lay down on a grass mat with them and drifted off to sleep.

For the first time, Doreah was able to sleep soundly even at noon, thanks to the low walls Dany had ordered built around the tent for protection.

Previously, not just Doreah but most of the Dothraki struggled with the oppressive heat, making it nearly impossible to rest.

Even though Dany had taken her duties as the leader of the khalasar seriously, the reality remained: this was the Red Waste, a hellish plain.

On the third evening, about half an hour into their journey, an elderly man slumped off his horse and fell to the ground.

Thanks to the strict ten-member unit system Dany had implemented, the incident was reported to her, who was leading at the front, almost immediately.

She left Aggo and Rakharo behind to assist her while Jhogo led the bulk of the khalasar forward.

The main group couldn't afford to stop. Up ahead, scouts were still searching for water, and the khalasar needed to catch up.

The fallen man had pale blue eyes clouded with a milky haze, his skin lighter than that of most Dothraki, and at the roots of his graying hair, faint golden hues were visible.

He wasn't Dothraki; he was a former slave of Drogo's khalasar.

When Dany took control of the khalasar, her first act was to remove the slaves' collars and grant them the status of qoyasqar—full members of the khalasar.

The old man before her, with a fractured left arm, was one of the first beneficiaries of this new system.

Dany brought a bag of fermented mare's milk close to him and asked, "How old are you?"

After a quick check, she found no signs of heatstroke or dehydration. However, when she looked inside his mouth, she saw he didn't have a single tooth left.

"I... I don't remember, Khaleesi," the old man said, sipping the milk and slowly regaining consciousness.

"Where does it hurt?" Dany asked.

"M-my hand," the old man groaned in pain.

Dany frowned. She knew his arm was broken, but she wanted to understand why he had fallen from his horse.

It took her about twenty minutes to clean his broken arm and stabilize it with two wooden splints.

Even though it was a severe fracture, Dany could do no more—without proper medicine, she was no different from any ordinary person.

She turned to the herdsman, Afanti, and instructed, "Take him to the wagon."

Afanti was the leader of the ten-member group to which the old man belonged. He managed a team of elders responsible for herding livestock and guarding supplies.

Two elderly men removed several tents from the cart, making space for the injured man. They tied the disassembled tents to the man's saddle before continuing the journey.

"Khaleesi, you should leave him here. His time has come," said Irri, one of Dany's handmaidens, her tone more a declaration than a suggestion. "No one should outlive their own teeth."

The other Dothraki murmured in agreement.

But Dany disagreed. "Have you considered why the khalasar, which leaves no room for the useless, allowed him to live this long? There must be a reason—perhaps he possesses some remarkable skill that the khal needed."

"Maybe it's his medical skills, or perhaps he's a literary expert," Dany mused, then immediately shook her head, dismissing the idea. "It won't be literature. Maybe his herding skills are exceptional. Isn't that right, Afanti?"

Afanti, riding behind Dany, expertly maneuvered his horse to her side, keeping half a horse-length back. With an exaggerated tone, he exclaimed, "Khaleesi, your wisdom is truly unparalleled; nothing escapes your eyes."

Though his flattery felt a bit clumsy, it was rare praise coming from a Dothraki—like spotting a penguin in the Arctic.

"What skill does he have?" Aggo asked curiously.

"Watson is a master of twelve techniques of the Spring Cry," Afanti declared.

"Yes, the blue-eyed Valantene is known as Watson," he added helpfully.

"The Spring Cry?" Dany asked, her face showing confusion. "What is that?"

"Ah, those people who live in stone houses are always so particular," Afanti waved dismissively.

Dany's cheeks reddened as understanding dawned on her. It referred to carnal arts.

"How is that a skill worth noting?" she said, feeling a bit embarrassed and annoyed.

Sensing her displeasure, Afanti grew nervous and quickly tried to recall something Watson had once bragged about. "Khaleesi, even the famed Kayrun—the world's top center for training female slaves—only teaches seven Spring Cry techniques. But Watson... he's Valantene, and he knows techniques from pre-Doom Valyria, ones only the Dragonlords used. Even though only five have been preserved, they're enough to make him unparalleled."

Valantis, a city that survived the Doom of Valyria, is one of the nine Free Cities and remains a bastion of Valyrian culture. Its ruling class, like House Targaryen, are pureblood Valyrian nobles.

The Targaryens were once considered exiles.

"Even if he's the best in the world, he's old now. What use is he? Why would a khal keep him around?" Dany asked, still puzzled.

"He's Khal Haggo's father," Afanti said solemnly. "A khal's father cannot be abandoned."

"Haggo... Khal Haggo? Was Hago a khal of another khalasar before?" Dany's curiosity deepened.

"Not Drogo's bloodrider, if that's what you're thinking. I'm talking about Blue-Eyed Haggo, twenty years ago. Our khalasar is so large that at least three children here are named Haggo."

"I see," Dany nodded, adjusting her white lion cloak. She reflected, "Watson isn't simple. A slave's son became a khal—that's extraordinary."

"A half-blood," Afanti added. "Haggo's mother was Dothraki. Watson served the previous khal well—he was, after all, a master of twelve Spring Cry techniques. His courageous son rose to become a bloodrider.

"Later, Blue-Eyed Haggo became a khal himself and made a name for himself across the Dothraki Sea—until he encountered Khal Drogo's father." Afanti sighed, his expression wistful.

Dany nodded to herself. A person's value wasn't solely determined by physical strength. An elder's wisdom and vast experience were invaluable assets.

"Khaleesi, did you know Khal Drogo was once kidnapped as a child?" Afanti suddenly asked.

"I know," Dany replied. "It was Qotho who risked his life to rescue him. That time, Qotho got two deep, bone-revealing scars on his face and became the most trusted companion of the khal. He later became Drogo's bloodrider."

As she spoke, a thought struck her, and her eyes widened. "Could it have been Blue-Eyed Haggo behind the kidnapping?"

(End of Chapter)

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