Chapter 102: A Group Raid for Meat
Daenerys and the members of her Small Council were still present for the class. Daenerys herself had come purely to show support, while the others were there to gain a basic understanding of House Targaryen's history.
Shireen stepped onto the platform. Seeing the Queen and so many important figures seated below made her a little nervous at first, but she quickly composed herself. After all, as a member of royalty, she had experienced her fair share of grand occasions.
She began by introducing the sigil of House Targaryen—the three-headed dragon breathing fire—and their words: "Fire and Blood."
Most people were already familiar with the sigil; it flew daily above the Great Pyramid. The house words, however, were unknown to many.
Shireen then traced the origins of the first Targaryens, the founding of the Valyrian Freehold, and how House Targaryen rose to become part of the ruling elite of that vast empire.
For most of the students, their knowledge of the Targaryens began and ended with dragons. Only now, listening to Shireen's lecture, did they learn just how glorious the family's past had once been.
Watching the bright, attentive eyes of the students, Daenerys couldn't help but feel a quiet pride in her lineage.
After Shireen's class, Daenerys went on to attend Missandei's language lesson. It was the most crowded class of all, with nearly a hundred students packed inside.
Most of the people in the three cities of Slaver's Bay spoke forms of Valyrian passed down from the era of the Freehold, while a smaller number used Old Ghiscari.
Missandei focused primarily on Valyrian and the Common Tongue, saving other languages for smaller, later courses. Among all the instructors, she was easily the busiest.
Thanks to the newly compiled language textbooks, her teaching was clear and approachable. Many students had assumed that learning a new language would be painfully difficult, only to find that it was far easier to grasp than they had imagined.
Seeing how relaxed and confident the students looked, Missandei felt a quiet sense of fulfillment—and deep gratitude toward Queen Daenerys for providing her with such effective teaching methods.
Without those techniques, her lessons would not have flowed nearly as smoothly, nor would the students have progressed so easily.
After Missandei's class, Daenerys continued on to sit in on the medical course and the painting class. By the end of the day, she was utterly exhausted.
Drogon had accompanied her throughout the entire day. By the final class, he was already nodding off.
That evening, after returning to her chambers, Daenerys didn't even bother opening a book. She lay down on the bed with Drogon in her arms and fell asleep almost immediately.
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The next morning, Daenerys awoke refreshed after a deep, restful sleep. Still half-drowsy, she rolled over—only to find Drogon beside her, snoring softly.
Watching his small body rise and fall in steady rhythm, Daenerys was surprised. He was sleeping far later than usual; normally, he woke before she did. It seemed yesterday's full day of accompanying her to classes had truly worn him out.
She remained in bed for a little while longer. When Drogon showed no sign of waking, she carefully slipped out of bed and went to wash up. Today wouldn't be as hectic as yesterday, but there was still plenty of work to be done.
By midday, Drogon finally rolled over and slowly woke up. Not seeing his Dragon Mother beside him, he felt a flicker of confusion.
Huh?
Today… she actually got up before me?
Sunlight streaming through the window made him realize something was off. He flew over to the window and looked outside—sure enough, it was already midday.
I slept this long? he wondered. Did I eat too much these past few days?
Since returning from the Wall, he had been running back and forth between two cities, increasing the intensity of Rhaegal's and Viserion's training. He had also raised his own training load.
After being injured by the Night King's surprise attack, he'd come to believe his physical durability still wasn't enough. So he began pushing himself harder—slamming into trees, crashing into walls, even practicing free falls.
With the increased training, his appetite had surged, and he'd been sleeping more than ever. Thankfully, he trained every day—otherwise, he really would have turned into a pig.
After such a long sleep, his stomach was growling again. He flew out the window and headed straight for the vast Dothraki Sea.
As he neared the grasslands, he transformed into his adult form. His wingspan now exceeded forty meters. Two sharp horns jutted from the top of his massive black head like deadly spears.
Bone spines covered his body—not only along his crimson neck frill, but also on his head, legs, wing tips, and tail. Combined with his dense, dark scales, he looked terrifying… yet carried a savage, awe-inspiring beauty.
As his enormous body swept across the plains, the pressure of his passage flattened waist-high grass to the ground.
He hadn't flown far before spotting a large khalasar. The emblem on the tents looked strangely familiar—he must have visited this group more than once.
At the center of the camp, a whole sheep was roasting over an open fire. Judging by the color, it wasn't quite done yet.
The Dothraki had already spotted him from afar. At first, panic rippled through the camp, but once they recognized him, fear faded. They cleared space around the fire and respectfully invited him to eat.
Drogon didn't rush forward. Instead, he nodded to the warrior tending the fire and glanced at the roasting sheep—still undercooked. He gestured for the man to keep roasting it.
The Dothraki warrior was momentarily confused. Only after another warrior whispered to him did he realize the dragon wanted the sheep cooked properly. The man was stunned—he hadn't expected the dragon to care about doneness.
While the sheep continued roasting, Drogon didn't wait idly. He moved aside and began eating smoked horse meat. Ten minutes later, the sheep was ready—and he'd finished the horse meat just in time.
He had eaten about half the sheep when he noticed a small boy approaching, accompanied by an elderly Dothraki man.
Seeing the boy, Drogon finally understood why the khalasar's emblem had felt familiar. This was the boy's khalasar.
The child was Aka—the boy from the mother-and-son pair Drogon had saved long ago. Drogon already knew his name. After Aka's original khalasar had been absorbed, he and his mother had joined another.
Aka's gratitude—and his mother's—had given Drogon his very first taste of faith. Later, through their praise and word-of-mouth, combined with Drogon's mercy and generosity, more Dothraki began to worship him, granting him a growing reserve of belief.
Aka had seen Drogon many times since being rescued. Any fear he once had was long gone, replaced entirely by reverence.
Before they even reached him, Aka and the elderly man knelt.
The old Dothraki hesitated, then spoke,
"Honored Dragon God… may we ask that your golden dragon kin refrain from harming us when they hunt sheep?"
After speaking, he bowed deeply, pressing his head to the ground.
Meereen lay less than a hundred kilometers from the grasslands. When Rhaegal and Viserion were smaller, they hunted only near the city. Recently, however, they had grown larger—and bolder.
The last time Drogon came to the plains, he'd even encountered Viserion nearby.
It was only natural that the two dragons might injure people while hunting sheep. If Drogon hadn't strictly forbidden them from burning or eating people from a young age, things would have been far worse than mere injuries.