Daenerys Targaryen's dragons had hatched.
After Khal Drogo's death, she had walked into his funeral pyre. The treacherous Mirri Maz Duur burned screaming in the flames, but Daenerys emerged unharmed. When the sun rose, Jorah Mormont watched in awe as she rose from the ashes — her silver hair burned away, her body covered in soot — with three living baby dragons clinging to her.
From that moment, her followers called her the Unburnt and the Mother of Dragons.
Yet Daenerys was not happy. Those glorious titles only reminded her of the husband and child she had lost.
On cold desert nights she often sat alone on a sandy rise, staring into the distance beneath the stars while her three small dragons chittered beside her. It was something she and Drogo had loved to do together.
That great Dothraki man, she thought with tears in her eyes. To the arrogant lords of the West he may have seemed savage, but to her he had been kind and gentle.
As she learned the Dothraki tongue, Drogo had stubbornly begun learning the Common Tongue for her sake. Their bond had deepened with every passing day.
When the witch's blood magic left him a lifeless shell, Daenerys felt a grief deeper than any she had known — deeper than the deaths of Viserys or Ser Willem Darry.
Drogo was gone. His mighty khalasar had scattered to the winds, leaving only a handful of loyal souls willing to stay with her.
She finally understood the weight of her responsibility. She had to lead these people to safety and one day cross the Narrow Sea to reclaim the Iron Throne that belonged to her family by right.
The dream was noble, but reality was harsh. Her first task was simply finding a safe place for her starving followers.
She followed the bleeding red comet across the barren Red Waste. During that exhausting journey, the dreams returned.
She dreamed of Ser Willem when he was still alive, of Viserys before madness claimed him, and of the happy days riding beside Drogo.
But most often she dreamed of one terrifying figure.
Roman Rivers.
In her dreams she saw a man with a long, heavy tail covered in razor-sharp black scales and jagged black horns rising from his skull. She watched him spread dark blue-black wings and soar through stormy skies at terrifying speed, moving between the different parts of his vast, advanced realm.
Through the mysterious link of dragons, her subconscious followed him as he inspected House Whent's territories. For the first time she saw her ancient homeland with perfect clarity.
Daenerys was astonished by how prosperous and organized everything was. She had seen wealthy Free Cities in Essos, but never anything like the dense clusters of insulated buildings, workshops, and civic facilities Roman had created.
Compared to the starving smallfolk of the Free Cities, Roman's people looked stronger and healthier. Most smiled with genuine admiration whenever they saw him walking among them.
Why aren't they terrified of his wings and scaled tail? she wondered in her sleep. How can his commoners live so happily and securely? How did he accomplish all this?
Driven by curiosity, she studied his administrative work in the dreams. She absorbed advanced political and economic ideas she had never heard before. She saw the talented people who surrounded and supported him.
While her body endured the brutal Red Waste with her fragile khalasar, her mind studied voraciously every night.
She felt that Roman's meritocratic theories were exactly the knowledge a true king needed.
The more she learned, the more she admired his rule. Yet the more she observed him, the more terrified she became.
When she finally glimpsed his true draconic form, her fear deepened.
He was no mere mutated human. His aura belonged to a dark blue-black dragon with smooth obsidian scales and a perfectly proportioned, lethal body. He was nothing like her three small, undisciplined wyverns.
Roman was a four-legged, two-winged dragon — massive yet agile, fast enough to break the sound barrier. His human-like intelligence shone clearly even in dragon form. He was no beast.
Daenerys remembered the blood-dream from Mirri Maz Duur's tent: the dark-scaled dragon that killed her unborn son Rhaego after he had become a feral dragon himself.
She could not clearly tell friend from foe through the chaotic Valyrian magic, but one truth was certain: only by becoming far stronger and commanding undeniable military power could she ever face Roman Rivers in Westeros without paralyzing fear.
Westeros – The Crownlands – House Whent's New Territory
Roman had felt restless lately. At first he thought it was simple exhaustion after the long campaign, but even after several days of rest the discomfort remained. Fili noticed immediately.
"Lord Roman," she scolded gently while cleaning his pointed draconic ears, his head resting comfortably in her lap. "You must take a proper break. You look terrible."
Though both of them had bodies far more resilient than ordinary humans, Fili still hated seeing him push himself so hard.
"Thank you, Fili," Roman sighed, closing his eyes. "The initial construction in the new territories has stabilized, but we still don't have enough trained administrators. It's time for a short rest. Let's give ourselves a well-deserved vacation."
Fili's face lit up with a foolish grin, her blue eyes sparkling. "Then you must come back to Harrenhal with me for the autumn harvest feast! It's been far too long since you joined the civilian celebrations."
Roman nodded against her soft lap, but his mind was already turning over recent magical disturbances.
Whenever he felt this kind of inexplicable discomfort, it usually meant something significant had happened in the world — and his draconic body would soon undergo another painful change.
Magic… he thought, eyes narrowing. Daenerys Targaryen's three Valyrian dragons must have hatched by now. Soon she will head to Slaver's Bay and take the Unsullied. But without Ser Barristan's protection and guidance… can someone as young and inexperienced as her actually rule those rebellious cities without creating chaos?
Still, Roman did not dwell on it long. According to the story he remembered, Daenerys possessed remarkable plot armor and luck after her dragons were born. Aside from her naïve mistakes in Meereen, she rarely faced threats she could not burn her way out of.
After a moment's thought he pushed the concern aside. Worrying too much now might only bring her flying to his doorstep on a grown dragon in a few years.
On one side stood the Mother of Dragons with three wild wyverns. On the other stood Roman Rivers — an intelligent humanoid dragon backed by a modern industrialized superpower. Neither side would yield easily. Their eventual meeting was unlikely to be peaceful.
Roman knew he needed to grow stronger. Not only by pushing his own magical limits through mutation, but by continuing to develop his territory's industrial power.
This archaic game of thrones is truly annoying, he thought. How are we supposed to survive the coming continental crisis if these southern lords keep acting like armed children?
He let out a soft sigh, enjoying Fili's touch. "It's a pity I still need more time. After a few days of rest, the burden of saving this continent will only grow heavier."
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