Chapter 14 — Sword Aimed at King's Landing
"Khaleesi," Aggo warned, "he's too far away, and he's moving too fast. It'd be almost impossible to hit him. We might strike Rhaegal or Viserion by mistake."
"Then what do we do? Where's Drogon?" Daenerys snapped.
If anyone could beat that little blur, it would be Drogon—far stronger than the other two.
"Drogon was sleeping in his cabin this morning," Jhiqui said from the rail. "But I saw the hatch open a short while ago. He may have gone out again."
Daenerys swallowed a breath of panic. She knew Drogon loved to run off, but right now he was the only one who could help the other two—and he wasn't here.
"Send someone to fetch Drogon at once," Jorah ordered, moving to the prow. He knew the chances of finding the dragon aboard were slim, but they had to try.
"Khaleesi… that small creature might actually be Drogon." Aggo squinted, shading his eyes. The three dragons had descended and were fighting lower; from the deck he could just make out a flash of crimson on one set of wings.
"Drogon?" Daenerys stared, incredulous. The look on her face seemed to say, Are you blind? Drogon is far larger than those two—how could that tiny thing be him? Before she could scold him, a faint red gleam flashed in the sunlight—the reflection off Drogon's wing membranes.
"It could be him," Jorah admitted, "but how could he have become small? I never heard Viserys mention dragons getting smaller as they grow."
"And yet," Aggo added, "only Drogon could have beaten Rhaegal and Viserion into that state. There is no other dragon—if there were, none could take on two dragons so much larger than himself while so small."
Daenerys felt both hope and a chill.
If that little thing truly was Drogon… then he had secrets yet to reveal.
Daenerys' mind was full of questions, but the battle in the sky was already drawing to a close.
After their initial fury faded, Rhaegal and Viserion gradually realized that the tiny black blur attacking them was, in fact, Drogon.
The shameless fighting style was identical.
The overwhelming strength was identical.
Who else could it be?
Even with their limited wits, both young dragons understood: only Drogon could batter them like this. They simply could not comprehend how he had become so small.
When Drogon sensed their fighting spirit fading, he finally stopped.
Instead of landing, he darted straight toward his cabin on the ship.
Only after slipping inside did he activate his transformation ability and restore his full size.
He had barely stepped out when Daenerys rushed inside, breathless and frantic.
"Drogon—was that you just now?"
[Just giving them a little lesson.]
Drogon nodded.
"You scared me half to death!"
Ignoring the blood still glistening on his scales, Daenerys threw her arms around his neck.
After soothing her panic, Drogon lumbered out onto the deck and lay down near the doorway. He looked at Daenerys, then deliberately turned his head and looked at his back.
Daenerys froze—then her eyes lit up with disbelief and joy.
"Are you… asking me to ride you?"
When Drogon nodded, she nearly jumped with excitement. Carefully gripping the sharp neck spines, she swung a leg over and settled onto the hard scales of his back.
Years of riding horses proved their worth; her seat was steady despite the rough surface of his hide.
She had thought it would take two or three more years before she would ever ride a dragon. She never imagined that Drogon would grant her this gift so soon.
Rhaegal and Viserion were still no bigger than sheep, but Drogon was now three times their size—comparable to a full-grown horse—and capable of carrying her aloft.
She knew better than anyone:
what could run on land might not be able to fly, and the larger the creature, the harder it was to take off—let alone with a rider.
Ordinary dragons this size couldn't carry a human into the sky.
But Drogon was no ordinary dragon.
His strength far exceeded his siblings', and he could have carried her days ago—he had merely been worried she would slip off his smaller frame.
He too sometimes wondered at his rapid growth. The original Drogon had always eaten more and grown faster, but never at such an exaggerated pace. In the end, he chalked it up to the mutation granted by his devouring ability.
Once Daenerys settled herself, Drogon rose slowly, spreading his immense wings. His talons dug deep into the deck, then—at the ship's edge—he beat his wings hard and vaulted into the air.
The moment she felt the sky beneath her, Daenerys' nerves tightened.
The sensation was like her first time on a young mare—afraid she couldn't control the creature under her.
But her fear was unnecessary.
Drogon flew with remarkable steadiness, adjusting effortlessly whenever rough air brushed their wings.
The instant the crew spotted them, they froze—then scrambled below deck to call others.
They had just witnessed something no one had seen for centuries:
the birth of a new Dragonrider.
After letting Daenerys grow accustomed to balance and posture, Drogon gradually increased speed, banked, climbed, and dove.
The sudden drops made Daenerys cling to his neck spines and shout in surprise.
As they skimmed the waves, Drogon lifted his wings and glided so low that water erupted beneath them in a roaring spray.
Daenerys laughed—wild, unrestrained, radiant.
The mist of seawater blurred her pale, beautiful face, but her joy shone through vividly.
For that moment, she forgot Qarth.
Forgot fear.
Forgot responsibility.
She shed the stern armor of the khaleesi and simply became a girl—free and alive.
And hearing her exhilarated scream, Drogon felt something warm and protective rise within him.
They ascended again, and this time Rhaegal and Viserion joined them—each flanking a side like loyal escorts.
Only then did the people on deck remember the little black creature that had been fighting the two earlier.
Voices erupted, whispering and debating.
Someone—who had seen it closely—claimed that the little creature was Drogon transformed, shocking those who had never heard of a full-grown dragon shrinking like a hatchling.
Some believed it; others couldn't.
But when Drogon finally circled back and landed on the deck with Daenerys on his back, all doubts vanished.
"Your Grace!"
Jorah dropped to one knee, voice ringing.
"Your Grace!"
Her three bloodriders followed, fists pounded to their chests.
"Your Grace!"
Soon, the sailors, deckhands, and even the captured pirates echoed the cry across the ship.
Daenerys Targaryen—Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons—
was now truly a Dragonrider.
Young though her dragons were, Drogon had proven his might.
And with six ships under her banner, Daenerys could feel power flowing into her hands at last.
She would grow stronger.
Her followers would grow with her.
One day she would cross the Narrow Sea—
and aim her sword at King's Landing.
She would reclaim the Iron Throne.
She would restore the glory of House Targaryen.
And the world would burn if it dared to defy her.