Chapter 110: Try Poking Him with a Needle?
"Even if Euron comes to Slaver's Bay, I would never agree to his demands," Daenerys said firmly, recalling what Yara had told her. From what she could tell, Yara had no reason to lie.
"That's for the best," Yara replied, visibly relieved. She had truly feared that Daenerys might choose Euron instead—after all, he currently held the Iron Islands and commanded most of their ships and warriors. Compared to him, Yara's strength was far smaller.
Daenerys glanced at Tyrion. Seeing that he had no objections, she rose from her seat and said solemnly:
"I accept your proposal. At the proper time, I will help you reclaim the Iron Islands. And when I become ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Islands will remain under House Greyjoy—ruled by you."
With that promise, the alliance was formally sealed.
Yara's fleet was temporarily stationed in Meereen's harbor. Some of her men remained aboard the ships, while others entered the city.
---
The next day at noon, after a long stretch of work, Daenerys returned to her chambers—only to find Drogon still sleeping.
That struck her as strange.
He had been sleeping more than usual lately, but even then, he would normally wake by midday at the latest.
She had been hoping to take him for a flight once he woke, to clear her head. Things had been hectic recently, and she hadn't had time to ride him through the skies. She missed that feeling of freedom, soaring above the world.
But Drogon, who had somehow moved from his little nest onto her bed, showed no sign of waking.
With no other choice, Daenerys lay down beside him, deciding to rest for a while before returning to her duties in the afternoon.
When she came back that evening, Drogon was still asleep.
Now she was truly worried.
No matter how fond he was of sleeping, this was far too long. She gently poked his belly with a finger—but he didn't even stir.
She nudged him again. Nothing.
"Drogon?" Daenerys felt a knot tighten in her chest.
"Drogon!" she called again.
Still no response.
Panic rising, she reached out and lifted him into her arms.
"Drogon… what's wrong?" Her voice trembled, on the verge of tears.
Cradled against her, his body felt soft and limp, utterly unresponsive no matter how she called his name.
"Missandei! Missandei!"
Missandei was not far from the chamber. Before Drogon began sleeping here regularly, she would sometimes come to keep Daenerys company.
When she heard Daenerys's panicked voice, Missandei jumped in fright and rushed over at once.
"Go—go get Maester Donne!" Daenerys said urgently, on the verge of tears. "Drogon fell asleep yesterday afternoon and hasn't woken up since. I tried calling him just now—no matter what I did, he wouldn't wake!"
"Khaleesi, please don't panic. I'll have the Unsullied summon him immediately," Missandei said softly, trying to calm her. She turned and hurried off to find the guards—Donne did not live in the Great Pyramid.
After sending the guards to fetch Donne, Missandei returned to Daenerys's chamber. Seeing Drogon lying limp in Daenerys's arms, completely unresponsive, her eyes reddened as well.
Since the day the three dragons were born, she had fed them herself, roasting meat for them day after day. Aside from Daenerys and Shireen, no one was closer to Drogon than she was.
Now, seeing him like this—soft as if all strength had drained from his body—she felt helpless and terrified.
Earlier that day, while tidying the chamber, she had noticed that Drogon still hadn't woken. She hadn't dared disturb him. She never imagined he would sleep all the way into the night.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before Maester Donne finally arrived, panting, a small medical satchel clutched in his hand.
At the sight of him, Daenerys quickly laid Drogon back onto the bed so he could be examined.
When the Unsullied told Donne that the queen's dragon was in trouble, his heart had sunk. The last time Drogon was injured, he had been of no help at all. This time, he had no idea what kind of trouble he was facing.
If it were an external wound, that would be one thing—but if it was something else… he truly had no idea what to do. He was a physician for humans, not dragons.
After hearing the details and carefully examining Drogon from head to tail, Donne nearly broke down.
He found nothing.
No wounds. No abnormalities.
By all appearances, the dragon was simply asleep.
But how could that be, when nothing could wake him?
How was he supposed to report this to the queen?
He tried gently pushing Drogon. No response.
He discreetly pinched the scales on his belly. Still nothing.
At last, Donne could only tell Daenerys the truth: he had found no injuries or signs of illness. Drogon appeared to be sleeping—deeply.
Daenerys wasn't surprised by his conclusion. Drogon had fallen asleep while practicing his writing, perfectly healthy at the time.
She had summoned Donne only out of desperation, hoping he might offer a different solution.
But he had none.
Seeing that Daenerys did not blame him, Donne finally breathed a sigh of relief.
After a moment's hesitation, he ventured, "Your Grace… perhaps we could try using a needle?"
"A needle?" Daenerys immediately understood what he meant.
They had called him, shaken him, checked him—nothing worked. If they couldn't find what was wrong, the only option left was something more extreme.
As long as it woke him, Daenerys would make Drogon write letters if she had to—anything to find out what was wrong.
"Missandei, bring some needles," she said decisively.
Missandei hurried out and soon returned, holding three needles of different lengths and thicknesses.
Taking them from her, Daenerys hesitated. Gritting her teeth, she gently poked Drogon's back with the longest needle.
No reaction.
She pressed a little harder. The needle still didn't pierce his skin—and Drogon didn't stir.
She moved to his belly. Still nothing.
Seeing that Daenerys hadn't even broken the skin, Donne assumed she couldn't bear to use force. Of course that wouldn't wake a dragon sleeping so deeply.
He cautiously asked, "Your Grace… would you like me to try?"
Daenerys glanced at him and immediately understood his thinking—that he believed she hadn't used enough strength.
She couldn't help but find it a little amusing. If Donne had seen Drogon survive being hacked at by hundreds of men, he wouldn't think that way.
Handing the needle to Donne, she waited to see how he planned to do it.
Donne took the long needle and carefully aimed for a gap between the scales on Drogon's back. He pressed—hard.
It still didn't go in.
Startled by how tough Drogon's hide was, he glanced at Daenerys. Seeing no sign of distress or objection, he shifted to the dragon's belly.
This spot should be softer, he thought.
Avoiding the scales, he used even more force.
Still nothing.
Unwilling to believe it, Donne clenched the needle tightly and drove it forward with all his strength.
The needle tip bent slightly—but it still failed to pierce the skin.