Chapter 116: Rejected
The moment Daenerys dismounted, she ran straight toward Drogon. From Rhaegal's back she'd already seen his altered form—and the scattered scales and torn flesh littering the grass around him.
"Drogon… you scared me to death!"
She reached him, took one look at his condition, and then threw her arms around his massive head, breaking down in tears.
At the moment Drogon left Meereen, Daenerys had truly believed she would never see him again.
Now, seeing that he had survived such a terrifying transformation and pulled through at last, all the fear and dread she had bottled up during his ordeal burst out at once.
Drogon knew how worried his dragon-mother had been. He simply let her cling to his head and cry.
She sobbed for a full two minutes before finally loosening her arms, wiping her tears, and looking at him with curiosity.
For some reason, she felt a faint sense of unfamiliarity coming from him. It wasn't just his altered body—there was something in his eyes, a hint of detachment, that made her uneasy.
Sensing her discomfort, Drogon gently nudged her with his massive head. Only then did Daenerys feel as though he had returned to the Drogon she knew, convincing herself that the strange sensation had been nothing more than her imagination.
Looking at him again, she noticed how much his face had changed. His mouth was broader now; where his snout had once been narrow and sharp, it was now squarer—but not unattractive. Combined with the dense bone spurs along his cheeks, the curved horns atop his head, and the wide new neck frill behind his skull, he looked more imposing and majestic than ever.
His neck was shorter, the bulge in his chest less pronounced. But as her gaze drifted lower, something immediately felt wrong.
She blinked and rubbed her eyes.
Drogon had two extra legs growing from his chest.
When she'd been hugging his head earlier, she'd felt something hard pressing against her hip and assumed it was another bone spur. Only now did she realize it had been one of his forelimbs.
"Drogon… you've grown two new forelegs?" Daenerys asked in shock, gently touching the now darkened limbs.
[I find it strange too.]
Drogon shifted his body, fully exposing the two new forelimbs and indulging her curiosity.
As he moved, Daenerys spotted the massive, still-unhealed wounds at the base of the limbs. Her tears immediately began to fall again.
This must have been what caused him to spray blood across the sky and fall from the air.
Just imagining the agony his body had endured during the transformation made her heart ache.
As she stroked his new forelimbs, a memory surfaced—she vaguely recalled hearing of dragons with four legs before.
Yes… Viserys had once told her.
When speaking of the origins of dragons, he'd mentioned the Fourteen Flames, where the Valyrians first discovered dragon eggs and hatched the beasts that would build the Valyrian Freehold.
According to the first person to discover the dragon lair, murals on the cavern walls depicted dragons with four legs.
But since every dragon later hatched by dragonlord families had only two, the tale was gradually dismissed and forgotten.
Daenerys never imagined that Drogon's transformation would turn him into one of the four-legged dragons described in ancient murals.
Beyond the extra limbs, his body was longer and leaner, more than a third larger than before. Between his wings and forelimbs, firm, bulging muscles were clearly visible.
New scales nearly covered his entire body—tight, orderly, and dark red, with a faint, glossy sheen between them.
Paired with his matching crimson wings, long and powerful frame, and enormous head, he radiated a presence that was both majestic and eerily beautiful.
Compared to his current form, Drogon's previous appearance could only be described as refined. Now, he was beautiful—like a living masterpiece.
When Daenerys glanced at Rhaegal and Viserion, they suddenly seemed crude by comparison.
Seeing her look their way, Rhaegal and Viserion happily gathered around her, unaware that they had just been silently judged and found wanting.
Realizing her own thoughts, Daenerys felt a pang of guilt. How could she find fault with her own children? Feeling ashamed, she stepped forward and gently patted each of their heads in turn.
Knowing Drogon's chest wounds wouldn't heal anytime soon, Daenerys sat beside his massive head and leaned against his neck.
"Drogon," she asked softly, "can you come back with me? Can you… become smaller right now?"
Drogon had already tried. His inherited transformation ability was still there—but it wouldn't activate. Whether due to the severity of his chest wounds or the fact that his body hadn't fully adapted to its new form, he couldn't say.
His chest injuries were the worst. Though the surface wounds were healing, he was still extremely weak. Even walking took effort, let alone flying.
And despite having eaten heavily for over an hour, he was already starting to feel hungry again. His body still needed food to recover.
After she asked, Drogon gently shook his head.
Daenerys understood that he couldn't return with her for now, and disappointment flickered across her face.
Having just completed his transformation and still injured, Drogon needed rest. Daenerys decided to stay with him a little longer before leaving.