Chapter 174 — Passing by King's Landing
"Your Grace!"
The moment she stepped out, Shireen froze when she saw Daenerys standing in the corridor. Startled, she quickly walked over and asked with barely contained excitement, "Your Grace, Drogon wants to take me to Oldtown to treat my face… may I go?"
So that message really was for Drogon?
But when had he ever told Varys to keep track of someone named Sam?
Lost in thought, Daenerys glanced at the grey-scaled half of Shireen's face. She had heard long ago that Greyscale was incurable. For Shireen to have stopped its spread was already a miracle—yet now she was talking about curing it entirely.
Seeing the hope in the girl's eyes, Daenerys smiled.
"Of course you may."
Whether that "Sam" could truly cure her or not, Daenerys had no intention of stopping this.
Shireen might be a Baratheon by blood, but she was already one of Daenerys's most capable little aides—and in the future, she would only become more valuable.
With permission granted, Shireen hurried back into her room to pack.
She no longer cared as much as she once did about how others saw her—but she was still a girl, and a princess of House Baratheon at that.
Who wouldn't want a face free of scars?
Once she was gone, Daenerys turned to Drogon, who was gliding back toward her.
"When did you ask Varys to watch for news about Sam?"
At her question, Drogon merely paused midair for a fraction of a second before landing on her shoulder—then tilted his head upward, as if he hadn't heard a word.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes.
"Don't play dumb. You… can write now, can't you?"
That was the only explanation she could think of.
How else could he communicate with anyone?
Thinking back, more and more things began to feel… off.
Some of the intelligence Varys had delivered in the past had always struck her as strangely specific—almost as if it had come from somewhere she couldn't see.
Even his sudden decision to support her back then had felt odd.
At the time, she had little more than her dragons, the Unsullied, and the Second Sons. Hardly enough to draw someone like Varys into her service so decisively.
And then there was Tyrion Lannister.
Every time she discussed Varys or certain pieces of intelligence with him, Tyrion would hesitate—like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't.
As if there were a connection… between her and Varys… that she herself didn't know about.
Then there were Oberyn Martell and Robb Stark—both of whom had chosen to ally with her under strangely coincidental circumstances.
And Varys uncovering the truth behind Joffrey Baratheon's poisoning…
For the master of whispers in King's Landing, his reach seemed almost too vast.
Too precise.
Almost… omniscient.
Many of those secrets were absolute confidences—things only the people directly involved would ever know. Even with all his "little birds," it should have been nearly impossible for Varys to uncover the truth behind them.
And yet… he knew.
He knew far too much.
The way he seemed to grasp these hidden events so completely felt strangely familiar to Daenerys Targaryen.
Only now—after seeing that message about Sam—did the source of that familiarity finally click.
Wasn't that exactly like Drogon?
That near-omniscience… that almost prophetic awareness?
Once the thought surfaced, everything began connecting.
Varys's sudden allegiance.
The way Tyrion and Shireen had appeared in Meereen at just the right moment.
The inexplicable loyalty of Oberyn Martell and Robb Stark.
If all of that… had been Drogon…
If he had been working behind the scenes for her all this time—
And she hadn't even known.
The realization hit her all at once.
Before she could stop herself, Daenerys pulled the feigning-innocent Drogon off her shoulder, hugged him tightly, sank to the floor—
—and burst into tears.
Her tears fell hot and fast, landing on Drogon's face and evaporating instantly into faint wisps of steam.
Drogon was completely baffled.
Just moments ago she'd been questioning him—so why was she suddenly crying like this?
Even if he had hidden the fact that he could write… even if she'd spent all that time teaching him…
Surely it wasn't enough to make her this upset?
Inside her room, Shireen heard the crying and hurried out.
Seeing the Queen of Dragons crouched in the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably, she froze in shock before rushing over. But she had no idea what to say—how do you comfort someone like Daenerys?
Meanwhile, Daenerys's thoughts spiraled.
From the Red Waste… to every step since…
Everything Drogon had done for her.
And what had she done in return?
She barely even roasted meat for him anymore.
And just now—she'd been upset over something as trivial as him not telling her he could write.
The more she thought about it, the worse it felt.
And the harder she cried.
Shireen had assumed it would pass quickly—but it only deepened. Finally, she stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Daenerys's shoulder.
Daenerys knew she was there.
She knew how it must look—a queen, crying in the hallway.
But she couldn't stop.
At last, she lifted her head, still trembling, and whispered softly to the dragon in her arms:
"Thank you… Drogon."
Drogon didn't understand the reason behind her tears—but her sorrow seeped into him all the same. He nudged her gently in response.
"I'm fine… Shireen. Go pack your things," Daenerys said, forcing a faint smile.
Only after seeing her calm down did Shireen finally relax and return to her room.
They weren't the only ones who had heard.
At the corner of the corridor, Barristan Selmy, Missandei, and the handmaid Irri had also been drawn by the sound.
They wanted to go to her—but Barristan stopped them.
Even he was puzzled.
Daenerys had always seemed so strong… so unyielding.
But perhaps, he thought, she simply needed this moment—to release everything she had carried since birth.
Back in her chamber, Daenerys set Drogon down, washed her face, and applied a light touch of powder.
By the time she stepped away from the mirror, the Queen had returned—composed, regal, unshaken.
Ever since that moment she'd accidentally spoken aloud, she had suspected Drogon knew she could hear his thoughts. Otherwise, he wouldn't have grown so guarded.
There was a trace of regret in being discovered.
But more than that—she found she didn't mind.
If he wouldn't write…
Then speaking heart to heart like this wasn't so bad.
Of course, she would never say it outright.
Drogon was far too clever—he would understand on his own.
Perched on the table, Drogon watched her quietly, still trying to figure out why she had cried so fiercely.
No matter how he thought about it—
He couldn't make sense of it.
The next day, he carried Shireen into the sky, bound for Oldtown Citadel.
Ever since crossing the Narrow Sea once before, she hadn't ridden him again.
Now, with Drogon several times larger than before, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. The moment she climbed onto his back, she clutched tightly to his neck spines, afraid of slipping.
They flew steadily over Blackwater Bay at first, allowing her to adjust.
Only after she relaxed did Drogon accelerate.
An hour later, they reached the skies above King's Landing.
This time, Drogon didn't bother avoiding it.
He no longer needed to hide.
Now—
he could fly wherever he pleased.