Desperation welled inside him, too large for such a tiny body to contain. Suddenly, he began to cry a sharp, urgent wail, squirming in the swaddling cloth.
Daenerys startled and quickly lifted him closer to her chest. He had been unusually quiet most of the time.
"Rhaego… What is it, my love? Hush now…" she murmured softly, brushing her fingers along his cheek.
But the crying continued, louder now. His tiny fists clenched, his face reddening with effort. He reached upward, small hands grasping clumsily until they pressed against her cheeks.
His mouth opened wide.
"Buh!"
The riders fell silent for a heartbeat.
"Bauhh!"
Daenerys blinked, both surprised and faintly amused. He was hardly days old, yet he made sounds with strange strength behind them, almost deliberate.
"Maah?"
Her brows knit in confusion.
Rhaego strained again, as though trying to force meaning through a body that would not cooperate.
"Muh… mah…"
Her heart stuttered.
Ser Jorah, walking nearby towards her, stopped short, stunned. No infant born so recently could speak like that, not with such intent.
Daenerys met his eyes, and a proud, radiant smile spread across her face.
My child is strong.
She turned back to the babe and pressed her cheek gently against his.
"Yes… 'Mama' That's me," she whispered warmly. "Oh, my little flame." She hugged him close, protective and glowing with quiet triumph.
But inside Rhaego's mind, chaos reigned.
NO! I'm trying to speak! This useless baby mouth isn't cooperating! She wriggled furiously in frustration.
The movement broke the embrace. Rhaego's tiny fingers suddenly extended, pointing insistently toward the distant horizon.
She broke the embrace as Rhaego's tiny fingers pointed toward the horizon, as if beckoning her to look.
Jorah followed the gesture, his eyes narrowing.
Dany's heart lifted, thinking the desert's vastness had caught the child's fancy.
Rakharo narrowed his eyes against the sun, dark strands of hair whipping across his face. The baby prince's small, sun-warmed hand pointed again, unwavering.
In the rough cadence of the Dothraki tongue, Rakharo muttered, "Khaleesi… your son… he sees something?"
Dany tilted her head. "A trick of light perhaps, or his first taste of wonder. Let the boy dream."
But Ser Jorah, ever cautious, spoke quietly beside her.
"Sometimes the gods, old or new, speak through babes, Khaleesi."
She looked down again at Rhaego, who now squirmed fiercely in her arms, brow furrowed in stubborn determination. It almost seemed as though he were trying to get the world into understanding him.
"Heat may be addling his humors," she murmured, brushing damp curls from his forehead. Yet despite her words, her eyes drifted back to the horizon he indicated.
Rakharo stepped forward, hand on arakh. "I'll ride that way," he said without waiting. "If the gods or the khalakka himself show signs, I'll not be the one to ignore them."
"Take Aggo with you," Dany ordered, glancing at the second rider. "The rest stays with me. I'll not risk all my strength in the sand."
Rhaego gurgled then, a small, almost satisfied sound, caught somewhere between triumph and relief.
Jorah moved closer to Daenerys' side. "He is more than a child," he said thoughtfully. "A dragon's son, born in fire. Perhaps he senses what we cannot."
Daenerys' gaze softened, drifting inward. She remembered the flames curling around him, the way fire itself had spared his skin.
"He is the Stallion Who Mounts the World," she said quietly. Then her voice gentled. "But he is still my baby. Only a baby."
She held him closer, as if daring the desert to challenge that truth.
And in the cradle of her arms, Elena exhaled in exhausted relief.
Good. Please let this change something...Then maybe it might be possible to change her fate as well.
Behind her, Irri lowered her head as she tended to the frail water skins. Doreah whispered a prayer under her breath. Hunger gnawed at the khalasar, and sand blew endlessly.
Days passed beneath the merciless sun.
Then, at last, riders appeared on the horizon.
Rakharo returned with Aggo at his side, their horses lathered with foam, flanks trembling from hard riding. But their saddlebags were heavy not with sand, but with promise. Water skins bulged at their hips, and sacks of figs and salted meats hung from their saddles like offerings brought from the gods themselves.
A murmur rippled through the weary khalasar.
Daenerys stepped forward, Rhaego cradled in her arms. Her violet eyes scanned the supplies, suspicion flickering beneath relief.
"Where did you get these?" she asked.
Rakharo slid from his horse, "It was given to us by the Thirteen, Khaleesi," he said, awe threading through his rough voice. "The Elders of Qarth."
Daenerys frowned slightly. "Qarth?"
Three days to the east, on the sea." Rakharo replied.
"Will they let us enter?" she asked carefully.
Rakharo stepped forward, offering one of the heavy water skins. "They said they would be honored to receive the Mother of Dragons."
A pause settled over her features. An unknown city, rich enough to send gifts into the desert… welcoming her so readily.
She turned to Ser Jorah. "What do you know of this place?"
Jorah stroked his beard, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Only that the desert around its walls is called the Garden of Bones."
Silence lingered.
"Every time the Qartheens shut their gates on a traveler," he continued gravely, "the garden grows."
The weight of that settled heavily in the air. Daenerys' gaze drifted eastward, toward a city she could not yet see.
Behind her calm expression, calculation stirred. Hope and danger walked hand in hand. In her arms, Rhaego shifted slightly.
Inside his small body, Elena's mind raced.
Qarth… This is where things begin to change. The House of the Undying… the warlocks…
Her tiny fingers tightened against Daenerys' leathered clothing.
If we're going there…Will I be ready…? It might take awhile for all of us to get there.. But I wonder how fast I can grow in the mean time.
Dany cradled him close. "You saw it, didn't you? My little flame."
Rhaego, nestled in her arms, allowed himself a grin. For the praise, this time, they might survive. This time, he would make sure they all did.
After days of rest and replenishment, the khalasar moved once more toward the distant promise of Qarth.
The desert stretched endlessly, pale gold beneath a burning sky.
Daenerys walked at the center of her people, dragons shifting along her shoulders, their small wings flicking at the heat. When Rhaego began to fuss, she shifted him in her arms and let him nurse..
She gathered him gently.
In Elena's mind, embarrassment burned hotter than the desert sun.
This is humiliating… Her thoughts tumbled over one another.
But if I refuse… I'll starve. In her eyes, I'm not a grown adult. I'm her infant son. I don't get dignity. I get swaddling and milk.
A deep, helpless frustration welled up.
After all… Physically, I am a baby. The dragons shifted closer, as if guarding. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, across worlds.
What happened to my body? A cold fear crept in.
Did I die? Did I just… not wake up? Memories surfaced in fragments.
Stacks of books, a half-empty coffee cup. The glow of her laptop screen at 3:17 a.m. Research tabs open ancient mythologies, political structures, narrative theory.
Her thesis.
She had been exhausted. Weeks of preparation. Finals looming. Barely sleeping.
Did my body just give out? Heart failure from stress? Did my parents find me?
Her stomach twisted... though whether from hunger, milk, or dread, she couldn't tell.
Or am I in a coma somewhere?
The idea struck harder than death, her body might be in a hospital room. Machines humming. Her body unmoving.
And here she was… Wrapped in silk and sand and prophecy. She felt the rhythm of Daenerys' breathing. Heard her soft murmur in Valyrian.
Elena's thoughts stilled for a moment.
She loves me. Completely. Without question… Even if I don't look human to others. Her tiny fingers curled instinctively in Daenerys' clothing.
Fine, she thought with reluctant determination.
If I'm stuck here… then I survive. I adapt. I learn their language. I change what I can.