The morning sun painted the Dothraki Sea in shades of amber and gold as Angelus stretched her wings to their full span, testing the membranes that had grown noticeably stronger over the past week. What had once been a painful effort now felt natural, the way flight was supposed to feel—the wind catching beneath her like an old friend welcoming her home.
She launched herself skyward without hesitation.
The ground fell away beneath her, the khalasar shrinking to a sprawl of colorful tents and milling horses. Higher she climbed, riding the thermals that rose from the sun-warmed grassland, her body remembering patterns of aerial maneuvering that her weakened state had denied her for far too long. The strain was minimal now, barely noticeable compared to the trembling exhaustion that had plagued her first tentative flight.
Not bad, she thought, banking into a lazy spiral. Another week of this and I might actually be back to something resembling combat-ready.
Below, she could see the khalasar beginning its daily migration, the massive column of riders and families stretching across the landscape like a river of humanity. Somewhere in that mass of moving bodies was Daenerys, probably already awake and beginning another day of lessons in the language and customs that would determine whether she survived as khaleesi or became just another foreign bride who couldn't adapt.
Angelus had made sure those lessons were going well.
---
"Anha zalak mra qora," Daenerys repeated carefully, her pronunciation still carrying traces of her Westerosi accent but improving daily. "I want to see the stars."
"Better." Angelus settled onto her haunches beside the girl, their morning lesson taking place at the edge of the camp where they could speak without constant interruption. "Your vowels are still too soft on the harder consonants, but the grammar is correct. The Dothraki will understand you now, even if they can tell you're foreign."
Daenerys rubbed her temples with a frustrated sigh. "I've been practicing every night before sleep, trying to memorize the vocabulary you gave me, but some of these words feel like they're designed to tie my tongue in knots. How did you learn so quickly? You were speaking Dothraki within days of arriving."
"I've had practice learning new languages under pressure." Angelus let a curl of smoke drift from her nostrils, a habit she'd picked up as a way of expressing amusement without the human facial expressions she no longer possessed. "Also, I may have certain advantages when it comes to pattern recognition and memory retention that you're not aware of yet."
The link between them pulsed with curiosity—Daenerys had grown more attuned to reading its subtle fluctuations over the past week, though she still couldn't project thoughts the way a full Pact partner could.
"What kind of advantages?" she asked, leaning forward with eager interest. "You mentioned that you're recovering your strength, that the hunting has helped. Is there more to it than just... eating magical creatures?"
Angelus considered how much to reveal. The girl had earned some trust over the past days, had proven herself capable of discretion and genuine curiosity rather than the grasping ambition that characterized her brother. And there were things Daenerys needed to know if their partnership was going to work.
"My kind—true dragons, not the beasts your ancestors rode—are creatures of magic as much as flesh," she said finally. "When we consume magical creatures, we don't just digest their bodies. We absorb their essence, their power, and integrate it into our own reserves. It's how I grew strong in my old world, how I survived things that should have killed me a thousand times over."
She paused, watching Daenerys's reaction through the link. Interest, not fear. Good.
"The hunting has helped significantly. But there's something else—something I haven't mentioned to anyone except you." Angelus lowered her voice, though they were far enough from the camp that eavesdropping was unlikely. "I can cast magic again. Not much, not the reality-shaping power I once wielded, but basic spells. Shields and enhancements, some elemental manipulation beyond just fire. The link we share accelerated my recovery in ways I didn't anticipate."
Daenerys's eyes widened. "Magic? Real magic, not just... dragon abilities?"
"Real magic. Drakengard sorcery, to be precise—spells I learned over millennia of study and practice." Angelus let a faint shimmer of protective energy ripple across her scales, just enough to demonstrate. "I'm telling you because you deserve to know what kind of partner you're binding yourself to. And because, eventually, if we complete the full Pact, you'll have access to some of these abilities yourself."
The link flared with a complex mixture of emotions—wonder, excitement, and underneath it all, a fierce hunger that Angelus recognized all too well. The hunger of someone who was powerless and now sees a path for true power. Maybe I should motivate her like Vergil motivated himself.
"What would I be able to do?" Daenerys asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That depends on you. The Pact shares power, but it also shares responsibility. The stronger your will, the more you can channel. At minimum, you'd gain fire immunity, enhanced physical attributes, and a telepathic bond that lets us communicate across any distance. At maximum..." Angelus let the implication hang in the air. "Well. Let's just say there's a reason your dragonlords once ruled half the world."
Daenerys was quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on an edge that hadn't been there before.
"Viserys keeps telling me that our family's legacy will be restored when he sits the Iron Throne. That I'm doing my duty by giving him the army he needs. But he's never once asked what I want, what I dream about, what kind of queen I might become if given the chance." She looked at Angelus, and the fire in her purple eyes was unmistakable. "You're the first one who's ever treated me like I might be worth more than a bargaining chip."
"Because you are," Angelus said simply. "Your brother sees you as a tool. Drogo sees you as a trophy. I see you as a partner—someone with the potential to become something extraordinary, if you're willing to pay the price."
"The sacrifice."
"Yes. The sacrifice." Angelus held her gaze. "When you're ready to talk about what that means, I'll be here. But not today. Today, you have lessons to finish, and I have a khalasar to feed."
She rose to her feet, spreading her wings in preparation for launch.
"Angelus?" Daenerys called after her.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For being honest with me."
Angelus felt something warm pulse through the link—gratitude, yes, but also something deeper. The beginning of trust, real trust, built on transparency rather than manipulation.
"Finish your lessons," she said, not unkindly. "We'll talk more tonight."
She launched herself into the sky, leaving Daenerys to practice her Dothraki while she went in search of prey.
---
The khalasar had been moving steadily eastward for the past week, following routes that the Dothraki had traveled for generations. Angelus had mapped the territory during her daily flights, cataloging potential hunting grounds and—more importantly—tracking the magical signatures that marked the presence of Witcher creatures.
This world was lousy with them, she'd discovered. Griffins were just the beginning. The deeper wilderness beyond the trade roads hosted entire ecosystems of magical beasts, creatures that the Dothraki had learned to avoid through hard experience but that made perfect prey for a dragon on the hunt.
Today's flight took her northeast, toward a rocky outcropping that had pinged her senses during yesterday's reconnaissance. The signature was different from the griffin she'd killed—smaller, more numerous, with an undertone of something venomous.
Nekkers, she thought, recognizing the pattern from her memories. Pack hunters, weak individually but dangerous in groups. Burrow underground and ambush from below.
She'd killed thousands of the little bastards in her first life, guiding Geralt through infested caves and swamps with controller in hand. Now she was going to kill them for real.
The outcropping came into view, and Angelus banked into a descending spiral, her eyes scanning for movement. The rocks were pocked with holes—burrow entrances, just as she'd expected—and the ground around them was disturbed in patterns that spoke of recent activity.
She landed hard, deliberately loud, her talons gouging furrows in the earth.
THOOOM!
The nekkers exploded from their burrows like angry hornets from a kicked nest.
There were at least two dozen of them, the nasty little creatures surging toward her in a chittering wave of claws and teeth. They were smaller than she remembered from the games—no bigger than large dogs—but their eyes gleamed with feral cunning and their movements were coordinated in pack behavior methods.
Angelus let them come.
The first wave crashed against her scales like water against stone, their claws scraping uselessly across armor that had been hardened by consuming a griffin's magical essence. She swept her tail through them like a scythe, sending broken bodies tumbling across the rocks, then pivoted and caught another three with her jaws, biting down hard enough to feel their spines crack.
CRACK! CRUNCH!
Too easy, she thought, shaking blood from her muzzle. These things might be a threat to unprepared humans, but to a dragon—
KRAA-REEEEECH!
A screech from above cut off her thought.
Angelus looked up just in time to see something considerably larger than a nekker diving at her from the sky. She threw herself sideways, rolling across the rocks as talons the size of hunting knives raked through the space where her head had been.
Cockatrice. The creature wheeled overhead, its reptilian body and leathery wings silhouetted against the sun. Larger than the nekkers, smaller than the griffin she'd killed, but equipped with a venomous bite that could paralyze prey in seconds.
And where there was one cockatrice, there were usually—
FWOOOOSH!
Two more dropped from the sky, their coordinated attack suggesting they'd been waiting for something to stir up the nekker nest and distract their prey.
"Clever," Angelus growled. "But not clever enough."
She met the first cockatrice head-on, her jaws snapping shut on its wing and dragging it out of the air. The creature shrieked and thrashed, its teeth scraping against her scales as it tried to bite her, but she was already spinning, using its body as a weapon to batter the second cockatrice away.
The third one got through.
Its talons found the gap between two scales on her shoulder, digging deep into the muscle beneath. Angelus roared in pain and fury, twisting her neck to snap at the creature, but it had already launched itself away, trailing drops of her blood.
KRRRR-HZZZ-AAAAH!
Angelus snarled at the Cockatrice that wounded her.
First blood to you, she thought, watching the cockatrice circle for another pass. Won't be the last.
The remaining nekkers had scattered during the aerial assault, but she could see them regrouping at the edges of the rocks, waiting for an opportunity to rejoin the fight. The cockatrice she'd bitten was struggling to right itself with one damaged wing, while its partner circled overhead with the one that had wounded her.
Three cockatrices. Fifteen or so nekkers. And her, with a bleeding shoulder and a growing smile.
Just like old times.
---
It took her twenty minutes to finish them.
The nekkers died quickly once she committed to hunting them down, their burrows offering no protection against dragonfire that could be directed underground. The cockatrices were trickier—they were fast and coordinated, clearly experienced at bringing down larger prey—but they'd never faced anything like her.
Angelus burned the first one out of the sky when it dove too predictably, then caught the second in her claws when it tried to flee. The third, the one that had wounded her, she took her time with.
"Your ancestors were smarter than you," she told it, pinning it to the rocks with one foot while it hissed and struggled. "They knew better than to hunt dragons."
It died with her jaws around its throat with a snap.
CRACK!
The meal that followed was deeply satisfying, both physically and magically. She could feel the power flowing into her with each bite, the cockatrices' venomous essence adding new threads to her slowly rebuilding reserves. Her shoulder wound closed within minutes, the flesh knitting together as her regeneration kicked into higher gear.
Magical creatures, she thought contentedly, crunching through bone and sinew. Nature's power-ups. God, I missed this.
By the time she'd finished with the cockatrices and moved on to the nekkers, she could feel the changes taking hold. Her scales were hardening further, their crimson color deepening toward the blood-red she'd worn in her prime. Her wings felt stronger, more responsive, and when she tested her fire breath, the flames came hotter and faster than before.
KRRR-OOSH!
Good progress, she assessed. At this rate, I might be back to proper fighting form within—
SCHOOOOAAAARR!!!
A roar split the air.
It was deeper than her own, resonating with a frequency that made the rocks beneath her feet vibrate. Angelus's head snapped up, her eyes scanning the horizon for the source.
Something was coming. Something big.
She saw it crest the ridge to the north, and her blood ran cold.
An Alpha Griffin!
The creature was massive—easily three times the size of the one she'd killed on her first hunt, with a wingspan that rivaled her own. Its feathers were darker, almost black, and its eyes blazed with an intelligence that suggested this was no mere beast.
It had probably felt its territory violated when she killed the smaller griffin. Had probably been tracking her ever since, waiting for the right moment to challenge the intruder.
And now it had found her, wounded from the cockatrice fight, her reserves partially drained by the healing she'd just undergone.
...Fuck.
The Alpha Griffin dove.
---
BOOM!
The impact drove Angelus into the rocks hard enough to crack stone.
She'd managed to get her hindlegs up in time to catch the Alpha's initial strike, but its weight and momentum were overwhelming. Talons the size of shortswords raked across her chest, gouging through scales that had stopped cockatrice claws without a scratch.
YEEAA-RGH! Pain exploded through her body. She could feel blood flowing from half a dozen wounds, her regeneration struggling to keep pace with the damage.
The Alpha screamed in triumph, its beak driving toward her throat.
Angelus twisted at the last second, taking the strike on her shoulder instead. The beak punched through scale and muscle, grinding against bone, and she roared in fury as she drove her own claws into the creature's chest.
SLASH!
They separated in a spray of blood—hers and its—and circled each other warily.
Okay, Angelus thought, her tactical mind working overtime even through the pain. It's bigger than me. Stronger, probably. But I'm faster, and I'm smarter, and I've fought things way worst than this overgrown chicken!
The Alpha charged again.
This time, Angelus didn't try to meet it head-on. She threw herself sideways, letting the creature's momentum carry it past her, and raked her claws down its flank as it passed. Blood sprayed across the rocks, and the Alpha shrieked in rage.
That's right, she thought, dancing back before it could turn on her. You've never hunted anything like me before.
The battle settled into a brutal pattern. The Alpha would charge, using its superior size to try to pin her down. Angelus would dodge and counter, landing hits when she could, always moving to prevent it from bringing its full weight to bear.
Her wounds accumulated. The Alpha's talons found her flanks, her legs, her wings. Each strike carved new furrows in her scales, new rivers of blood that matted her crimson hide. But she was giving as good as she got—better, maybe—and she could see the Alpha starting to slow, its movements becoming less precise as blood loss and exhaustion took their toll.
One more exchange, she decided. One more, and I can finish and consume this fucker!
The Alpha must have sensed it too, because its next charge was different. Desperate. All-or-nothing.
It came in low, beak aimed at her legs, trying to cripple her mobility. A smart move—one that might have worked against a less experienced fighter.
She leaped.
Not away from the Alpha, but toward it, launching herself over its descending head and landing on its back. Her wings tips dug into its shoulders while her hind claws dug into it's back for purchase, and before it could react, she had her jaws around the back of its neck.
The Alpha thrashed, bucking and spinning, trying to dislodge her. Its wings beat furiously, lifting them both off the ground in a chaotic spiral that threatened to send them both crashing into the rocks.
Angelus held on.
She bit down harder, feeling vertebrae crack beneath her teeth. The Alpha's struggles grew weaker, more frantic. It screamed—a sound of rage and fear and dawning realization that it had challenged something it couldn't defeat.
GURRR-AA—
With a final, convulsive effort, Angelus wrenched her head sideways.
SNAP!
The Alpha Griffin's neck snapped like a dry branch.
---
GRAAAAAAAAWWWRR!
The victory roar that erupted from her throat was primal, unstoppable—a sound that had echoed across battlefields in a hundred dying worlds.
It rolled across the Dothraki Sea like thunder, carrying for miles in every direction. Birds scattered from their roosts. Small animals froze in terror. And somewhere in the distance, a khalasar of forty thousand warriors looked up from their daily routines and listened.
Angelus stood over her kill, chest heaving, blood dripping from wounds that were already beginning to close. The Alpha Griffin lay broken beneath her, its once-magnificent body reduced to cooling meat.
I won, she thought, and the satisfaction of it was sweeter than any meal. Beaten and bloody, operating at a fraction of my full power, and I still won. Because I'm not just strong—I'm better.Hahaha!
Through the link, she felt Daenerys's reaction—a surge of concern that transformed into relief and then fierce pride as she sensed the outcome. The girl couldn't hear words through their preliminary bond, but emotions came through clearly enough.
I know, Angelus sent back, pushing as much reassurance as she could through the connection. I'm alright. More than alright, actually. I'm about to get a lot stronger.
She looked down at the Alpha Griffin's corpse hungrily, and her jaws spread in a dragon's grin while licking her snout.
Time to eat.
---
Miles away, the khalasar had ground to a halt.
The roar had reached them as a distant rumble, like thunder on a clear day. Most of the Dothraki had looked up with superstitious unease, muttering prayers to their horse god and making warding signs against evil spirits.
Khal Drogo stood at the head of the column, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon where the sound had originated.
"Khal?" Jhogo asked, his hand resting on his arakh. "What was that?"
"Victory," Drogo said, and there was something in his voice that might have been respect. "The dragon has killed something powerful. You can hear it in the roar—the sound of a hunter claiming its prey."
Nearby, Daenerys had pushed her way through the crowd of handmaidens who had gathered around her at the sound. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, her attention clearly elsewhere.
Viserys, who had been riding with evident discomfort near the back of the column, forced his horse forward until he reached his sister.
"What is that thing doing now?" he demanded, his voice carrying the petulant whine that Angelus had come to associate with his every utterance. "First it humiliates me at my own sister's wedding, and now it's making enough noise to attract every savage within a hundred miles—"
"She won," Daenerys interrupted, her voice soft but certain. "She fought something big, and she won."
Viserys stared at her. "How could you possibly know that?"
Daenerys didn't answer. She just kept looking toward the horizon, and the faintest trace of a smile played at the corners of her lips.
Drogo noticed. His eyes moved from the horizon to Daenerys and back again, and something shifted in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or the confirmation of a suspicion he'd been harboring.
"The dragon heals faster than it should," he said quietly, speaking to no one in particular. "Grows stronger faster. Since the wedding, since it began spending time with the khaleesi..."
Jhogo's eyes widened. "You think there's a connection?"
"I think," Drogo said slowly, "that my new bride may be more valuable than her brother realizes. And I think the dragon knows it."
He turned his horse and barked orders to resume the march, but his eyes kept drifting toward Daenerys, reassessing, recalculating.
The khalasar moved on, but something had changed in the air. A sense of anticipation, of events building toward something significant.
And in the distance, Angelus continued her meal.
---
CHOMP!
The Alpha Griffin's carcass was too large to drag back to the khalasar in one piece.
Angelus solved this problem by not bothering to drag it at all. Instead, she consumed everything she could where it lay, her body absorbing the creature's powerful magical essence.
GGGRRR-HISS! She growled as she keeps eating.
The changes began almost immediately.
Her wounds closed completely, the deep gouges in her scales filling in with new growth that was harder, thicker, more resilient than before. Her wings expanded, the membranes strengthening and the span increasing by nearly a foot. And her body—her body was growing.
Not dramatically, not all at once, but steadily, inexorably, as the Alpha Griffin's power integrated into her own. By the time she'd finished eating, she was noticeably larger than she'd been that morning—closer to the Alpha's size than to the smaller griffin she'd killed on her first hunt.
Level up, she thought, and couldn't help the laugh that rumbled through her chest. Literally level up. God, this world is perfect for power gaming!
Her magical reserves had expanded significantly as well. She could feel the difference in her core, the once-faint ember now burning with something approaching genuine warmth. Not the inferno of her prime, not even close, but respectable. Functional. Enough to cast real spells, sustain extended flights, maybe even take on multiple Witcher-tier threats simultaneously.
At this rate, she calculated, I might only need another month to reach something like true combat readiness. Less, if I can find more creatures like this one to hunt.
She gathered up what remained of the Alpha Griffin—mostly bones and feathers, the magical essence having been absorbed along with the flesh—and launched herself into the air. The flight felt different now, her larger wings catching more air, her heavier body moving with new power and purpose.
FWOOOOOSH!
The khalasar was easy to spot from altitude, their dust trail visible for miles. Angelus angled toward them, the Alpha Griffin's remains clutched in her claws.
Time to show off her kill.
---
The reaction was everything she could have hoped for.
Dothraki warriors who had faced charging cavalry without flinching stared in open-mouthed amazement as she descended, the Alpha Griffin's massive skeleton dangling from her grip. Children pointed and shouted. Women whispered prayers and protective charms. Even the horses, usually skittish around her, seemed cowed by the evidence of what she'd done.
Angelus dropped the bones at the edge of the camp and landed beside them, folding her wings with deliberate ceremony.
THRUMMMP! THUD!
"For your craftsmen," she announced, her Dothraki now fluent enough to be understood without effort. "Griffin bones make strong weapons. Griffin feathers make warm cloaks. This kill feeds no bellies, but it proves something more important—nothing in this grassland can threaten a khalasar under my protection."
The crowd parted as Drogo pushed through, his bloodriders flanking him. He stopped a few feet from the pile of bones, taking in the sheer size of the skeleton, the wickedly curved beak, the talons that were each as long as a man's forearm.
"This is what made the roar," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes. An alpha of its kind—the strongest, the most dangerous. It challenged me for territory, and it lost." Angelus let fire kindle in her throat, just enough to cast flickering shadows across her scales. "There are other creatures out there, Khal. Monsters that your riders have learned to avoid because fighting them means death. I can hunt them. I can kill them. I can make the Dothraki Sea safer for your people than it's been in generations."
Drogo studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then his eyes moved past her, toward where Daenerys was pushing through the crowd.
"You are larger than you were this morning," he observed.
"I am."
"Because you ate this creature."
"Yes."
"And you grow stronger because of your connection to my khaleesi."
Angelus met his gaze without flinching. She could have denied it, could have tried to preserve the secret of her bond with Daenerys, but there was no point. Drogo wasn't stupid, and he wasn't someone who appreciated being lied to.
"The dragonblood in her veins resonates with my nature," she admitted. "It accelerates my healing, helps me recover what I lost when I came to this world. In return, I protect her, teach her, prepare her for the challenges she'll face as khaleesi."
"A useful arrangement." Drogo's voice gave nothing away. "For both of you."
"And for you, if you're wise enough to see it. A strong dragon and a strong khaleesi make for a stronger khalasar. The alliance benefits everyone."
Drogo was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a short, sharp sound that held genuine amusement.
"You bargain like a Lyseni merchant," he said. "Always another angle, always another benefit to be gained. I begin to understand why my khaleesi spends so much time in your company."
He turned to his bloodriders. "The bones go to the weapon-makers. The feathers to whoever can work them best. Tonight, we feast—the dragon has earned it."
The khalasar erupted in cheers. Angelus watched them begin to sort through the Alpha Griffin's remains, already calculating how the weapons crafted from its bones might prove useful in future conflicts.
But her attention kept drifting toward Daenerys, who had stopped at the edge of the crowd and was watching her with an expression that mixed pride with something deeper.
Later, Angelus promised through the link. We need to talk.
The warmth that flowed back through the connection was all the answer she needed.
---
Night had fallen over the Dothraki Sea by the time Angelus found Daenerys alone.
The feast was still going strong in the main camp, drums and singing echoing across the grassland as the Dothraki celebrated the dragon's kill. But Daenerys had slipped away an hour ago, and Angelus had followed.
She found the girl at the edge of a small rise overlooking the camp, sitting on a blanket with a wooden chest beside her. The chest was ornately carved, its surfaces decorated with symbols that Angelus recognized immediately.
Dragon imagery, she thought. Old Valyrian style.
"You didn't stay for the feast," Angelus said, settling onto her haunches beside Daenerys.
"I wanted to show you something." Daenerys's hands moved to the chest's lid, hesitating there. "Illyrio Mopatis gave this to Khal Drogo as part of my dowry. Most people think they're just... decorations. Pretty stones worth a lot of money. But I know what they really are."
She opened the chest.
Inside, nestled in beds of dark silk, were three eggs.
They were larger than Angelus had expected—each one the size of a small melon—and their surfaces were covered in scales rather than shell. One was deep black with red striations, another pale cream with gold markings, and the third a rich green with bronze flecks.
Drogon, Angelus thought, looking at the black and red one. Viserion. Rhaegal.
She'd watched these eggs hatch in a funeral pyre on her television screen, had cheered when three baby dragons emerged to herald Daenerys's transformation from frightened girl to Mother of Dragons. Now they sat before her in the flesh, dormant and waiting.
"Do you know what they are?" Daenerys asked softly.
"Dragon eggs obviously." Angelus kept her voice carefully neutral, not wanting to reveal just how much she knew about these particular eggs and their future significance. "Petrified, by the look of them. How long have they been dormant?"
"Illyrio said they came from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, that they're thousands of years old. Everyone assumes they're too old to ever hatch, that they're just... relics. Beautiful but useless." Daenerys ran her fingers over the black egg's surface, her touch almost reverent. "But when I hold them, I feel something. A warmth, like they're waiting for something to wake them up."
Because they are, Angelus thought. They're waiting for fire and blood and a mother's grief. They're waiting for you to be desperate enough to try the impossible.
But that hatching had come at a cost—Drogo's death, the witch's betrayal, an act of grief-fueled magic that Angelus wasn't sure she wanted to replicate. There might be better ways. Ways that didn't require tragedy to fuel them.
"There are techniques for hatching dragon eggs," she said carefully. "Old methods, from before the Doom. I might be able to... assist, when the time is right. But not yet. Not while I'm still recovering and you're still learning what it means to be khaleesi."
Daenerys looked up at her sharply. "You could help them hatch?"
"Possibly. Dragon magic recognizes dragon magic—if I can restore enough of my power, I should be able to warm these eggs from their dormancy. But it would need to be done properly, with preparation and purpose. Hatching dragons isn't something you rush into."
"Why not?"
Angelus thought about Drogon burning a city, about Viserion brought down by an ice spear and raised as a weapon for the Night King, about Rhaegal shot from the sky by a fleet he never saw coming. All futures that might still happen if she wasn't careful, if she didn't guide things properly.
"Because dragons born wrong cause more harm than good," she said finally. "These eggs have been waiting for millennia. They can wait a few more months until we're ready to give them the birth they deserve."
Daenerys nodded slowly, though Angelus could feel disappointment flowing through the link alongside understanding.
"You're thinking about the future," the girl said. "Planning things I can't see yet."
"Always. It's how I've survived as long as I have." Angelus let a curl of smoke drift from her nostrils. "Speaking of the future—there are things you should know about me. About where I come from and why I'm here."
Daenerys closed the chest carefully and turned to face her fully.
"I've wondered about that since the day we met. You speak of other worlds like you've actually been to them, and you know things that no creature from Essos could possibly know. Are you... are you some kind of god?"
The laugh that escaped Angelus was genuine and unexpected.
"Heavens No! Gods don't bleed, and I've shed enough blood over the years to fill an ocean. I'm just very old, and I've been to places that most beings can't even imagine." She settled into a more comfortable position, her tail curling around her feet. And took a deep inhale before she spoke. "I wasn't born a dragon, Daenerys. In my first life, I was human—a woman, a soldier, someone who fought wars in a world very different from this one. When I died, I woke up in the body of a dragon hatchling in a dimension called Drakengard."
Daenerys's eyes had gone wide. "You were... reborn?"
"In a manner of speaking. I don't know why or how—there are forces in the universe that operate beyond mortal understanding, and I've long since stopped trying to explain my existence. What matters is that I lived in Drakengard for a very long time, fighting things called Watchers that wanted to destroy everything."
"And the Valyrians you mentioned before? The ones whose blood runs in my veins?"
Angelus felt old pain stir in her chest—pain she'd thought she'd buried centuries ago.
"I met them in Drakengard," she said quietly. "Or rather, I met their ancestors. People with fire in their blood, like you—the only humans I ever truly respected, because they weren't afraid of dragons. They worked with us, lived alongside us, treated us as equals rather than beasts to be conquered."
She paused, gathering herself.
"I ruled over them for a time. Not as a tyrant, but as a... protector, I suppose. Under my guidance, they flourished. They built cities and developed magic and created works of art that would have made your ancestors weep with envy. For a few centuries, it was almost... peaceful."
"What happened?" Daenerys's voice was soft with sympathy.
"The Watchers came." Angelus's claws dug into the earth and she growled, old rage bleeding through despite her best efforts. "They came to destroy the Valyrians specifically, because the dragonblood made them a threat. We fought back—I fought back—but there were too many of them, and they were too powerful. Some of the Valyrians escaped through magical portals, fleeing to other worlds where the Watchers couldn't follow. The rest..."
She trailed off, unable to continue.
"They died," Daenerys finished for her. "Fighting alongside you."
"Every last one. They wouldn't abandon me, even when I ordered them to run. They stood their ground and died screaming defiance at creatures that should have been impossible to resist." Angelus closed her eyes. "I killed the Watchers eventually. Tore them apart with my bare claws and burned their remains until nothing was left but ash. But it didn't bring the Valyrians back. It didn't undo what I'd failed to prevent."
"You didn't fail them. You fought for them."
"You don't have to comfort me. Fact is I wasn't strong enough. Wasn't fast enough. I let them down when they needed me most." Angelus opened her eyes and looked at Daenerys. "I spent centuries after that raging through Drakengard, hunting every Watcher I could find, trying to fill the void they'd left with vengeance. It didn't help. Nothing helped. Until eventually I realized that destroying the Watchers wouldn't bring my people back—it would just leave me alone in an empty world with nothing but corpses for company."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the distant sounds of the feast drifting on the wind.
"You think my ancestors—the Valyrians I know about—are descended from the ones who escaped?" Daenerys asked finally.
"Almost certainly. The timeline fits, and the similarities are too strong to be coincidental. Your specific blend of dragonblood, your family's connection to dragons and the similarities between their lore and the knowledge I hold, even the way your empire rose and fell—it all echoes what I saw in Drakengard." Angelus's voice turned bitter. "Though from what you've told me, they've degraded significantly without proper guidance. The Dance of the Dragons, for example—that civil war your ancestors fought, the one that killed most of their dragons—that would never have happened under my watch."
"You know about the Dance?"
"You told me about it during our lessons, remember? Two branches of the same family, fighting over a throne, destroying everything their ancestors had built because neither side was willing to compromise." Angelus shook her head in disgust. "It was stupid. Monumentally, catastrophically stupid. Dragons are precious—the most valuable creatures in any world they inhabit—and your ancestors threw them away over petty political squabbles. If I'd been there, I would have knocked their heads together until they saw sense."
Despite everything, Daenerys laughed—a small, startled sound that caught her by surprise.
"You would have, wouldn't you? Just... flown down and told the Blacks and the Greens to stop being idiots."
"Damn right I would have! And they would have listened, because I'm very persuasive when I'm breathing fire in someone's face." Angelus let her voice soften slightly. "But that's the past, and I can't change the past. What I can do is make sure the future goes better. Starting with you."
Daenerys was quiet for a moment, processing everything she'd heard. Then she reached out and placed her hand on Angelus's wings—a gesture that had become familiar over the past week, a way of reinforcing the link between them.
"You've lost so much," she said softly. "Your first life, your Valyrians, the world you knew. And yet you keep fighting, keep planning, keep looking for something worth protecting. I don't think I could do that, if I'd been through what you have."
"You already are doing it," Angelus replied. "You've lost your home, your family's legacy, any hope of a normal life. And yet here you are, learning a new language, earning the respect of a foreign people, forming a bond with a creature that most humans would run screaming from. That takes strength, Daenerys. More strength than you probably realize."
The warmth that flowed through the link was almost overwhelming—gratitude and affection and something that might have been the beginning of love.
"It's late," Angelus said, not wanting to push too hard too fast. "You should sleep. Tomorrow, we have more lessons, and I have more hunting to do."
"Can I... would you mind if I stayed here? With you?" Daenerys pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I've gotten used to your presence. My tent feels empty without you nearby."
Angelus considered for a moment, then settled into a position that left room for the girl to curl against her side.
"I don't mind," she said. "Sleep well, little dragoness. We have a long road ahead of us."
Daenerys nestled against her, the warmth of her body seeping through scales that had felt cold for too long. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep.
Angelus stayed awake, watching the stars wheel overhead and planning.
The eggs can wait, she decided. The Pact can wait. Right now, what matters is building the foundation—trust and strength and understanding. Everything else will follow.
She closed her eyes and let herself drift, the link between them humming with shared contentment.
---
The days that followed fell into a comfortable pattern.
Mornings were for lessons—Daenerys's Dothraki improving rapidly under Angelus's instruction, her understanding of khalasar politics deepening with each passing day. The girl had a natural talent for languages and an even greater talent for reading people, skills that Angelus cultivated carefully.
Afternoons were for hunting. Angelus ranged far from the khalasar, tracking down every magical signature she could find and consuming everything she killed. Her reserves grew steadily, her body continuing to expand as she absorbed more and more power.
Evenings were for conversation. Angelus told Daenerys stories from Drakengard—carefully edited to remove the most horrifying details, but honest about the world she'd left behind. In return, Daenerys shared her own history, the fragments of Targaryen legacy that Viserys had drilled into her since childhood.
Nights were for sleeping side by side, the link between them strengthening with each shared dream.
It was almost peaceful. Almost happy.
Then fucking Viserys ruined it.
---
The confrontation happened on a morning like any other.
Angelus had just returned from an early hunt, her jaws still bloody from a pack of wild dogs she'd found threatening a herd of horses, when she heard the shouting.
She recognized Viserys's voice immediately—high-pitched and petulant, carrying the particular venom he reserved for his sister. Moving quickly through the camp, she found a crowd gathered around Daenerys's tent, warriors and servants alike watching the spectacle with expressions that ranged from discomfort to barely concealed contempt.
Viserys had Daenerys by the arm, his grip hard enough to leave bruises. The girl's face was pale but composed, her eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance as her brother ranted.
"—don't care what that overgrown lizard has been telling you, you're still my sister and you'll do as I say! I'm the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and you're nothing but a broodmare I sold to buy an army!"
Angelus's first instinct was to intervene—to sweep forward and remove Viserys's hand from Daenerys's arm, along with the arm itself if necessary. But something made her pause, some instinct telling her to watch and wait.
This is Daenerys's moment, she realized. If I rescue her now, she'll never learn to rescue herself.
So she held back, positioning herself at the edge of the crowd where Daenerys could see her but Viserys couldn't, and watched.
"The dragon spends more time with you than it does hunting," Viserys continued, his voice rising with each word. "People are starting to talk—saying that my sister has more power than the man who should be king. That the dragon listens to you, not to me. Do you have any idea how that makes me look?"
"I can't control what people say," Daenerys replied, her voice steady despite the grip on her arm. "And I can't control what Angelus does. She's not a pet—she's a partner."
"Partner?" Viserys laughed, an ugly sound full of mockery. "Is that what you think? That thing is using you, sweet sister. It sees you as a tool, a way to get stronger, nothing more. The moment it doesn't need you anymore, it'll discard you like—"
"Like you have?" The words came out before Daenerys could stop them, and something flickered in her eyes that Angelus had been waiting to see.
Fire.
Viserys's face went red. "What did you just say to me?"
"I said—" Daenerys pulled her arm from his grip, stepping back to put distance between them, "—that you've been discarding me my entire life. Selling me to Drogo, treating me like property, using me to fund your fantasies of glory. At least Angelus tells me the truth. At least she treats me like a person instead of a bargaining chip."
"You ungrateful little—" Viserys's hand came up, and Angelus tensed, ready to intervene if he actually struck her.
But Daenerys caught his wrist.
The crowd went silent. Even Viserys seemed shocked, staring at his sister like he'd never seen her before.
"I am done," Daenerys said, and her voice had changed—harder now, colder, carrying an authority that hadn't been there before. "I am done being your puppet, your property, your path to power. You want to be King of the Seven Kingdoms? Then earn it yourself, Viserys. Because I won't help you anymore."
She released his wrist and turned away.
For a moment, Viserys stood frozen. Then his face twisted into something ugly, and he lunged after her.
"You don't get to walk away from me! I am the dragon, I am the blood of Old Valyria, and you're nothing but a whore who spreads her legs for monsters! That fucking lizard probably—"
He never finished the sentence.
Angelus hadn't moved consciously. One moment she was standing at the edge of the crowd, and the next she was between Viserys and Daenerys, her tail coiled around the man's legs while one wing shielded her partner from view.
"Finish that sentence," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please. Give me an excuse."
Viserys had gone white. Up close, stripped of his bluster, he was exactly what Angelus had always known him to be—a small, frightened bug who mistook cruelty for strength and volume for authority.
"The dragon doesn't bluff," someone muttered from the crowd. One of Drogo's bloodriders, maybe, or just a warrior who'd seen enough to know better.
"Leave," Angelus said. "Now. Before I forget that you're technically under the Khal's protection."
She released him, and Viserys stumbled back, nearly falling over his own feet in his haste to get away. He shot one final glare at Daenerys—hatred and fear warring in his eyes—then turned and fled into the crowd.
Angelus watched him go, then turned to Daenerys.
The girl was trembling, but not with fear. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her jaw set, her eyes blazing with fury that she'd clearly been suppressing for years.
Through the link, Angelus felt her decision form—not gradually, but all at once, like a dam breaking.
I want the Pact, Daenerys's voice echoed in her mind, the first true telepathic message she'd ever sent. I want to be free of him forever. I want to be strong enough that no one can ever treat me like that again.
Angelus felt her lips pull back from her teeth in what she knew was a deeply unsettling smile.
Then we have preparations to make.
---
Khal Drogo was in his tent when Angelus came to him.
The Khal had been expecting her—she could see it in his eyes, the way he dismissed his bloodriders with a gesture that left them alone. He sat on his pile of furs, arakh laid across his knees, and watched her approach.
"The little king has finally worn out my khaleesi's patience," Angelus said without preamble. "She's decided to go through with something I offered her weeks ago—a bond that will make her stronger and free her from his influence permanently."
Drogo's expression didn't change. "What does this bond require?"
"A sacrifice. Something precious and important enough to represents what she's giving up to gain power." Angelus met his eyes. "In her case, that sacrifice is her reliance on her brother. Her subservience to him. The part of her that still hopes he might become the king he claims to be."
"You speak in riddles, dragon. What do you actually need?"
"Viserys. Brought to me, tonight, in a place away from the camp where what happens won't disturb your people." Angelus let a curl of smoke drift from her nostrils. "He'll die. That's not negotiable. But his death will serve a purpose—it will fuel the magic that binds Daenerys and me together, making us both stronger."
Drogo was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable.
"The little king has been a nuisance since he arrived," he said finally. "Always demanding, never earning. He insults my riders, he abuses my khaleesi, and he acts as if his blood alone makes him worthy of respect."
He rose to his feet, towering over her even now.
"You want him gone. Good. I want him gone too." A smile crossed his face—not the warm smile of a friend, but the cold smile of a king disposing of a problem. "Tonight, then. I will have him brought to wherever you specify. Try not to make too much noise—some of my warriors are superstitious about dragon magic."
"It will be over quickly," Angelus promised. "And when it's done, your khaleesi will be... different. Stronger. More capable of standing beside you as an equal rather than a frightened girl you bought from her brother."
"That," Drogo said, "is worth more than any army Viserys promised me."
He called his bloodriders back in and began issuing orders. Angelus slipped out of the tent, her mind already turning to the preparations that needed to be made.
Tonight, she thought. Tonight, everything changes.
---
The ritual site was a shallow depression in the earth, far enough from the camp that the khalasar's fires were just distant specks of light. Angelus had chosen it for its isolation and for the faint magical resonance she'd detected in the soil—remnants of something ancient and powerful that had seeped into the land long ago.
Daenerys arrived first, escorted by two of Drogo's bloodriders who deposited her at the edge of the depression and retreated without a word. She was dressed simply, her silver hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale but determined.
"Are you certain about this?" Angelus asked as the girl descended into the depression to stand beside her.
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life." Daenerys's voice was steady, but Angelus could feel the turbulence of emotions through the link—fear, excitement, grief, and underneath it all, a fierce resolve that burned like dragon fire. "He's been using me my whole life. Selling me, hitting me, telling me I'm worthless except as a means to his ends. Tonight, that ends. Tonight, I become something more than his sister."
"You understand what you're giving up? The sacrifice isn't just his life—it's your connection to him. Every memory, every bond, every lingering hope that he might change. When this is over, he'll be nothing to you but a corpse."
"Good." The word came out hard and cold. "That's what he's always been to me, really. A corpse that didn't know it was dead yet."
Angelus felt something stir in her chest—pride, maybe, or recognition of a kindred spirit. This was the Daenerys she'd glimpsed in the show, the queen who burned cities and broke chains. But tempered now, guided and shaped by experiences that would make her stronger without making her cruel.
This is how it should have been, she thought. This is what they ruined with their lazy writing and rushed conclusions.
The sound of approaching horses interrupted her thoughts. Drogo's bloodriders emerged from the darkness, dragging a bound and gagged figure between them.
Viserys had been crying. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes wide with terror, and he struggled uselessly against the ropes that held him. When he saw Daenerys standing beside the dragon, his struggles intensified, muffled screams escaping around his gag.
The bloodriders threw him into the depression and retreated to a safe distance. Drogo himself appeared a moment later, standing at the rim to watch.
"Khal," Angelus acknowledged him with a nod. "Thank you for delivering him."
"I expect to see results," Drogo replied. "Don't disappoint me, dragon."
Angelus ignored the tone and turned her attention back to the ritual.
Viserys was struggling to his feet, still bound, his eyes darting between his sister and the dragon who had humiliated him twice now. When Daenerys stepped toward him, he flinched back, nearly falling again.
"Remove his gag," Angelus instructed.
Daenerys knelt beside her brother and pulled the cloth from his mouth. Viserys immediately started babbling.
"Dany, please, you don't have to do this—whatever that monster told you, it's lies, I'm your brother, I love you—"
"You've never loved anyone but yourself," Daenerys interrupted, her voice flat. "You sold me to Drogo so you could play at being a conqueror. You hit me when I didn't obey fast enough. You called me a whore for forming a bond with the only creature who's ever treated me like I was worth something."
"I didn't mean—I was angry—Dany, please—"
"My name," she said, rising to her feet, "is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. And tonight, I'm going to become something you never could—a true dragon."
She turned to Angelus. "What do I need to do?"
"The Pact requires blood freely given," Angelus explained, her voice taking on a ritual cadence. "Your blood to seal the bond, his blood to fuel the sacrifice. You must kill him yourself—with your own hands, by your own choice. Only then will the magic recognize your decision as genuine."
Daenerys nodded once, then held out her hand.
Angelus used her tail to passed her a curved knife—Dothraki steel, borrowed from Jhogo—and watched as the girl tested its weight. Her hands were steady. Her eyes were clear.
"You have something to say to him first?" Angelus asked.
Daenerys looked down at her brother, who had stopped pleading and was now just staring at her with an expression of dawning horror.
"Fire and blood," she said softly. "That's our house words, isn't it, Viserys? You taught them to me when I was a child. You said they meant we were meant to rule, that our family's legacy was written in those words."
She knelt beside him, the knife glinting in the starlight.
"You were right about one thing. Fire and blood is our legacy. But you never understood what that meant. You thought it was about conquest, about taking what belonged to others through fear and violence." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's not. It's about sacrifice. About burning away the weak parts of yourself so the strong parts can grow. Tonight, I'm burning you away, Viserys. And I'm going to grow stronger than you ever dreamed."
She pressed the knife against his throat.
"Dany—" he gasped.
"Goodbye, brother."
The blade drew across his throat in one smooth motion.
Blood sprayed across the earth, across Daenerys's hands, across her face. Viserys's body convulsed once, twice, then went still, his eyes fixed on the stars overhead.
And the magic ignited.
---
Power surged through the bond like lightning through a wire.
Angelus felt it pour into her from two directions—from Viserys's death, the sacrifice that fueled the Pact's activation, and from Daenerys, the dragonblood partner whose soul was now merging with her own. It was more intense than she'd expected, more overwhelming, and for a moment she lost herself in the flood.
This is it, she thought, clinging to consciousness as her body began to change. This is the evolution. This is what I've been building toward.
Her scales rippled and shifted, the crimson deepening toward a rich blood-red that gleamed in the torchlight. Her body expanded, muscles and bones stretching as new mass accumulated from the magical energy pouring into her. The transformation wasn't gentle—it was violent and primal, her form reshaping itself according to patterns that her body remembered from millennia past.
But the most dramatic change was her configuration.
Her wings became bigger, the skeletal structure changing and extending until her wings became proper primary limbs now. Her wing tips shifted into clawed fingers at the wing joints—powerful grasping appendages that could serve as hands when needed, tipped with talons like curved daggers. Her hind legs grew massively powerful, thick with muscle, designed to launch her skyward and support her full weight on land. The proper wyvern configuration—two legs, two wings, a body built for aerial supremacy.
Her tail lengthened dramatically, becoming a thick, serpentine counterbalance that ended in a ridged tip. The scales along her underbelly and the underside of her tail lightened to a pale cream-ivory, segmented plates that offered flexibility without sacrificing protection, a striking contrast against the deep crimson of her dorsal scales.
And her head—her head was transforming most dramatically of all. Blue and purple coloration swept across her face like war paint, concentrated around her eyes and spreading across her snout to the elaborate horn crests that curved back from her skull. The colors shifted and gleamed with inner fire, marking her as something more than a mere beast.
Level 2, she recognized, memories of her old body flooding back. A full wyvern form instead of my diluted one. The configuration I wore when I first became something to be feared.
But it wasn't exactly the same. She could feel differences—subtle enhancements, adaptations that her body was making based on the ambient magic of this new world. Fire magic and ice magic and something older, something that tasted of blood and ancient pacts, all weaving themselves into her transformed flesh.
The magic here is different, she realized. And it's making me... different. Stronger, perhaps. In ways I don't fully understand yet.
When the transformation completed, she was massive—larger than the Alpha Griffin, larger than any dragon this world had seen in centuries. Her wingspan stretched nearly thirty feet when fully extended, her powerful hind legs could crush stone, and the clawed hands at her wing joints could grip and tear with devastating precision. Her body was armored in scales harder than castle-forged steel, crimson above and cream below, and the fire in her core burned hotter than it had since before the transit.
She was back. Not fully—not the apocalyptic force she'd been at her peak—but back enough to matter.
And beside her, Daenerys was changing too.
The girl had collapsed when the Pact activated, her body overwhelmed by the power flooding into her. Now she was rising, slowly, her movements strange and uncertain. Her silver hair seemed brighter than before, almost luminous in the starlight, and when she opened her eyes, they blazed with inner fire.
"Angelus?" Her voice was the same, but underneath it was something new—a resonance, a connection that hummed between them like a plucked string.
"I'm here." Angelus's new voice was deeper, richer, befitting her larger form. "I'm always here, now. The Pact is complete."
Daenerys looked down at her hands, at the blood that still stained them.
"I killed him," she said. "I actually killed him."
"Yes."
"I thought I'd feel... something. Guilt, maybe, or grief. He was my brother." She flexed her fingers, watching the firelight play across her skin. "But I just feel... free. Like a weight I didn't know I was carrying has finally been lifted."
"That's the Pact," Angelus explained. "It doesn't remove emotions, but it... clarifies them. The sacrifice burned away your connection to him, and what's left is only what was truly yours to begin with."
At the rim of the depression, Drogo was staring at them with an expression that mixed shock with something approaching awe. Angelus could hardly blame him—she'd just transformed from a creature the size of a large horse into something that could rival the legendary dragons of old.
"Khal," she said, her new voice carrying easily across the distance. "As promised. Your khaleesi is now bound to me in Pact, and I have... regained some of what I lost."
Drogo said nothing for a long moment. Then, slowly, he began to laugh—deep, genuine laughter that held no mockery.
"When you said she would be stronger," he said, "I expected a girl with more confidence. Not..." He gestured at Daenerys, at the subtle glow that still clung to her, at the way she held herself like a queen rather than a frightened bride. "Not this."
"The dragonblood in her veins responded to the Pact," Angelus said. "She's not just my partner now—she's something more. The first true dragonlord this world has seen in generations."
Daenerys turned to look at Drogo, and something passed between them—an acknowledgment, a reassessment.
"I am still your khaleesi," she said, her Dothraki flawless now, the Pact having shared Angelus's linguistic knowledge. "I am still bound by the bargain my brother made. But I am no longer the girl you married, Khal. I am something else now. Something more."
Drogo studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded, a gesture of respect that he'd never offered her before.
"Good," he said simply. "A khaleesi should be more than just a wife. She should be a queen."
He turned to his bloodriders and began issuing orders—about the body, about what to tell the khalasar, about the changes that would need to be made. Angelus listened with half an ear, her attention focused on Daenerys.
The girl—no, the woman—was still looking at Viserys's corpse, her expression unreadable.
"What happens to him now?" she asked quietly.
"We burn him," Angelus said. "It's only fitting. Fire and blood, remember?"
A smile crossed Daenerys's face—small, sad, but genuine.
"Fire and blood," she repeated. "Yes. That sounds right."
---
They burned Viserys's body as the sun rose.
Fffssssshhhhhhhrrrrrrrr-aaaaahhhh!
Angelus provided the flame—a sustained blast of dragonfire that reduced the corpse to ash in seconds. Daenerys watched without flinching, her face illuminated by the orange glow, her hand resting on Angelus's hindleg.
When it was done, when there was nothing left but a scorch mark on the earth, Daenerys turned to face the east.
"What now?" she asked.
"Now we move forward." Angelus settled onto her haunches, adjusting to the new weight and balance of her evolved form. "Drogo has plans—something about a raid on a village to the south. The Lhazareen, I think he called them."
Through their new bond, Angelus felt Daenerys's reaction—concern, a flicker of compassion for people she'd never met.
"The Dothraki take slaves," Daenerys said quietly. "It's their way."
"It has been." Angelus's voice was careful. "But ways can change. You're khaleesi now—really khaleesi, not just a trophy wife. You have influence, power, the ability to shape how things are done."
"And you have plans," Daenerys said, a hint of humor in her voice. "You always have plans."
"Obviously." Angelus let a curl of smoke drift from her nostrils. "The raid on the Lhazareen will bring consequences that could affect everything. There's a woman there—a healer and a practitioner of blood magic—who will try to manipulate Drogo if given the chance. We need to be careful."
"Careful how?"
"I'm still working on that." Angelus looked toward the horizon, where the khalasar was already preparing to march. "But I have an idea. It involves challenging Drogo for leadership of the khalasar."
Daenerys's shock rippled through the bond. "Challenge him!? You mean fight him?"
"In honorable combat, yes. The Dothraki respect strength above all else—if I can defeat Drogo without killing him, I can claim the khalasar for myself. For us." Angelus met her eyes. "And then we can change how things are done. No more slavery. No more pointless raids. We build something better—an army worthy of the kingdom we're going to create."
"What kind of army?"
Angelus smiled—a dragon's smile, full of teeth and ancient knowledge.
"Have you ever heard of Dragonborn?"
---
End of Chapter Three