After devouring an amount of roasted meat three times their own weight, Rhaegal and Viserion finally stopped eating. Only Drogon continued to eat slowly.
Seeing the other two dragons no longer competing with him, Drogon couldn't understand why they ate so little. He himself was only about three-quarters full.
He no longer swallowed frantically as before, but slowly savored the flavor of the roasted meat. Unfortunately, it was just the aroma of meat—no spices had been added, making it somewhat bland.
He sniffed the air, then trotted to the horse to find the spice pouch. With a flick of his wing, he hooked it, and the little maid Jiqi immediately understood his meaning: he wanted extra seasoning.
*A dragon eating roasted meat and then adding human-like seasoning?* *Unheard of.*
Taking the spice pouch, Drogon slathered honey over the meat and sprinkled it with fine salt, pepper, and mixed spices. The aroma immediately wafted out, drawing the surrounding onlookers who had been watching Drogon eat to come and take a bite.
With the spices added, Drogon's appetite surged. He ate twice as much as before before finally stopping, his single meal exceeding the combined portions of Rhaegal and Viserion.
Not only the people around, but even the other two dragons were stunned.
After eating his fill, Drogon vaguely understood why he had eaten so much: it was because of his Inherited Talent, Devour, which allowed him to consume and digest anything.
In his past life, he remembered Drogon being much larger and more powerful than the other two dragons. Could it be because Drogon possessed the Devour talent?
With his stomach full, Drogon felt truly alive again, his spirit soaring. As a Fire Dragon, the Red Waste's scorching heat and aridity held no fear for him.
He broke the previous pattern of the three dragons taking turns resting on the Dragon Mother's shoulders and refused to return to the cage. He was now a winged dragon, not the bottom-dwelling, shackled creature he had been in his past life!
Landing on Daenerys's shoulder, Drogon flapped his thin wings vigorously, exercising them and hoping to soar into the sky soon.
As he gradually grew accustomed to his familiar arms transforming into wings, he tried jumping down from Daenerys's shoulder, nearly causing her to fall as she scrambled to catch him.
*I did that on purpose! Heh heh...*
Seeing Daenerys's flustered state, Drogon chuckled inwardly.
Daenerys realized she had worried for nothing, a mix of anger and amusement bubbling in her heart. The terror of potentially losing her dragons had also faded considerably.
Drogon repeatedly jumped off her shoulder, testing the air currents with his wings. When he grew tired, he would perch on her shoulder and stretch his long neck to spew dragonfire.
Though most of the time only wisps of smoke emerged, occasional sparks would flicker through the haze—a significant improvement for Drogon.
Drogon's antics gradually revived the team's spirits, lifting the once-listless atmosphere. As Daenerys regained her composure, her joy grew. She no longer feared her little dragon would starve to death. Moreover, Drogon had given her an unexpected surprise, filling her with the secret delight of a little girl sneaking candy from her parents.
Yet she was slightly disappointed that she couldn't hear the thoughts of Rhaegal and Viserion.
Seeing Drogon's boundless energy, the other two dragons grew restless in their cages. They began to imitate him, their own vigorous spirits erupting.
After a long day of waiting, Aggo returned from his scouting mission, but he brought no news to lift the team's spirits. Instead, his failure cast a fresh shadow over the exhausted group.
As evening approached, Daenerys, dozing against the side of her tent, saw a blurry figure gradually growing larger in the distance through the shimmering heat haze of the Red Waste.
She struggled to her feet. It was indeed Kovarro, returning on horseback with several water skins slung across the saddle.
"Khaleesi, I saw a magnificent city called Qarth in the east," he said, his voice still energetic despite his two days of solitary travel. "It's governed by the Thirteen, and the elders even granted me an audience."
"Can we enter the city?" Daenerys asked, her most pressing question.
"They said they warmly welcome the Mother of Dragons," Kovarro replied happily as he removed the water skins.
"Have you heard of this place?" Daenerys turned to Jorah.
Jorah frowned slightly. "I only know that Qarth isn't a place anyone can enter freely. One must meet certain conditions."
Hearing this, Daenerys's expression darkened. She clenched her fist.
The water skins Kovarro brought temporarily eased the group's thirst, and the news he carried revitalized the despairing Dothraki. By noon the next day, they had successfully reached Qarth.
The walls of Qarth were grand and towering, covered in intricate carvings depicting a variety of scenes, including many vivid depictions of men and women engaged in sexual acts.
When Drogon and his companions arrived, the Thirteen were already waiting beneath the city gate. They varied in skin color and stature, most dressed in opulent robes that radiated an air of nobility. One tall, bald man stood out, his prominent brow ridges, sunken eyes, and blue lips reminding Drogon of aliens from his past life's movies and TV shows.
In addition to the Thirteen, a thirty-man spear and shield squad stood guard.
Drogon was placed in a cage covered with a brown burlap cloth. Daenerys temporarily wanted to keep the true form of the dragons hidden from the Thirteen, lest they covet them.
Drogon used his claws to lift the cloth and secretly observe the outside world. In contrast to his quiet demeanor, the other two young dragons were restless, roaring incessantly inside the cage. Having spent the day playing wildly with Drogon, they were extremely reluctant to return to their confinement.
When Daenerys arrived, a portly man with a gold necklace emerged from the Qarth contingent. Despite his plumpness, he carried himself with an air of refined elegance.
As the stout man approached, Daenerys, her expression weary, took a shallow breath and puffed out her underdeveloped chest. "I am Daenerys Stormborn..."
"Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen, may I see your little dragon?" The stout man interrupted her before she could finish.
"May I ask your name, sir?" Daenerys forced a smile, despite the interruption.
"I am merely a humble spice merchant, not some 'sir.' My name is too long for foreigners to remember."
"My group and I have crossed the Red Waste. May we enter the city to replenish our water and food?"
"Mother of Dragons, my friends and I have never seen a dragon before. Would you allow us to witness one?"
*I swear I could scratch that fat face with my claws!*
Drogon thought, his heart boiling as he heard Daenerys's words interrupted again.
Just as Daenerys was about to respond, she heard Drogon's thought and glanced back. She saw him lifting the linen curtain and peering out intently. When he saw her looking, he quickly dropped the curtain.
Seeing Drogon sneaking around, Daenerys couldn't help but smile, her anger at the spice merchant fading away.
*Even if they don't let me in, I still have my dragons, and I have Drogon. We can cross the Red Waste. What is there to fear? Just give my dragons time to grow, and I will make them all bow before dragonfire.*
Reassuring herself, Daenerys smiled gently and said, "If you let me enter, you will one day see a dragon. Would you refuse the friendship of the Mother of Dragons?"