Word spread faster than wind.
By midday, every tent in the khalasar whispered of the fire beast. Riders stared openly when I passed, some bowing their heads, others touching fingers to lips in quiet reverence. Children followed Vaedron's fluttering shape with wide eyes.
They called me Drakak Khaleesi. Dragon Queen.
And Daenerys, standing at my side, was the moon made flesh.
Together, we were becoming myth.
Vaedron grew fast.
He was barely three days old, but already larger than a hawk, his wings stronger, his claws sharper. He took to perching on my shoulder, refusing to be left behind even when I rode. His fire was small still—little flickers and puffs—but his hunger was constant.
I fed him bits of roasted goat.
Dany laughed the first time he tried to steal meat from her plate.
"He's greedy," she said, watching him gnaw on a bone.
"He's ours," I replied.
She smiled, soft and sweet, and brushed a kiss across my cheek.
That night, we buried the black egg in the embers.
Dany hesitated, cradling it for a long time before finally letting it go.
"Do you think it will hatch?" she asked quietly.
"I think it wants to," I said.
"Because of yours?"
"Because of you."
She looked down, uncertain.
"You've felt it," I continued. "In your dreams. In your blood."
She nodded slowly. "It sings."
"Yes."
"Do dragons… remember?"
I smiled. "Maybe. Maybe they're just waiting for someone who does."
The next morning, Rakharo approached our tent.
He carried a curved blade and wore a grim expression.
"There is a man," he said in broken Common. "He speaks poison. Says your fire is trickery. Says the moon witch casts spells in the dark."
I didn't need to ask who.
Viserys.
We found him pacing near the horses, ranting to no one.
His cloak was torn, his belt twisted. He'd been sleeping in the open, away from the main fires, too proud to share a tent and too foolish to keep his mouth shut.
When he saw us approach, he sneered.
"Come to gloat, sister?" he snapped. "To parade your pet before me again?"
"Careful," I said softly. "He breathes fire now."
Viserys laughed—dry, cracked, too loud.
"Do you think any of this matters? The savage, the lizard, the games you're playing? I am the rightful king! I am the dragon!"
Vaedron hissed on my shoulder.
"Then where are your wings?" I asked.
He stepped forward.
Dany stepped between us.
"You will not speak to her like that," she said, voice steady.
He glared. "And what will you do, little fool? Burn me?"
Dany held his gaze. "Not me."
She turned to me. "You."
I met her eyes.
Then turned.
Then nodded to Rakharo.
He moved without hesitation.
Viserys struggled, of course—he cursed and spat, swinging wildly—but the bloodrider was swift. A crack of the hilt to the back of his knee brought him to the dirt. Another to the temple silenced him.
He slumped, unconscious.
"Don't kill him," I said.
Rakharo tilted his head. "Why not?"
"Because I want him to wake. And realize the world moved on without him."
We tied him to a tent post far from the fire.
No one visited.
The khalasar fed him when they remembered. They ignored his shouts, his empty threats. And for the first time, Viserys tasted what it was to be nothing.
Dany came to me that night, quiet as a shadow.
She sat beside me near the embers, where the black egg now rested.
"I thought I'd feel sorry for him," she said.
"Do you?"
She shook her head.
I reached out, laced my fingers through hers. "You're allowed to be done with him."
"I know."
A pause.
Then she leaned her head against my shoulder. "He doesn't matter anymore."
"No," I agreed. "But you do."
We stayed like that a long time.
Then the egg pulsed.
Just once.
She sat up, startled. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes," I whispered.
A faint crack shimmered beneath the surface—thin as a spiderweb, glowing red.
Dany's eyes filled with wonder.
"I think it's waking."
"It's yours," I said.
She reached out with both hands, cradled it like a newborn.
"It's ready," she breathed.
I smiled.
And kissed her temple.
"Then let's bring it into the world."
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