Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

"Khaleesi, something's happened!"

As the evening sun sank below the horizon, the blistering heat dissipated. The Dothraki emerged from their sleeping rolls, ate some dried meat with fermented mare's milk, and resumed their digging.

Their first task was to clear the ashes left from burning the ancient Dragonlord's remains. At first, everything seemed normal. Whether it was the body of a "demon" or a cursed Valyrian Dragonlord, the flames had reduced it to charred fragments.

Even any potential viruses Daenerys had feared were likely eradicated by the high temperatures.

The Dothraki, emboldened upon seeing the remains resembled nothing more than Khal Drogo's funeral pyre, jumped into the pit and began sifting through the ashes with their bare hands.

Before long, one of them raised a soot-covered arm, holding a palm-sized, pitch-black iron plaque in both hands. He called out to Daenerys:

"Khaleesi, I found a piece of iron! I think it's a relic left by the Dragonlord."

Ser Jorah was the first to take it. After rubbing off the soot with sand, he examined it carefully before handing it to Daenerys.

"This is Valyrian steel," he noted, pointing to the dragon emblem and ancient Valyrian runes. "Our earlier assumptions were likely correct. This plaque seems to serve as a form of identification, similar to the Hand of the King's badge."

In Westeros, the king's chief advisor—the Hand of the King—would design their own sigil, which could take the form of a brooch, cloak pin, or pendant. However, it always bore a small metallic hand emblem.

The iron plaque felt slightly heavy in Daenerys's hand, just large enough to cover her palm. It reminded her of a newly purchased 6.5-inch Huawei phone—similar in thickness and weight but about one-third the size.

Valyrian steel, though fundamentally steel, was crafted with Valyria's unique magic during forging, granting it unparalleled durability. Weapons made from Valyrian steel also possessed magical properties, such as the ability to kill White Walkers.

Beyond its robust material, the plaque's engraving was exceptionally intricate.

The front featured a mighty dragon with its wings outstretched, as if ready to take flight. The dragon clutched a gleaming greatsword in its claws. The design was exquisitely detailed, conveying the dragon's majesty and even the gemstones embedded in the sword's crossguard.

Encircling the dragon was a ring of runes. Although Daenerys recognized classical Valyrian script, she couldn't decipher a single character.

The back of the plaque puzzled her even more. Unlike the refined craftsmanship on the front, the reverse displayed a crudely etched mountain.

Running her fingers over the mountain's surface, she could feel its rough, raised texture. At its peak, there seemed to be streaks of smoke—or perhaps it was meant to depict a large tree. The carving was too coarse for her to be certain.

"If the dragon and sword symbolize a family crest, then perhaps there's a Valyrian steel greatsword buried in the sand," Daenerys speculated excitedly, urging the diggers to search thoroughly.

Reality, however, did not meet her expectations.

By the time the moon hung high in the sky, the Dothraki had dug through the surrounding sand, some pits reaching depths of four to five meters, even uncovering groundwater. Yet they found nothing.

Jorah shook his head and sighed.

"Under such dire circumstances, simply escaping Valyria would have been miraculous. There's no way he had time to retrieve a family sword. And if the sword depicted was real, its size and weight would rival the Starks' ancestral blade—Ice."

He proceeded to describe Ice to Daenerys:

"A blade broader than the width of a hand, dark as smoke, and taller than you by a full head when stood upright."

Daenerys felt awkward. Though only 14 years old and slightly underdeveloped—lacking both curves and height—she estimated she stood around 1.6 meters. A sword taller than her by a head would be close to 1.8 meters, if not more.

"That long? Even if someone could lift it, wouldn't it be unwieldy to swing?" she asked curiously.

"Eddard Stark beheaded dozens with that blade every year. Decades of practice made him disturbingly skilled," Jorah replied with a tone dripping with resentment and sarcasm.

He had nearly become another statistic in "Ned's" swordsmanship record.

In the end, Daenerys accepted Jorah's analysis: under normal circumstances, carrying a greatsword of such size was impractical, and the dead Dragonlord likely had no opportunity to retrieve it.

Before midnight, the Dothraki unearthed over twenty pieces of jet-black dragon bones, varying in length. The longest exceeded 10 meters, while the shortest reached Daenerys's waist when stood upright.

Many of the bones bore clear signs of fractures, further evidence that the dragon had been severely injured and unable to fly, plummeting to the ground.

"Enough," Daenerys said, clapping her hands. "We've dug up enough dragon bones for every Khalasar warrior to have a dragonbone blade."

"Princess, dragonbone is only suitable for making hilts, not blades," Jorah reminded her. "Using ordinary steel with dragonbone is a waste. Only Valyrian steel weapons are worthy of pairing with it."

"You said dragonbones are very valuable," Daenerys remarked.

"They are," Jorah replied. "Dragonbone is rare and incredibly valuable. But don't you have no need for money?"

"Who would ever say no to more money?" Daenerys waved her hand dismissively.

Before leaving, she ordered the dragon's skull to be buried, forming a small mound.

"This is my treasure; I can't let anyone else get their hands on it," she thought.

If raw dragonbone were left exposed, even a fool would realize she had discovered a dragon carcass on the Red Wastes.

By burying it, however, even she couldn't be certain if she'd ever find it again. The plain was dotted with countless similar low hills, and there were no distinctive landmarks nearby. Any makeshift markers like stacked stones or wooden poles would eventually be buried or blown over by the relentless sandstorms.

"Black One, you'd better remember this spot," she said, addressing her black dragon.

The dragon did possess some intelligence, but compared to humans, it was rudimentary—severely underdeveloped, to the point of being almost simple-minded.

However, dragons had an extraordinary sense of direction. Often entering "dragon dreams" and merging her consciousness with the black dragon's spirit, Daenerys could sense that dragons experienced not just the five human senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—but also a sixth, seventh, and perhaps even more.

Well, her dragons hadn't quite unlocked their "cosmos power," as some mystical beings might.

Much like migratory birds that navigate using Earth's magnetic field, dragons had their own innate method of orienting themselves.

For example, Daenerys once left her dragons at Whitecloud Castle. Riding her silver mare, she deliberately rode several kilometers in a random direction and hid in some bushes. Yet all three dragons were able to locate her with precision.

At that time, she had intentionally severed her connection to the "dragon dream" state.

Though she could sense the seven or eight perceptions transmitted from her black dragon, she couldn't identify or utilize them effectively.

After asking her dragon repeatedly and then moving two kilometers away to test if it could return to the burial site, Daenerys worked herself into a sweat. Eventually, she reluctantly concluded that the black dragon might have remembered the spot.

"Sigh, Ser Jorah," she complained as dawn broke and they returned with the Dothraki caravan, "a hundred years ago, did the Targaryens ever have ways to enhance a dragon's intelligence? Mine are just too dumb.

"Being dumb is one thing, but if they'd at least obey me completely, I wouldn't mind. The black one is manageable, but the green and white dragons are growing harder to control. Communication is such a struggle."

"I wouldn't know," Jorah admitted, shaking his head. "Bear Island is far removed from the political centers of power. I'm not well-versed in the affairs of the Targaryens or other nobles beyond the Starks."

"You were the lawful son-in-law of House Hightower," Daenerys reminded him. "And the Hightowers control the Citadel."

No matter what, Jorah Mormont had spent years as a guest-son of the Hightowers. He must have visited the Citadel a few times and at least met some of the learned maesters there.

Maesters, after all, were ranked by their knowledge: apprentices, full maesters, archmaesters, and grand maesters. Their rank reflected the depth and breadth of their knowledge.

"At the time, I had no interest in the maesters or the Citadel. Frankly, I still don't," Jorah replied with indifference.

Their journey back to Whitecloud Castle was uneventful, and two days later, they returned with the dragonbones.

In the days that followed, Daenerys established a routine. During the cooler hours of morning and evening, she would leave the city with her dragons to train them. During the scorching midday heat, she began giving her three dragons lessons in "culture."

As their bodies grew, the dragons had gone from the size of small "kittens" to large "Pekingese dogs" and now seemed poised to evolve into "mongrel hounds."

The bigger they grew, the more they ate. The sand lizards, scorpions, and desert snakes of the Red Wastes no longer satisfied their appetites.

So, Daenerys used food as a lure to coax them into learning.

This process was incredibly challenging.

During math lessons, in a dragon-dream state, Daenerys demonstrated basic arithmetic to the black dragon as though teaching a child. For language lessons, she opened her mouth wide, articulating sounds while simultaneously conveying their meanings through their soul connection.

There was also physical training. Using a wooden stick, Daenerys struck their scales. At first, the young dragons' scales shattered like brittle eggshells, revealing blood that seeped to the surface. The blood turned into white smoke and burned away before it could drip.

Because of the soul connection with the black dragon, Daenerys constantly soothed and encouraged it within her mental sea. Though the black dragon roared in anger, it grudgingly cooperated with her.

The white and green dragons, however, were not as obedient.

A month after they hatched, Daenerys completely lost her soul connection with the white and green dragons. The closer her bond grew with the black dragon, the more estranged she became from the other two.

Not only were language and math lessons impossible, but even physical training became a hazard. Once, when Daenerys struck the white dragon's back and drew blood, the little creature retaliated by spitting dragonflame at her wrist.

Dragonflame burned far hotter than ordinary fire. For the first time, Daenerys was injured by flames. Her wrist developed blisters the size of cockroach eggs—painful and itchy. It took four or five days to fully heal.

The only consolation was that no scars were left behind.

Perhaps she really could draw strength from fire, or perhaps her ever-deepening bond with the black dragon's soul accelerated her recovery. Either way, her wounds healed faster and more completely than those of an ordinary person.

Take, for example, the scar on her abdomen.

To conceal her plans from others, Daenerys avoided having her handmaidens assist her with bathing for half a month.

She claimed it was due to water scarcity and introduced a new practice: using fine sand to cleanse the skin.

She also had a sandbed prepared, covered with smooth, fine white sand.

Every night, she would strip and rub herself against the sand to clean her skin. Dust, oil, and dead skin were all burned away by the intense heat of her body.

But after half a month, Daenerys resumed her "decadent slave-owner" lifestyle.

To her surprise, the scar on her abdomen grew fainter with each encounter with fire until it completely vanished. Her skin returned to its original smooth and delicate state.

It seemed that the high temperatures promoted blood circulation, and within the fire, her cells became hyperactive—a scientific explanation, perhaps.

A more mystical interpretation would be that dragons and fire possessed the magical ability to heal the body.

It was similar to over a year ago when the original Daenerys had first married Drogo. Frail and unaccustomed to life in the saddle, she was on the brink of collapse daily, with her inner thighs rubbed raw and bloody.

Yet after entering a dragon-dream for just one night, all her wounds vanished, and her body grew robust, like that of a native-born horsewoman.

(End of chapter)

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