18: Chapter 18 Missandei

When the translator girl was brought in by Grey Worm, she was still trembling.

It wasn't because she feared Drogon. It was because she feared everyone. She knelt on the ground, her voice very soft.

"Mother of Dragons. Thank you for killing my master."

She bowed her head, her forehead nearly touching the ground.

"I know nineteen languages. I can serve you. As a reward for liberating me."

Daenerys Targaryen crouched down and helped her up.

"You don't have to call anyone master anymore. You are a free woman."

Missandei looked up. Something lit up in her amber eyes. It wasn't tears. It was something else. Something that hadn't shone for a long time.

Drogon's gaze shifted from the jewelry box and landed on her.

His slit pupils narrowed slightly. Dragon instinct—he scanned her. Heartbeat. Breath. Muscle tension. No threat.

But her mind piqued his interest.

"Nineteen languages?"

Missandei turned her head and met those inhuman golden eyes. She instinctively took half a step back, then stopped. She didn't retreat further.

"Your head—must be filled with many secrets, right?"

He tilted his head. His tail drew a circle on the floor.

"For example. Here in Astapor. Are there any—older underground treasure vaults that even the Great Masters don't know about?"

Missandei froze for a second. Then she looked back at him. Her amber eyes no longer dodged his gaze.

"There are. In the catacombs of the slave cities, the emperors of the Ghiscari Empire are buried. The burial goods—it is said they are worth more than the wealth accumulated by the Great Masters over three generations."

Drogon's lips curled up. He turned to look at Daenerys Targaryen.

"Mother. I've found you a treasure."

Daenerys Targaryen looked at him, then at Missandei. She sighed. The kind of sigh that says, "Is your 'treasure' a person or jewelry?"

Late at night. On the deck of the flagship.

Astapor was smoking in the distance. It wasn't the city burning. It was the Unsullied cleaning out the archives of the Great Masters. Slave lists. Debt contracts. Everything was burned.

Drogon stood at the stern. In his human form. He was toying with a piece of dragon glass in his hand. Human fingers were more dexterous than dragon claws; the dragon glass flipped between his fingers. It didn't drop. It didn't get stuck.

His tail flicked behind him, maintaining his balance.

Daenerys Targaryen walked over. She didn't speak. She stood beside him, watching Astapor fade into the distance.

"Drogon."

"Hmm."

"What... exactly are you now?"

Drogon stopped his fingers. The dragon glass was held in his palm. It was cool, yet slightly warm.

Silence.

He turned his head to look at her.

"Mother. What I am is not important. What matters is—who I am."

He extended his index finger. The tip was covered in fine dragon scales. He tapped her heart. A gentle touch.

"I am the dragon who will help you take back the iron throne. I am the bastard who will eat all your jewelry. I am—"

His tail flicked uncomfortably.

"—your Drogon."

A pause. He withdrew his finger.

"Other questions. We'll talk about them after we get everything sorted out."

Daenerys Targaryen didn't speak. The sea breeze blew over. A few strands of her silver-gold hair fluttered, brushing against Drogon's fingers.

Drogon shoved his hand into his trench coat pocket. The dragon glass spun once in his palm. His tail went rigid behind him.

Neither of them spoke again.

Dawn.

A sea chart was spread out on the table. Jorah. Barristan. Grey Worm. Missandei. They gathered around it.

Drogon was there too. In his human form. His sitting posture was completely unrefined—his feet propped up on the table, his chair tilted back, his tail acting as a third leg supporting him on the ground.

Jorah's finger poked at the chart.

"Yunkai. Meereen. These two slave cities have formed an alliance. They claim they can mobilize an army of one hundred thousand."

Daenerys Targaryen frowned.

"A head-on collision is not a wise move."

Missandei hesitated for a moment. She spoke softly.

"Mother of Dragons... among the Yunkai garrison, there is a mercenary company composed of captured Dothraki. Their commander—is a female warrior known as 'White Mane'. If we could turn her..."

Drogon's pupils narrowed.

White Mane.

The system popped up a note in his mind: "The strongest female rider in the Dothraki Sea. Has never known defeat. Once swore an oath: she would only offer loyalty to a man who could defeat her."

He sat up slightly. His tail tapped against the floor.

"A female warrior? Is she strong?"

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

Damn it. Why did I ask that? It's a military consideration. Yes. A military consideration. It has nothing to do with "lust". Absolutely nothing.

Missandei nodded.

"She is the strongest female rider in the Dothraki Sea. It is said she has never known defeat. And—she swore an oath. She would only offer loyalty to a man who could defeat her."

The smile on Drogon's lips grew dangerous. A hint of eagerness flashed in his golden slit pupils.

"Interesting."

He stood up and stretched. His scales shimmered in the morning light.

"Mother. This mercenary company—leave it to me."

Daenerys Targaryen looked at his expression. She felt inexplicably annoyed. Coldly.

"Don't kill her. We need allies."

Drogon walked toward the cabin door. His tail swung in an arc behind him.

"Don't worry. I will be very—gentle."

"Ding! Side quest updated: 'Conquer White Mane'. Objective: Defeat the Yunkai mercenary commander 'White Mane' in single combat,"

The fleet set sail. Thirteen large ships cut through the azure water. Sails filled with wind. Heading toward Yunkai.

Drogon stood on the figurehead. In his human form. The sea breeze whipped his black hair and trench coat, making them snap in the wind. His tail, behind him, uncontrollably pointed toward the captain's cabin.

Daenerys Targaryen stood before the window of the captain's cabin. Watching him. Her fingers gently touched her chest—the spot where his fingertip had tapped earlier.

"My... Drogon."

She didn't realize she had said it out loud.

Drogon didn't turn back either. But the tip of his tail twitched upward slightly.

In the distance, toward Yunkai, a dark cloud hung over the sea. A storm was coming.