6: Chapter 6 Kneel

An old woman was the first to kneel.

She wasn't kneeling to Daenerys Targaryen. She was kneeling to Drogon.

She was muttering something in the dothraki language, but it was too fast, and Drogon couldn't hear it clearly. But the people behind her all followed suit and knelt.

Not because of Daenerys Targaryen.

It was because of that sand worm.

Out of the four, he had only dragged back one—enough for the entire Khalasar to eat for three days.

Araddo stood at the edge of the camp. His horse was still there. But the dozen or so people behind him had already walked back. Not walking back to the campfire. They walked back—to kneel.

Drogon glanced at Araddo's blade.

Araddo loosened his grip on the hilt.

It wasn't a kneeling gesture. It was the Dothraki gesture of admitting defeat.

He walked back to the camp, not looking at Drogon, and walked up to Daenerys Targaryen, knelt on one knee, and touched his forehead to the ground.

This time, he didn't call out "Khaleesi."

He shouted something in the dothraki language. The meaning was roughly— "Please allow me to stay."

Daenerys Targaryen didn't look at Araddo. She looked at the people kneeling behind him, at the women starting to butcher the sand worm by the campfire, and at the fire that had been rekindled on the ground.

Then she stood up.

She walked up to Drogon.

She didn't speak.

She picked him up from the sand worm's carcass, pressed him to her chest, and her fingers brushed against the wound on his left wing.

Drogon felt her fingers trembling again.

Trembling even more violently than before.

But this time, he didn't find it annoying.

A few stones rolled out of the sand worm's core sac.

They weren't gemstones.

They were raw ore. Pitch black, shining with a faint metallic luster. There were also two bones from some unknown creature, hard as hell; Drogon took a bite, but couldn't break them.

He used his claws to rake them all to Daenerys Targaryen's feet.

"Mine," he said.

Daenerys Targaryen looked down at him. Her eyes were still red. But the corners of her mouth began to curl upward.

"They're all yours. No one will take them."

Drogon pushed the items another two inches toward her feet.

"Keep an eye on them for me. If one goes missing—"

He glanced at the sword at Jorah's waist.

"I'll eat his sword."

Jorah took his hand off the sword hilt.

Not out of fear. But out of genuine submission.

This dragon had just killed four sand worms, dragged back enough meat for the whole camp to eat for three days, was covered in wounds, yet was still obsessing over two broken stones and a handful of teeth.

This wasn't a dragon.

This was a miser reincarnated.

When the smell of roasted sand worm meat began to waft through the air, the camp finally had some human voices.

Women were cutting the meat. Children were waiting. The elderly ate first.

Drogon lay on Daenerys Targaryen's lap, opened his mouth, and swallowed a strip of meat she had torn off for him. It was hot. But it was a comfortable heat.

Daenerys Targaryen didn't eat. She looked at the campfire.

"Drogon."

"Hmm."

"My father had three dragons. The largest in all of Westeros. They called him The Mad King."

Drogon didn't speak.

Daenerys Targaryen looked down at her hands.

"Later, he died. Our family was finished. My brother said—"

She paused.

"My brother said that without dragons, we had nothing left."

Drogon tilted his head.

"Your brother was an idiot."

Daenerys Targaryen was stunned. Then she laughed out loud. Laughing until tears came down.

"Yes."

She picked him up and pressed him against her face.

"He really was."

Drogon felt her face was wet. He couldn't tell if it was from laughing or something else.

He didn't ask.

He just nudged her with his head.

The next day at dawn.

Drogon was shaken awake by a low roar.

Not a sand worm.

It was deeper. Larger. Coming from deep underground.

He stood on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder and looked toward the deepest part of the Red Waste. There, at the moment before dawn, the red sand dunes seemed to have something turning over inside them.

The system popped up a notification:

"Warning: High-energy lifeform detected. Distance: 15 km. Depth: Below the surface. Threat level: Extremely high."

Drogon narrowed his eyes.

The larva's mother had come. Or father. Or something even bigger.

He wasn't afraid.

He licked the corners of his mouth.

The sand worm larva gave 220. How much would an adult give?

"Main Quest: Accompany Daenerys Targaryen across the Red Waste. Current progress: 23%."

Drogon flapped his wings.

No rush.

Wait until I've healed.

Daenerys Targaryen looked back at him. She hadn't heard anything. But she saw his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Drogon tucked his head back onto her shoulder.

"Hungry. Want breakfast."

Daenerys Targaryen laughed and tapped him.

In the distance, the Red Waste was still calling.