62: Chapter 60 Dragonstone

Early morning. Meereen port. High tide.

Seawater washed over the foundation of the breakwater, splashing noisily beneath the boardwalk.

Hundreds of warships of varying sizes were arranged in a wedge formation.

At the very front was Daenerys's flagship, the "Dragonstone"—formerly the Great Masters' flagship, now renamed. The figurehead had been replaced with a miniature wooden carving of the iron throne; the craftsmanship was crude, but the outline was accurate.

To the left and right were the main transport ships of the Unsullied and the fast sailing ships of the Dothraki Cavalry, respectively. The sails were embroidered with the new three-headed dragon banner, the corners snapping in the sea breeze. The mist over the sea was dissipating.

On the harbor boardwalk, Grey Worm and Missandei stood side by side.

The two of them had been left behind to jointly guard Meereen—Grey Worm to command the three thousand Unsullied to maintain order, and Missandei to serve as acting ruler to handle government affairs.

Daenerys stood on the boardwalk and said softly to Missandei, "I am entrusting Meereen to you. Three months. In three months, I will send someone to replace you, or to bring you to Dragonstone. You choose."

Missandei's eyes were slightly red, but she held back her tears. She offered a thick notebook with both hands. It had a sheepskin cover and new binding threads.

"Mother of Dragons, this is the 'Westeros Noble Relationship Atlas,' 'Dragon Spouse Contract Clause Index,' and 'Dragon Lord Mating Season Peak Calendar' that I have compiled over the past few months—the calendar is for you, not for Lord Drogon. Please be sure to arrange his patrol schedule according to the calendar."

Daenerys took the notebook. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She opened the first page, glanced at it, and closed the notebook.

"I will. Help me keep an eye on him."

"He does not need me to keep an eye on him. He needs chains."

Drogon passed by in his human form. The hem of his windbreaker was blown up by the sea breeze. His tail deliberately swept across the edge of Missandei's notebook. Snap.

"I heard that."

Missandei did not dodge; her large amber eyes looked straight at him.

"Lord Drogon. The key to the chains is by the Mother of Dragons' bedside. I advise you not to trigger Appendix Seven, Appendix Nine, or the newly discovered Appendix Fourteen again during the voyage."

"...What is Appendix Fourteen?"

"During the voyage, you must not publicly collect spoils on the deck. This includes, but is not limited to, shipwreck relics, pirate treasure, and coral reef gemstones that you claim you are 'just picking up to have a look.'"

Drogon's tail stiffened behind him, then dropped limply.

"...Where on earth did you find all this?"

"The 'Old Valyria Dragon Lord Spouse Code of Conduct' was discovered in the Great Masters' secret chamber in Meereen. I completed the appendix section by cross-referencing ancient books from The Citadel. So far, I have compiled one hundred and twelve complete clauses. Would you like a copy?"

"No. I'll burn it."

"You said that last time, too."

White Mane led over two thousand Dothraki Cavalry onto their dedicated fast sailing ship.

The warhorses were hoisted over the ship's rail, their legs wrapped in soft pads. The Dothraki Cavalry spread felt rugs on the deck and began adjusting their saddles and bows. Some were sharpening their blades by the gunwale, while others were repairing arrow fletchings.

The sea breeze blew across the deck, and the horses snorted. They did not get seasick. The Dothraki grew up on the grasslands; they were warriors even when they boarded a ship.

White Mane stood at the stern, watching the city of Meereen recede into the distance. There was no nostalgia in her amber eyes. To her, wherever there was war, that was home. A city was just for living; the battlefield was her true homeland.

She noticed the banner being raised on the mast.

Besides the three-headed dragon banner, there was another black banner she had never seen before. The flag was black, embroidered with the side profile silhouette of a lioness with a silvery-White Mane.

The lion's neck was encircled by a dark golden dragon claw print pattern. The pattern was simplified but proportionally precise—exactly the same as the Brand on the back of her neck.

White Mane turned her head to look at a Dothraki centurion who was helping to secure the ropes nearby. He was a veteran missing his front teeth, his mouth looking like a gaping hole when he smiled.

"Who embroidered that banner?"

The centurion grinned, revealing gold teeth.

"The Mother of Dragons ordered it to be embroidered. She said the White Mane regiment is not a vassal of the Dragon Khalasar, but an independent combat partner.

The Mother of Dragons said—this banner probably hasn't been flown for a thousand years. Previously, only one 'White Lion Khal' had appeared in the ancient Dothraki Sea. Now, there is a second one."

White Mane fell silent. Her right hand subconsciously touched the Brand on the back of her neck. The Brand was slightly warm. Not danger. Not excitement. It was something more ancient.

The centurion didn't know that the White Lion Khal was her father. She had never said it, and Daenerys had never asked. But the banner was embroidered with a lioness—not the male lion of a Khal. It was a lioness. It was her banner. Not her father's.

She turned around, facing the receding city of Meereen, and said a sentence very softly in the dothraki language.

"The daughter of the White Lion Khal. She has not disgraced the name."

Then she looked up, watching that White Lion banner flapping violently in the sea breeze on the mast. The silhouette of the lioness was surrounded by dark golden dragon claws. Not a cage. An alliance.

Evening. Dragonstone, Captain's Quarters.

The nautical chart was spread out on the table, weighed down at the four corners by a dagger and teacups.

The map was marked with dangerous currents, known pirate nests, and the approximate location of Dragonstone. Jorah and Barristan stood on either side, arguing about the pros and cons of bypassing the ruins of Valyria.

"The currents around the ruins of Valyria have magical disturbances. The Citadel's nautical manual clearly warns—keep at least three hundred nautical miles from the edge of the ruins." Barristan's tone was a statement, not a negotiation.

"Three hundred nautical miles means a detour of at least five days. Can our fresh water and horse fodder hold out?" Jorah's finger poked at the nautical chart.

Daenerys sat at the head of the table, her finger slowly tracing the rim of her teacup. She didn't speak. She was calculating. Fresh water volume. Horse fodder. The Unsullied's dry rations. The Dothraki Cavalry's demand for fresh meat. The live sheep that Rhaegal and Viserion needed to consume every day.

And himself—consumption was higher in dragon form; if he flew continuously for several days, he would need an extra crate of dragon glass daily.

The door was pushed open. Drogon walked in. He had changed into casual clothes—a short black windbreaker with a shortened hem. His tail maintained a stable balance behind him for navigation. He was carrying a small cloth bag in his hand, which he placed next to the nautical chart.

The bag was opened, containing that square sapphire ring and a few pieces of dragon glass he had specially picked out while packing.

He lowered his voice and said to Daenerys, "The ring. Confiscated. The dragon glass fragments—deducted from the inventory, consider it my personal fine to you. For what happened on the public trial platform yesterday."

Daenerys did not look at the ring. She raised her eyes to look at him. There was a smile in her purple eyes, but her tone remained flat.

"Missandei is not here, no one to help you translate the chain clauses."

Jorah expressionlessly rolled up the nautical chart. His movements were slow. His voice was flat.

"Your Majesty, I will go check the rudder. You continue your discussion."

He turned and walked out of the captain's quarters. Barristan followed behind. When the door closed, Drogon heard Jorah say something to Barristan in the corridor. The sound was muffled by the door panel, but the tone sounded like a sigh, and also like a laugh.