The dragon flew in an ocean of sky, stretching his wings to their furthest extent. Without warning he plunged down towards the ground, catching himself just
before impact and then swooping back to the sky. Daenerys sat on her white stallion, moving in motion with the horse's four-legged strut, watching Drogon play
his game. Rhaegal and Viserion lagged behind their darker and fiercer brother, squabbling with each other behind the train of Unsullied and freed slaves. Beside
her Ser Jorah studied the scenery of the new world they had found themselves in. They had been riding for a day, after being torn away from Westeros, through
endless barren wasteland, the only features on the face of this deserted place were spiral pillars of red clay too steep to climb. Looking for Drogon once more
Daenerys shivered when she saw the eerie sky. It was washed dark ruby with a wave of golden light sweeping over it and the moons behind it; a dark green
moon covered with craters and a perfectly spherical grey moon. A ripple ran through the tired bodies behind her and Daenerys felt a pang of guilt press down on
her conscious. Her people were hungry. Her people were thirsty and she couldn't do anything to help. By now her own stomach was grumbling for food and her
lips had grown dry and cracked from the lack of moisture. On the edge of the horizon Daenerys saw what she had been longing and dreading. Heavyset figures
drew toward them. Daenerys raised her hand, her palm facing the approaching strangers, signaling her people to stop. There could have been twenty or a whole
army, at this distance it was impossible to tell, and Daenerys turned to Ser Jorah for advice. He read the alarm on her face at once.
"We should send riders out to inspect them, Khaleesi. They could be friendly," Jorah suggested, patting his horse's neck as it threw its head in annoyance.
"Or they could be dangerous," Daenerys challenged her friend, a dangerous spark flashed in her cerulean eyes. She contemplated for a moment, "we will do this
your way. I would rather risk two people than all my people. Greyworm!" A tall thin man with olive skin and dark hair stepped from the throng of masked
Unsullied. "Greyworm, you and one other will ride out to inspect these people. Do not get too close, I do not want to lose the leader of my army," Daenerys
ordered, " Dothrakh!" The two men climbed on the back of two bay horses and rode towards the strangers, the thunder of hooves on the compressed sand
echoed through the landscape. After a few seconds the riders were back at her side, their eyes filled with terror.
"Khaleesi, these strangers are not people. Th-they may walk on two feet like humans but their face's are green and vicious, with scars deeply slashed into the
foul skin, and they carry sharpened spears and maces in their strong hands," Greyworm stuttered with a thickly laced accent.
"How many are there?" Daenerys asked.
"No more than thirty, but…" she cut Greyworm off with a flick off her hand. Greyworm trudged back into his rightful place beside his warriors. Daenerys prepared
to march her army forward when, without, warning a stinging pain jolted through Daenerys' entire frame all the way to her head, shaking her violently and
causing her to desperately claw at her temple. Jorah was at her side instantly, cooing her name and pulling her off the back of the horse. She went limp in his
arms.
"Dani?" he yelled at her, his voice breaking with fear. Her body looked frail and delicate in his large brown hands and he was afraid he would shatter her at any
moment like a piece of glass. Her head snapped back and her now open eyes came to rest on his face. She seemed dazed as she squinted at him through thick
lashes. Jorah started when he saw her eyes. Usually her eyes were dark blue around the outer rim and then they slowly melted into gold around the pupil, but
now they were pale and glazed over with sheen of white. Without a word she pushed herself away from his chest and heaved herself back into the deep-seated
leather saddle.
"Jadat," Daenerys commanded her dragons and they dropped to the floor in front of her one by one. Drogon shook himself, the muscles in his chest and neck
acutely defined with every movement of his black-scaled skin. They had grown rapidly over the past few months, their wing span now longer than six humans,
and their bad temper had earned them respect and fear from every other living creature.
"My children," she whispered almost inaudibly, knowing only they would be able to hear, "I want you to kill these strangers. All men, women, and children must
die except for one. Bring me a live prisoner." The gold and green dragons rose, their wings sending waves of air rolling toward Daenerys, and started circling in
the air while Drogon flew to his mistress. Daenerys stroked one hand over the spikes that ran down the dragon's spine and then leaned forward toward his head,
white locks of her tumbling down her shoulder, so her full lips were close to his ear.
"Addrivat akkelenak zhavorsa," Daenerys breathed. Like a storm the three dragons rose and raced towards the unsuspecting victims. Once they were above the
strangers they made it rain fire. Warm glowing swells of heat poured from the dragons mouths and pounded the creatures below. Blood curdling screams filled
the ears of the horrified spectators as the flames ate the enemy alive.