Balerion's sails flew in the wind as the ship sailed across the blue waters of the Summer Sea. Daenerys stood upon the ship's forecastle, watching her dragons chase each other across a cloudless blue sky. Daenerys Targaryen was as happy as she could ever remember being.

Her Dothraki called the sea the poison water, distrusting any liquid their horses could not drink. On the day her ship had lifted anchor at Qarth, you would have thought they were sailing to hell instead of Pentos. Her brave young bloodriders had stared off at the dwindling coastline with huge white eyes, each of the three determined to show no fear before the other two, while her handmaids Irri and Jhiqui clutched the rail desperately and hurled over the side at every little swell. The rest of Daenerys' tiny khalasar remained below decks, preferring the company of their nervous horses to the terrifying landless world about the ships. When a sudden storm had enveloped them six days into the voyage, she heard them through the hatches, the horses kicking and screaming, the riders praying in thin quavery voices each time Balerion heaved or swayed.

No storm could frighten Daenerys, though. Daenerys Stormborn, she was called, for she had come howling into the world on distant Dragonstone as the greatest storm in the memory of Westeros howled outside, a storm so fierce that it ripped gargoyles from the castle walls and smashed her father's fleet to kindling.

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Daenerys had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper's hired knives. She loved the sea. She liked the sharp, salty smell of the air and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small but free as well. She liked the dolphins that sometimes swam beside the Balerion, slicing through the waves like silvery spears and the flying fish they glimpsed now and again. She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she'd watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor. But when she told her brother, Viserys twisted her hair until she cried. "You are the blood of the dragon," he had screamed at her. "A dragon, not some smelly fish."

He was a fool about that and so much else, Daenerys thought. If he had been wiser and more patient, he would be sailing west to take the throne that was his by rights. Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realise, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel, weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown.

Daenerys' attention turned to her dragons again. They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

Viserion's scales were the colour of fresh cream, his horns, wing bones, and spinal crest a dark gold that flashed bright as metal in the sun. Rhaegal was made of the green of summer and the bronze of fall. They soared above the ship in wide circles, higher and higher, each trying to climb above the other.

Dragons always preferred to attack from above, Daenerys had learned. Should either get between the other and the sun, he would fold his wings and dive screaming, and they would tumble from the sky locked together in a tangled scaly ball, jaws snapping and tails lashing. The first time they had done it, she feared that they meant to kill each other, but it was only sport. No sooner would they splash into the sea than breaking apart and rising again, shrieking and hissing, the salt water steaming off them as their wings clawed at the air. Drogon was aloft as well, though not in sight; he would be miles ahead or behind hunting.

He was always hungry, her Drogon. Hungry and growing fast. Another year, or perhaps two, and he may be large enough to ride. Then I shall not need ships to cross the great salt sea.

But that time was not yet come. Rhaegal and Viserion were the sizes of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have outweighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so, Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood, wind, and canvas to bear her home.

The wood and the canvas had served her well enough so far. Daenerys had thanked Barristan Selmy for the gift of the boat, but who had told him where to find her, she didn't know. So why did they send her a ship as a gift? Though she was thankful that they did.

Daenerys stood on the ship's forecastle, watching as her three dragons flew above them. She watched as they dived into the sea, catching fish before roasting them and gulping them down.

"They're growing fast," Barristan Selmy said as he joined Daenerys on the forecastle. He watched as Drogon perched on the railing, leaning into Daenerys's touch.

"Not fast enough," Daenerys said. "How big will he grow? Do you know?"

"In the Seven Kingdoms, there are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas."

Daenerys laughed. "That would be a wondrous sight to see."

Barristan Selmy nodded. "Indeed, it would, Your Grace. But let us hope that our dragons never get that big. The bigger they are, the harder they are to control." He cast a wary eye at Drogon, who was now unfurling his wings and testing the air currents. "There are also tales of wise old dragons living a thousand years."

"Well, how long does a dragon live?" She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails.

"It is difficult to say for certain, Your Grace," Barristan Selmy replied, his eyes fixed on the dragons above. "Some say that dragons can live for centuries, while others believe they can live for a thousand years or more. It may depend on how well they are cared for and how much they can hunt and feed. But one thing is certain, dragons are powerful and unpredictable creatures, and we must always be vigilant in our efforts to control them." As he spoke, Drogon let out a deep, rumbling growl, and the ship shuddered beneath them. "The dragons that lived in the Seven Kingdoms of the Targaryens – your ancestors – were bred for war. And they died in war. It is not easy to slay a dragon, but it can be done.

"Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he died during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He was so large he could swallow an auroch's whole. A dragon never stops growing, Your Grace, so long as he has food and freedom."

"Freedom?" asked Daenerys, curious. "What do you mean?"

"In King's Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed castle for their dragons. The Dragonpit, it is called. It still stands atop the Hill of Rhaenys, though all in ruins now. That was where the royal dragons dwelt in days of yore, and a cavernous dwelling it was, with iron doors so wide that thirty knights could ride through them abreast. Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them and the great dome above their heads."

Overhearing the two of them talk, the Professor joined them, standing next to Daenerys. "They should never be kept inside great domes. They're too majestic for that."

Daenerys smiled and nodded. "They are indeed." And she had three of them. Three dragons. And they were her children. She looked over at Barristan again. "Did you ever meet him? My father?"

"I had that great honour, Your Grace," Barristan answered.

"What was he like?" the Professor asked.

Barristan did his best to hide his feelings, but they were plain on his face. "His Grace was . . . often pleasant."

"Often?" Daenerys smiled. "But not always?"

"He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies."

"A wise man never makes an enemy of a king," said Daenerys. "Did you know my brother Rhaegar as well?"

"It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly. I had the privilege of seeing him in a tourney, though, and often heard him play his harp with its silver strings."

Daenerys looked at Barristan sharply. "He played the harp?" she asked. She remembered her vision while in the House of the Undying back in Qarth. A tall young man playing the harp for his wife and newborn son. She remembered that he had looked like an older version of Viserys. Could it be that she saw Rhaegar?

Barristan nodded. "Aye. He did. He played the most gentle songs on it. Why do you ask?"

"Back in Qarth, I saw him in the House of the Undying. He said his son Aegon was the Prince that was Promised and that his song was the Ice and Fire. Have you ever heard of that, ser?"

Barristan Selmy shook his head. "It's no song that I have ever heard. But his son is dead. The Lannisters dashed his head against a wall."

"I have this friend," the Professor began. "Rumplestiltskin, he's called. He has had this vision that Daenerys is the Prince that was Promised."

Barristan frowned at the comment. "Maybe it is. But it's no song I've ever heard of. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I've never been one to trifle with prophecies." Then, smiling at her, he turned to leave, leaving only the Professor and Daenerys on the ship's forecastle.

"Whether I'm this Prince that was Promised or not, I still need an army," Daenerys told the Professor.

"And you will get one," the Professor told her. "Astapor is only half a day's sale, according to the captain. He said that the Unsullied are the greatest soldiers in the world."

Daenerys frowned, contemplating the idea of buying armies. It didn't sit well with her, but she knew that she needed a strong force behind her to reclaim the Iron Throne. She turned to the Professor, her expression resolute. "The greatest slave-soldiers in the world. The distinction means a good deal to some people," she declared firmly. "I am not the kind of ruler who believes in owning people."

The Professor nodded, understanding her position. "I appreciate your conviction, Daenerys," he said. "But how do you expect to win back the throne without an army?"

Daenerys sighed, still hesitant. "I don't know," she said. "It feels like I'm compromising my values. But it's a beautiful day to argue." She looked over at the Professor and smiled at him. "Thank you, though. Thank you for being there for me."

The Professor returned her smile, admiring the determined look in her eyes. "You're a remarkable woman, Daenerys," he told her. "I will always be here for you, Daenerys. No matter what happens, I will stand by your side."

The Time Lord smiled at Daenerys, his hearts swelling with admiration for her strength and determination. He had been by her side since the beginning, advising and supporting her through thick and thin. And over time, he realised that he had developed feelings for her that went beyond mere loyalty and admiration.

"Daenerys," the Professor continued, taking a step closer to her. "I know this isn't easy for you. But you are a remarkable leader, inspiring loyalty and devotion in everyone who follows you. Including me."

Daenerys looked at him, surprise and confusion evident in her expression. "What are you trying to say, Professor?" she asked.

The Professor took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I'm saying that I have developed feelings for you, Daenerys. More than just loyalty or friendship. I think I have fallen in love with you."

Daenerys was taken aback by his admission, her heart racing in her chest. She had always respected the Professor, valued his counsel and appreciated his unwavering loyalty. But she had never considered him in a romantic light.

For a moment, she was unsure of what to say. But then, as she looked into the Professor's kind and sincere eyes, she felt a warmth growing inside her. A warmth that she had not felt since the loss of Khal Drogo.

"Professor," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea. But I find that I feel the same way."

The Professor's face lit up with joy, and he took her hands. "Daenerys, I have loved you for so long. I would do anything for you and follow you to the ends of the earth."

Daenerys smiled at him, feeling a sense of relief and happiness she had not felt in a long time. She looked up at him, her hand brushing against his cheek. She moved closer to the Professor before standing on her toes, letting her lips meet his in a soft and tender kiss.