Above the distant horizon, a few clouds slowly turned red, adorning the gray sky with a soft and delicate beauty.
Soon, the pale fish-belly white of dawn shifted to pink, and a hazy orange glow began to rise in the eastern sky.
Dense fleets of ships, flying sails emblazoned with the spirit of "Dragon and Horse," sailed through the Qarth Strait against the wind, officially entering the vast summer sea.
"At the place where the sea meets the sky, it's like someone drew a line with colored pencils. The sun must be waking up!"
Dany, childlike and excited, shouted as if she were a three-year-old, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
Drogo, still drowsy, looked down at his lively and stunning wife, a smile creeping over his face as he sighed from the heart, "When the crimson sun rises, casting its radiance across the sea, and clothes the most beautiful woman in a gown of dawn—surely that is the most breathtaking sight in the world."
Hearing this, Dany blushed and glanced awkwardly at Grey Worm standing behind her, arms folded behind his back, and at the bloodriders with arms crossed over their chests. She whispered, half-scolding, "Drogo, you're a Khal—you should save words like that for nighttime!"
Seeing her flushed cheeks and thinking of last night's stormy passion, Drogo shuddered inwardly. Despite her kitten-like appearance, his wife had the fierceness of a tiger. And yet... she could still get shy?
Ever since boarding the westbound ships, Dany had been full of excitement—getting closer to home filled her with vitality, day and night.
She was so tireless, Drogo believed he might be the only one in the fleet who could handle her.
At the same time, he felt a pang of sorrow. If normal women had half her vigor, he'd have had his knees covered in tiny hands by now.
Since she wanted him to act like a king, Drogo obliged. He lifted her high, spun her around like a paintbrush drawing an arc, then slung her over his shoulder and held her firmly in place by her twin moons.
The whole motion was smooth as flowing water, done in one swift, fluid gesture.
Dany, catching her breath in air even thinner than Drogo's, felt like a child being played with. Her queenly dignity vanished, and she struggled, squealing, "Ah! Put me down!"
But pressed close to Drogo, she felt so safe that she thrashed around wildly without any fear of falling from the deck.
Drogo just laughed, ignoring her protests. The Dothraki, after all, were half-wild men. This was both a show of strength and an expression of deep love—killing two birds with one stone.
Their display of affection was more intimate than most common couples dared to show. Dany's handmaidens looked on with sour hearts, eyes filled with envy. Jealousy burned hotter than sorrow—they cursed their own passivity last night.
Even the ever-composed Grey Worm furrowed his brow slightly. This Narth girl who had healed and cared for him now took root in his heart in an unfamiliar way.
When Dany turned back again, the beauty of her face stunned everyone on deck.
Her cheeks were red as ripe apples, radiant and captivating. Even the bloodriders, as rugged as Drogo himself, stopped snickering and gazed in silent awe.
"Missandei, Grey Worm, my blood of my blood—you're all just standing there? Go to the captain and have breakfast prepared—now!"
Her voice cracked from the fluster.
Everyone understood her embarrassment. Who needed everyone to relay a breakfast order?
They hadn't yet witnessed the "dragon maiden clothed in light" that Drogo had described. Reluctantly, they stole a few last glances as they queued up and headed inside.
Knowing their thoughts, Drogo chuckled smugly: They only see what they cannot have. I get what they cannot even glimpse. That's the difference between ruler and ruled.
Now alone, Dany relaxed. She enjoyed the warmth, quietly watching the sunrise with her husband.
Soon, the red sun rose from the sea, blazing golden light across the waters. A long serpent of waves rolled forth, throwing up shimmering sprays of gold that struck the soul.
Tiny Dany lay sprawled across Drogo's head, clicking her tongue in awe. "It's so beautiful!"
Gradually, the sun floated clear of the horizon—red, glowing like a blazing agate disc.
Clouds dyed in dawn's hues swirled above, like maidens in red dancing gracefully on the breeze.
Drogo's heart stirred. He walked to the railing and gently set her down, then stepped back five paces to admire her—Dany, clothed in morning light, radiant and regal.
The beauty before him washed away years of bloodshed and rage, purifying his soul if only for a moment.
She opened her arms to the light, sea breeze fluttering her gown—such a perfect scene, Drogo felt an insane urge to gouge out his eyes. He feared no future sight could compare.
The sunrise passed, but other marvels remained: coral isles, giant sea turtles, leaping dolphins...
But novelty faded. Boredom crept in.
Unlike sea-hating Dothraki, Dany loved life at sea.
She had crossed the Narrow Sea many times as a child, fleeing from one Free City to another, always a step ahead of assassins.
In that time, she came to love the ocean: the tang of salt in the air, the mirrored vastness of sky and sea, the freedom it gave her.
She loved the dolphins racing their ship like silver javelins. She loved watching her three-headed dragons dive for flying fish.
She even loved the sailors—their bashful songs and tales, like "The Dornishman's Wife," always demanded at drunken feasts.
Sometimes she imagined being a sailor herself.
When she told her brother, Viserys had yanked her hair in fury: "You're of true dragon blood! A dragon—not some fish-smelling boat girl!"
Now a queen, Dany thought that moment childish. She wanted to soar on dragonback, tasting a joy mortals could never understand.
For everyone else, life aboard was nothing but dull.
At first, they passed merchant and fishing ships that turned to flee at the first sight of sails. They watched capes drift past, sea birds rise in flocks, and bleak islands roll by.
But once they reached deep waters, it was sky and sea—blue on blue. Sometimes a cloud drifted by, and they imagined it a creature.
The rowers had nothing to look at but the white foam of their oars. They fantasized about slapping fish to death for sport.
Illiterate, coarse men, they couldn't read. Days were dull, nights worse.
Only someone like Roman, who snored like thunder, slept well. The rest tossed and turned to the sound of waves.
Drogo grew restless. Long voyages required endurance—but he still needed amusement.
Since Dany disliked sultry dancers and bawdy shows, he'd brought only warriors and support staff.
What could lift his mood?
Only one thing: combat.
Drogo ordered a tournament—each ship a separate ring. The main event would be aboard Dragon and Horse.
The prize? Gold—and a knighthood.
Every confident fighter signed up.
Under the sky, the khalasars dressed per tradition—men and women alike wore short tunics, painted leather vests, leggings bound with horsehair, bronze belts.
Men greased their braids with animal fat. Their opponents: agile Unsullied and well-armored Golden Company fighters.
The audience cheered as they feasted on honey-peppered horse meat, fermented mare's milk, and fine wines.
Drogo, hopping from ship to ship, tossed bronze medals from his golden belt to those who caught his eye.
Even the giant Roman wanted in—but Drogo refused. The bouts had to be fair.
It took a month to get from preliminaries to finals, but boredom faded.
At Dany's insistence, all weapons were wooden. Even in victory, killing was forbidden—penalties would be severe.
Bloodthirsty fighters grumbled but obeyed.
As the fights grew fiercer, Drogo spotted some hidden talents—names Missandei dutifully recorded for future use.
Though many were strong, Drogo had already picked a winner in his heart.
And he was right.
Grey Worm—masterful, powerful, agile—won it all, earning respect from all.
He didn't care for gold or titles. When asked what he wanted, the eunuch blushed: he requested Missandei as his personal therapist.
She wanted to refuse—but couldn't shame the queen.
Grey Worm rarely needed healing, and Missandei liked him. So Dany, more than Drogo, agreed.
From then on, rumors spread: perhaps Grey Worm wasn't a true eunuch.
Missandei, troubled, asked Dany for help—but the queen didn't mind. After all, even if the rumors were false... what could he do?
Days passed. The great fleet neared New Ghisian waters.
One noon, under the scorching sun, Drogo and his bloodriders retired to the cabin to feast.
Just as they raised their cups, Dragon and Horse—weighing over a thousand tons—lurched violently.
No one could stand. They were tossed like dolls.
Fortunately, the ship soon stabilized.
Drogo ran to their luxurious quarters—Dany was fine.
Then he sprinted to the deck to find out what had happened.
The sea was calm. No storm, no reefs. Yet the sails were soaked, water covered the deck up to the ankles.
Sailors reported a colossal wave had struck—without wind.
Even the seasoned Captain Collensa couldn't explain it. And Drogo had no clue.
The sea was mysterious—no man could breathe underwater.
After a few minutes of shaking, Drogo's rum wanted out.
The ship's toilets were far. He stumbled to the stern, found a quiet corner.
As he finished and turned to leave, he heard retching.
He turned, and froze.
There, clinging to the ship, was a girl with glowing blue hair—half-submerged—retching violently, trying to vomit everything she'd swallowed.
Had she drunk his rum?
Regardless, she was in danger—a single wave could drown her.
"Hey! What's your name?"
The girl stopped, looked up.
One glance—and Drogo's heart skipped.
She was stunning. Unreal.
Her skin was pearly white, face delicate like a carved melon seed, eyes large and clear, glowing blue like her hair.
Her lashes were long and thick, making her eyes look like they floated in mist—mysterious, alluring.
Even Dany paled in comparison.
"Was that you who puked?"
Her voice—clear as a songbird—shattered Drogo's composure.
"No! Of course not! I am Drogo, King of Slaver's Bay, strongest Khal of the Great Grass Sea—I would never be so crude!"
"Hmph."
She sneered.
"So you're Drogo. Just as they say—a talking gorilla. Remember this: I am Hai Xi, daughter of the sea."
With that, she slipped underwater and vanished.
Drogo nearly dove after her—but thought better of it. He couldn't swim.
She was a marvel. If she ever showed herself, she'd enchant the whole world.
But he'd never heard her name.
He ordered sailors into the sea to find her—dead or alive.
None returned.
They'd been eaten or lost to whirlpools, he assumed.
He couldn't sacrifice more men.
At night, as the fleet passed a nameless coral isle, a voice like crystal floated through the air.
Hai Xi.
Drogo froze—she was singing from somewhere among the reefs.
He didn't know the language, but the melody and her voice were irresistible. All who heard it were enthralled.
Drogo barked orders: "All ships, surround that island! Scouts, search every stone! Find her!"
For Dany's sake, he'd refused to take concubines.
But now—now he changed his mind.
That voice, that beauty... his primal instinct erupted.
He'd have her.
Willing or not.
Even if he had to lock her up for life.
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