Drogo had once read, in the richly stocked libraries of Qarth, a fragment of Dragons, Wyverns, and Firewyrms: An Unnatural Evolution of the Draconic Species, a work by Septon Barth, the former overseer of the royal library in Westeros—commonly abbreviated to Unnatural Evolution.
In it, Septon Barth had written:
"Death comes from the dragon's maw, yet death shall not enter it. The eyes are the dragon's only true weakness. Behind them lies the brain—vulnerable, unlike the underbelly touted in ancient tales. That patch of scales is as impervious as a dragon's spine or flanks. And as for the throat? Nonsense. Those self-proclaimed dragonslayers would sooner snuff out their own lives than their quarry's flame."
Drogo had seen quite clearly that Naga's tail had only struck Viserion's lower belly. At the time, the white dragon had been airborne, wings beating as it hovered upright, coordinating with Drogon to burn the sea-serpent.
Thus, the khal surmised that the white dragon's body had merely gone numb—a hopeful assumption borne from love.
Had Viserion fallen headfirst onto the deck from such height, the force of impact could well have meant death.
But his wings were far too vast—parachute-like, reminiscent of those from Drogo's past life—slowing his descent far below that of a falling star.
Still, there was no time for thought. Drogo hoped for a miracle and cried aloud:
"Viserion! Dracarys!"
The word "dracarys" worked like a spell. In less than three heartbeats, Viserion reopened his magma-pool eyes. Then, from his seemingly limp jaws, dragonfire erupted—an inferno that seared through the deck the instant he crashed into it.
Thoom! A thunderous crash. A geyser of seawater burst from the charred hole, sending clouds of steam billowing into the air.
"Grrrghhh! Ssskrrkkk—gack!"
Choking, rasping roars followed, and Drogo knew Viserion had survived. He let out a deep breath of relief.
Writhing in pain, Naga twisted her colossal form, whipping wind and wave into fury—ready to destroy anything within reach.
Drogo pulled hard on the belt strapped to Drogon's clawed forelimb, steering the black dragon away from the danger zone. Beneath him, the green dragon Rhaegal followed his elder brother without hesitation.
Knowledge could change fate. His understanding had saved his child's life. Silently, Drogo vowed that one day he would extend his conquest to Oldtown, cradle of civilization and seat of the Citadel, to embrace the vast sea of learning housed there.
From afar, Daenerys cried out in anguish: "Viserion! Oh, my child!"
Hearing his mother's voice, the wounded Viserion, like a human child, struggled to drag himself free of the ruined ship. He flapped his wings over the water's surface like a duck learning to swim and made his way toward the warship under Rommo's command.
Even a predator at the top of the food chain craves a mother's comfort when hurt.
With Viserion escaping death, Drogo shifted his focus fully onto the enemy. He cursed under his breath: "Shake harder, you beast—shake her right off!"
The sea-serpent, driven mad, bucked violently, nearly throwing Haixi from its spine several times. The mermaid cursed in hysterical rage:
"Idiot! Calm down! If I fall, my father will snuff out your flame!"
Drogo couldn't understand her tongue, but he could guess at her meaning.
Her panic made him sneer: "Hah! Trying to calm a wounded warhorse at its wildest—do you think that's possible?"
Though Drogo didn't understand the mermaid's words, Naga clearly did. Soon, despite the unbearable pain, the sea-dragon began to settle down.
It seemed the beast was more intelligent than it appeared—and that Haixi held a firm grip on its lifeline.
"Debts must be repaid" was one of the strongest creeds in the life of the mightiest khal. He could have fled amidst the chaos—but he did not.
Madness could be addictive. If he had once dared fly to the heavens on an untested dragon, why not go mad again?
Drogo's eyes locked onto the sea-dragon's belly as he calculated:
"That monster is like a giant serpent. And there's a saying among snake hunters: strike at the seventh inch. Could its weakness lie there as well?"
As a soul from another world, he carried secrets this realm had yet to discover—and often turned the tide with unexpected tactics.
No sooner had he thought it than he acted. Once the sea-dragon calmed, Drogo urged Drogon closer.
He had no fear—and neither did the black wyrm beneath him.
"SKREEEE—"
Naga, wreathed in smoke, let out a hoarse, guttural shriek. Seeing the cause of her pain approaching once more, she roared in rage, teeth bared and bloodlust blazing.
Burned at the mouth by a fledgling dragon, her beast was furious. And the proud Haixi could not endure such shame. In Westerosi Common, she spat out:
"Wretched insect! Do you want to die?"
Seeing her ready to launch another charge, Drogo bellowed back:
"Next time, I'll roast your mount again. And after that, I'll see how grilled mermaid tastes."
Haixi's body trembled at his words, her lovely face twisting in fury. She whispered something, and Naga came to a halt.
Now within speaking range, Drogo pulled tight on the belt, signaling Drogon to hover. His voice turned to ice:
"We've no quarrel. Why provoke me!?"
Haixi looked down on him from above and replied haughtily:
"You displease the Sea King. Therefore, you and yours must die."
"Hmph!" Drogo clenched his fury, sneering:
"This 'Sea King' of yours—you mean the archon of Braavos? That dying old man?"
At that, Haixi's tone became even more disdainful:
"A mortal dares defile the name of a god? You have awakened the Sea King's wrath, who rules all oceans!"
Drogo froze. In his memory, the only titled "Sea King" was the ruler of Braavos, one of the Nine Free Cities, famed for its sword-dancers, the Water Dancers.
He had thought that man might have raised a sea-dragon—though barely. But now…
"Wait… could she mean the Gray King? The ancient monarch of the Ironborn from the Dawn Age?"
The chronicles spoke of the Gray King's might—how he had wed a mermaid, warred with the Storm God, and befriended the Drowned God. He had ruled not just the sea, but the stony lands, and forged a palace from slain sea-dragon bones.
Yet all that glory had died with him—long past.
Could a man truly live a thousand years… even until now?
The thought made Drogo's blood run cold. "This 'Gray Sea King' you speak of—could he be that ancient first king of the Ironborn who died in the Age of Dawn?"
Haixi was a mermaid—and the Gray King's wife was a mermaid. Though Drogo didn't know how such a pairing could produce heirs, it now seemed plausible this woman had some connection to him.
A mermaid's upper body was human—far less protected than her tail. If the dragon could burn Naga, what chance did she stand?
Haixi was arrogant, but not a fool. If she were truly so powerful, she'd have crushed Drogo and his sons already—not bothered to exchange words.
"To behold the daughter of the sea is already a tremendous honor," she said coldly. "A god's identity is not for ants like you to know."
"Mermaids," Drogo thought, "are just like the sea—beautiful, but cruel."
While he exchanged words, he subtly guided Drogon closer to Naga's neck.
This detail escaped Haixi, high on her perch and drunk on her own pride.
Her chin only lifted higher…
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