Chapter 66 — One Child Is Enough
After hearing Drogon's thoughts, Daenerys could only feel helpless.
She understood what he meant—but she also had no choice.
If she didn't personally hear these petitions, issues would pile up. Resentment would spread. Chaos would breed beneath the surface.
Yet she was reaching her limit.
She wasn't just tired.
She was burning out.
Tomorrow, she decided, I'll only handle the important matters.
As for Drogon's suggestion—appointing governors—she agreed it was practical, even necessary.
Meereen still had her, so it didn't urgently require a city steward.
But Astapor and Yunkai did.
Yunkai had Lord Daren.
Astapor, however, was still missing a suitable ruler—someone who could sit in the seat and keep the city from collapsing the moment she turned her back.
---
The next day, Meereen issued the same two proclamations Yunkai had once announced:
1. Anyone who believed they possessed knowledge, skill, or exceptional talent was to register publicly.
2. The Queen would purchase books at a high price, to prepare for the founding of the academy.
Within hours, the response was explosive.
The registration square became even more crowded than Yunkai's, and the book collection station—once nearly deserted—was now busy.
By the end of the day, the results were clear:
Meereen didn't just have more applicants.
It had better ones.
And that wasn't an accident.
Astapor's slave system had been built around one purpose: producing Unsullied.
Yunkai's wealth was driven largely by comfort slaves—bed slaves, entertainers, servants.
But Meereen?
Meereen kept fewer slaves, yes.
Yet the ones it did keep were often high-value slaves: teachers, translators, scribes, advisers, healers.
On top of that, Meereen's grand fighting pits drew merchants and nobles from far beyond Slaver's Bay—people from neighboring regions, even from as far as Qarth, and beyond.
A city that attracts wealthy visitors develops differently.
Luxury demands infrastructure.
Infrastructure attracts specialists.
Specialists attract more specialists.
So when word spread that the Dragon Queen intended to build a great academy, talent poured into the square like water flooding a broken dam.
Watching the volume and quality of applicants, Daenerys felt her confidence rise.
The academy was no longer a desperate dream.
It was starting to look… achievable.
---
Meanwhile, Missandei continued compiling her language textbook.
Drogon and Daenerys were frequently present during her work, and through Daenerys, Drogon "taught" Missandei a surprising number of techniques—how to structure lessons, arrange drills, design progression, reinforce memory.
Drogon didn't know as many languages as Missandei did.
But he understood something she didn't:
how language was taught.
In his previous world, language-learning manuals had been common. Standardized. Organized. Practical.
And with that experience, guiding Missandei through the process was easy.
Missandei had never written a book before.
Her original plan had been to ask Daenerys for simple feedback.
She never imagined the queen would understand so much—or that many "writing methods" and organizational principles even existed.
More than once, Missandei stared down at her notes as if they'd been blessed by the gods.
Because many of the techniques Daenerys suggested…
she had never even heard of.
At first, Missandei had believed her gift for languages was unmatched.
But after hearing Daenerys's suggestions, she began to feel—almost unwillingly—that Daenerys's talent might not be inferior to her own in the slightest.
And under Missandei's openly admiring gaze, Daenerys couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.
Most of those ideas, after all, were things she had quietly passed on to Missandei whenever Drogon wasn't around—careful not to get caught, afraid he might discover the truth.
What she didn't realize…
was that Drogon had long since uncovered her little secret: she'd been listening to his "inner voice" all along.
As she explained language-learning methods and teaching structures, Daenerys found herself praising Drogon's "inherited memories" more and more in her heart.
To think—even techniques for studying language could be passed down through a dragon's bloodline.
Once Missandei adopted Daenerys's approach, her writing speed increased dramatically.
She was convinced that learning languages through the textbook she was compiling would not only be easier… but far more effective.
---
Drogon had been in Meereen for several days now.
By his estimate, Tyrion's trial result should have come out already.
And with nothing urgent happening in Meereen for the moment, he decided to go see for himself.
---
King's Landing
The Small Council meeting had just ended.
Only Tywin and Cersei remained in the council chamber.
"After Tommen's wedding, you will marry Loras and leave for Highgarden," Tywin said coldly. "And you will get pregnant as soon as possible."
Cersei stiffened instantly.
"And what about my son?" she snapped. "He's still young. I'm not leaving him."
Tywin stared at her, displeased.
It wasn't the first time they'd discussed this. Cersei had agreed long ago—before Tyrion's own marriage had even been arranged.
So why was she rebelling now?
"I will remain in King's Landing," Tywin said through clenched restraint. "You don't need to worry about him."
"My daughter is trapped in Dorne with those savage animals," Cersei hissed. "My son has been bewitched by that Highgarden little whore—"
"And now you want to send me to Highgarden, to breed like a sow?"
"No."
"I'm staying. I'm staying with my son!"
"You think only of your son," Tywin roared. "Do you never think of the family?"
"And you think only of the family," Cersei shot back, eyes burning. "You've never once thought of us as people—only chess pieces. Only coins to be spent."
"This time… I will not be moved."
Tywin stepped closer until he was looming over her, staring into her eyes.
"Whether you are moved is not your decision," he said lowly. "And whether you marry Loras is not for you to decide."
Cersei laughed bitterly.
"When you forced me to marry Robert, you also told me to bear his child quickly."
"And now you want me to bear Loras's child."
She leaned toward him, voice sharp as a blade.
"Do you really want the exact same outcome… all over again?"
Tywin's eyes narrowed. He flicked a glance aside, then looked back.
"What are you trying to say?"
"You know perfectly well what I'm saying," Cersei replied, her expression twisted with a kind of exhausted sorrow.
Tywin's gaze hardened.
"Marry Loras on schedule," he said. "Don't make me repeat myself."
But Cersei didn't stop.
"Maybe, in your mind, all that matters is that there's a child."
"And it doesn't even matter whose child it truly is… as long as the world believes it belongs to the family."
"Isn't that right?"
Tywin held her gaze, frowning—silent.
"Either way," Cersei said coldly, "I'm not leaving my son."
She turned and walked out.
Behind her, Tywin's voice followed like thunder.
"You think I don't know what you want?"
"As long as I rule King's Landing, you will never be the one who decides the fate of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Cersei paused mid-step.
She turned back, eyes blazing with hatred, jaw clenched so hard it almost shook—
Then she left the chamber.
---
Outside the Council Chamber
Cersei walked forward with her head lowered, fury boiling in her blood…
when a familiar voice suddenly greeted her.
"Your Grace."
She looked up.
It was Qyburn, the maester who had crafted Jaime's prosthetic hand.
Cersei gave a short nod, intending to continue on.
But then she slowed.
Stopped.
Turned.
Qyburn had only realized something was wrong after greeting her—Cersei was staring at him as if weighing him like a blade in her palm.
He didn't know what he'd done.
Qyburn had been expelled from the Citadel for performing forbidden experiments—research into alchemy and the human body.
Cersei had spared him only because he was… useful.
"Maester Qyburn," she said at last. "I have something to discuss with you."
"Come with me."
And without waiting, she walked ahead.
Qyburn had no choice but to follow silently behind her.
---
When Drogon returned to King's Landing, he found Varys's message waiting for him.
The trial-by-combat was already over.
The Mountain was dead.
And Oberyn had come frighteningly close to being killed.
Seeing confirmation of the Mountain's death, Drogon couldn't help but wonder what the Hound would feel once he learned the news.
Probably like his entire purpose in life had been ripped away in an instant.
After all, even in the future where Daenerys burned King's Landing, the Hound's obsession remained the same:
to charge into fire itself… just to kill his brother.
Now that pillar had vanished.
What would be left of him?
---
According to Varys, Tyrion had boarded a ship for Pentos last night.
He would arrive today.
Drogon decided to head there immediately.
---
Pentos
A little over an hour later, Drogon landed in a quiet courtyard in Pentos.
A window in the nearby room was open.
So he flew straight in.
Shireen was reading.
The moment she saw him, she hurriedly put the book down and rushed to the window, extending her hand so he could land on the back of it.
"Drogon," she asked softly, fingers brushing over his glossy black scales, "when can I go to Slaver's Bay?"
"It's so boring here… all alone."
After arriving, Drogon had warned her not to go out unless absolutely necessary.
Even though the Magister's guards watched the courtyard, even though soldiers would escort her into the streets…
Drogon still didn't feel safe.
If someone recognized Shireen while he wasn't nearby, and something happened—
it could be too late to save her.
---