After the passing days.
Among the camp battlements, at the very heart of the sprawl, stood Daenerys's tent pale silk rippling in the late-afternoon wind like a banner of truce no one believed in.
From a distance Rhaego watched the three sellsword captains enter. He sat on a flat rock overlooking the path, tail swinging slow and restless behind him. In one hand he held an apple bright red, stolen from the supply wagons.
He bit into it with his sharp canines, juice running down his chin.
Are those the Second Sons? he thought. I guess I finally reached this part of the story at last.
The memory flickered through him: the show, the books, Daario's smirk, Mero's filth, Prendahl's silence. He knew what was coming. He knew the insults Mero would throw at his mother.
He squeezed the apple too hard. It burst in his grip, pulp and juice dripping between his fingers.
"Ah…" Rhaego muttered, staring at the mess. "Great."
He licked the juice from his thumb, stood up, and shook his hand clean.
Oh well… should I make an entrance as well perhaps?
The thought sent a small thrill through him.
I wonder what they'll think when they see a half-dragon child who's fierce like his mother.
He grinned a sharp teeth glinting and leaped down from the rock. He hit the ground lightly, knees bending, tail flicking for balance. Then he jogged toward the tent, tail swinging behind him.
Inside the pavilion, the air was thick with incense and the faint metallic scent of oiled steel.
Daenerys sat on a low red couch, silver hair unbound, tokar draped loosely over her shoulders. Ser Jorah stood to her left, hand resting on his sword hilt. Ser Barristan waited near the entrance, tall and watchful. Grey Worm stood silent at her right. Missandei stood near the flap.
The three captains had already entered.
Mero sprawled on a cushion like he owned the place, legs wide. Daario Naharis sat near him down on the steps, arms crossed, smirking faintly. Prendahl nae Gaz sat stiff and watchful, eyes never leaving Dany.
Mero tilted his head toward Missandei.
"You, slave girl. Bring wine." Missandei inclined her head and moved with calm dignity.
Daenerys' voice cut through the tent like drawn steel. "We have no slaves here."
Mero laughed, wet and ugly. "You'll all be slaves after the battle… unless I save you." His gaze slid to Dany eyes greedy, lingering.
Dany's violet eyes never wavered. Then, from outside, a familiar voice.
"Mother!"
The captains turned as one.
Ser Barristan saw him first. Rhaego stood just beyond the flap tall for his years, silver hair catching the torchlight, small black horns curving from his brow, tail swaying once behind him.
Barristan moved quickly to block the entrance. "Young prince… your mother has business to attend to. You must—"
Before he could finish, Mero lurched to his feet. The sellsword captain stared his eyes wide, mouth falling open, then splitting into a wide, gold-toothed grin.
"Seven hells and the other nine too!" he bellowed, slapping his thigh so hard the sound cracked through the tent.
"Is that a boy… or a hatchling?!"
His eyes flicked toward Daenerys. "Well now," Mero drawled, voice thick with amusement.
"Either I've drunk too much wine… or you've bred yourself a little monster."
The word hung in the air. Jorah shifted ever so slightly behind Daenerys.
He took two unsteady steps forward, pointing with the goblet.
"Look at him! Horns like a young ram, eyes like purple knives, tail swishing like a cat in heat and that face! Gods be good, he's half-pretty already!" He turned to Daario and Prendahl did not move.
Mero leaned in closer. "Tell me, little dragon… do those wings work? Can you fly? Or are they just for show when some lord wants to ride you?"
The words landed like filth.
Rhaego then tilted his head, just a little and smiled.
"My wings work just fine," he shot back quickly. "And I can fly higher than you'll ever climb."
Mero blinked. The grin faltered for half a heartbeat. Then he laughed again.
"Cheeky little bastard aren't you?" he muttered.
Daenerys's voice cut through the air calm, almost gentle.
"Speak to my son like that again," she said, "and I will have you gelded. And then I will have the rest of you."
Mero froze. The grin slipped. He looked from her to Rhaego, then back again. Raising both hands wine sloshing.
"No harm meant, Your Grace. Just… admiring the little monster."
Rhaego ran up to his mother and sat beside her on the low red cushion, a small frame pressed close to her side. Tail curling once before settling. He leaned slightly against her hip as if he had every right to be there, because he did.
While a low, vibrating growl rumbled deep in his chest, directed straight at Mero. The sound was quiet but unmistakable, like distant thunder trapped in a boy's throat.
It carried across the tent like the warning of something not entirely human. Mero paused only briefly before smirking again.
Daenerys rested her hand lightly on the back of his neck, thumb brushing his short hair. She did not look down at him. Her violet eyes stayed fixed on the sellswords.
"I have a thousand Unsullied," she said, voice calm and even.
"It is better to ally than to stand against each other. But you must admit the numbers do not favor your side."
Mero returned to his cushion, sprawling again with deliberate insolence. He took a long sip from his goblet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"The Second Sons have faced worse odds," he said, smirking, "and won."
Ser Jorah gave a soft, mocking laugh from behind Dany. "The Second Sons have faced worse odds," he said, "and run."
Dany smiled at Jorah just a small curve of the lips then turned her gaze back to Mero. "Or you could fight for me."
Mero laughed under his breath, the sound wet and dismissive. He lifted the goblet again.
"We've taken the slavers' gold. We fight for Yunkai."
"I would pay you as much," Dany said, "and more."
Prendahl nae Gaz spoke then, voice low and flat. "Our contract is our bond. If we break it, no one will hire the Second Sons again."
Daenerys inclined her head slightly. "Ride with me, and you will never need another contract. You will have gold, castles, lordships of your choosing when I take back the Seven Kingdoms."
She looked straight at Mero as she spoke the last words. Daario shook his head slowly, mustache twitching with faint amusement.
"You have no ships. You have no siege weapons. You have no cavalry."
Dany turned her gaze to him. "A fortnight ago, I had no army. A year ago, I had no dragons."
The words landed like a quiet slap. Daario's smiled, just a fraction. Mero only snorted.
Dany looked back at Mero. "You have two days to decide."
Mero tilted his head, confusion flickering behind the smirk that still clung to his mouth. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, goblet dangling loosely between his fingers.
Then he spoke it was slow and deliberate, eyes gleaming with something ugly.
"Show me your cunt. I wanna see if it's worth fighting for."
Ser Jorah shifted, sword half-drawn in an instant. Barristan's hand went to his hilt. Grey Worm stepped forward one measured pace, dagger on his side.
Grey Worm spoke from behind Rhaego, his voice low and steady in High Valyrian, the words carrying the flat certainty of a man who had already decided the matter.
"My queen, shall I slice out his tongue for you?"
Then Rhaego spoke.
He had not moved from his place beside her, but the low growl that rolled from his throat made the air feel heavier. His violet-slitted eyes narrowed, fixed on Mero like a predator measuring distance before the strike.
In the same clear High Valyrian he answered, voice low enough that only those closest could hear, yet carrying the same unyielding edge as a dragon.
"He insulted you, Mother. I'll burn his flesh along with his bones." The growl lingered at the end small, childish, but unmistakably draconic.
Daenerys smiled. "These men are our guests," she said back in valyrian, the words gentle, almost gracious.
Daenerys watched Mero drain the goblet. A thin trickle of wine ran down his beard and stained the front of his tunic.
"You seem to be enjoying my wine," she said, voice light, almost amused.
"Perhaps you'd like a flagon to help you ponder."
Mero's eyes gleamed. He set the goblet down with a deliberate clink. "Only a flagon?"
He gestured toward Daario and Prendahl with a lazy sweep of his arm. "And what are my brothers-in-arms to drink?"
Dany tilted her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "A barrel, then."
Mero laughed low, satisfied. "Good."
He rose from the cushion, joints creaking. Daario and Prendahl stood as well, movements slower, more watchful. Mero paused at the tent flap. He turned back to Dany, gold teeth flashing in the torchlight.
"In the Second Sons," he said, "we share everything. After the battle… maybe we'll all share you."
His gaze slid to Rhaego. "While your son can watch."
The words landed like a slap.
Missandei stood motionless near the entrance, face calm, eyes fixed on the ground. Mero stepped closer to her too close. His hand moved quick and casual, smacking her behind with a wet crack.
"I'll come looking for you when this is over," he said, voice thick.
Then he turned and walked out, cloak swirling, Daario and Prendahl following without a word.
Silence pressed down.
Rhaego's face twisted, his small teeth baring in a silent snarl, violet-slitted eyes narrowing. A low, vibrating growl started in his throat, barely audible, but the air around him seemed to grow warmer.
Daenerys's expression did not change.
She remained seated, hands folded in her lap, face composed calm as still water.
Only her eyes had gone cold. She looked toward the entrance where Mero had vanished.
"Ser Barristan," she said quietly.
Barristan turned his head to her.
"If it comes to battle," she continued, voice even, "kill that one first."
Barristan gave a single nod slowly, deliberately. "Gladly, Your Grace," he said, low and certain. The words carried the weight of a vow.
Her hand rested lightly on Rhaego's shoulder. He looked up at her, growl fading, eyes searching.
She brushed her thumb along the base of one horn. "Some men speak to wound," she said softly. "We do not answer them with words."
Rhaego nodded small and solemnly. She smiled then small, fierce. "But when the time comes," she added, "we answer with fire."
Rhaego's tail flicked once and Rhaego's small fists clenched at his sides. "He was disgusting!" he shouted, voice high and childish, cracking with outrage.
"He even insulted Missandei!"
He crossed his arms tight across his chest, chin jutting forward. She reached out, gentle but firm, and caught both his hands before he could uncross his arms again.
Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles small, warm, still trembling with the anger he didn't quite know how to hold.
"I know," she said quietly.
His violet-slitted eyes flicked toward the flap, then back to her. "He—he smacked her," he said, voice dropping to something smaller, more hurt than furious.
"Just… like she was nothing. And he said those things about you. I will make him taste my flames."
The last part came out almost in a whisper, as though saying it aloud made it more real.
Daenerys exhaled once slowly, controlled. Then she pulled him forward into her arms.
His face pressed into the crook of her neck; small horns bumped her collarbone. His tail curled tight around her wrist, the way it always did when he felt small and safe at the same time.
"He is a small man," she murmured against his hair, "who uses big words to hide how frightened he is."
Rhaego huffed half-snarl, half-sniffle. "He didn't look frightened."
"He was." She drew back just enough to meet his eyes.
"Men like him shout loudest when they know they are standing in front of something stronger. He saw you. He saw me. He saw the truth in this tent. And he hated it."
Rhaego blinked up at her, tail loosening slightly. "Then why did he say those things?"
"Because some men can only feel big when they make others feel small." Her fingers brushed along the base of one horn, a gentle touch, grounding.
"But you did not let him make you small. You answered him. You defended Missandei. You defended me. That is what matters."
He swallowed. His voice came out very small. "I wanted to burn him."
That bastard was lucky that I'm still a child. I don't want Dany to know her son scorched a man alive after all.
"I know." She cupped his face again, thumbs tracing the faint iridescent scales along his cheekbones.
"But you didn't," she said. "You waited. You looked to me. That is strength, Rhaego. True strength. The kind that does not need to burn everything it touches."
Rhaego's tail stilled completely.
He searched her face looking for anger, for disappointment, for anything that would tell him he had done wrong.
He found only pride.
And love.
And the quiet, steady certainty that she would always stand between him and the fire, until he learned how to stand there himself.
Missandei had stepped closer while they spoke. She knelt beside them now, holding out a damp cloth.
"Your face is still a little sticky," she said gently.
Rhaego looked at her, really looked and his ears went pink.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should have said something sooner. About… what he did."
Missandei shook her head once. "You were not the one who needed to apologize," she said. "And you did speak. You spoke for both of us."
She wiped the last of the apple juice from his chin with careful strokes. Rhaego leaned into the touch for a moment, then looked back at his mother.
"Will he come back?" he asked.
Daenerys smiled small, fierce, certain.
"He will come back," she said. "And when he does… he will choose."
She rose, lifting Rhaego with her in one smooth motion. He wrapped his arms around her neck without protest, tail curling loosely around her waist.
Outside, the camp had gone quiet and waiting.
Inside, Daenerys carried her son toward the sleeping furs.
And somewhere in the stillness between heartbeats, she made a promise to herself. Mero would have his two days. But if he chose wrong…
She would not need to give the order. Her son already carried the fire. And one day, soon he would learn exactly when to let it burn.
For now, though, she held him close. And the night passed gently.
No flame. No fear.
Only the soft rhythm of breathing and the promise that tomorrow would come and that they would meet it together.