Mother of Dragons
This is a freely released story that I've written for my pleasure(and yours as well, hopefully!) If you want your own, personalized story, Click here to commission me SEQUEL CAN BE FOUND HERE ---> https://www.sofurry.com/view/884129Did you ever want to read a story which is centered on Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons? Have you found yourself craving for more of such moments spread throughout the A Song of Ice and Fire series/Game of Thrones TV show? Then you came to the right place. Mother of Dragons will be an ongoing story series loosely based on the aforementioned books/TV series. It is a fanfiction dedicated to Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. It will feature an in-depth description of how she attempts to strengthen her bond with Drogon and make up for her past transgressions towards her three dragons. Although this work is a fanfiction and the Game of Thrones fans will undoubtedly understand it better, the lovely moments of a female human bonding with a male dragon will still provide ample excitement to everybody who is a fan of dragons <3Also, if you're following Game of Thrones, the story starts after the events that happened in episode 9, during which Daenerys escapes from the Daznak's pit on the back of Drogon.If you're not following Game of Thrones, here is how Daenerys looks like: Clicky meHere's Drogon: Click me too!Or here: Rawr!STORY STARTS HERE**"Your dragons are growing restless, your majesty," Missandei had told her. "The chains chaff their neck raw and--" "It's my people who are growing restless," Daenerys had countered her. "The Sons of the Harpy are out there, garbed as commoners, breaking bread with the very people they seek to enslave. My children are safe I made sure of that. It's my people who are not." That particular memory returned to haunt her as she rode Drogon away from the massacre that took place at Daznak's Pit. She urged him to turn around in high valyryan, slapped his neck to get his attention, even tugged on the spikes lined along his spine, hoping to get a response. Not one single reaction from Drogon, apart from the shivers creeping through his weakened body. His blood red crest stood erect as his slitted vermilion eyes scanned the city below, looking for something. A safe place to land? Or maybe an unfortunate target to burn to crisp on a whim? A lump formed in Daenerys' throat at the tightness of his jaws, at the muffled growl rumbling in his throat. He could dive upon an unsuspecting citizen at any moment, to scorch and eat him, just like he did that girl, the one who had gotten him banished from her sight. Dragons were fickle creatures, hard to control, and highly unpredictable. One moment, they rested their jaws in your lap to purr, and the next, they incinerated an entire herd of sheep. Daenerys had never expected to see him again, not after she chased him away at the behest of that enraged father who just lost his daughter. Drogon had the freedom his siblings lacked, and a matching personality to go with his desire for independence. Yet he came back for her, somehow, for some reason that awed and delighted her all the same. Daenerys' heart still thumped in her chest after what transpired at Daznak's Pit. Her Unsullied died by the dozen protecting her. Missandei, Torgo Nudho, even the dwarf who bore the name of Lannister, might have shared their fate. A Queen never abandons her people, Daenerys thought, yet that was exactly what she did. She abandoned them all during that emphemeral moment, where the world had shrunk to the size of a pebble, encompassing only her child, wounded and scared and seething with rage aimed at the humans who threatened his mother. He had rescued her, and in return, she rescued him. That's all that mattered. Every time her mind drifted towards her entourage, Daenerys had but glance at the spears lodged within Drogon's hide. He had fought a small army on his own, bled for her, killed for her, and now carried her away from danger. What more could she ask of him? Mereen sprawled under Drogon's rocking form, oblivious to the massacre happening at Daznak's Pit. That was the nature of people, to go about with their lives, blissful in their ignorance, unaware of the dangers hiding in the narrow alleys winding between the squat buildings. I'll come back for them, Daenerys reassured herself. I won't abandon my people. I'm a Queen, not a coward. This lonely thought failed to soothe her throbbing temples and her racing heart. Whipping gusts of wind battered her sweat drenched frame, making her flowing white dress stick to her body. Her arms and legs shivered with the toll it took to cling onto Drogon's spine and spikes, and her eyes continued to make their water, no matter how hard she squinted against the chilling wind. To make it worse, her stomach lurched every time Drogon swayed, banked, or flapped his wings to regain the lost altitude. His strength faltered the further they got from the city. It left his body in the form of thin, crimson snakes that slithered across his neck and dripped in a steady stream to wet the world below. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, making Daenerys quail and bite her lower lip to suppress a gasp. "Land," Daenerys urged him in High Valyrian. There would be no Sons of the Harpy waiting for her in the sprawling desolation surrounding Mereen, nor would they hide in the shriveled bushes of the dried oasis Drogon aimed for. He pushed his legs forward, his wings flapping hard and fast to slow his descent. Not fast enough. Drogon's legs crumbled under him. He crashed onto his chest, then rolled onto his side from the impact, growling and shrieking. Daenerys clung onto his back for dear life, her knuckles turning white from the sheer strength with which she squeezed his neck spikes. Once the dreadful motion came to a stop and her breath recovered, Daenerys jumped down from Drogon's frame just as the dragon regained his footing. "Graaaaaaarrrrrrrr," he shrieked at her, snarling menacingly. Daenerys stood her ground, holding his gaze as the dragon circled her, snapping his jaws and taking deep breaths, laden with her creeping scent. He's wounded, he's weak, he is afraid, Daenerys repeated within her mind. She froze in place, like she did back in the cave under the Great Pyramid of Mereen when Viserion and Rhaegal hissed at her. What sort of mother feared her own children? Not her. "Calm. Keep calm, Drogon," she said in High Valyrian, her hands raised in front of her to contain his fear. Thin lines of froth coated the sides of his snout, and his rapid, panicked breaths grew in intensity as Drogon gauged her. "You are safe here, my child. See?" She spread her arms to encompass the oasis. "There are no enemies here, no spears to hurt you. It's only you and me." His crimson crest tilted to the side, and his head drew back a little as he snarled uncertainly at her. "I know you are hurt. I know you are afraid..." His screeching roar made Daenerys pull back a step, her arms crossed to shield herself from Drogon's parted jaws. She instinctively knew they wouldn't close in around her frame, yet her heart still leapt in her chest. "Not afraid then. I'm sorry. I apologize." Drogon's lips fell over those menacing fangs. His smoldering growl lessened to a faint thrum, his eyes shifting back and forth as he inspected her. What did he hope to find? A reason to eat her, like he ate that unfortunate girl? He released a ragged huff, then lied down, his wings folded to his sides as he twisted his neck to tug and pull on the spears lodged between the scales of his hide. Some of them broke and splintered during his rough landing, while one other drove deeper, the metallic tip lodged all the way into his back. Cold fingers raced along Daenerys' back, clutching her spine, paralyzing her. Drogon bled more than any dragon had the right to, but his deafening roar still rang within her ears, and his eyes lacked that glimmer of intelligence Daenerys had glimpsed at Daznak's Pit. He is your child, but before that, he is a dragon, wild and unpredictable, the irrational fear within her whispered in her mind. Dragons hunt. They kill in order to feed, and singed flesh tastes the same to them, regardless of who it comes from. While she stood there, petrified, her child slowly bled under her watch. On his own, Drogon got most of the spears out with the help of his jaws, snarling and growling and hissing in pain, but the one on his back refused to budge, and his flapping wings and thrashing neck only made it worse. "No, Drogon, you have to stop," Daenerys said. "Don't thrash or wriggle like that." He screeched at her, and resumed his futile attempts to dislodge the spear. "Drogon!" Daenerys said. She tried to keep her voice stern in spite of the shivers wracking her frame. "Listen to me. Listen to your mother. I can help you, but only if you stop squirming and listen to me." That got his attention. Two ember pools fixated on her, the slits sunk within them, narrow and wild. "Let me help. Allow me to get that spear out of you. You know you can't do it on your own." His crest perked, and a rumbling growl left his throat, low and shaky. Daenerys reached towards his snout with a frail, shaking, sweaty hand, her throat dry and her jaws tightly shut. She winced when Drogon's scaled nostrils met her fingers, too warm against her freezing skin. A drawn-out sigh escaped her, making the dragon stiffen in response. "Be still, my child" Daenerys said, her voice hoarse and lacking its usual smooth touch. "It will hurt, and you will bleed. But if I leave it there, your wound will heal around it, and trap it within you forever." Too many words. Drogon flicked his head, his widening nostrils blowing hot gusts of wind upon her shivering frame. He stared at her for a brief moment before the urge to lick his wounds clean overpowered his senses. Daenerys watched his forked tongue run across the thin gashes, barely visible in the deep blackness of his hide, cleaning away the reddish-brown traces of his drying blood. He was still--well, mostly, and his focus was directed towards his wounds. He didn't notice Daenerys shuffling along his side, nor did he buffet his wings to dislodge her from his back. Daenerys straddled his neck, trying to find proper leverage between the rows of spikes protruding along his spine. Her hands gripped the shaft of the spear in a light grip that made Drogon flinch, but other than that, nothing happened. Good. Daenerys yanked the spear out of him in one quick pull, drawing a heart-wrenching shriek from her child. Drogon shook her off his back in an instant, sending her tumbling into the dirt while he whirled around to face her. He hoisted himself onto his hind legs, roaring and shrieking and flapping his wings, covering her in a layer of fine sand. Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut, her head tucked tight against her chest, buried within the confines of her arms. She didn't gasp or yelp or cry out for help. She merely waited for Drogon's pain to subside enough for realization to slip into his mind. The gusts stopped, and so did his shrieks. When she next opened her eyes, Drogon's face filled her vision, his snout inches from her face, his lips pulled back into a thinning snarl. "I had to yank it. There was no other way. Better that you hurt now than be in pain for days." Her words reassured him not one bit. As soon as he pulled back, Drogon crashed onto his side, rolling around in failed attempts to find the perfect angle to lick at the wound located towards the back of his neck. His constant writhing drew more blood from his other wounds, his gushes so thick and prominent Daenerys' eyes widened. Her child--he was losing so much blood! He grew light headed shortly after, unable to even flap his wings, his tongue strokes more feeble with each passing moment under his half lidded, unfocused eyes. He seemed so calm, so serene all of a sudden. No longer that threatening mass of scales and muscles that towered over her. His wounds reduced him to a feeble whelp, who shrieked softly for his mother's help. Daenerys gritted her teeth at that. Sudden strength washed through her, turning her muscles taut with purpose. In one curt motion, she ripped her dress from neck line down to her belly, then tore it to uneven cloth strips with smooth, calculated motions. The sun bearing down upon her naked body didn't bother her; nothing did, but for the bleeding gashes of her child. She grabbed a thicker cloth strip in one hand, tucked the rest under her arm, and approached Drogon. "You are bleeding too heavily. I have to bandage your wounds, least you succumb to blood loss before the sun sets." In his half dazed state, Drogon lacked the power to object. He dipped his head in approval, his eyes blinking slowly as his snout touched the sun kissed skin of her back. Daenerys flinched, but focused on tying each individual cloth strip tight enough around Drogon's neck and wing joints, where the spears split the softer, vulnerable scales aside to reveal raw flesh and bone. She turned her head to the side, bile rising to her throat while she tied the makeshift tourniquets around Drogon's wing joints. His snout flowed across her back, dabbing at her shoulders and rump, sniffing and puffing as a thinning growl welled within his throat. "I'm done. Don't lick your wounds anymore, and don't tear the cloth. It's the only thing that is keeping you alive right now." She whirled on her heels to face him, and gasped when one of her breasts brushed against his snout. Drogon growled softly, and Daenerys tensed up at lying completely bare before him. His pupils drifted towards her loins, forcing her to cover herself, gulp down her apprehension, and shuffle towards the nearest tree for cover. "Stay there Drogon," she said, her voice shaking in unison with the thundering beats of her heart. "Lie down. Rest. Recover your strength."
The thump that followed lifted the weight that settled over her heart. She released her pent-up sigh, crossing her arms over her bare breasts as her gaze drifted upwards, towards the dried canopy of the palm three that cast its slim shadow upon her. Drogon had already seen her nakedness. All of her children did. And yet, it felt improper, strange, almost embarrassing, to expose herself to her own child. Not that he would care. He was a dragon, after all. A female's curvaceous shapes were only that to him: mere shapes--intriguingat first glance--but ultimately dull when the novelty of her exposed body wore off. Even so, Daenerys couldn't bring herself to walk back to him, to comfort him. His pained growls and his heavy breathing stirred her heart and made her hairs rise. It was a terrible thing, to hear your child suffering, when the root of all evil stemmed from her. "You're not a good Queen unless you collect a fair number of enemies along the way," Daario had once told her, back in their bed. "Sometimes, the safest approach to the welfare of your people is also the worst one. The small folk don't know what they want. They never do. Choosing the obvious approach to handle their problems will upset someone else, and that someone else upsets another someone else. Do what your heart tells you, but try to sneak a compromise here and there. Remember, you're a queen, not a tyrant." That's what she settled for. A compromise. By imprisoning Viserion and Rhaegal, she spared her people from the threat her children posed at the expense of their freedom--a people that dealt with an even bigger threat just now, while her other two dragons writhed in their bindings, alone and confused and scared. She was a good queen. Everybody told her that, to the point where she believed them. But was she a good mother? Did mothers confine their children to a life of loneliness and darkness for the sake of others? Daenerys cupped her face in her palms, the weight of her realization urging tears to spring at the corners of her violet eyes. She squinted her eyes to keep them from spilling, wiped them out of existence, then took a deep breath. "I'm Daenerys Stormborn, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Mereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons," she whispered to herself. She didn't know who the Andals were and what they had done. She didn't know the Rhoynar, these First Men every king spoke of, and her life as a Khaleesi ended with the death of Khal Drogo. She broke chains, yet the Sons of the Harpy sought to forge them anew just now. She was all of these things--A queen, A khaleesi, a liberator--while her most important title lied at the end of the list, forgotten to her and to her people. Everybody talked of dragons with awe in their voice, but nobody sought to understand them and their needs. Not even her. Drogon's mellow growls shattered her faltering layer of defense. Try as she might to hold back her tears, she couldn't, not while her child's pained sounds tugged at her heart and clutched it in a seething grip. "I have failed my children," she said through soft sobs. "I have failed my people. I have failed everybody." Weakness fled her body in the shape of unbidden tears; it flowed along her ruddy cheeks, slithered across her soft jaw line, and dripped onto her bare thighs. When Daenerys wiped her eyes and opened them again, she saw the world for what it was: a sprawling desolation, in which nobody but Drogon loved her enough to stand by her side. She sought to stand up, and froze when his great head, all black and blood red at the crest, poked past her shoulder. "My child," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. "I told you to rest. You should rest. Why are you here?" The dragon cocked his head, blinking lazily, and scratched at a makeshift bandage with the clawed part of his wing appendage, growling faintly. "No, leave them where they are." He snorted and tugged at it again with the tip of an ebony claw. "It has to be tight. That is the point of it." Her eyes widened when Drogon covered the rest of the distance between them in one step and placed his head onto her lap. Shudders crept through her frame, cold and ominous, and she pulled her hands away from him, as if his scales were on fire. Drogon blinked, his eyes watching her intently, a low trilling sound vibrating within his throat. What did he want? Why was he here? What was happening? He should have rested! Not do...whatever he was doing! Daenerys blinked back, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She wasn't used to have Drogon's huge head rested upon her lap, with those slitted eyes fixated on her and that soothing warmth of his dispersing through her thighs. "I...I'm not sure what you want." Drogon's eyes sealed shut, an audible sigh escaping him. His body shifted and trudged closer to her while he made himself comfortable in her lap. Daenerys was used to have him perched atop a shoulder as a hatchling, with his tail coiled about her throat, but he grew so big, so fast! And she wasn't there to see it... She licked her lips, frowned a bit as her fingers closed in around his prominent jaw. His smooth scales greeted her finger pads, oozing his customary warmth. She tried scratching them with slow, methodical strokes, uncertain of what else to do or say. I don't know my children, and they don't know me, Daenerys realized. It made her stomach sink, and a fresh wave of tears slipped past the corners of her eyes. Stifling her gasp was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she didn't want Drogon to see her like this, to think of her as a terrible mother. And then, it hit her. If the Sons of the Harpy wanted to strike at her, then they would do so through her children, chained up at her own command, unable to defend themselves or take to the skies. "Drogon, can you fly? I need you to fly. Your brothers--they are..." she trailed off, unable to say it while she stroke Drogon's brow. He had such rough features; numerous bony protrusions lined along his jaw and chin, growing outwards, just like his horns. There was a beauty to them, however, a foreign touch of ancient times during which his kind inspired awe and terror. "Drogon, your brothers may be in danger," she continued when the dragon refused to budge. "The people that hurt you are going to hurt them as well." She couldn't put it simpler than that, but Drogon nuzzled her breasts and trailed back into his lethargic state. Daenerys simmered. To hold the head of a dragon who killed hundreds of people in her lap unnerved her, but not more than the thought of the Sons of the Harpy getting to Rhaegal and Viserion before she did. Daenerys pushed at Drogon's snout, hard enough to make the dragon hiss and snarl at her. Good. At least that got him off her. She got onto her feet a moment after, and sought his neck spikes for leverage. Once she gripped them firmly, she tried hurling herself onto Drogon's back, but the dragon raised his head out of her reach. She was forced to let go of him and threw him a glare. "Fly me back to Mereen, Drogon. Land where I tell you to land and don't let anyone see me. When you land, I want you to..." Her words came to a stop as Drogon unfurled his wings. A guttural shriek escaped him, and his tail curled around his side, sneaking between Daenerys and his neck. With a curt shove, his muscular appendage brushed her away, sending Daenerys crashing onto her bum. "I am your mother, and you will do as I command--" "Graaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrr!" Drogon roared, hoisting himself onto his legs. His broad wings cast deep shadows over her slender frame, blotting out the sun and chilling her bones. His snout inched closer to her face, presenting her with the same deep snarl, a threatening hiss slipping through his fangs. Whatever point he had to make, he made it abundantly clear. Daenerys waited for him to rest onto his belly, with a wing draped over his head and his tail wrapped around his side. Drogon was no coward, and he wouldn't disobey her on a whim unless... "There is something you're not telling me," she said as she slowly pushed herself back onto her feet. "What is it? "Rrrrrrrrrr," came his muffled growl. His tail tip flicked with a certain nervousness, and his snout poked from under the cover of his wing to allow one vermilion eye to sneak up on her. As soon as he met her violet gaze, he fled behind his wing once again. "It's another wound, isn't it?" He shrieked at first. Then he released a rumbling growl that shattered into a frail, uncertain whimper. For a moment, Daenerys forgot about those wicked talons, his menacing fangs, and those powerful wings that could swipe her away at any given moment. She strode towards him with firm footsteps, pushed his snout aside, glared at him to subdue that budding snarl, then pushed the membrane of his wing aside. Sunlight fell upon his dark scales, emphasizing the circular puncture in his haunch, surrounded by flecking dried blood. This short moment of vulnerability left Drogon exposed, his weakness obvious to his mother. Daenerys wasn't surprised when his snout pushed her away, gentle yet hard enough to make her stagger a few steps back, enough for Drogon to lay a protective wing across his wound. Infuriating creature! Wounded, his breath slow and ragged, growling in obvious pain, and he still refused to let her anywhere near him. A mere footstep in his direction, and Drogon's tail tip slapped against her leg hard enough to make her wince and draw back. "That wound needs cleaning, Drogon. It may not bleed, but that doesn't mean it suddenly healed." As if he didn't know that. His failed landing suggested as much, and still, he refused to even let her take a better glimpse at it. Daenerys turned her back to him, then walked towards the oasis with the same spring in her step. She tested the lower portions of the ground for moisture, wiggling her bare toes through the sand. The heat radiating through it didn't disturb her as much as the lack of moisture. Whatever waters shaped the ground into rippling patterns, they dried weeks ago, perhaps months. Daenerys sought the lowest portion in the uneven ground, fell to her knees, and began digging with her bare hands. Drogon's life depended on it, and that fueled her with unusual strength. Her muscles burned, her fingers hurt from gripping handfuls of dirt and chucking it away, and sweat dribbled down her brow and onto the parched sand. Each of her breaths grew heavier, more demanding, making her lungs burn from the effort of trying to save her child. If her pain could get her the water necessary to wash his wound and quench his thirst, then her sacrifice was well worth it. Lost in her quest to get to the water, Daenerys only noticed Drogon's shadow looming over her after she blinked. One moment, the ruddy sun of early evening bore down upon her, and the next, the soothing, shadowy shape of her child. "Keep your strength Drogon. Lie down. Let your mother..." she trailed off when his snout bumped against her shoulder, his crest perked up. "There is water in the ground," she tried to explain to him as she pointed at the shallow hole she dug. "I'll get to it before nightfall." Drogon shook his head, snorted a puff of white smoke, then covered her work with one of his huge paws. Before she had the chance to object, Drogon urged her away with his tail, his slitted eyes staring at her expectantly. "You have a wounded haunch!" Daenerys gripped his tail and shoved it away. "How are you supposed to dig when you can't even stand upright?" Drogon crooned at her, leaned forward to shift his weight onto his forelimbs, and began raking at the dirt with his talons, switching from one foot to the other in quick, successive motions. That allowed for the faster digging of a broader pit, and his tightly locked toes scooped up the excess sand better than her palms ever did. Before she knew it, murky water surrounded Drogon's paws, making the dragon snap his jaws victoriously. "Good. Now let it filter through. The first layer of water is filled with grime." Upon hearing that, Drogon resumed his digging, making Daenerys wrap her arms around her naked torso and roll her eyes. He wasn't pleased with a six feet pit. He had to keep digging, make it nine feet, with enough water to drench his haunches. Daenerys made use of his short moment of awe during which he dabbed his snout at the layer of cloudy water to clamber down into the pit. She placed a hand on his haunch to make sure he accepted her intrusion into his personal space. His muscles shuddered underneath his protective layer of scales, and his crest tucked low as his neck curled around to face her. "I will wash your wound, the faster the better. It may hurt a little, but it's for the best." If only he looked away...that would have spared Daenerys of his twitching lips every time time her fingers slid across the raw surface of the wound. She would not have had to notice the tremors of his crest, his deepening snarl as she snuck a finger into his open wound to clean it thoroughly. His tail slapped at the ground, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress his pained whimpers, they still broke through his clenched jaws. Her stomach churned from Drogon's frail vocalizations, but a short lived sting was better than an infected limb. The knee-high water turned a soft shade of crimson with Drogon's blood, making her jaws grow tighter and goose bumps to form along her arms. "Done. Now, if you can crouch so that I can have access to..." He did before Daenerys finished her request, his vermilion eyes following every movement of hers. "I'll have to undo the bandages as well," she said, unable to match his gaze. It was too intense, too earnest, too...trustful. What had she done, to deserve his trust, other than command him around like a servant? Like before, Drogon didn't utter a sound. Not even a whimper while she untied his bandages, washed them, and tied the soaked fabric around his neck, shoulders, and wing joint once again. His breath hitched every time she touched his wounds, but other than that, Drogon dealt with pain better than most humans did. She held onto the last strip of cloth, clutching it in her right hand. With so much water at her disposal, washing away his dried layers of blood didn't seem like such a bad idea. "A Queen has to make hard choices. She may not like them, she may not believe in them, but choices have to be made," Daenerys began, the silence too thick and heavy to her ears. "A Queen bears the weight of the world upon her shoulders while she teeters on the edge of the abyss, ready to fall at every step she takes. Short, careful steps tire your muscles and leave you breathless before you make it to the other end, while strides get you there faster but threaten your very balance." Her hand moved across his neck with fluid dexterity, his hide too smooth to tear at the cloth or hook it. Slow, circular motions worked best to wipe away the blood. The first motion allowed the moisture to seep into grime, while the second stroke left Drogon's scales a pristine black. Daenerys paused for a second as a rippling hum burst to life. Drogon's throat vibrated with it, his eyes half closed, his wing tips and tail tip shuddering slightly. He liked it. Her caress--he found it pleasant! A thin, uncertain smile spread across Daenerys' thin lips. She froze for a split second, awed by the deep, mellow chant of her child. It was music to her ears, vibrating in her chest and spreading soothing tingles through her frame. She continued her gentle ministrations, listening to Drogon's purr. Why hadn't she heard it before? Because you never petted your child. You never touched his brow, gave him a kiss on his cheek, hugged his neck, touched his wings, massaged his haunches. You were never there for him, while he was always there for you. The sour realization made her lips purse. Her strokes picked up, as did her voice. "A Queen relinquishes her inner peace for that of her people," she continued with a sharper, bitter voice. "A Queen must understand sacrifice, what it entails, as well as its importance. No choice is wrong, and no choice is right. A choice is a tool, and it is up to whoever wields it to give it a purpose." Like chaining Viserion and Rhaegal, and banishing Drogon for being a dragon. Cattle died by the dozen each day, but when a dragon burned one down to crisps in order to feed, the people drew out their pitchforks and prepared to chase him away. Daenerys rinsed the strip of cloth, tied it neatly around Drogon's neck, and climbed out of the pit, unable to utter one more word. When Drogon snapped out of his trance with an inquisitive growl and craned his neck to nuzzle her ankle, Daenerys flicked her wrist dismissively at him. "I'll go rest. You should do the same after drinking as much water as you can drink. It's the only way to rebuild your lost strength." She fled back to the safety of the dried palm trees, releasing her pent-up sigh in a long, drawn-out fashion. Standing next to Drogon made her feel small, weak, insignificant, like the girl back in Pentos who Vyseris urged to try a silken dress for the first time. Drogon grew into such fascinating, majestic creature, and she only noticed it now, the same day when he almost died trying to save her. "He shouldn't have returned for me," Daenerys whispered to herself as she traced the Three headed Targaryen banner with the tip of her index finger in the coarse, sandy surface of the ground. "Why did he do it? And how?" That puzzled Daenerys greatly. The small folk claimed that a mother instinctively knew when her children were in danger. Did the same apply to her dragons? If something would happen to Viserion and Rhaegal, would she feel a strong impulse to ride Drogon and save them? She pondered upon this matter while she drew her banner. She almost finished it when Drogon's chirrup forced her to curl into a ball and squeeze her eyes shut. If she pretended to rest, like she had intended to, maybe Drogon wouldn't disturb her. His purr rippled with mellow tones, climbing and falling with each rustling step he took towards her. Daenerys cracked an eye open, and spit almost stuck in her throat when his shadow washed over her. What was he doing, so close to her? She told him to rest! Drogon did just that. He stepped next to her, engulfing her with one wing while he trudged his imposing frame closer to her. His warm scales kissed her bare breasts, the silk-like membrane of his wing draped across her back like a living blanket, and his neck curled around her in a protective semi circle. Soft sounds vibrated through his chest, uncharacteristic of such a strong predator. The dragons she raised roared, shrieked, snapped at humans and burned their enemies. This dragon, however, lied down next to her, his wing embracing her fragile form in the most gentle of grips while his snout nudged at her back with soft, inquisitive strokes. Such tenderness brought a fierce blush to Daenerys' cheeks; it made her heart thump in her chest like a war drum. She loved it, and at the same time, she hated herself for not discovering this side of Drogon earlier. To compensate for her past transgressions, Daenerys grabbed one of his horns. Drogon tensed up, letting out a curious trill at the sudden grip around his horn, at the hand rubbing his cheek ever so slowly. His vermilion eye half lidded as Drogon unleashed his own burdening sigh. Whatever he made of her gesture, Daenerys couldn't tell. Only that he liked it enough to fall asleep faster than she anticipated. Trapped in his sweltering embrace, her body tingled with ominous shivers, filled with a lust that perplexed Daenerys. She first attributed it to Drogon's body heat; then, she blamed it on the smooth embrace of his velvety wing membrane that molded across her body perfectly. It throbbed and pulsated in unison with Drogon's breath, the soft shudders creeping through her frame. With her mind in such disheveled state, churning with a sea of thoughts, Daenerys tried to squeeze her eyes shut and force herself to sleep. *CLOSING COMMENTS*I never considered myself worthy of handling George RR Martin's characters. They are way above my level, but I wanted to make an exception for Daenerys. She is a spoiled princess that takes her dragons for granted and never understood what being a mother means. I hope this story series will teach her a lesson in parenthood, and provide you with a lot of awesome female human on male dragon moments. I am also looking for feedback for this story. I don't usually write fanfiction, but when I do, it's usually something that I am really passionate about. Please tell me what you think of this story, and if you think I should continue it. My desire to keep it going is directly tied to the attention this story receives, so a lot of views/favs/votes will most certainly gain you more exciting installments, where the love between Daenerys and Drogon culminates with a veritable climax and much, much more than that :)So, if you loved this story, show your appreciation to the artist by doing the following: Fav if you read it Vote if you liked it Comment if you're feeling awesome Want this cheetah to churn out more stories? Then you can Support me on Patreon for novel chapters, two to three 5.000 words or longer short stories with various themes and characters, and more exclusive content! More so, If you want your own, personalized story, Click here to commission me and start your own adventure