A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 56 – The White Dragon Rises

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POV: Daenerys Targaryen – Qarth

The gates of Qarth opened for them.

Ser Jorah Mormont had been wary of their welcome, but Daenerys knew the truth—they were not a threat.

They were weary travelers, not conquerors.

And the Pureborn of Qarth, the Spice King, and the Thirteen only asked one thing in return for their hospitality:

A look at the dragon egg.

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Luxury and Temptation

For the first time in months, Daenerys slept in a real bed.

Her silver mare, once lean and delicate, had grown strong, its muscles hardened from the long ride.

And Daenerys herself had changed—no longer a soft girl, but a woman of the saddle, her body toned by endless riding and training.

She dined that night in the palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the merchant prince of Qarth.

"You are far from home, Moon of the Great Sky," Xaro purred, reclining on pillows of silk. "Qarth is kind to lost souls. And I am kindest of all."

His dark eyes glittered with something dangerous.

"Marry me, Daenerys Targaryen," he proposed, "and all my ships will be yours. My wealth, my power, all in service of your dream."

She set down her cup, her violet eyes unreadable.

"I am still married to Drogo," she said simply. "And even if I were not, I would not marry for ships."

Xaro sighed, clearly disappointed.

"Love is worth nothing to a beggar queen," he mused. "But you are not a beggar anymore, are you?"

She ignored him.

She had no desire for his fleets, his riches, or his whispered promises.

She had come to Qarth for answers—not a merchant's bed.

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The Missing Egg

When she returned to her chambers, she felt it immediately—

Something was wrong.

She searched the room, overturned furniture, her heart pounding.

Her dragon egg was gone.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips.

She searched frantically, throwing silken sheets aside, yanking chests open.

Nothing.

"No, no, no…"

Ser Jorah Mormont rushed into the room, sword half-drawn.

"Khaleesi? What is it?"

She turned, furious, desperate.

"The egg. It's gone!"

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A Hall of Corpses

They went immediately to the Thirteen.

But when they arrived at the great hall, they found only silence.

And bodies.

Every member of the Thirteen lay dead, their throats slit, their blood pooling across marble floors.

Jorah swore beneath his breath.

"Xaro is missing," Daenerys whispered.

But she did not fear Xaro.

Her skin prickled.

"The warlocks."

She had always felt something was wrong about them.

Something unnatural.

"Where are you going?" Jorah demanded as she whirled around.

"The House of the Undying," she said.

She did not wait for him to argue.

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The House of the Undying

They arrived at the twisting tower, the warlocks' domain.

Guards blocked the entrance.

"She enters alone," they intoned.

Jorah objected, but Daenerys stepped forward, her jaw set.

"I will return."

And then she entered the darkness.

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Visions of the Future

The House of the Undying was not a place—it was a dream, a nightmare, a maze of time and prophecy.

The air shifted, and suddenly—

She stood before the Iron Throne.

But it was not as she imagined.

The hall was ruined, the throne covered in ice, and atop it sat a grotesque beast—

A chimera, from the oldest tales, its eyes like molten gold, its breath steaming like a dragon's.

It roared, and the vision shifted—

Now she saw only green.

Green fire, green sky, green waves crashing upon a burning city.

She blinked—

Now there were four orbs before her:

One black

One green

One tan

One crimson

They danced in circles, spinning faster and faster, until—

They collided.

And there was only one.

The tan orb remained, the others consumed by its light.

And then—darkness.

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The Warlock and the Egg

Daenerys snapped back to reality—

And there, in the center of the room, stood a warlock.

And in his skeletal hands—

Her dragon egg.

The air smelled of fire and incense, of something old, something terrible.

"Return what is mine," she commanded.

The warlock smiled, his blue lips curling.

"The dragon must not find his fire again," he whispered.

"The red ones have climbed too high. They will fall."

"You have angered the god of death."

"You speak in riddles," she snapped.

She had no patience for riddles.

She grabbed the nearest fire-stand, and with one swift kick, she toppled it over.

The oil-fed flame erupted, consuming everything in an instant.

The warlock shrieked, his robes catching fire, his flesh melting—

Daenerys did not move.

The fire raged around her, but she felt nothing.

She stepped forward, took the dragon egg in her hands—

And heard a crack.

Then another.

And another.

Her eyes widened as golden light seeped through the egg's shell.

And then—

It broke open.

A small, serpentine creature slithered free, its scales a soft tan, its wings unfolding like delicate silk.

It screeched, its tiny claws gripping her arm, and climbed onto her shoulder.

It was warm, its breath like embers against her skin.

Daenerys looked down at it, and for the first time in months, she felt—

Whole.

The warlock burned.

The House of the Undying collapsed.

And Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the night, her first dragon perched upon her shoulder.

She was no longer just a Khaleesi.

She was the Mother of Dragons.

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End of Chapter.