Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

Night fell, and the castle glowed with scattered lights.

Inside a spacious, luxurious bedroom, Daenerys Targaryen sat at her vanity, dressed in a short nightgown, carefully removing the jewelry from her silver-gold hair.

In the soft candlelight, her porcelain-like skin gleamed with a radiant sheen, and her graceful figure, illuminated by the flickering shadows, exuded an irresistible allure.

Her slightly rounded belly added a maternal glow to her already stunning presence.

When the door creaked open, Daenerys turned to see Samwell walking in.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, rushing into his arms. "You're back from Dorne!"

Her flowing hair brushed against Samwell's nose, carrying the familiar, intoxicating scent he loved. He couldn't help but let his hands wander over her smooth, supple waist, his intended scolding softening into a gentle reminder:

"Your belly's gotten so big. You shouldn't be flying on a dragon anymore. And I heard you even flew over enemy territory?"

Daenerys giggled mischievously.

"I flew very high, Sam. Their arrows and ballistae couldn't possibly hit us. I doubt they even realized a dragon passed overhead."

"That doesn't make it safe," Samwell said with a deliberately stern face. "Riding a dragon can still be dangerous. You need to think about the baby, too."

"Alright, alright," Daenerys said, relenting without much resistance. "From now on, I won't fly until the baby's born."

"Now that's more like it," Samwell said with a satisfied smile, leaning down to kiss her.

Daenerys kissed him back with passion, her body melting in his arms.

Tilting her head back, she gazed at him, her expression tinged with a seductive playfulness. "I was just about to take a bath. Care to join me?"

Samwell cleared his throat. "I've just bathed… with Margaery."

Daenerys burst into laughter. "Come on, bathe with me again. Just a bath, I promise."

Unable to resist her, Samwell gave in. Stripping her down, he carried her into the bathing chamber.

The water was hot—almost scalding—but neither of them minded. Both had the Unburnt gift, making them impervious to such heat.

"I flew over King's Landing today," Daenerys said softly, resting against Samwell's chest and whispering into his ear.

"You flew that far?" he asked, gathering her silver hair and tying it into a loose braid. "What did you think of the city?"

"It's not quite how I imagined," she said, her eyes distant with memories. "When I was little, in Braavos across the Narrow Sea, my brother Viserys used to tell me stories about the Seven Kingdoms. He always swore he'd take me back to King's Landing—the city our Targaryen ancestors built.

But in the end, he never got to set foot on Westeros, let alone see that city for himself."

Samwell kissed her forehead gently, smoothing the furrow in her brow.

"I thought you didn't like Viserys."

"I didn't," Daenerys admitted. "He hit me, insulted me, and sold me to the Dothraki for an army. But... no matter what, he was still my brother. And in a way, he was a victim too."

Her expression grew complicated. "The constant fleeing, the weight of survival, the scorn and ridicule from others... it all drove him mad."

"But it didn't drive you mad," Samwell said. "You're stronger than him."

Daenerys smiled faintly. "I nearly did go mad. Until I realized I could draw strength from my dragon eggs."

"Draw strength from dragon eggs?"

"Yes," Daenerys explained. "After I was married off to Khal Drogo, I journeyed with the Dothraki to their sacred city, Vaes Dothrak. Days of riding left my thighs raw and bleeding, my hands blistered from the reins, and my back so sore I could barely stand. I cried myself to sleep every night.

At one point, I even considered ending my life. But one night, clutching a dragon egg as I slept, I had a dream about a dragon."

"A dragon dream?"

"Yes. I dreamed of a massive dragon, its scales black as midnight and slick with blood—my blood. Its eyes burned like molten lava, and flames spewed from its mouth.

And yet, I wasn't afraid. I opened my arms to embrace the fire, letting it engulf me entirely. In that moment, I felt myself burn. My blood boiled, and yet there was no pain—only immense strength, as if I had been reborn.

When I woke the next morning, I found myself holding the black dragon egg—the one that later hatched Drogon.

That dream gave me the strength to carry on."

As Daenerys recounted her story, Samwell's thoughts turned to their son Octavian and the red dragon egg he was so attached to.

Could his son also be drawing strength from that egg?

As for hatching the egg, Samwell still had no idea how to help. In his view, Octavian's dragon egg shouldn't require the extreme conditions he and Daenerys had faced.

For centuries, Targaryens had simply placed dragon eggs in their newborns' cradles, and the eggs would hatch naturally, bonding with their riders.

Samwell believed the challenges he and Daenerys faced stemmed from the fact that dragons had been extinct for over a century. Their eggs had turned to stone, requiring extraordinary measures—comets, sacrificial fires, and royal blood—to bring them back to life.

But Octavian's egg appeared to be alive, and likely would hatch when the time was right.

"What are you thinking about, Sam?" Daenerys asked, noticing his distraction.

"Dragons," Samwell replied, kissing her lightly. "There's still so much about them we don't understand."

"They truly are the world's most wondrous creatures," Daenerys agreed, then suddenly remembered something. "Oh, Sam, I heard you encountered the Golden Company in Dorne—and a man claiming to be Rhaegar's son?"

"Just a pretender the mercenaries propped up to serve their ambitions," Samwell said dismissively.

"I see." Daenerys seemed satisfied with the explanation. "I always thought Rhaegar's son had died in King's Landing. Oh, by the way, I had a dream about Viserion recently."

Viserion was the golden dragon Euron Greyjoy had stolen.

"What happened in the dream?"

"I saw him wrapped in shadows, his body covered in bloody wounds. There were two figures—a man and a woman, their faces obscured—standing before him. I could hear a terrifying chant echoing in the air..."

Noticing her trembling, Samwell pulled her close and murmured soothingly:

"I've already dispatched Ser Lucas and the Stormlands fleet to the Mander. They'll deal with Euron and bring Viserion back."

"Alright," Daenerys whispered, seeking his lips for reassurance.

Their closeness soon gave way to deeper passion, and the water in the tub began to splash over the edges, spilling across the floor.

(End of Chapter)