After swallowing three times their own body weight in roasted meat, Rhaegal and Viserion finally stopped eating, leaving only Drogon still munching slowly.
Seeing that the other two dragons were no longer competing with him, Drogon wondered why they ate so little; he was only about thirty percent full himself.
He didn't swallow frantically like he did at the beginning, but instead began to savor the taste of the roasted meat. Unfortunately, there was only the aroma of meat; no seasonings had been added, making it somewhat bland.
Twitching his nose, he walked to the horse's back to find where the spices were kept and hooked at them with his wing. The young maid, Jeyne, immediately understood his meaning—he wanted extra seasoning.
A dragon eating roasted meat was one thing, but wanting seasonings added like a human? It was truly unheard of.
Taking the spice packet, she brushed the roasted meat with honey and sprinkled it with fine salt, pepper, and edible herbs. The aroma wafted out instantly, tempting everyone around who was watching Drogon eat to want a few bites themselves.
With the seasonings added, Drogon's appetite surged. He ate twice the amount he had just consumed before finally stopping. He alone ate more than Rhaegal and Viserion combined.
Never mind the people around them; even the other two dragons stared in a daze.
Having eaten and drunk his fill, Drogon vaguely understood why he ate so much. It was all because of his inherited talent—Devour—which allowed him to eat and digest efficiently.
In his past life, he remembered that Drogon was much larger and more powerful than the other two dragons. Could it be because Drogon possessed the inherited talent, Devour?
With a full stomach, Drogon felt alive again and full of energy. As a fire dragon, he didn't fear the scorching heat and dryness of the Red Waste at all.
He broke the previous pattern of the three dragons taking turns keeping watch on the Dragon Mother's shoulder and refused to go back into the cage. He was now a dragon with wings, not a corporate slave bound to the bottom rungs like in his past life!
Landing on Daenerys's shoulder, Drogon worked hard to flap his thin wings, training their strength in the hope of soaring through the sky soon.
As he gradually grew accustomed to his once-familiar arms having turned into wings, he tried jumping down from Daenerys's shoulder, frightening her so much she nearly fell over trying to catch him.
[I did that on purpose! Hehe...]
Seeing Daenerys's flustered appearance, Drogon chuckled inwardly.
Only then did Daenerys realize her worry was for nothing. She felt both annoyed and amused, and much of the terror she felt about potentially losing her dragons dissipated.
He repeatedly jumped from her shoulder, feeling the strength and direction of the air currents. When he got tired, he would stand on her shoulder, stretching his long neck to spit Dragonfire.
Although most of the time only faint smoke came out, occasionally a few sparks would be mixed in. For Drogon, this was a huge improvement.
Drogon's hopping and jumping around brought a lot of life back to the originally lifeless group. Daenerys, who was gradually recovering her state of mind, was even more delighted. She finally didn't have to worry about her little dragons starving to death. Moreover, Drogon had given her an unexpected surprise, giving her the secret joy of a little girl sneaking candy behind her parents' backs.
However, what disappointed her slightly was that she could not hear the thoughts of Rhaegal and Viserion.
Seeing Drogon's restless activity, the other two dragons were also unwilling to stay in their cages. They followed Drogon's example, venting their exuberant energy.
After a long day of waiting, Ago, who had gone out to scout the way, returned. However, he did not bring the news everyone was hoping for, casting another shadow over the weary group.
In the evening, leaning drowsily against the tent, Daenerys saw a blurred figure gradually enlarging through the heat waves of the wasteland.
Standing up with difficulty, it was indeed Kovarro who had returned, with several waterskins hanging from his saddle.
"Khaleesi, I saw a beautiful, giant city in the east called Qarth. It is governed by the Thirteen, and an elder even granted me an audience."
After traveling alone in the wasteland for two days, Kovarro was even more energetic than when he left.
"Can we enter the city?" Daenerys asked the question she cared about most.
"They said the Mother of Dragons is most welcome," Kovarro said happily as he took down the waterskins.
"Have you heard of this place?" Daenerys turned to ask Jorah.
Jorah replied with a slight frown, "I only know that Qarth is not a place just anyone can enter at will. Certain conditions of theirs must be met first."
Hearing Jorah's words, Daenerys's expression turned somewhat grim, and then she clenched her fists.
The waterskins brought by Kovarro temporarily relieved the group's water shortage. Combined with the news he brought, the originally despairing Dothraki felt a renewed sense of life. They successfully reached Qarth the following afternoon.
The walls of Qarth were magnificent and tall, covered with various exquisite carvings of different subjects, even including many vivid scenes of men and women in carnal embrace.
When Drogon and the others arrived, the Thirteen were already waiting under the city gate. They were of different skin tones and heights, mostly dressed in magnificent, noble attire. Only one tall, thin, bald man appeared extremely distinctive, with prominent brow ridges, deep-set eye sockets, and blue-tinged lips, reminding Drogon of aliens from TV shows and movies in his past life.
In addition to the Thirteen, there was a thirty-man spear and shield squad responsible for protection.
Drogon was placed in a cage covered with a piece of brown sackcloth. Daenerys did not want the Thirteen to see the appearance of a True Dragon for the time being, lest it arouse their greed.
Drogon could only use his wing-hook to lift the sackcloth and peek outside. Compared to his quietness, the other two little dragons were much more irritable, constantly roaring in their cages.
After a day of playing wildly with Drogon, they were extremely unwilling to return to their cages.
Seeing Daenerys's arrival, a medium-sized fat man stepped out from the Qarth group, wearing gold ornaments around his neck, obese yet not lacking in elegance.
Seeing the fat man approach, the weary Daenerys took a light breath, puffed out her underdeveloped little chest, and said, "I am stormborn..."
"Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. May I see your little dragons?" Daenerys was interrupted by the fat man halfway through her words.
"Might I ask your name, My Lord?" Despite being interrupted, Daenerys still forced a smile and asked.
"I am but a humble Spice Merchant, not a lord. And my name is too long; foreigners find it difficult to remember."
"My group and I have crossed the Red Waste. Could you allow us to enter the city to replenish our water and foo—"
"Mother of Dragons, my friends and I have never seen a dragon. Could you let us have a look?"
[I really want to give that fat face two claw-swipes!]
Hearing the Dragon Mother's words being interrupted again, Drogon couldn't help but say in his mind.
Daenerys, who was about to reply, heard Drogon's thought and couldn't help but look back. She saw Drogon lifting the sackcloth and peeking out with effort. Seeing her look at him, Drogon quickly dropped the cloth curtain.
Seeing Drogon's sneaky appearance, Daenerys wanted to laugh, and the anger stirred up by the Spice Merchant subsided.
Even if they don't let me in, I still have dragons, I still have Drogon. I even crossed the Red Waste; what else is there to fear? As long as I give the little dragons time to grow, I can make them submit under Dragonfire.
Bolstering her own courage, Daenerys relaxed and said with a smile, "As long as you let me in, the day will come when you see the dragons. Do you really intend to refuse friendship from the Mother of Dragons?"