Training Dragons

Morning came. In the central tent of the camp, Ronan rose easily while Daenerys attended him as his handmaid. After that deeper intimacy had formed between them, Daenerys grew more and more accustomed to the role.

Unlike trained female slaves, her hands were still inexperienced, but she was improving visibly. She herself seemed to enjoy the duty.

Without Viserys and his so-called waking dragon, Daenerys had recovered much of an ordinary person's nature. Compared with noble princesses raised in comfort, she was still cautious to the bone.

Even now, with dragons that countless people would dream of possessing, Daenerys's character had not changed much. Ronan appreciated that most about her. Of course, no one remained unchanged forever.

The blood of House Targaryen was different from that of ordinary people. Daenerys grew quickly in her talent for taming dragons, largely because she did not fear fire.

"Yes. Do not be afraid of them. Think of them as your children. If you spoil them too much now, you will not be able to control them once they grow."

Ronan played the stern father, guiding Daenerys as she taught the hatchlings.

The slightly smaller Rhaegor and Maevra were easy to manage. Draegor, the eldest, was the troublesome one. If not for the chain holding it, the little tyrant would already have unleashed itself.

Daenerys approached with a basket of lamb legs. Rhaegor and Maevra were quickly tempted, but Draegor looked as though no food in the world could make it lower itself. It wanted Daenerys to come to it.

Daenerys was kind by nature, and her habit of compromise appeared easily. Ronan had experienced that himself, which was why he stopped her early.

Sure enough, the moment Daenerys seemed about to give in, Draegor grew eager. Then Ronan's command ended that hope.

"If it will not come, give everything to Rhaegor and Maevra."

Daenerys obeyed Ronan. Seeing the food it had nearly gained carried away, Draegor grew furious. Its widened eyes fixed on the one responsible.

Ronan was not afraid. A dragon that refused discipline was food. He was no sentimental protector of dangerous beasts. Protection began with obedience. Otherwise, he might as well roast it for his men.

The pride and brutality of dragons showed themselves fully in Draegor. Almost the moment it stared at him, the cunning little creature launched a sudden attack.

Its first target was Daenerys. The surprise nearly made her collapse, but Ronan was beside her and steadied her.

Once one of Ronan's hands was occupied, Draegor immediately changed direction and threw itself at him.

Ronan remained calm from beginning to end. The dragon's savage head rushed for his body, jaws full of sharp teeth ready to tear into his throat.

Ronan stepped aside and caught its neck again with brutal precision. No matter how Draegor thrashed, he did not move. As the struggle dragged on, the force in his hand suddenly increased.

Draegor could not believe that this human truly meant to kill it, and in such a humiliating way.

Daenerys could not bear the sight, but she did not stop him. She knew Ronan was right.

Nearby, Rhaegor and Maevra continued devouring their meal and seemed to find their appetites even better. Neither looked as if their elder brother needed help.

The commotion soon drew Drogo and others to look in. Seeing their khal training dragon hatchlings astonished them. These were dragons, creatures of legend. Why did they look more pitiful than dogs under Ronan's hand?

While the watchers stared at one another, Draegor struggled more violently. Its choking mouth opened wide and released a ragged burst of dragonfire. Cries rang out.

Daenerys, standing close, was caught by the heat as well. Thinking only of Ronan, she raised her head.

Ronan stood directly inside the wash of dragonfire, wrapped in heat fiercer than ordinary flame.

Daenerys could not endure it for long, but she forced herself closer to save him. Only when she saw Lord Ronan signaling her to stay back did she realize something else.

Draegor's roar had grown more miserable. The watchers shifted from fear to pity. In all the world, perhaps only Lord Ronan could beat a dragon into submission.

Illyrio, arriving late, happened to witness that bloody scene. The last of his hesitation disappeared.

In his heart, Ronan now seemed almost beyond mortal, a lord truly worthy of service.

"It can take a beating, at least."

Ronan looked at his torn and bloodied hand, then at the hatchling that seemed unharmed despite the punishment, and anger rose in him again. He reached for his Valyrian steel dagger.

Draegor, finally convinced in body and spirit, no longer dared act proud. It flapped its small wings and lowered its arrogant head in submission.

The gesture was obvious enough. If that was not surrender, the creature was simply foolish.

Even with Draegor showing sincerity, Ronan was not satisfied. If Daenerys had not stopped him in time, Draegor might have become the first roasted dragon in history.

Facing its mother again, Draegor felt an immense gratitude. Whether being fed, nuzzling close, or acting pitiful, it learned every skill at once.

Daenerys was left speechless, while the other two greedy hatchlings stared in confusion. Was this still their elder brother? Was this still Draegor, who had refused food out of pride?

Their large dragon eyes were full of disbelief.

Ronan only sneered. This little creature had thought it could contest him. Disobedient children had to be faced head-on. If one softened too early, one would never be firm enough later.

The stern father's task was done. The rest could be left to the merciful mother. Ronan believed Daenerys would manage.

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