When he returned in the early morning, he saw Daenerys curled up on the bed, asleep, clutching the green dragon egg.
The egg was pressed against her chest, her whole body huddled into a small ball.
He moved softly, but he still startled her awake.
Daenerys opened her eyes, saw it was him, and slowly sat up.
Her hair was messy, and there were sleep marks on her face.
Drogo asked knowingly, as if to confirm, “Moon of my life, the gift you gave to Viserys—did he not like it?” “Mhm, he looked down on those Dothraki garments, and I said something that displeased him.” As she spoke, she put the dragon egg back into the chest.
Drogo walked over and sat down beside her.
He reached out to gently stroke the bruise on Daenerys’s shoulder.
“I told him he hasn’t won a battle yet, so he has no right to wear a braid.” Drogo pulled her into his arms.
“So he hit you?” Daenerys didn’t reply, simply leaning against his chest.
Looking at Daenerys’s pitiful state, Drogo felt extremely frustrated, but for now, he could only endure.
He secretly clenched his fists, reciting that name in his heart.
Viserys.
You won’t be prancing around for much longer.
Daenerys stayed in his arms for a while, then suddenly looked up.
“You said Viserys can’t defeat the armies of the Seven Kingdoms, but what about you?
If you led the army yourself, could you conquer the Seven Kingdoms?” Drogo thought seriously for a moment.
“It would be difficult.” He analyzed it for Daenerys point by point: “First, the Seven Kingdoms are full of strong castles, and Dothraki riders are not skilled at sieges.” “Second, the soldiers in Westeros are all clad in iron armor, while Dothraki riders bare their chests.
Unarmored cavalry are easily routed when facing heavy infantry or archers.” “Third, to make the tribe willing to fight across the sea, there must be a sufficient reason.
Seizing the Iron Throne for your brother is not enough to convince everyone.” After listening, Daenerys first looked dazed, then a look of realization dawned in her eyes.
She had never thought about these things.
In Viserys’s stories, the enemies were easily defeated.
As long as they led the Dothraki riders across the Narrow Sea, the knights of Westeros would surrender at the mere sight of them.
The people of the Seven Kingdoms supposedly yearned day and night for the return of the true dragon; as long as her brother raised the Targaryen banner, the lords from all over would flock to join them.
She knew that every word Drogo had just said was the truth.
They were real, tangible problems right in front of them.
She looked at Drogo and suddenly felt that he was very tall.
Even though he was sitting, he was like a mountain.
“We must wait for an opportunity.” “What opportunity?” Daenerys asked.
Drogo looked at her and remained silent for a while.
“I don’t know.” In reality, he knew very well that the eunuch Varys would send assassins to poison them, attempting to kill the last scions of House Targaryen.
But she was also the “Khaleesi” of the Khalasar, carrying the heir of the Khalasar.
At that time, the entire tribe would be enraged and willing to cross that strait.
That would be the right time to declare war.
But he couldn’t say it.
He just held her a little tighter.
“Then doesn’t that mean my brother will never be able to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms?” she said.
“He’ll never be able to take me home.” Drogo lowered his head and kissed her forehead.
“This is your home.” “What if we let all the Dothraki Warriors wear iron armor?” Daenerys asked again after a while.
“That would give us the ability to fight, but as you know, the people believe wearing armor is the act of a coward.”
Maybe it’s not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”