Game of Thrones: Reborn as Drogon

Of course, Drogon knew perfectly well that Marwyn's determination to remain in King's Landing was largely because of him.

But he didn't care.

He had no reason to worry that Marwyn could pose any threat.

When Daenerys asked why he wanted Marwyn appointed as Grand Maester, Drogon simply gave a brief explanation:

Marwyn wasn't particularly suited for the office, and the Citadel didn't like him anyway.

After hearing the reasoning, Daenerys couldn't help but laugh inwardly.

No wonder Marwyn hadn't seemed especially happy when she offered him the position.

With Marwyn gone, Drogon found his thoughts drifting toward Shireen.

He wondered whether Sam had finally discovered a cure for greyscale.

Since he had little to do for the next few days, he decided to fly to Oldtown and see for himself.

When Daenerys learned of his plan, she wanted to accompany him.

Unfortunately, King's Landing had only recently fallen, and her coronation was fast approaching.

Countless matters required her attention.

There was simply no way she could leave.

Reluctantly, she sent Drogon alone.

Westeros stretched long from north to south and was comparatively narrow from east to west, naturally dividing the continent into northern and southern regions.

Oldtown lay in the southwestern corner of the continent.

It was the oldest city in Westeros, the largest port, and one of the Five Great Cities.

The city belonged to House Hightower, one of the wealthiest families in the Reach, second only to House Tyrell itself.

Their immense wealth had allowed them to found the Citadel and support it for centuries.

After flying past the towering Hightower, Drogon descended near the entrance to the Citadel.

As soon as he entered, he spotted a familiar face.

It was Lareesa, the scholar he had met during Shireen's previous visit.

The man was bent over a desk, carefully proofreading a manuscript and completely failed to notice Drogon's arrival.

Only when the small black dragon landed directly on top of the open book did Lareesa nearly jump out of his chair.

"You... you're Drogon! The black dragon who came here with Shireen!"

His eyes immediately lit up with excitement.

As one of the scholars of the Citadel, Lareesa had already heard countless reports about Drogon's recent exploits.

The stories of three dragons battling sea monsters and defeating the combined fleet had spread throughout Westeros.

Unlike ordinary people, the Citadel possessed far more detailed information.

Lareesa understood just how terrifying Drogon's enemies had truly been.

While the Citadel as an institution had never been fond of dragons—creatures beyond its control—that did nothing to diminish Lareesa's personal admiration.

"You're here to see Shireen and Sam, aren't you?" he asked eagerly.

"I'll take you to them right away."

Gone was the distant attitude he had displayed during Shireen's first visit.

Now he seemed almost overly enthusiastic.

Drogon followed him deeper into the Citadel.

After passing through several corridors and turning a couple of corners, they arrived at the small residence where Sam and Shireen were staying.

Lareesa knocked on the door.

A moment later, it opened.

Standing there was a young girl with bandages wrapped around part of her face.

"Scholar Lareesa..."

Then her eyes widened.

"Drogon!"

The instant she spotted the dragon peeking out from behind Lareesa, her face lit up with joy.

"Drogon! I've missed you so much!"

With the dragon successfully delivered, Lareesa bid them farewell and departed.

The moment he was gone, Shireen scooped Drogon into her arms and began petting him relentlessly.

Drogon rubbed his head against her small hands before turning his attention to her face.

Half of her face and part of her neck were wrapped in bandages, leaving only one side of her face and her eyes visible.

"Drogon, Sam really found a cure for greyscale! You were right all along!"

Noticing where Drogon was looking, Shireen didn't shy away from it in the slightest. Instead, she gently touched the bandages on her cheek and smiled.

Knowing that Sam had not disappointed him, Drogon couldn't help recalling the treatment process.

He nudged Shireen gently.

He couldn't imagine how a young girl had endured the agony of having diseased flesh cut away while remaining so brave.

Entering the room, Shireen immediately pushed a sheet of parchment and an ink pen toward him.

She wanted to talk.

After chatting for a while through writing, Drogon learned that Shireen already knew about the fall of King's Landing and Daenerys's upcoming coronation.

Her only regret was that she would miss the grand ceremony.

During their conversation, she asked endless questions about the battle against the Night King and the war against the alliance of gods.

By the end, Drogon's tiny claws were practically cramping from all the writing.

Throughout the entire discussion, Shireen never once mentioned her father, Stannis.

Drogon knew what that meant.

She had already learned of his death.

She simply chose not to bring it up.

But Drogon felt the matter shouldn't be left untouched.

Taking the pen once more, he wrote a message and slid it toward her.

[ When the Night's Watch called for aid, your father was the only great lord who answered. He gave his life fighting the Others, and all of Westeros will remember his name. In his final moments, he entrusted your future to Davos. He was a good father.]

The moment Shireen finished reading, the tears she had been holding back finally broke free.

Drops fell onto the parchment one after another.

"Father was always good to me..."

Her voice trembled.

"If he hadn't searched the entire continent for healers and cures, I would have died from greyscale long ago. I wouldn't even be here today..."

The words only made her cry harder.

Drogon grabbed a handkerchief from the nearby table and pushed it toward her, worried that tears might seep into her healing wounds.

He didn't try to comfort her.

He simply stayed by her side and let her cry.

Sometimes grief needed an outlet.

Nearly five minutes passed before her sobs gradually subsided.

Drogon knew how strong Shireen truly was.

She hadn't cried when she left Dragonstone.

She hadn't cried when she first learned of Stannis's death.

But that sorrow had been trapped inside her for far too long.

If she kept suppressing it, it would only fester.

That was why he had written those words—not only to honor Stannis's sacrifice, but also to give Shireen permission to grieve.

Once she calmed down, they talked a little longer.

As night fell, Drogon remained with her until she finally drifted to sleep.

Only then did he quietly slip out of the room.

Deep into the night, Drogon once again infiltrated the Citadel's restricted archives.

For some reason, he had felt compelled to return.

There was something hidden among the shelves that he had overlooked before.

Something important.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what it was.

After entering the archives, he skimmed through books he had previously read, but none contained the answer he sought.

So he began searching through entirely different volumes.

Before long, a passage caught his eye.

["After discovering the extraordinary nature of the black foundation stone beneath the Hightower, we investigated reports of similar black stone structures throughout the world and found that many such constructions exist across other continents as well.

— Strange Stones, by Septon Sylron]

Drogon paused.

Then he turned the page.

[The black foundation stone of the Hightower and the Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands are likely made from the same material—an oily, jet-black stone unlike any known rock.

The builders may have been a race known as the Deep Ones, creatures with fish-like heads and human bodies, said to be the offspring of men and sea creatures."

The book was devoted almost entirely to a mysterious substance known simply as black stone.

The stone possessed an unusual property.

Its surface constantly secreted an oily residue.

Even after being thoroughly cleaned, fresh oil would slowly seep out again.

Besides the Hightower's foundation and the ancient Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands, similar structures could be found throughout the known world.

The ruined labyrinths of Lorath.

The mighty Black Walls of Volantis.

Ancient ruins hidden deep within the jungles of Sothoryos.

The colossal toad idol of the Basilisk Isles.

All had reportedly been constructed from the same strange, oily black stone.

Yet nowhere contained more of it than the distant city of Asshai, beside the Shadow Lands in eastern Essos.

There, entire districts were said to be built from black stone.

The moment he read those passages, Drogon finally remembered what had been nagging at him.

This was it.

This was exactly what he had come to the archives searching for.

The mystery of the Black Stone.

A forgotten enigma scattered across the world.

And perhaps one of the deepest secrets hidden within its history.

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