"Wyvern rider? Do you mean you want me to become a wyvern rider?" Tyrion pointed at his cavernous nostrils in shock. As if afraid Daenerys
"Wyvern rider? Do you mean you want me to become a wyvern rider?" Tyrion pointed at his cavernous nostrils in shock.
As if afraid Daenerys might change her mind, he didn't wait for her to reply. Instead, he quickly put on a sycophantic smile and said, "Your Majesty, I am more than willing to serve you. Even if you order me to ride a wyvern into battle against an enemy's dragon horde, I will face it bravely and without fear."
Wyverns are still dragons after all!
Ever since his greyscale was cured, Aegon had regained his ambition. He spent much time with Balerion, offering food, feeding him by hand, pouring out his woes in hopes of moving him.
But after all his pleading and persistence, the dragon would not even spare him a glance.
If even Aegon could not become a true dragonrider, then Tyrion Lannister could only ever ride a dragon in his dreams.
But now things were different. Wyverns had no magic, their speed and endurance were inferior to dragons, their colors duller, and they could not breathe fire. Their leathery wings even seemed disproportionately large.
Yet at a glance, they looked little different from true dragons.
They were older, larger, and stronger. A wyvern was his best chance, his last hope of fulfilling his dream of dragon-riding.
Daenerys looked down at the dwarf with approval. "Tyrion, you are clever. That is right. I have seen your loyalty and your courage.
That day, in the Great Sept, when you knelt beside Aegon and received my knighthood, you swore your fealty to me.
Since then, you have fulfilled that oath perfectly.
So now I wish to reward you. With your loyalty and your courage, I will name you a paladin with a wyvern companion. What do you say?"
"Thud!" Tyrion dropped to his knees before the queen without hesitation. His ugly face twisted with excitement, his nostrils flaring like two black holes that seemed to draw everyone's eyes.
"Your Majesty, I swear again to be your most loyal subject, from this day until forever. I swear to give you honest counsel and absolute obedience, to protect your rights and honor. No matter what dangers lie ahead, I will stand by your side."
Tyrion swore with a sincerity he had never known before: if the Dragon Queen would grant him a dragon and treat him as a true vassal, then he would willingly give her his loyalty.
The Dragon Queen drew her sword and tapped his shoulders, laughing joyfully. "Very well. I feel your loyalty. From this day you are my paladin, the 'Wildfire Dragonrider.' Later, you will come with me to the Dragonpit and choose the wyvern you like best!"
"Thank you, Your Majesty!"
Tyrion grinned foolishly, rubbing his hands together as he stood. "Your Majesty, I am a Lannister. I wear a lion-helm. Could we perhaps avoid calling me the 'Wildfire Dragonrider'? Even 'Lion Knight' would do."
Indeed, Tyrion's green helm was shaped like a lion's head.
His green cloak was clasped at the shoulder by a brooch bitten by a carved lion's head.
Though he had killed his father and broken with his house, his attire still followed Westerosi custom: lions remained his emblem.
"You are still my Wildfire General. The production of wildfire remains your responsibility. In the future, you will be riding dragons to drop wildfire bombs. With that in mind, you must find a way to expand production—we need more wildfire." Daenerys spoke with solemn weight.
"Alright…" Tyrion nodded reluctantly.
Since he was now to be a wyvern rider, he accepted that throwing wildfire bombs would be part of his duty.
In the battle against Stannis, the wildfire that had taken months to produce was consumed entirely in a single engagement.
Now with six more dragons, increasing production was indeed necessary.
Daenerys's expression suddenly grew serious. In a low voice, she said, "Once you become a dragonrider, you will have another important task to complete."
Of course it would not be so simple. But he had expected as much. What must come had come at last.
Tyrion sighed inwardly, oddly relieved, and nodded with resignation. Gritting his teeth, he said, "Tell me. I will do my best."
"Have you heard the story of 'the old horse knows the way'?" Daenerys asked.
"No, but I understand the phrase. It is an interesting one," Tyrion mused.
"In Westeros—no, that is wrong. In Yi Ti, there was once a Grand Scholar who followed the Emperor north onto the great grasslands to fight the zebra-men.
But the terrain was too complex. They lost their way and could not find the road back. The Grand Scholar reassured the Emperor, saying, 'An old horse remembers the way home.'
So they chose an old horse from the army and let it lead. The army followed behind, and sure enough, it brought them safely back."
The Dragon Queen gave him a meaningful look. "Tyrion, would you be willing to be my 'Grand Scholar'?"
Tyrion's face turned deathly pale. His voice trembled. "You want me to ride an old wyvern… to the continent of Sothoryos, to seek the wyverns' nesting grounds?"
"Even ants can kill an elephant." Daenerys gave him a look of approval, as if to say he could be taught, and sighed. "If not for the ambush we had prepared, thirty wyverns might have surrounded my three true dragons. The result would have been disastrous.
So your mission is crucial. Find the wyverns' nest. Only with more dragonriders can we be certain of victory."
"But…" Tyrion's grotesque face twisted in distress. Haltingly, he said, "The continent of Sothoryos is nothing but jungles, thickets, and swamps. It is called the 'Green Hell.'
It is also the birthplace of the world's plagues. Among the named diseases alone are the Bloody Flux, Green Fever, Sweetrot, Bronzehead, Red Death, Greyscale, Brownleg, Bonemelt, Sailor's Doom, Eye-Rot, Butterfly Fever, and Yellow Jaundice—"
"Stop, stop, stop!" Daenerys pressed her temples. The string of strange names gave her a headache.
"Who told you all that? Isn't it a bit exaggerated? Slaver's Bay is right beside what people call the 'Red Hell,' yet I managed to come through alive. Words are like the wind—rumors cannot be trusted!"
"Doctor Ambrose describes it in his Treatise on Plagues," Tyrion said gravely. "Put it this way: without even entering the deep jungles of Sothoryos, just by landing on the coast, there is more than a ninety percent chance of contracting disease—and half will not survive."
"Fake. Fake news—oh no, fake information. Fake books! No one believes what doctors write," Daenerys said dismissively.
"If it's fake, then why don't you go yourself?" Tyrion replied flatly.
"I am busy, with the affairs of state!"
Of course Daenerys knew the plagues of Sothoryos were no fabrication.
The truth was even worse than Tyrion described. Many plagues had wiped out entire cities, leaving the outside world ignorant of their horrors.
Mighty civilizations like Ghis and Valyria had built fortresses along the coasts of Sothoryos, yet never had a single settlement endured on its own. Deaths were constant, and only through the influx of outsiders could they be sustained at all.
"You've already been infected with greyscale, so you're immune," said Dany.
That was no lie.
Though greyscale was a disease from which few survived, those who did were almost entirely immune to all other plagues and viruses.
"Your nephew, Prince Aegon, also had greyscale. Why not let him go?" Tyrion suggested.
I'd like that, but how could I agree to it?"You said it yourself, he's a prince. How could a prince be sent into danger? Don't forget, you swore an oath before," the Dragon Queen replied sharply.
Tyrion's vision went black, and he nearly fainted on the spot.Alas, faced with the domineering and powerful Dragon Queen, fainting was the safest choice. He dared not lose his temper, for the one who would suffer in the end was himself.
Then, her voice softened. "Don't worry. The allied forces didn't have dragons before; they marched on foot, and nothing happened. You'll be flying safely on dragonback.
I'll give you a pouch of dragon essence—brew it in water each day and drink it. And here's a large jug of dragon-essence sun wine. Use it to disinfect your body.
Wear full leather clothing to cover yourself, and mosquitoes or poisonous insects won't be able to bite you. That way, you won't get infected."
The so-called sun wine was simply high-proof liquor, pure alcohol.
When steeped with dragon dung, it did indeed gain extraordinary antibacterial properties, and it had become one of the Dragon Queen's regular remedies for sterilization and inflammation.
The dragon pit was not a cave at all, but rather a wide-open plaza.
It lay within the Valorys family estate.
In the center of the stone-paved square rested Drogon, while against the far wall, six sharp-muzzled wyverns lay side by side.
"Drogon, this is meat cut from a wyvern. Try some?"
Aegon spoke warmly, but Drogon only shut his eyes, feigning sleep, ignoring him completely.
"Drogon, why don't you teach me the dragon tongue?"
Drogon remained silent.
Aegon sighed and sat on the stone slabs opposite Drogon's head, mumbling on: "Drogon, have you heard the prophecy of the dragon having three heads?My aunt said it herself—she saw it in the House of the Undying.
She even wrote to Illyrio, asking what the meaning of the 'three heads' was, and she hoped to find dragonriders for her dragons.
There's no doubt I should be one of them.
You're like Balerion reborn, the rightful king of Westeros's skies.
And I too am 'Aegon.' My circumstances now are much like the Aegon of old.
We can go home together, back to Westeros, where the Iron Throne awaits us Targaryens to claim.
This is my duty, and it is also your mission and your glory. What do you think, Drogon? Why won't you answer me?"
"Pfft—" A laugh came from behind Drogon.
Aegon leapt up and shouted, craning his neck, "Who's there? Imp, is that you?"
Dany and the dwarf walked around Drogon's massive body, both wearing peculiar expressions, and came before Aegon.
Aegon flushed, stealing a glance at his aunt before quickly turning to the dwarf, who had a smirk tugging at his lips. Humiliated and angry, he demanded, "You—what are you laughing at?"
"I wasn't laughing," the dwarf said, grinning as he waved his hand.
"You're still laughing. I'm not stupid. I can see you're mocking me!" Aegon retorted.
"Well…" Tyrion was embarrassed too. Forcing the smile from his face, he said solemnly, "Your Highness, Drogon won't even look at you. That says enough, doesn't it? Perhaps it's better to try another target?"
Another target?
Bitterness froze inside Aegon's chest. He wasn't stupid. He could sense the mockery on Tyrion's face, and he could certainly feel Drogon's indifference toward him.
And Drogon was only indifferent. The other dragons, however, held outright hostility toward him.
Rhaegal had scorched him with dragonfire.
Viserion was mighty and imposing; Aegon once thought he could serve as Drogon's substitute. But when he looked into Viserion's pale-gold eyes, cold and bloodthirsty, the dragon's presence overwhelmed him. He froze, drenched in sweat, unable to speak a word.
Even young Viserion's sibling, the little golden dragon, barely a year old and just strong enough to bear a rider, had knocked him sprawling with a single wingbeat before he could even utter a word.
So, in comparison, Drogon was actually the friendliest toward him.
"Drogon is only reclusive and quiet by nature. With more time together, he'll come around."
Aegon spoke to Tyrion, but it sounded just as much like he was convincing himself.
Then he quickly shifted the topic, asking, "Aunt, it's nearly time for lunch. What brings you and the Imp here?"
"I've come to be a dragonrider!" Tyrion puffed out his chest proudly and declared with great satisfaction.
(End of Chapter)
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