Chapter 181: The best commander in the world
"You just said… that I can bring dragons back to the world?" Daenerys asked Celia, clutching a dragon egg to her chest. "Is this true?"
"The Lord of Light grants us revelations through fire, and sometimes through dreams," Celia said with a knowing smile. In truth, she had found no evidence that dragon dreams or prophetic visions were connected to the Lord of Light, but what did it matter? She was a priestess of the Red God; all great power belonged to the Lord of Light.
"In the flames, I saw a great dragon breathing fire into the sky, and then I saw it bow its head at Your Majesty's feet. For this vision to appear at the very moment you received these dragon eggs… it is no mere coincidence. It is clearly a foreshadowing."
Daenerys believed her, for the most part. The vision Celia described was exactly what she herself had seen.
"So," Celia began, as if piecing together a puzzle, "are you not afraid of flames? Or at least, not of heat?"
Daenerys suddenly recalled how she could bathe in water so scalding it would peel the skin from any other person. She nodded slowly. "That's right."
"Then perhaps you should try," Celia suggested, holding a lit torch out to Daenerys. "Try to touch the flame. If it does not harm you, then a suspicion I hold may well be true."
"This is madness," Daenerys whispered, hesitating. Though she had long known of her unusual tolerance for heat, she had never considered such a bizarre test.
"This is about whether you can bring dragons back to the world, Your Majesty," Celia reminded her softly.
"I…" Daenerys looked to Ian. After receiving an encouraging nod from him, she tentatively stretched her palm toward the flickering, orange-red flame.
*This is mad*, she repeated in her mind, yet she felt a faint thrill of excitement.
The first time, she merely brushed the flame with her fingertips and snatched her hand back—so quickly that even an ordinary person would not have been harmed.
The second time, she touched it with three fingers, but again, her hand recoiled instantly. This time, however, she was almost certain she had felt no burning, no stinging sensation.
On her third attempt, Daenerys grew bolder. She moved her hands slowly, deliberately, until her palms enveloped the head of the torch, cradling the entire flame.
"Fire… it truly doesn't hurt me!" she cried out, her voice filled with ecstatic wonder.
"You are the beloved of the Lord of Light, Your Majesty," Celia was quick to praise, her voice ringing with purpose. "It seems the god's revelation was true. You are the mother of dragons from the prophecy. Through you, dragons will return to the world."
"I…" Daenerys suppressed her giddy excitement. "What must I do?" she asked urgently.
"I studied at the Red Temple in Volantis, and I have traveled to Asshai, west of the Shadow Lands. There, I learned of a secret rite to waken dragons from stone." Celia drew closer to Daenerys, whispering the method of summoning the dragons, substituting the need for a funeral pyre with the deliberate act of a blood sacrifice.
"So we are to use Viserys's body?" Daenerys frowned, her immediate instinct one of revulsion.
"The blood of the dragon flows in the late king's veins. His life is the perfect price to pay for the life locked in stone." Celia knew of Daenerys's disgust for Viserys but feigned ignorance. "Besides, in this way, it would be as if the late king were to remain by your side in a new form."
*I don't want Viserys anywhere near me!* Daenerys screamed in her heart. But as soon as the thought came, it wavered. Viserys had terrified her when he was alive, yet now that he was dead, she felt an inexplicable longing for her only relative. It was why she had once thought to name a dragon Viserion. Perhaps giving Viserys a new life in this way was a good choice after all. She considered it, then looked to Ian. "If we truly had dragons, would we have hope of regaining the Iron Throne?"
"Of course," Ian started to say, but he quickly caught himself. It was not wise to pin all their hopes on dragons. It would give Daenerys a preconceived notion that the credit for their victory would be hers alone.
"No, Your Majesty," Ian said, shaking his head. "A dragon's growth is far too slow. It would take decades for a newborn dragon to possess overwhelming power in battle. I'm afraid we cannot count on them for our restoration. I hope you bring them back to the world simply because the dragon is the sigil of House Targaryen."
"You mean we must still wait for decades to reclaim the Iron Throne?" Daenerys was not surprised, but she could not hide her disappointment.
"I mean we will reclaim the Iron Throne that is yours without the help of dragons," Ian corrected her gently.
"Without dragons," Dany murmured, then her brow furrowed in confusion. "But how? My brother meant to trade me to Drogo for an army, but now I can no longer marry him. How will we raise an army? Without an army, we cannot take back the throne, can we?"
"You can give yourself to me in exchange for an army."
Ian's reply stunned not only Daenerys but also Celia, who nearly choked on her own breath. Was that something a vassal could say to his queen?
Ian would have answered yes, with full confidence. At this moment, Dany had not yet acquired the imperious habits of a ruler, the kind she might have learned as a Khaleesi. She had never been treated with deference by anyone, nor had she ever held the power of life and death. For now, she was just a timid, insecure young girl with the title of Queen, a girl who had wandered her entire life, bullied and tormented by her brother.
As such, she would only be surprised by Ian's boldness, not angered. She might feel it improper, but her heart would be secretly filled with joy. This was precisely what Ian wanted. He wanted Daenerys to grow accustomed to this rapport, to see it as their normal way of being, rather than to ever believe she could stand above him.
Just as Ian had anticipated, a deep blush crept up Daenerys's face, reaching the tips of her ears, yet she offered no rebuttal.
"I will find an army for you, Your Majesty," Ian said, his tone turning serious once more. "We will go to Astapor to purchase the Unsullied."
"The slaves in the bronze spiked helms?" Dany had, of course, seen the Unsullied who served as Illyrio's primary guards. "Can they defeat the knights of Westeros? They are so fat!"
"The Unsullied serving Illyrio or other magisters are mere household guards, their true strengths wasted. They are often idle, and eunuchs are prone to weight gain when food becomes their only pleasure. The Unsullied in Astapor, those who have not yet been sold, are maintained at the peak of their combat effectiveness," Ian explained. "They are trained in the manner of the legions of the old Ghiscari Empire—disciplined, unflinching in their execution of orders, and fearless of pain. They are the finest infantry in the world. And if they are led by the finest commander in the world, they will be invincible."
"The finest commander in the world?" Daenerys's interest was piqued. "Who is that?"
"There can be no doubt that it is me," Ian said, pointing to himself. "If you were to witness me in battle, you would find that all the generals of Westeros, past and present, would seem as dim as fireflies before the sun in comparison."
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