Chapter 183: Black Dragon Ion
After sailing from Pentos Bay, the *"Kiss of the Breeze Goddess"* followed the sea breeze south.
At dusk, by Ian's command, they chose a natural harbor to make anchor and prepare a funeral for Viserys.
Before long, a simple pyre had been erected on the shore.
After servants cleaned Viserys's body, they dressed him in plain, clean clothes. Ian himself then carried the body to the pyre.
"Bring the oil," Daenerys commanded the servants, who quickly returned with jars of scented oil.
Daenerys poured the oil over the pyre. It quickly soaked the quilts, branches, and hay bales, seeping into the firewood below and filling the air with its fragrance.
Then, Daenerys walked to Celia and took the black egg from her hands.
"Do not be nervous, Your Majesty. The Lord of Light protects you," Celia comforted in a low voice, seeing how stiffly Daenerys held her arms.
"Yes," Daenerys nodded faintly. She returned to the pyre with the egg in her arms and placed the dragon egg upon Viserys's body.
Then she climbed onto the pyre herself and nodded to Ian.
Ian waved his hand, dismissing everyone else back to the ship. Only he, Daenerys, and Celia remained.
"Captain, why aren't they letting us stay?" the first mate asked Daeron Grafson as they walked back toward the vessel.
After Celia had purchased the ship, she had immediately dismissed the original captain and first mate. She promoted the second mate to first mate and appointed Daeron as the new captain.
Though it was perhaps unbefitting an Earl of Seagulltown to serve as captain of a single ship, Daeron's title was an empty one, and sailing was his old trade. He had gladly accepted the position.
"Who knows? Perhaps they mean to perform some sort of magic ritual," Daeron shrugged. As a knight anointed with the seven oils, he had no favorable impression of the pagan priestess at Ian's side, but out of respect for Ian, he remained obedient and raised no objections.
"The night is dark and full of terrors." The first mate's reaction was entirely different. He immediately recited a prayer and, without another word, returned obediently to the ship.
When Celia bought her ship, she had specifically chosen one where most of the sailors were followers of the Red God, and she had quickly gained their reverence. She had, of course, already reported this to Ian.
"Are you ready, Your Majesty?" Ian asked, approaching the pyre with a torch in hand.
Daenerys took a deep breath and nodded firmly.
The next moment, Ian thrust the torch into the dry grass and branches at the base of the pyre, lighting one corner. He then walked clockwise around the structure, igniting the other three corners.
Soon, long tongues of fire shot up from the pyre, licking at the belly of the night sky.
The fire stirred a fierce wind, spreading thick smoke in all directions. Choking, Ian was forced to retreat until Daenerys was lost from his sight within the inferno.
Likewise, within the flames, Daenerys lost sight of Ian. She felt a moment of panic, but it passed as quickly as it came.
*I am the blood of the dragon,* Daenerys told herself.
She sat upon the pyre, letting the raging fire surround her. The flames were roaring beasts, mercilessly engulfing everything, yet she remained untouched. She was not harmed at all.
She even found herself admiring the conflagration. It was beautiful; she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life. Each gout of flame was a sorcerer robed in red, orange, and yellow, a long, smoking cloak trailing from his shoulders. She saw lions of bright crimson, golden serpents, and unicorns of pale blue fire. She saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and brightly-feathered birds and great, flowering trees.
And a dragon?
Then, she saw them again—eyes like molten lava.
A gust of sea breeze swept in from the shore, rustling the mangroves. The flames on the pyre surged higher, and the wood within hissed and cracked. In the screen of smoke, countless glowing sparks rose into the air, drifting into the dark night like fireflies.
"Look," Celia said suddenly, touching Ian's arm as he stared into the fire.
Ian followed her pointing finger and saw a blood-red comet appear in the eastern sky. It trailed a long tail, a slash of bloody light against the dark.
"It seems the dragon is born," Celia murmured, glancing toward the pyre, its interior still hidden by flame and smoke. Her tone grew serious. "Soon, every surviving player will know of the dragon's birth and the early arrival of the magic tide. We will become a target for them all."
Ian did not reply. He walked quickly toward the pyre, where the flames were beginning to die down. The smoke was acrid, and the air was thick with floating ash.
He waded through the embers and found Daenerys at their heart. She was naked and covered in soot, and her beautiful silver hair had been burned away, but she herself was untouched.
Seeing Ian, she smiled.
Then, a sharp hiss sounded from behind her. A young dragon covered in black scales climbed onto her shoulder. It spread its membranous, near-transparent wings, beat them twice, and hissed, exhaling a few wisps of white smoke from its nostrils.
"I succeeded, Lord Ian Darry!" Daenerys said excitedly. She gently nudged the black hatchling with the back of her hand, urging it toward Ian. "It is a dragon. I have resurrected the dragons!"
The word *resurrected* struck Ian. Dragons had been extinct for more than a century, so it was the right word, but Daenerys's attitude was entirely different from how it had been in the original story when her dragons hatched.
She did not see herself as their mother now!
It made sense. In the original story, Daenerys had lost her husband, Drogo, and her son, Rhaego—their lives given in exchange for the dragons' birth. It was only natural that she saw them as her children. But now, still a child herself, how could she think of herself as the 'Mother of Dragons'?
This was good news. It meant that when the time came to use these dragons, he wouldn't have to contend with Daenerys's maternal affections for them.
"Celia's ritual worked," Daenerys said, her eyes wide with wonder. "I truly am a messenger of the Lord of Light." She looked at the hatchling. "Can you give our dragon a name?" she asked suddenly.
"What about Ion?" she continued, just as Ian was pondering whether to name him Ankara or Neltharion.
At first, the name meant nothing to Ian. But seeing the hope in Daenerys's eyes, he realized at once that it was a Valyrian variation of his own name. Instead of commemorating her brother with a name like 'Viserion,' she seemed to prefer naming the first dragon to be born into the world in over a century after him.
"As you wish, Your Majesty." Ian accepted the honor gladly.
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