Chapter 177: Ship Leaving Port
Three hours had passed since the *Kiss of the Breeze Goddess* slipped its moorings and left the coast of Pentos behind. In its wake, the waters of Pentos Bay churned with the sails of countless other ships, all fleeing the port in a desperate exodus.
A blazing inferno consumed the city they had left behind, the sight of which brought a grim sense of relief to the captains and sailors who had escaped the chaos.
"Was it worth it?"
After seeing Daenerys settled in her cabin and watching her drift into a feverish sleep, Celia had returned to the deck. She found Ian leaning against the rail, staring back at the distant flames.
"To destroy a city, to lose an ally like Hazan… was it worth it, all to prevent her from marrying a horselord?"
"I've already told you my reasons," Ian said with a shrug. "The established narrative is a fragile thing, easily shattered. Had we simply followed Daenerys, countless other players would have had innumerable opportunities to destroy our plans."
He turned from the rail to face her. "By taking her ourselves, we turn the tables. We become the ones who destroy *their* plans. Think of it—any players who might have been hiding in Drogo's khalasar, setting some elaborate trap for us, will now never even lay eyes on the Dragon Mother."
"But the disadvantages are enormous," Celia immediately countered. "We have made enemies of Illyrio, Prince Hazan, and Khal Drogo all at once."
"No." Ian shook his head. His falcon, having witnessed Illyrio's end, had already returned from Pentos and was now circling their ship. "Our only enemy is Drogo. Hazan and Illyrio will no longer be causing us any trouble."
Celia stared at him, the implication dawning on her. After a moment of stunned silence, she said slowly, "You frighten me."
A sudden laugh, sharp and slightly unhinged, escaped Ian's lips. "And do you think I feel no fear? Do you imagine I'm a machine, calmly executing predetermined procedures? Or do you think, just maybe, I'm walking on thin ice, terrified every single step of the way?"
"What?" Celia was taken aback by his sudden intensity.
"Were you not afraid when you discovered I was a player? Do you think I felt no fear proposing that plan to Illyrio while smuggling my own assets out from under his nose? Do you think my heart wasn't pounding in my chest as I fled to the port with the Targaryen heirs?"
His voice grew lower, faster. "I am afraid all the time. Before every meal, I fear the food is poisoned. Before I sleep, I fear I will never wake up. Every stranger I meet, I fear is another player, waiting to pull a dagger and slit my throat."
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing his own outburst. He took a deep, steadying breath, his expression smoothing over until he was calm once more.
"The good news," he said, spreading his hands, "is that everything that has frightened me so far is now dead. And I am still alive and well." He met her eyes, his own gaze hard as flint. "So let me give you a piece of advice. Never make small moves behind my back. I am a very timid man. The moment I suspect you of doing anything whose intention I cannot confirm, I will assume it is a betrayal and eliminate the threat. At any cost."
To his surprise, Celia did not react with fear or anger. Instead, a small laugh escaped her. "Do you feel better, now that you've vented?"
She continued, her voice soft with an unexpected empathy. "Is there any player who isn't like this? For a long time, especially after two of my allies were eliminated, I was in exactly the same state. This is a game where we eat each other. If you aren't strong enough mentally, you'll drive yourself mad before anyone else has the chance."
"I was prepared for that before I ever entered this game," Ian interrupted, cutting the topic short. "Enough. I don't want to talk about it anymore. How is Daenerys?"
"She's asleep," Celia said, wisely letting the subject drop. "But she has a severe fever."
"Very good," Ian nodded.
"Very good?" Celia repeated, confused. "Aren't you worried something will happen to her?"
"It would be strange indeed if a little fever could harm a dragon," Ian said dismissively. "If I'm right, she's having a dragon dream. In the original story, didn't she have one on the eve of her wedding to Drogo? This is just happening ahead of schedule."
"A dragon dream?" Celia frowned. "Her dream before the wedding was a precursor to the dragons' appearance. It signaled that Illyrio was about to give her three dragon eggs. We don't have any dragon eggs. What could she possibly be dreaming of?"
Ian chuckled. "Who says we don't have dragon eggs? If we didn't, why would I have bothered taking the Dragon Mother in the first place?"
"You already stole them," Celia realized with a flash of understanding.
"So what's your plan?" she asked immediately. "How do you intend to hatch them? In the story, Daenerys walked into Drogo's pyre after he became a vegetable and she lost their child. The dragons were born from the flames, but there are so many different theories about the actual conditions required."
"I favor the view that it was blood magic," Ian replied. "An exchange of blood for blood. The Mother of Dragons exchanged three lives—her husband, Drogo; her son, Rhaego; and the witch, Mirri Maz Duur—for the birth of three dragons."
"And I find that to be the most unreliable theory," Celia retorted. "Before Daenerys, it was unheard of for a dragon's birth to require human sacrifice. Without any human intervention, didn't dragons hatch their own eggs?"
"Thinking like that means you've misunderstood a critical point. The things in our possession are not dragon eggs. They are fossilized dragon eggs. They are stone. Fresh dragon eggs, of course, don't need such theatrics. But to bring life from stone… life must be paid for with life. That is the universal law of magic in this world."
"When you put it that way… I suppose I did overlook that." Celia reluctantly conceded his point. "However, even if you're right, the third sacrifice shouldn't have been Mirri Maz Duur, should it? Khal Drogo was the greatest horselord on the grass sea. Rhaego was their son, the stallion who would mount the world from prophecy. But what was Mirri? A witch from some conquered sheep-people. If her blood could be exchanged for a dragon, what about my blood?"
Celia's voice trailed off. She seemed to realize she had said something outrageous and offered an awkward smile in response to Ian's steady gaze.
"Don't worry, you're a long way off from that," Ian said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Do you really believe Mirri Maz Duur was only at your level?"
"My level isn't so bad, is it?"
"We receive our magical abilities through the system, unaffected by the decline of magic in this world," Ian shook his head. "But they are different. Do you remember when Mirri Maz Duur used her blood magic?"
"After Drogo was injured?"
"It was *before* the dragons were born," Ian emphasized. "As we both know, the revival of magic in this world was brought about by Dany's three dragons. Before that, magic had all but vanished for countless years. The fire mages of Volantis, the warlocks in Qarth's House of the Undying—they were all but powerless before the magic returned. Only in Asshai, far to the east, did the sorcerers there retain a sliver of their power."
He leaned forward slightly, driving his point home. "And yet Mirri Maz Duur, a godswife in Lhazar, was able to perform blood magic powerful enough to save Drogo's life and twist the babe in Dany's womb into a monster. And she did this *before* the return of magic. Think, Celia. If she could accomplish that then, what level of power would she have reached after the magic returned?"
"She is underestimated," Celia concluded for him.
"She is *severely* underestimated," Ian corrected. "The power contained in Mirri Maz Duur's blood was in no way inferior to so-called king's blood. That is why burning her could bring a dragon forth from stone."
"Alright," Celia nodded, accepting his logic. Then, a new thought seemed to strike her. "So… why did you insist on bringing Viserys's body on board?"
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