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The candle flame cast flickering shadows across the gray cloak, as if the Lord of Light's own fingers were brushing the priest's shoulders.
Daenerys's voice trembled, yet it carried a hope she could not hide. Her violet eyes locked on Benerro, breath held tight. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her skirt until the knuckles turned white—half praying for a miracle, half terrified it would shatter again.
Viserys's gaze was unreadable, deep and still.
Inside the tiny room only the candle crackled. The air stretched taut, ready to snap. Both of them waited for the answer that could change everything.
Benerro bowed his head toward the flame, then lifted it again. When he spoke, his voice rang with the unshakable fervor of true belief.
"R'hllor has shown us the path. He has granted the vision. Follow it and there can be no mistake. Yes, I am certain the ritual will succeed." The zealot nodded once. "But, Princess of Flame, Prince of Blood, one difficulty remains."
Viserys's voice dropped. "What difficulty?"
"It is you, Princess." Benerro spoke plainly. "You must take part in the ritual yourself. Without you it cannot begin. All our preparations would be wasted."
"How exactly will it be performed? What do you plan to do?"
Daenerys had already decided the uninvited priest would refuse to give details.
That was how red priests—and every self-proclaimed sorcerer—always behaved.
"The Princess of Flame sensed life still stirring inside the dragon eggs… and you were right." Benerro spoke slowly, making sure every word landed. "We will not wake them. We will help them. We will feed their life-force, strengthen the blood of dragons, so they may shatter their stone prison and fly free."
He paused, voice growing heavier. "The Princess of Flame must spend one night inside the sacred fire. She must hold the eggs in her arms and walk into the flames of her own free will, with absolute resolve."
Daenerys's breath caught. "That… that will be dangerous, won't it?"
"Lying is a sin. R'hllor commands us to hide nothing." Benerro's tone never wavered; he met her eyes without flinching. "Yes, Princess of Flame, danger is real. All true magic is like sailing an unknown sea—only fools pretend otherwise. Everything has a price… but we will do everything in our power to help you survive the trial."
"Why her and not me?" Viserys leaned forward sharply, anger flickering beneath the surface.
"Forgive my bluntness, Prince of Blood, but your destiny lies on a different road." Benerro bowed again, yet his stance remained iron. "My master has made it clear: only the Princess of Flame may step into the ritual fire. There is no other way. The Prince of Blood must know—only a woman can give birth to life. In this ritual, a man can offer nothing."
Daenerys's heart hammered. Thoughts raced.
Dragons—real, living dragons!
So many had made empty promises. Only Benerro sounded truly convincing.
He spoke with substance. He was honest. He gave them a choice and still offered his hand.
The danger was real… but wasn't it worth the risk?
She knew the new war would not be easy for Viserys, no matter how great his reputation.
But if they could have actual, breathing dragons—even if they could not fight immediately—the soldiers' morale would soar. Their supporters would be overjoyed.
Yet that wall of flame… that unknown risk…
"If we agree," Viserys broke the silence first, voice hard as Valyrian steel, "what does the High Priest want in return? There is no free feast in this world. Every service demands payment."
"The price exists, Prince of Blood, but it is of a different nature." Benerro spoke calmly. "You will not pay me… not a servant of the god. You will pay the Lord Himself. I told you once: the God of Life and Light has already chosen you both as His champions in the coming war."
He deliberately echoed the words from their first meeting. "That war will demand everything. It will require the sharpest weapons. Just as the lords of your Sunset Kingdoms arm their knights before battle, R'hllor will not send His warriors into the fight empty-handed. You will defend the entire realm of the living… therefore the price is necessary."
Daenerys felt a chill.
These red priests knew about the attempt on her life. They knew Viserys planned to crush the old-blood nobles. They spoke of hidden powers and had already shown real magic.
Denying that would be foolish.
But foreseeing the future and knowing how to hatch stone eggs were two very different things.
"You want nothing else?" Viserys's suspicion deepened. "A temple inside the Black Wall? Official recognition? Gold?"
"Compared to the final war we must prepare for, those things are dust—insignificant." Benerro raised his eyes, gaze burning. "Human pride and so-called permission mean nothing to the true god. He will not demand such petty payment from His chosen champions."
Daenerys's thoughts flew across the Narrow Sea to Westeros.
Their great ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror—if he had possessed no dragons—would still be an unknown lord on Dragonstone.
Without dragons, faith and the lords would have driven cruel Maegor into the sea.
Their brother Rhaegar had lost because he was forced to fight on foot against the Usurper.
If their ancestors had not grown arrogant and mad, the rebels should have burned to ash at the Trident.
And in that instant, everything became clear to Daenerys.
If she was destined to sit on her mother's throne, only dragons could help her conquer it all.
She lifted her head. Every trace of hesitation vanished from her violet eyes, replaced by pure resolve. She spoke slowly, each word carved in stone:
"I agree."
She turned to Viserys, who had remained silent. His profile looked carved from granite in the candlelight as he weighed every risk.
"Brother, you brought us to Volantis. You have protected me since I was a child." Daenerys's voice shook, yet it had never sounded stronger. "But I cannot hide behind your sword forever, curled inside your cloak. I am a princess of the dragon blood, and I must carry my share of our family's future… You taught me that yourself."
Every second of Viserys's silence felt like a century to her.
Finally his voice filled the dim little room—flat, unreadable:
"We accept your help."