"So remember, fear itself is nothing to be ashamed of. I hope I won't have to repeat it." Viserys took her hand and started to lead her deeper into the pavilion. "And Daenerys, I have news for you as well—"
He was cut off mid-sentence.
Ser Jorah Mormont stepped inside, still wearing his breastplate, the reliable longsword at his hip.
Daenerys gave the Northern knight a warm smile. She had missed every captain who served her brother, and she was glad to see them safe.
She was desperate to hear everything that had happened in the months they had been apart, but she knew the character of the men around Viserys. This exiled knight would never interrupt a brother and sister's reunion for idle talk.
"Your Grace. Princess." Jorah bowed. "Forgive the intrusion. Several important visitors have just arrived outside. Highborn. They claim urgent business and insist on seeing both the prince and the princess."
"Me as well?" Daenerys could not hide her surprise. Of course thousands of eyes in the camp had seen her arrival.
The unspoken question in her mind was answered at once.
"The Triarchs want to negotiate again?"
"No, my prince." Jorah shook his head. "Red priests. Two of them. One is painfully thin, the other black as midnight. The thin one calls himself the High Priest of the Red Temple—Trueflame. His companion has not spoken a word. They brought more than twenty armed guards and fifteen slaves carrying gifts."
Trueflame.
Daenerys knew the name at once.
Outside the tent stood Benerro himself, the highest-ranking red priest in Volantis.
During the months she had been separated from her brother she had heard countless stories about him.
Many colonists worshipped him with a fervor Westerosi smallfolk had never shown their own High Septon.
They called him the Voice of the Lord of Light, praised his austere life and simple ways, claimed he was a true miracle-worker.
Of course, many others refused to bow. Those cursed Benerro as a criminal and a traitor who placed the interests of the Lord of Light above the laws and customs of the First Daughter, and branded his followers as degenerates and devil-worshippers.
If Benerro had come in person to see her royal brother, it could only be for something of the gravest importance.
Otherwise a messenger—or at most a lesser priest with a letter—would have been enough.
The black-skinned companion made Daenerys's heart tighten.
Could it be Moqorro?
Was it truly possible there was more than one of these eerie sorcerers in the world?
Had these eastern servants of the faith been secretly watching the last two true dragons all along?
"Show them in, Ser Jorah," Viserys ordered. "You remain outside. I will receive them alone with my sister."
Daenerys wiped the cold sweat from her palms.
Her brother allowing her to sit in on such an important meeting was a sign of trust.
Thanks to Elia's strict daily lessons, she managed to keep her composure.
The visitors entered moments later, and every doubt in the girl's mind vanished.
It was Moqorro. One glance was all she needed.
She would never forget the terrifying figure who had walked out of a back alley carrying the corpses of two of the Usurper's agents.
He looked exactly the same—only now he wore robes more fitting for the occasion.
Viserys gave her a meaningful glance. Daenerys nodded once, confirming what he already suspected.
Next to the giant Moqorro, the High Priest Benerro looked like a walking skeleton.
He was tall but painfully gaunt. His magnificent red robes hung loosely on his frame. The face carved with flame patterns was exhausted and hollow.
It was hard to imagine this unremarkable man commanding the fanatical devotion of thousands, or directing a monstrous figure like Moqorro.
Yet the moment he spoke, Daenerys understood everything.
"We are the servants and slaves of the Great Flame. We thank the Lord of Light for allowing us to stand before the last true dragons. Prince of the blood, Princess of Flame—the fire of life has spoken through the flames and promised your coming. The prophecy is fulfilled!"
His voice was solemn and powerful, honed by years of preaching to vast crowds.
It carried spiritual weight, absolute certainty in his faith, and an infectious sincerity.
"I, High Priest of Volantis, speak for every true believer, for every soul you saved from the barbarians' curved blades, whips, and arrows. We salute you. May the Lord of Light light your path and shield you from divine wrath."
The black-skinned sorcerer Daenerys already knew remained perfectly silent.
Everything was as the people of Volantis had said: in the presence of the High Priest, lesser followers did not speak until given permission.
Though Benerro was not the sole leader of the faith across Essos, in Volantis and her colonies his authority was absolute.
"I, Viserys Targaryen the Third, Prince of the Dragon Claw and rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, welcome the servants of R'hllor to my camp." Viserys was perfectly courteous. He shot Daenerys another meaningful look.
The girl understood at once what was expected of her.
"I, Daenerys Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, welcome the servants of the Living Flame. May the Lord of Light share His wisdom and guide you on the true path." Those were the formal replies she had been taught in Ten-Day Town. "Will you join us for the midday meal?"
"Those who serve faithfully do not live by bread and wine," Benerro answered firmly, brooking no argument, "but by loyal service. It is that service which has brought two of God's servants before you today. That is our only purpose here."
"In that case," Viserys said, clearly appreciating the directness, "we are eager to hear what matter is so grave that it brings two such exalted men in person."
Benerro took a step closer, eyes locked on Viserys.
Daenerys doubted she could have withstood such a gaze, yet her brother remained perfectly calm.
Only then did Trueflame speak, each word landing like a hammer.
"Hear me, Prince of the blood, Princess of Flame."
"Know this: it was not a traitor who betrayed your plans. It was the all-knowing Lord of Light Himself who revealed everything."
"We did not pray to men. We prayed to the divine, and He answered."
"I already know that tomorrow you will lead your army against the Black Wall to purge the murderers inside."
"I already know the signal will be the horn that calls the brave and steels the cowardly."
"Prince of the blood, Princess of Flame—the Lord of Light has commanded His faithful servants to aid you on this path."
"God's swords and spears will help you seize the bridge. God's preachers will order the guards to lay down their weapons."
"Among the tiger-cloaked soldiers are men loyal to the faith. They obey truth, not gold."
"When the dust settles, this humble slave will stand before the sacred flame and command the children of God to bow to you forever."
"Proceed with your plan. You have friends inside this city."
Even if Aegon the Conqueror himself had appeared wearing a jester's hat, Daenerys could not have been more stunned.
After a long silence, Viserys finally spoke, choosing every word with care. "Even if all of this is true, why would R'hllor wish to help me succeed? Why would His servants act without being asked? And what does He expect in return?"
Daenerys had already told her brother about her brief, frantic conversation with Moqorro, including the giant's strange reply.
She knew Viserys was deeply skeptical of miracles and never trusted any god—especially foreign eastern ones. No wonder he asked again.
"Our world has been locked in an eternal struggle between the Lord of Light and the nameless enemy of darkness since the moment of its birth," the priest began from the very beginning. "As the prince knows, every war has its quiet intervals and its moments of life-or-death decision. That decisive moment is almost upon us. We were granted a vision…"
The priest spoke at length. The two exiles did not interrupt.
He said that as this summer ended, a terrible power was stirring. The ancient enemy of all life was waking. The hour of the final battle was drawing near.
Daenerys tried desperately to strip away the ornate religious language and grasp the core.
According to the priest, she and her brother would play decisive roles in the ultimate war between light and darkness, flame and ice.
Therefore R'hllor had ordered His followers to give the chosen ones of the mortal world every possible assistance.
What exactly that meant, no one knew.
Facing such a revelation, only Viserys had the right to answer.
"I thank the servants of R'hllor for their kind intentions," Viserys remained perfectly courteous, "and I value your offer of help. But you must understand that I command nearly one hundred thousand men. Half of them worship other gods, half trust only their own blades, and many have no faith at all."
"You need not worry about that, Prince of the blood and Princess of Flame," the High Priest assured him gravely. "God's servants know exactly whom they are dealing with. Outside this pavilion you will find certain gifts… gifts that should convince even the unbelievers that our involvement is both reasonable and necessary."
"Very wise."
"Whatever these gifts may be, we accept them." The prince gave the priest a polite nod. "On behalf of my warriors, I thank the Great Temple for its generosity."
"It is only a small offering," Benerro said with rare humility. "Yet even so, it will temper our souls for the trials to come—trials we shall face together, Prince of the blood."
Once again he fixed Viserys with those burning eyes.
But no slave of any temple, no matter how high his rank, could intimidate a true dragon.
Viserys answered in a calm, dignified voice.
"Perhaps."
With that answer the red priests took their leave… leaving far more questions than answers behind.