"No!" A loud, trembling roar echoed through the area.
It was Viserys. He was the first to scream, shattering the stunned and the oppressive silence as Obsidian vanished into the sky.
"No," he raged. "This cannot be. This is impossible."
"I am the true dragon! The real dragon!" He roared. "Come back now."
Rhaenys, standing just a few paces away, barely reacted to his frenzied outburst. She simply turned her back on him and walked toward her horse. And this made him angrier.
The utter disdain she had shown him, the cold and unforgiving words she had delivered, enraged him to the core. He had failed to claim his mount, and that little bitch had the audacity to mock him for it. She had the courage to declare, in front of everyone, that he would not be able to claim even one.
His rage only grew, spiraling into a state of sheer hysteria. It was an absolute frenzy. In this blind fury, whatever fractured reasoning he still possessed completely evaporated.
Now that the black scaled dragon was gone, his eyes locked onto the red scaled dragon. Viserys's eyes burned with a maddening, almost suicidal resolve.
His lips were trembling, and his body quivering, but not from fright. His fear had been entirely swallowed by his pride. His false ego. He was trembling with pure and unadulterated rage.
He raised his foot to step forward. But just as his boot was about to hit the dirt, a sudden, violent force yanked him backward. Viserys was caught entirely off balance, and the abrupt pull sent him tumbling hard into the grass.
Before he could scream and shout at whoever was responsible, a livid voice echoed across the clearing.
"Lord Viserys!" The voice bellowed. "What are you doing? Have you gone mad?"
Viserys twisted on the ground, glaring up to see Illyrio Mopatis looming tall over him.
"Illyrio," Viserys snarled, his teeth bared. "What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning of this?" Illyrio snapped back, his usual honeyed and smooth tone completely gone. "It is I who should be asking what you were about to do!"
"Moments ago, you were a breath away from being burned alive by that black monster," the magister continued, refusing to give Viserys a chance to speak. "Did you not hear what Lady Rhaenys just told you?"
"That you will not be accepted by any of the dragons!" He practically roared. "And yet here you were, about to commit another suicidal act of folly."
"Are you trying to get yourself incinerated and take the rest of us with you?"
Illyrio was livid. For months, he had put up with Viserys's endless antics. He had endured the boy's snide comments, arrogant demands, and constant insults.
In truth, Illyrio had not really cared. Pride and self-respect were not commodities the magister valued highly when there was a profit to be made.
But his life? He valued his life immensely. He was a survivor above all else. He had navigated countless deadly situations in his rise to power, often swallowing his pride in the process just to ensure he kept breathing.
But the moment Viserys's delusions actively threatened to get him roasted alive by a dragon, Illyrio's carefully maintained composure finally cracked. He lost his cool and all the flattering that he had done to Viserys for months came crashing down.
Though the magister had not yet completely lost control and struck the boy, he was standing dangerously on the edge of it.
He took a deep breath to calm his raging nerves.
"Lord Viserys," Illyrio said, his voice now a bit softer but still firm. "The step you were about to take just now was incredibly dangerous. Not only would it have got you killed but the rest of us too."
Viserys remained silent. He was almost glaring daggers at Illyrio. His instincts were screaming at him to lunge at Illyrio and thrash the fat and the disgusting man on the ground. But he knew that he could not do it.
Though unwilling and extremely dissatisfied with the outcome, Viserys finally relented.
He lowered his gaze and pushed himself up from the dirt.
"I understand," he mumbled in almost a whisper.
His fists remained tightly clenched and his jaw ground in silent fury, but he kept his mouth shut.
He needed to find a way. He needed to think of something. There were five dragons, and those dragons were his only path to the Iron Throne. He could not throw his life away in a mindless act of rage. He just needed time to think.
He did not say anything more and neither did Illyrio. He turned and simply walked towards his horse.
.
.
.
The return journey to Pentos was uneventful. The entire entourage rode in dead silence, each member lost in their own heavy thoughts.
Some were still struggling to shake the sheer terror and awe they had felt when Obsidian reduced the forest to ashes. The devastating spectacle was replaying endlessly in their minds. Their hearts were still pounding with an overwhelming dread they could not easily dismiss or forget.
Illyrio, on the other hand, was quietly thanking whatever gods he believed in for surviving the ordeal. At the same time, his mind was racing, spinning through all the rapidly shifting political scenarios. He was not quite as sharp or farsighted as his friend Varys, but there were certain realities even he could see plainly.
The most glaring reality was that Viserys's political usefulness was rapidly coming to an end. Today had proven, without a shadow of a doubt, that the boy would never be able to claim a dragon.
Varys had already indicated in their previous correspondence that between Viserys, Daenerys, and Rhaenys, the conqueror of Qohor was by far the best Targaryen to place their bets on. It was a matter of time before they would discard Viserys.
The only real value Illyrio could still see in Viserys was his control over his sister, Daenerys. The magister could easily arrange to marry her off to one of the powerful men in Essos, using her to buy the military support the beggar king so desperately needed for his claim.
There was nothing else he could think of. The only other usefulness Viserys was going to have was if Rhaenys placed enough value on him as a blood relative. There was nothing else he could think of.
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