Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 221 The calm before the storm (5)

Sansa woke up from her sleep to the sound of a wolf's howl. The blue velvet pajamas were designed to be loose, but she felt as if someone was pinching her neck, and she felt stuffy all over.

She gasped loudly, sweat sticking Sansa's red hair to her face, and she turned to look out the closed window.

The golden robes dispersed the crowd, and the long-armed steel spears drove away the flesh and blood. All civilians with a trace of unwillingness in their eyes fell into a pool of blood. This was the last scene that the lady saw for herself before waking up from the dream. It He jumped towards a low wall and disappeared into the street amidst the beggar's frightened sounds.

The girl's instinctive fear had just begun to ripple, but it was forcibly suppressed by the animal nature in the direwolf's body.

"Did the little girl have a nightmare?"

The hoarse voice that made Sansa fearful appeared in her ears again. She looked up and suppressed the fear in her heart. The ferocious face of the hound appeared in front of her. The scar burned in the fire pit was like the symbol of a stranger.

The Stranger is not so rude, Sansa thought to herself. Ever since the day he had his first period, Joffrey's dog had been watching him all the time, but luckily he didn't tell anyone.

Why he didn't tell anyone, Sansa wondered again in her mind, but still didn't dare to look directly at the hound.

She is the Wolf of the North and does not believe in the Seven, Sansa reiterates.

Sansa rolled up her red hair and caressed her face. There was a slight rippling in her eyes, but there was a little more depth in them. The loneliness and pity that only belonged to the little girl when she met the southerners before was hard to find.

The early morning dew had not yet wet the grass and trees, but Tyrion felt the cold touch on his face. He shivered suddenly and half raised his upper body.

"The nightmare is happening before your eyes. It's best not to experience it yourself." The hunting dog responded, and the two fell into silence again.

The hideous scar stagnated in the darkness for a long time, and then the sound of heavy footsteps sounded, and the "squeak" sound of the wooden door closing reached her ears, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief.

There were piles of broken limbs, vague corpses lying beside the well, bewildered civilians in shackles, and heavily armed men in golden robes holding spears and short sticks.

"The mob almost brought down the whole street," Bronn spat. "Get up and follow me quickly, before your house is torn apart by these bastards."

She quietly left the bed and walked to the window without making a sound, looking into the distance. Sansa was convinced that chaos and bloodshed were taking place in the seemingly silent distance.

"The Prime Minister is waiting for us, Lord Tyrion." Lannister's blond squire approached him and reminded him.

He picked up Tyrion with one big hand and almost dragged him outside.

Fortunately, the journey was safe. He didn't relax until he looked up and saw the walls of the Red Fort.

"This is simply unbelievable. How could an unarmed civilian do this?" Tyrion stumbled to the side of the horse, looking very embarrassed.

Before he finished speaking, he was already sitting on the horse. The galloping horse poured the stench and cold wind from the streets into his thin sleeves. Tyrion shook his head and got rid of all the sleepiness. The walls of the fort are just ahead.

Bronn stood beside Tyrion's bed with blood on his face, and his squire Podrick hesitated and gestured with his hands, as if he wanted to explain.

"Gods," Tyrion instinctively lowered his body and clung to the horse's back. Even in the Lannister camp, he had never seen such a scene.

"Just some," her words sounded very calm, "a nightmare worth mentioning." Sansa swallowed softly in her throat, raised her head and looked directly at the hound.

Tyrion glanced at the attendant, but he didn't remember which Lannister he was. He took a long breath and walked towards the royal council chamber without thinking too much.

Approaching the heavy wooden door of the Royal Council, Tyrion could hear the furious voice of the incompetent Lord Revrey through the wall.

"Seven levels of hell! These people are just bastards who despise the laws of the kingdom! A mob! Looting private property, which is the sacred property of the nobles who receive the blessing of the Seven Gods!" "Ambassador of the Free Trade City! Rich merchants who are in good contact with the royal family, Nobles! The residences of the great nobles including the seven kingdoms are all there! These untouchables committed crimes under the eyes of the king! They must be severely punished!"

The Chancellor's voice was particularly loud, and Tyrion waited for him to pause before stepping in lightly.

"I know that your house was burned to ashes last night. We know this. The Prime Minister and the royal family will definitely make up for your losses." Varys looked at Riveri with a bitter look on his face, seeming to be sympathetic.

"Fortunately, Lord Riverrey fell asleep in the arms of a lovely girl last night, otherwise such an angry Chancellor of the Finance would not be seen today." Tyrion took the opportunity to sneer. He looked at the seat beside him, where the Archbishop was. There was a stranger on the bed, and the gorgeous monk's uniform could not hide the shock on his face.

A trace of astonishment flashed in Count Riverley's eyes, "Why are you slandering?"

"The girl's name is Rose? It's a nice name. I remember she was once the number one in the North, and she and I had a tender night of love." Tyrion focused his eyes on the uneasy monk, but the sarcasm in his mouth But he kept saying, "How do I know? Come on, I didn't expect Lord Riveri to be so forgetful. We were in the same store last night, weren't we?"

"That's enough!" Tywin stopped him with anger flashing in his eyes.

Tyrion knew that if he kept mentioning things like brothel prostitutes, his father's face would always turn red with anger. He reached out and grabbed a glass of wine on the table and swallowed it down, feeling sour and bitter.

"Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Count Reifrey, I am here to tell you that the Archbishop died in the night of riots." The monk timidly spoke, but before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Count Reifrey.

"Okay, this mob dares to kill even the Archbishop!"

"No, no, no," the monk waved his hand quickly, "The Archbishop was not killed by the mob. How could a chosen one of the Seven Gods who was loved by the people be killed by the people?"

"He died in the church?" Tyrion asked, frowning, "People are just thirsty, not crazy from hunger. How can they embarrass the Archbishop who is so fat that he can't walk?"

The monk swallowed his saliva and said, "The Archbishop is dead, he is dead."

Tyrion looked at the monk's obviously nervous face and roughly guessed the answer in his heart.

"Some nasty place of filth?" he asked.

The monk seemed to have grasped a life-saving straw and nodded quickly, "The Archbishop has no scars on his body. I thought he was drunk, but I didn't expect it."

"Thorough investigation," Tywin said, looking directly at the monk. "The king will give the church an explanation, but I believe that the wisdom given by the Seven Gods is enough for the church to understand how to act."

The monk breathed a sigh of relief and bowed slightly, "This is the responsibility of the church, and the archbishops have already started discussing it."

"No," Tywin's tone left no room for doubt.

Tyrion raised his head and looked at his father. He knew his father's nature well. For the Church, an organization that can influence people's thoughts anytime and anywhere, how could dear Lord Tywin not get involved?
The monk looked at Tywin hesitantly, "Prime Minister, what do you mean?"

"The duty of the church is to share the worries of the royal family, not to allow the people under the protection of the Seven Gods to break laws and disorderly," Tywin said calmly, leaning on the back of his chair, "The Iron Throne will elect an archbishop, and the church must The Iron Throne's opinion is of paramount importance."

"This" the monk who came to report the news was obviously very young and did not know the current situation of the church in King's Landing. His face was sweating and his eyes were wandering around. "I'm afraid this is not in compliance with the rules."

"I'm just suggesting that you repeat it to the church, word for word." Tywin responded indifferently.

The monk looked at the undeniable stern look in the Prime Minister's eyes and struggled to say one word, "Okay"

(End of this chapter)