Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 299 Dragon

Attis held Myrcella's hand, feeling the warmth beneath the silk scarf.

The Bailu Hall was empty and a cold wind was blowing outside the window. Fortunately, the iron door was closed, otherwise the temperature of the fire would have dissipated from time to time.

The Queen Mother's coffin lay quietly in front of the long table in the main hall, next to the Lord of Harrenhal's chair.

The coffin was opened, and Cersei Lannister folded her hands on her abdomen. Two smooth stones painted with eye patterns were pressed on her eyes, adding a sense of ridiculousness to her pale face.

Myrcella's neck was stiff, and her eyes never moved away, wandering in one place. She seemed to be missing some spirit, just like a puppet standing there, still needing the support of Attis.

"Myrcella," Attis reminded softly, "You have been standing for too long. Go back to your room and rest."

"No," Myrcella's voice was gentle but firm. There were no tears in her eyes just now, but when she said this to Attis, her eyes suddenly became wet, with crystal tears swirling in them. "Let me wait a while."

Attis did not insist any longer. He stretched out his arms and took Myrcella into his arms. He remained silent and just let Myrcella cry in his arms.

After all, she is still a little girl, and it is unwise to deliberately tense up and pretend to be strong.

He had to think of a way to make Myrcella relax, at least to be a free princess for now, and a happy queen in the future, instead of letting her always think she is righteous and be treated as a political bargaining chip and pawn.

Artis stroked Myrcella's black hair, which had not yet completely faded. "I want to see your blonde hair. There is no need to ask Melisandre to dye your hair in the future, my princess."

Myrcella was slightly stunned in his arms, raised her head slightly, stared at him blankly for a moment, stretched her neck, kissed Attis lightly on the cheek, stopped talking, leaned her head on his chest, closed her eyes, and let the tears decorate her cheeks.

Except for the five towers on the top that still looked like twisted and deformed black fingers, Harrenhal still looked scary from the outside, but the rest of the castle was well organized thanks to the care of countless craftsmen brought from the Riverlands and the King of the Valley.

Though Tobho Mott had not yet brought over the smiths from King's Landing in droves, farriers and toolmakers from the Three Rivers, as well as smiths skilled in the art of forging swords and mail, had moved into Harrenhal's long-uninhabited rooms, towers, and storerooms.

Only half of the furnaces in the Hall of Hundred Furnaces remain. When participants of the martial arts tournament were initially entertained here, nearly a hundred furnaces were placed here. Now only thirty-five furnaces remain. The rest have been moved away and placed in certain rooms of the five towers and many buildings in between.

The kitchen is a huge circular building, about the size of Winterfell's main hall. The kitchen is under the hemispherical roof. Forty or fifty cooks are busy inside, and more are in the barracks outside Harrenhal. In addition to providing food for the thousands of soldiers stationed here, the food also needs to be delivered by the blue robes to the taverns along the King's Road at any time.

To think that the Towers family had fallen to the point of having only one cook in Harrenhal was really puzzling compared to the huge Harrenhal.

After sending Myrcella back to her room, Attis walked around the wooden dummies used to train servants in the Flowstone Courtyard, passed through a low wall outside the Godwood, and watched the dragon egg and the heart tree burning and boiling in the sea of ​​fire.

"Every winter, the thirteen black scratches on the heart tree bleed, and this winter has been the most bloody," the steward of Harrenhal sauntered past him, muttering to himself. The fat old man's nose was red from the cold, and his cheeks looked drunk, as if he came here to keep warm. He looked at the pool of blood under the sea of ​​fire, "Fortunately, it's not real blood, but the red-robed woman did throw a few leeches in there. I wonder whose blood they are sucking."

The butler stood by the low wall of the godswood, pretending not to see him, and watched silently until Attis walked past him. The latter caught a glimpse of the Duke's expensive blue woolen coat with a crescent and falcon pattern painted on the cloak.

"Duke!" The butler jumped up in surprise, like a fat spring that bounced up from the ground. He touched the tip of his nose and said, "Excuse me, I didn't see you."

"No need to be polite, Simon," Artis said, without taking his eyes off the dragon egg. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Can the dragon really come out?" "Look," Simon pointed a finger at the surroundings, "the shadow of the heart tree almost covers the fire. This is the work of your shadow binder."

Artis raised his eyebrows and looked up, "Aren't the towers of Harrenhal too tall?"

Simon was choked up and stammered, "Well, well, I want to say that there are so many talented people around the Duke. Although dragons are rare animals, they can probably be hatched. I'm just afraid." He seemed to see the image of a dragon with its wings spread out, blocking out the sun, and the fear in his eyes grew stronger. "Everyone knows that dragons are gods. Only Targaryens can tame them. There are also rumors about dragons in the Eastern Continent."

Before he could finish, the green maester Redvine came over, stumbling over the rubble. "Lady Melisandre knows some blood magic, but it's not enough."

"What do you mean?" asked Attis.

Redvine sighed, "In the beginning, the Valyrians were just a group of nomads living near a ring of volcanoes. They discovered dragons at the Fourteen Fire Peaks, and they didn't know why they mastered the method of dragon taming. They only knew that it was an evil blood magic that required constant blood sacrifices. In the end, the Valyrians actually bound their blood to dragon taming, with the same conditions: the dragon horn made the dragon obedient, and the blood magic made the dragon merge with humans."

"Is this your guess?"

"It's a reasonable guess, and your red lady also believes it." The Child of the Forest pointed behind him, and Melisandre's beautiful red figure appeared beside the fire, her eyes blurred in the fire.

Artis looked at the vines and tangled roots of the heart tree. The fire around the heart tree was huge, but it did not spread along the branches and vines. This must be the work of Melisandre.

"So," Artis frowned, "we need a magician who is proficient in blood magic?"

"Red Vine" nodded. "The hatching ceremony is very reasonable. I am sure the dragon eggs will hatch sooner or later. The long night in the north is approaching, and the unfinished ghosts around Harrenhal have been nourished by the heart tree for so many years. There is a lot of the king's blood here, and even the thirteen scratches on the heart tree have traces of Targaryen. We looked at the witch on the Thousand Faces Isle." He hesitated, as if recalling.

"The Witch of Harrenhal?" Artis thought of what was written in the book. "Ali Rivers?"

"Thank you very much, you are so knowledgeable." Hong Man opened her eyes wide and looked at Artis with some admiration. "Alys Rivers hoped to give birth to her Targaryen child. She did a lot of experiments in Harrenhal. There were many traces of blood magic, which is why the dragon can be hatched. But to tame it and make it obey Arryn's bloodline, I'm afraid it's not enough."

"Who knows blood magic?" This question came out of the mouth of the butler Simon, but everyone's attention was attracted by the hissing sound coming from the flames.

A crack extended downward from the top of the sky-blue dragon egg, and fragments of the shell fell into the fire. A head with dark blue scales and ridges emerged from it, opened its mouth with a few sharp teeth, and hissed towards the sky.

dragon!
Marwyn drove the donkey cart, waving the whip and humming a little song, just like when he was strolling along the Black Ash River in Asshai, but there were no donkey carts at that time, and all animals that entered Asshai died miserably without exception. It seemed that only the deformed species from the Shadow Land outside Asshai could survive in this land.

He hissed, and his finger was suddenly cut by something sharp, and a drop of blood flowed out.

"Haha!" He laughed. This was the same scene as when he left Asia and ventured to the city of Stya.

This is good luck, Marwyn thought.

(End of this chapter)