Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 459 The Battle of the Long Night (Part 3)

The steam from the hot spring condensed into frost in the cold night, and the warm pool water churned, as if the roots of the sacred tree beside the pool were also lamenting for the young man. Lusris lay on his back by the pool, his silver hair wet and clung to his pale forehead, yet a cynical smile still lingered on his lips, as if death were nothing more than another cruel joke.

Joniel knelt beside him, his hand tightly gripping his increasingly cold fingers, his eyes reflecting the dragon blood spreading in the pool. That was Moon Dance's last breath, slowly merging into the ancient hot spring.

“Remember those six years when we were punished by having our hair dyed?” Lusris suddenly spoke, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the wind and snow, yet carrying a familiar mockery. “Me, Seneol, Aslan, and a bunch of silver-haired bastards were all forced by Igor to dye our hair into brown-haired mutts like you.”

Jonial scoffed, but his eyes reddened: "That's because you deserved it. Who told you to insult me ​​by saying I can't ride a dragon?"

Lusris grinned, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, the icy blue stubbornly holding its own amidst the silvery bloodstains: "But then we even bathed together, and when the dye faded, we looked like a bunch of bald monkeys." He weakly hooked his finger, "And what happened? You became the most handsome one. Damn winter wolf blood."

The pool water rippled gently, reflecting the overlapping shadows of the two people, one tall and strong, the other slender and elegant, yet both equally disheveled.

"That kid Hoffa's probably hiding somewhere crying right now," Lusris squinted. "He's always pretended to be mature, but he's actually most afraid of being alone." He paused. "Maeghi will probably give him a good scolding. Poor little Hoffa, having a mother like that..."

“Hagen will write a terrible poem to mourn you,” Jonial replied in a hoarse voice, “with rhymes as awful as Seneo’s swordsmanship. Then he’ll ride a dragon to avenge you.”

Lusris burst into a cough-like laugh: "And Aslan will secretly drink all my wine and then ride his dragon to avenge me." His voice trailed off. "Adele will probably curse me. I went to see that bastard Baylor too soon."

The wind and snow swept across the branches of the sacred tree forest, making a rustling sound, like an ancient echo.

"Jonil," Lusris suddenly called his name, his purple eyes gazing at the gray sky where the graceful figure of Moondance would no longer flit by. "Tell my father I haven't disgraced him." His fingers suddenly tightened around Jonil's wrist. "What are White Walkers? We are Varese."

Jonial gripped his hand tightly, just like the night they made up after their fight years ago: "Shut up, you idiot. When you're better, I'll drink the whole Dragon's Nest wine cellar with you."

Lusris laughed, his clothes soaked with blood: "You owe me thirty bottles of silver wine."

His chest rose and fell one last time before returning to calm.

The weirwood by the pond moved swaying without wind. A red leaf drifted down and gently covered his eyes, as if even the gods couldn't help but shed tears for this playful soul.

In the distance, the surviving dragon knights stood silently. Aslan gripped the dagger at his waist, Megi's nails dug into her palms, Hagen's lips trembled, and Seneo turned his head away.

Jonial slowly rose, engraving Lusris's last words into his heart:
What are the White Walkers? Dawn will eventually break.

Queen Adele Vareses stood before the dragons' lair, her unbound silver hair whipping wildly in the wind like a tattered flag. Her leather armor, embroidered with the emblem of a three-headed dragon and a silver dragon with a laurel leaf, was already soaked through with snow, yet she remained oblivious.

Shadow Nightmare's roar was as grating as ever. The black dragon, now without its master, howled incessantly, its jagged wings flapping with a chilling sound. The dragon's servants retreated, none daring to approach the beast, lost in its grief.

Even Vomisol couldn't stop Shadow Nightmare's sorrow.

Until Adele arrived at Dragon Field accompanied by Siri.

Xirui is already a dragon knight. During the preparations for the war in King's Landing, Xirui tamed the lazy old dragon Syracuse. This topaz dragon is not good at fighting, but with its age and size, it is still a powerful weapon.

"Step back." Her voice was soft, yet it sent all the servants fleeing as if granted a pardon.

"Be careful," Xi Rui said with some concern.

“My great-uncle’s dragon won’t harm Varese,” Adele said calmly, a hint of madness in her voice. “Shadowbringer is the third largest dragon in the family, and we need it.” Shadowbringer whirled around, its vertical pupils locking onto the slender figure. A dangerous gurgling sound came from deep within its throat, and corrosive dragon blood dripped from its frost-covered teeth, scorching small black holes in the snow.

Adele didn't stop. She stepped forward through the snow, her eyes fixed on the old dragon. When her palm touched Shadow Nightmare's nose, which was covered in bone spurs, the sharp scales immediately cut through her skin, and blood trickled down the veins of the dragon scales.

“Shadow Nightmare,” she whispered, her other hand stroking the corner of the black dragon’s eye. “Did my great-uncle pass away peacefully?”

The Shadow Nightmare suddenly froze. It lowered its head, its breath leaving a blush on Adele's face. The Queen did not back down; instead, she pressed her forehead against the dragon's kiss.

“They took away your knight, my great-uncle,” she said, her voice trembling, “and my king.”

A strange silence fell over Dragon Field. In the distance, Joniel, who had just finished performing the final rites for Moon Dance, held his breath. He saw Shadow Nightmare's pupils contract violently, eventually becoming narrow, black slits.

Then, the infamous dragon did something that shocked everyone: it slowly lowered its head, gently nuzzled Adele's shoulder with its nose, and slightly folded its rugged wings into a protective stance.

Adele smiled. That smile reminded Jonial of the way she raised her glass at the harvest feast when Baelor was alive. As she climbed up the dragon scales, Shadow Nightmare offered no resistance, instead adjusting his position to make the Queen more stable.

“An eye for an eye.” Adele tore off her belt and bound her bleeding hand to the bone spike. Shadow Nightmare roared to the sky, and pale dragonfire shot up, illuminating half of Winterfell.

In the blinding light, Jonial saw the Queen Mother's upright back; it was not a resolute acceptance of death, but a declaration of war.

Gaelin Targaryen leaned against a pillar in the corner of Dragonfield, watching this shocking scene unfold. The flask in his arms was empty, but he could still feel the force with which Jonial had shoved it into his hands.

"Have you seen enough?" Aslan's voice came from behind. He planted a long spear in the snow and calmly stared at the black-haired Targaryen who had failed to tame the dragon.

Gelin didn't turn around; his gaze followed the purple-gold dragon in the center of the arena. Gelesos, the beast that Meka had nearly killed, was now gently patting the ground with its tail, as if urging something.

“Prince Meka almost broke its left wing for your sake.” Aslan walked to his side. “Now it has chosen you. What an irony of fate.”

Gelin chuckled softly. He approached Gelesos, his fingers tracing the gruesome old wound. The dragon did not resist; instead, it lowered its head, allowing him to see the scales on its forehead.

"Perhaps it knows." Lin felt the warmth emanating from beneath the scales. "I need it now. And it needs me too."

The moment he grabbed the spear, Galesos suddenly raised his head, and a crimson flame streaked across the night sky. It intertwined with the dragon flames of Shadow Nightmare in the heavens, like a magnificent painting.

Jonial, dragging his bandaged right arm, came over and shoved another jug ​​of wine into Galin's arms: "This is for Lusris."

The wine burned his throat, the sensation spreading from his stomach to his limbs. As Gaelin climbed onto the dragon saddle, Galeisos's wings were fully extended, casting a huge shadow on the snow.

"Are you ready?" Aslan shouted from below.

Gelin touched the dagger at his waist, the only keepsake Meka had left him. When he looked north, his eyes were no longer filled with confusion, but with a fighting spirit the same color as the dragon's flames.

"It has been prepared for a long time."

(End of this chapter)