Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 475 The War of the Defenders (Part 8)
No one knows what effect Lady Olena's letter actually had.

However, some voices have indeed gradually gained traction in the chaotic situation.

The setting sun cast the distorted shadow of Harrenhal into the center of the camp, where Earl William Barthelway was talking in hushed tones with several southern nobles, the wine in his glasses gleaming with a blood-red hue.

“Leonor is dead, and House Baratheon is leaderless.” Bartway lowered his voice. “Now is the time—”

He didn't finish his sentence.

The sky suddenly darkened.

At first, the nobles thought it was just a dark cloud passing by, until the warhorses outside the camp began to neigh and the soldiers pointed to the sky in terror. Only then did the nobles realize in horror what it was.

That was a three-headed dragon.

The three-headed dragon tore through the clouds and swooped down.

Sunbeam's jet-black scales resembled a blanket of night, its dragon eyes burning with blazing golden flames. At dawn, its silvery-white wings unfurled, its dorsal fin gleaming like a blade. Shayar's crimson body was covered in thick bone armor, and the poisonous smoke emanating from its mouth hissed in the air.

"Seven Gods!" Count Barthold's wine glass slipped from his fingers, spilling red wine onto his luxurious deerskin boots, but he was oblivious. His legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and a warm current spread down his inner thighs.

Fortunately, he was wearing a long robe, so the heat emanating from his fear was not seen by outsiders.

The shockwave from the dragon's landing overturned half the camp. Jonil Varezes leaped from the Sunbeam's back, his black and silver armor adorned with the dual emblem of a silver dragon, laurel leaf, and direwolf, while his Valyrian steel longsword, "Starsinger," hummed in its sheath.

Maggie Varese followed closely behind, the silvery light of dawn illuminating her cold, stern face. Demion landed last, Shayar's poisonous mist swirling around him like a cloak of death.

The southern nobles stood frozen in place, their breaths seemingly frozen in place.

How did they arrive so quickly? Has their plot been exposed?

Lady Olena was sitting in her tent, having just taken a sip of tea mixed with sweet-sleeping flowers, when she heard the hurried footsteps of her maid.

"Madam! The dragon... the dragon knight has arrived!"

Old Rose's fingers trembled slightly, and the teacup clinked against the saucer. Her pupils contracted for a moment, but quickly returned to calm, at least outwardly.

“Help me out to see the Dragon King. They won’t stop the ruler of Highgarden from seeing the dragon knights.” She stood up and straightened her skirt. “Remember, we know nothing.”

Duke Adler Stark and Rickard Stark emerged from behind the dragon rider, their direwolf emblems from the North gleaming in the firelight.

"Effective immediately," Adler's voice was like the friction of a glacier, "all troop movements require the approval of both Winterfell and Dragon's Nest."

His gaze swept over every nobleman present, finally settling on Stannis.

"At Robert's request, Stannis Baratheon will serve as Rickard's squire during his time at Harrenhal. Stannis, you..."

“I accept.” Stannis accepted the order without hesitation.

Adler paused for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

Lady Olena stepped forward at the opportune moment and gave an impeccable curtsy: "Your Grace, may I ask if my son, Metz, may return to Harrenhal and continue to serve the royal family?"

Her voice was as gentle as a lamb's, as if she had never harbored any disloyalty.

Tytos Lannister squeezed forward, his golden lion cloak still stained with wine: "Yes, the Tyrells have always been loyal—" "Loyal enough to conspire with Petyr?" Duke Adler's smile vanished abruptly, and he looked coldly at the crowd.

There was dead silence in the tent.

Jonial's hand remained on the hilt of "Starsinger," the jewels on the scabbard shimmering like stars. He didn't draw his sword, but everyone could feel the oppressive aura emanating from it, as if the dragons' flames would turn the entire camp to ashes in the next second.

Olena's back was covered in cold sweat, but her smile remained perfect: "It's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding. Petyr the villain has deceived us."

Maggie Varese chuckled, her voice as clear as a silver bell, yet sending chills down the spines of the southern nobles: "That's good. After all, Dragonflame can't tell whether you've been deceived or betrayed willingly."

That night, Rickard Stark went alone to the tent where Olenna was being held.

In the flickering candlelight, Old Rose dropped her pretense, her eyes gleaming with shrewdness: "Highgarden needs allies, my lord."

She leaned forward, her voice barely audible: "Let Eddard Stark marry my granddaughter Margaery, and Highgarden will always stand behind Winterfell."

Rickard's grey eyes were as sharp as a direwolf's. He remained silent for a long time, so long that Olenna began to wonder if he would simply strangle her.

Finally, the shrewd Stark stood up, his shadow stretching like a sword on the tent wall: "I will consider it."

When he lifted the curtain, moonlight shone on half of his face, while the other side remained hidden in darkness—just like his answer, half-lit and half-dark, intriguing.

The far north.

The sky over the Land of Eternal Winter was obscured by thick, snowy clouds, as if even the sunlight had been frozen. Before them stood a blizzard wall a hundred meters high, blocking their path. This was not naturally formed snow, but a barrier erected by the White Walkers using ancient magic. Ice crystals howled in the wind, swirling like thousands of sharp blades, ready to tear any life that attempted to cross them to shreds instantly.

Robert Baratheon spat, which froze into ice crystals before it even hit the ground. He swung his warhammer and smashed it down onto the ice, but only left a shallow mark on the frozen ground, which was as hard as steel.

"This thing is even harder to deal with than the Great Wall!" he roared, his voice sounding particularly muffled in the wind and snow.

Brandon Stark didn't respond, but instead crouched down, his fingers gently tracing several strange indentations in the snow. They were the tracks left by some enormous creature. A slow, wolf-like smile crept across his lips.

“A gift left by the lizardmen,” he whispered. “It’s time to put it to use.”

The Northern Expeditionary Army found three partially buried Dawn Machines deep in the snowfields. All the Dawn Machines deployed by the Lizardmen in the battle were destroyed, but these three machines were still usable.

Hofa stepped forward, pulled out a dagger, and without hesitation slashed his palm, letting the blood drip into the core groove of the machine.

"Awaken the sun with dragon's blood!"

Then, the Silverblood soldiers brought in the prepared boiling dragon blood and poured it into the machine.

In an instant, the sun disc burst forth with blinding golden light, runes flowed as if alive, and three pillars of light shot into the sky, piercing the center of the blizzard wall like divine punishment. The ice crystals evaporated under the intense heat, and the magical structure began to collapse.

"Dragon Knight!" Igor's voice boomed through the wind: "Now!"

The dragons took off at the same time, and even Hoffa didn't have time to heal his wounds before being pulled onto Starsong's back by a tentacle from Flame.

flame.

Come.

(End of this chapter)