Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 476 The War of the Defenders (Part 9)
The candlelight cast distorted shadows on the cave walls, and twelve nobles sat around a campfire, as if this could conceal their betrayal.

The aged Maureen Tyrell sat at the head of the table, his withered fingers tapping lightly on the surface. His eyes gleamed shrewdly in the dim light, like an old spider coiled in the center of a web.

As Lady Olenna's agent, Maureen Tyrell represented the interests of House Tyrell and their allies in the Reach, as well as the Tyrell family, who, though stripped of power, still commanded a significant portion of the Reach's army.

"Gentlemen," he began, "the long night is over, and we must make a decision. The Iron Throne of the Targaryens is teetering on the brink of collapse. House Vareses wields immense political prestige and a formidable army, and could overthrow the Conquerors' throne at any moment, just as they stripped Tyrell of their power. Gentlemen, the fact that we now have to use the pretext of a hunt to discuss matters speaks volumes. Let us act, gentlemen."

Lord William Bartway was the first to chime in: “We have lost the battle to resist the Long Night, gentlemen! If we do not act now, we will have no chance left!” He almost jumped up: “We need a Targaryen to come back and take charge.”

“Prince Aegon,” Illyrio Mopatis added softly, his Eastern Continent accent jarring in the silence, “young, innocent, not yet fully tamed by Varese’s iron fist.”

In the corner, an officer in a golden robe frowned: "Have you forgotten what happened to Petyr Baelish? The dragonfire of Vormisor doesn't distinguish between good and evil."

“So we will not rebel,” Maureen Tyrell sneered. “We will ‘petition,’ and Vareses will not refuse a suggestion that would be entirely beneficial to the kingdom.”

He unfolded a parchment on which were neatly written his concerns about the kingdom's "stability" and his earnest anticipation for Prince Aegon's "return".

“Have someone from House Stark deliver this letter,” she said softly. “No matter how domineering Varese is, they won’t easily disregard the Warden of the North’s dignity.”

Adler Stark stared at the letter before him, then looked coldly at the person who had sent it.

"You want me to be your mouthpiece?" His voice was deep and menacing, like the howl of a winter wolf.

Earl Bartway quickly waved his hand: "Your Grace, this is for the sake of the kingdom! King's Landing needs a legitimate Targaryen to govern it, and a prosperous King's Landing is of utmost benefit to us."

Rickard Stark, standing behind his father, suddenly spoke up: “Father, what the letter says makes sense. If Prince Aegon can establish prestige in King’s Landing, it will not harm the logistics of the Northern Expeditionary Army. On the contrary, it will provide us with a more secure rear.”

Adler remained silent for a long time before finally grabbing the seal and pressing it heavily onto the letter.

“But that doesn’t mean House Stark supports your plans.” He coldly surveyed the crowd. “If I find out anyone is using this to cause trouble…”

He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone knew what his unspoken words meant.

The ravens took off from Harrenhal.

Delivering this letter was no easy task. After the Long Night, the climate changed, the ravens suffered heavy casualties, and their flight was no longer accurate. Harrenhal could only send out as many ravens as possible to deliver the letter to Winterfell, and then relay it to Long Nighthold. From there, the messengers from Long Nighthold would travel north, and the round trip would take an extremely long time.

When the messenger arrived, Igor Vareses was wiping ice shards from Vormisor's scales. The dragon riders had breached the White Walkers' last line of defense, and guided by the Children of the Forest, resurrected from the World Roots, the army began its siege of the White Walkers' last stronghold, Heart of Winter.

"The foxes of King's Landing want Aegon back?" Igor's voice was deep and resonant, like the echo of a bronze bell, his fingers still stained with the frost of Vormitor's scales. "Is Petyr's ashes not enough of a warning? Or do they think my patience is gentler than dragonfire?"

Hofa picked up the corner of the letter that had fallen to the ground and glanced at the neat yet hypocritical words.

“They’re right about one thing,” he said softly. “King’s Landing needs a Targaryen in charge. Not as a puppet, but as a true king.”

Dan suddenly stood up, the Valyrian steel armor clashing against each other with a metallic clang.

“How old is that kid? He can’t even hold a sword properly!” Dan stroked his beard and looked at Hoffa, saying, “Don’t forget why we sent him back to Dragon’s Nest, back to King’s Landing? We might as well just tie him up and stuff him into the fangs of those ambitious men!”

Joniel raised his hand and pressed down on Sunbeam's lowered head, sparks from the black dragon's breath dancing on his cold, handsome face.

“Precisely because Aegon is young, and precisely because those nobles want to manipulate and exploit him, it is all the more necessary for him to return. He has already slain White Walkers on Dreamfire and has earned military merit. If he can also wrest control of King’s Landing back from those nobles,” Jonial looked at Igor, “he will not only inherit the throne, but will truly deserve it.”

The firelight between the dragon's teeth etched deeper furrows on Igor's face. The old dragon king's gaze swept over each dragon knight: Hoffa's composure, Dan's worry, Joniel's sharpness. Finally, he looked at Otheris in the corner.

“Otheris,” Igor suddenly said, “go back and continue serving as Hand of the King.”

Reyers' rider shook his head slightly: "Igor, we still need Reyers here. Mortals cannot withstand the magic of the Others; only enough dragons can."

“Enough dragons, Other, I want you back in King's Landing.” Igor's voice brooked no argument: “Continue as Hand of the King and protect the child.” Doran Vareses suddenly stepped forward and said to Otheris, “Father, let me go. My dragonfire can burn away any conspiracy—”

"Politics isn't solved with dragonfire, kid." Osiris interrupted him, his tone unusually stern. "You can't even sort out Silvercrown City's tax accounts, how are you going to deal with those old foxes in King's Landing?"

Doran blushed, and the tendrils of the flame gently stroked the young man's back, as if to comfort him.

Hoffa said at the right moment, "Father, Aegon has a good friend. No matter what happens, Duncan will fall before Aegon, and after that, it will be our people and the dragons."

Igor remained silent for a long time.

“Tell Aegon,” he said, staring at the embers of the burning letter, “that he may return. But Ragnaros and Othris must go with him; at least two dragons must remain at the Red Keep.” The old dragon king’s gaze pierced south like a sword. “As for the nobles…”

Jonial chuckled softly, "Perfect for Aegon to practice, isn't it?"

Just as Igor and his men made up their minds, Aegon finally couldn't sit still any longer.

Dragon's Nest City.

The last rays of dusk streamed through the towering arched windows, staining the stone walls of the tower crimson. Aegon Targaryen stood before the stone table, slamming his fist down so hard that the candlelight on it flickered violently.

"I can't just sit here and reap the benefits!"

Lei Geng stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a stone pillar carved with dragon patterns, his purple eyes flashing with cold light.

“King’s Landing is now a den of vipers.” His voice was low and stern. “Do you think those nobles really want to welcome back a Targaryen? No, they just want a puppet, a pretext for them to continue wielding power.”

Aegon looked up abruptly, his silver-gold hair gleaming like molten gold in the candlelight.

"Then I'll let them know I'm not a puppet!"

Ragnaros chuckled and shook his head. "Several Targaryens thought the same thing back then, but we messed up. King's Landing is so deep that even we can hardly play the game of power there."

These words pierced Aegon's heart like an ice sword. His fist clenched and unclenched, his knuckles turning white.

“I am not them,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You are certainly not one of them,” Ragen said firmly. “You’ve never even truly governed a fief.”

Aegon's breathing quickened.

Just then, Princess Daenerys, who had been silent all along, sighed softly. She sat on a stone chair to the side, cradling the newly hatched dragon in her palm. The little creature's scales were as radiant as the morning sun, and it was playing with a strand of her silver hair with its tiny claws.

Her fingers traced the young dragon's spine, then she took out a magic crystal shimmering with a deep red light from her waist—a communication tool left to her by Hoffa before she left. It was Longzel's legacy.

“Lord Igor,” she whispered to the crystal, her voice soft yet firm, “Aegon is determined to return to King’s Landing. I think perhaps we should give him a try.”

The crystal fell silent for a moment, then Igor's voice came from the distant north, mingled with howling wind and snow and a faint dragon's roar:
"Granted." After a brief pause, the aged yet authoritative voice continued, "But Reigen and Oseris must go with you. Oseris will depart tomorrow."

Aegon's eyes lit up, but Ragnaros's face grew even more somber.

“You’re letting him court death,” Ragnaros said coldly to Daenerys.

Daenerys raised her head, a sharp glint in her violet eyes.

“No,” she answered softly, “this is his chance to prove himself.”

(End of this chapter)