Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 478 The War of the Defenders (XI)

The night in King's Landing was so dark you could squeeze ink out of it.

Sewage seeped from between the stones, mingling with the smell of rotting fish entrails and cheap wine. Two men in golden robes carried torches, their boots making unpleasant noises on the sticky stone pavement.

"Gods above, what is that?" The young man in the golden robe suddenly stopped, the torchlight illuminating a shadow deep in the alley.

The shadow remained motionless, its purple silk soaked in blood, gleaming an eerie dark red in the firelight.

The older man in the golden robe muttered a curse under his breath and strode forward. This old soldier from the frontier, with a scar on his chin, squatted down and used his gloved hand to push aside the damp silk, revealing a pale, round face.

Varis.

The interim intelligence chief of King's Landing, assistant to Marquis Brynden the Blood Raven, and one of King's Landing's countless eyes, lay limp in the stinking ditch like a rag doll with its entrails ripped out. His eyes were still open, frozen in their final, indescribable expression, as if trying to say something.

"Throat slit." The veteran's fingers made a light cut across Varys's neck, the wound as thin as a hair, yet deep enough to expose the bone. This was the work of a professional assassin, so fast that even the pain didn't have time to register.

“There are three more stab wounds.” The veteran frowned as he scanned the intestines that had spilled into the ditch. He could even tell that after the assassins struck, Varys moved a distance before finally dying.

The young man in the golden robes was pale, his throat bobbing as if he were about to vomit. The veteran, however, remained calm, skillfully searching Varys's body and surroundings until his fingertips touched a hard object. He discreetly slid it inside his wristband; it was a gold-plated coin, its obverse engraved with a silver dragon and laurel leaf emblem.

The Varese family mark.

It looks like someone left it there on purpose.

“We have to take the body away.” The veteran stood up, his voice low. “Now.”

“But shouldn’t this be handed over to the Royal Guard?” the young man hesitated.

The old soldier gave a cold laugh, the firelight reflecting the coldness in his eyes.

"Are you new here?" He patted the young man on the shoulder, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy. "Who arranged tonight's patrol roster?"

The young man was taken aback, then realized what was happening, and his face turned even paler.

Osiris Vareses.

He seems to have gotten himself into something terrible. Could he be silenced? No way! He's just managed to get a job where he doesn't have to worry about food or clothing. He's much better off than those who panicked when the long night came and were lost when it ended.

The veteran patted him on the shoulder helplessly.

Are kids these days so suspicious? No one would kill someone to cover up something so trivial.

After calming his companions down, the veteran quietly led his men to another street.

Darkroom on Dragon Tail Street
In the basement of the spice warehouse, the air was filled with the aroma of cinnamon and pepper, enough to mask an even worse smell.

Ser Randyll Tarly stood beside the stone platform, his iron gauntlet resting on his sword hilt, watching coldly as two men in gold robes laid Varys's body down. His face was sharply defined in the candlelight, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Who did it?" he asked.

"I don't know," the veteran shook his head, "but the wound is very clean, it looks like..."

“It looks like something our own people did,” Landau interrupted him, his tone eerily calm.

The veteran remained silent.

Randy lifted the burlap sack covering Varys and examined the body carefully. As the heir to the Tally family, Randy had received more systematic training; he could tell that Varys had been poisoned with a potent toxin, and that the final cause of death was assassination—a clean and swift assassination.

“Interesting.” Randall’s fingers stopped on Varys’s lapel, where there was a tiny tear, as if someone had hurriedly searched him.

What's missing from him?

“Not sure,” the veteran shook his head, “but his purse is still there.”

Landau sneered.

"They're not here for the money."

“We found this on him.” The veteran slid the gilded coin in his hand into Landau’s sleeve.

Landau immediately recognized the design on the gold coin.

"A clumsy disguise, can't even produce a pure gold or pure silver coin?" the deputy commander of the capital's garrison said with a sneer.

He covered the burlap sack again, then turned and walked toward the iron door deep inside the dark room.

“You did a good job,” he said without turning his head. “Go back to patrol and pretend you saw nothing tonight. After your patrol, go to the quartermaster and collect your five gold dragons as a bounty.”

The two men in golden robes exchanged a glance, then bowed and left.

After the door closed, Randall took a piece of obsidian from his pocket and pressed it into a groove in the wall. The stone wall slid open silently, revealing another passage.

At the end of this road lies the dragon's lair.

The smell of sulfur churned deep within the dragon's lair.

Othris Vareses tossed the bloodied bison leg into the air, and Reyers' long neck shot out like lightning. The green dragon's amber pupils narrowed to slits in the darkness, and the sound of its sharp teeth crushing bones echoed through the stone walls. This ferocious dragon had recently been feeding more frequently; ever since King Igor led his main army north, the dragon riders of King's Landing had been retaliating by feeding their comrade twice as much.

“Eat slowly,” Otheris whispered in Valyrian, his fingers tracing the newly formed scales beneath Reyers’ chin. There lay an unhealed wound, a scar from their battle against the White Walkers, a testament to their honor. The dragon scales trembled slightly in his palm, radiating a heat like magma.

As Sir Randy Tarly's iron boots shattered the shadows, Reyers immediately raised his head, a dangerous glint of fire flashing in his throat.

“Calm down.” Osiris pressed down on the dragon’s neck, feeling the power surging beneath its scales. He only released his grip when the vice commander’s figure was fully visible. “Speak.”

“Varys is dead.” Randy knelt on one knee, his armor still smeared with mud from the flea nest. “In the drain behind Silk Street. The wound is very professional.”

Otheris's silver-grey eyebrows twitched slightly. He turned to Reyers and pulled another piece of bloody liver from the iron bucket. The green dragon snorted, but surprisingly didn't pounce immediately; this intelligent beast could always sense its master's emotional changes. "Are your men here?"

“As per your previous orders, all patrols in key areas have been replaced with veterans from the frontier. We forcibly canceled those routes that were clearly suspicious; the people who planned those routes have been apprehended, but they've been passed through several hands, so we can't pinpoint the source.” Randall lowered his voice. “The bodies have been moved to the spice warehouse on Dragontail Street.”

An eerie silence fell over the dragon's lair. Otheris noticed that Reyers had stopped chewing, his amber dragon eyes fixed on a shadowy spot. He followed his gaze and saw a corner of a blue cloak emerge from behind the ancient dragon skeleton.

“Come out, Your Majesty,” Osiris sighed. “Sulfur is bad for the lungs.”

Reyers growled warily as Aegon Targaryen emerged from the shadows. The young king looked like a ghost, his deep-set eyes gleaming with a dragon-glass-like purple light. The three-headed dragon crest on his cloak was covered in dust, suggesting he had just come from the dwelling of Dreamfire.

“Lord Otheris, I believe I have the right to know.” Aegon’s voice was hoarse, unlike that of a child: “I do not wish to see pointless deaths. Please, tell me how to get rid of these filthy things cleanly and efficiently.”

Osiris noticed the bruises on the king's knuckles. Lately, the servants at the dragon's lair had been spreading rumors that His Majesty was often pounding on the stone walls of his bedroom late at night.

“Politics is not a trial by combat, Your Majesty.” Osiris gestured for Reyers to step back. “There is no clean and quick solution except for ruthless killing.”

"What is it?" Aegon suddenly kicked over the iron barrel containing dragon food, the entrails spreading out on the ground in a bloody pattern. "Lord Otheris, I want to do something, but I don't know where to begin."

Reyers let out a threatening hiss, but Othris calmly reassured his companion. “A third of the nobles are in King’s Landing, a third in Harrenhal, and the rest are fighting alongside King Igor in the Land of Everwinter. We cannot judge who is loyal and who is a traitor; rash action would only…”

“I know it’s like stirring up trouble,” Aegon slumped onto the dragon’s skull. “Everyone says so. But when I realized I was being led around by them and couldn’t do anything about it…” His voice suddenly choked. “Gods, I should have gone to the front with Uncle Igor. It would have been much better than staying here. Lord Othris, I want to know, just how deep are the waters here?”

“The waters are deep enough to make us very unhappy, Your Majesty.” Osiris finally sighed. “Like I said, politics is not child’s play.”

Aegon's response was silence.

“Aegon the Conqueror.” His voice suddenly took on a bard’s rhythm. “He doesn’t wear a crown, and the Iron Throne isn’t a symbol of supreme power, otherwise the Conqueror wouldn’t have made it so uncomfortable.”

Reyers snuggled comfortably against his companion, while Osiris expressionlessly pushed away the dragon's affection, saying with some regret:
"The Gardeners' family in the Reach was burned to ashes by dragonfire, replaced by Tyrell, the Gardeners' steward; the bloodline of the Blackheart Harren in the Riverlands was extinguished, and the Tully family rose from a regional noble family to the lords of the Trident River region; the last Storm King of the Stormlands died in a raging inferno, and the Baratheons became royal cousins, while the Arryn family knelt before the majesty of Varghal; the Starks and Lannisters knelt before dragons and armies. This is not a mere conquest, Your Majesty, but a puzzle pieced together with dragon breath."

Aegon understood these principles very well.

The Targaryens never truly and completely ruled the Seven Kingdoms. They merely used dragonfire to bring the beasts together to eat. They experienced the benefits of eating together. The Conqueror laid the foundation, creating a grand feast; the cruel Maegor distributed the food to the loyalists, using blood and fire to remind people of the Conqueror's gentleness; Jaehaerys proved the benefits of unification through institutions and peaceful times, making the food delicious and distributing it fairly; and Viserys I brought Dorne to the table. In a sense, the dynasty established by Aegon the Conqueror was actually an alliance of lords led by the Targaryens. Their rule was ultimately achieved through the absolute military power of the dragons, the absolute suppression of their "allies" through the changing of rulers in the Reach, Riverlands, and Stormlands, and a series of subsequent policies. With the intrusion of Vareses, the Targaryens' control of supreme military power was broken, and the three regions that should have been absolutely loyal to the royal family gradually became disaffected.
Ultimately, the royal family could not suppress the flames of ambition.

This is very normal.

Aegon suddenly felt this was really difficult.

A sharp, clear sound of crystals clashing suddenly rang out in the distance, followed by Daenerys's silvery laughter. The sound came from the platform on the east side of the dragon's lair, where the pink dragon "Dawn" dwelled. Othris saw Aegon's back stiffen.

"Shall we go and take a look, Your Majesty? Relax a bit?" he asked softly.

Aegon shook his head, but his feet had already moved involuntarily. Othris gave Randyll a wink, and the vice commander immediately disappeared into the shadows.

Daenerys Targaryen sat atop the coiled tail of Dawn, a magical crystal hovering in her palm. In the light projected by the crystal, Hoffa Vareses smiled amidst the snowstorm, Starsong behind him spewing dragonfire imbued with starlight.

"So, the Children of the Forest helped you find a breakthrough, and you've already approached the central fortress of the Heart of Winter?" Daenerys lightly stroked the dragon's sensitive tail thorns with her toes, causing the dragon to tremble with pleasure. Her pearl-colored dress was covered in shimmering dust, appearing like it was draped in stars under the moonlight.

As Hoffa laughed through the light screen, his breath mingled with Starsong's. "Haha, those little guys' hatred is enough to burn down the White Walkers' lair. Gods above, they're even more insane than we are." He suddenly leaned closer to the crystal. "Wait, has Dawn grown up again?"

“She burned the spire of the Great Cathedral of St. Jecharis yesterday, nearly causing a riot.” Daenerys feigned a stern face, but the upturned corners of her mouth betrayed her. “If your Starsong doesn’t come to King’s Landing soon, my lady will be going north to find him.”

Hoffa suddenly lowered her voice: "I'm more worried about you. We're not in the south anymore, and some guys are probably getting restless again. I don't know if Aegon can handle them."

“Shh.” Daenerys suddenly murmured in Valyrian, her fingers lightly touching the crystal surface as if she wanted to caress the other’s face through the light barrier. “Dragonfire will purify everything. My dear, and Aegon has done a good job; at least there are no strange rumors circulating in King’s Landing right now.”

Hidden behind the stone pillar, Aegon clenched his fists. He saw the light in his sister's eyes, a vibrant light he had never seen in the Red Keep. As Daenerys suddenly leaned forward and whispered Valyrian words of love to the figure in the crystal, Aegon quietly retreated into the darkness.

The tapestries in the temporary palace depicted wars of conquest.

Aegon stared intently at Aegon I's black iron crown. Three hundred years ago, his ancestor had used a three-headed dragon to burn down the old order that had existed for thousands of years. Now, House Targaryen was in utter ruin, while House Varese remained prosperous.

Varesestangrien Varesestangrien
“You should rest, Your Majesty.” Sir Duncan stood imposingly by the door. This giant of a Kingsguard knew nothing of politics, but he could see the bloodshot in the king’s eyes.

"Rest?" Aegon murmured suddenly. "There is eternal sleep after death. Now is the time to think."

Duncan knelt on one knee, his armor clattering heavily. "Your Majesty."

A mad idea took shape in Aegon's mind. The Targaryens had become tools of ambitious men, and to break this deadlock, what was needed was a more extreme spark—like the blood of a king.

This idea is becoming more and more concrete.

Even Aegon couldn't help but tremble.

“Dunk, go tell the Prime Minister not to go back to his bedroom yet.” Aegon suddenly rushed out of the palace and said to Duncan, the moonlight casting a blue frost on his silver hair. “Tell him I have something important to discuss with him.”

Duncan suddenly had a bad feeling, but he still obeyed the king's order and went to find the prime minister who was cleaning his dragon.

"Your Majesty, what is this?" When Aegon rushed to the dragon's lair, Othiris was applying ointment to the green dragon. Aegon did not answer Othiris's question, but his gaze unconsciously drifted towards the depths of the dragon's lair, where the oldest and largest dragon of the Targaryen family, the blue dragon Dreamfire, slept.

Osiris followed his gaze: "How has Dreamfire been eating lately?"

“I can eat half a sheep every day,” Aegon answered mechanically, but he immediately realized why he was there. He suddenly grabbed Othris’s wrist. “If… if I allow the Varese and Targaryens to officially merge their surnames, uniting two families bound by blood into one, if Daenerys’s children inherit the throne in the future…”

"His Majesty!"

“Let me finish.” Aegon’s nails dug into the other’s clothes. “Perhaps we need a more extreme spark.” A mad glint shone in his eyes. “If Blackfire dares to overturn the table, so do we! Like a martyred king, a king who should have been a wise king, a warrior king who died before dawn because of the infighting of ambitious men.”

Reyers suddenly raised his head and roared, sending shards of rock raining down around them. Othris barely managed to make out Aegon's last few words amidst the dragon's roar:

"At that time, I will become the blazing sun from which ambition has nowhere to hide! I will become the grave of fear for the ambitious!"

(End of this chapter)