Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 479 The War of the Defenders (Part Twelve)

In the sulfurous darkness, Otheris Vareses's fingers were almost digging into Aegon's shoulder.

"Are you insane?" His voice was extremely low, yet sharp as dragonfire brushing against eardrums: "Igor is about to breach the Heart of Winter, the main forces of the Seven Kingdoms are bleeding and sacrificing themselves in the Land of Everwinter, and you want to use the blood of the last male Targaryen to ignite a deadly adventure?"

Reyers swayed his long tail uneasily in the shadows, sweeping away a piece of ancient dragon skeleton. Dust floated in the moonlight, settling on Aegon's sickly, flushed, pale cheeks.

“That’s exactly why!” Aegon broke free of his restraints, his blue cloak sweeping across the dragon dung on the ground. “When my uncle returns in triumph with his army, those vipers will retreat back into their caves and continue to corrupt the throne with their honeyed oaths!” His fingernails scraped against the stone wall. “I remember the story you told me about how Lord Igor tried to lure out the rebels with Lord Ringor’s grand parade, but Daemon Blackfyre overturned the table! They stole the dragons and made House Varese lose face in front of the people of King’s Landing! And it’s clear that when we wage war, no one can withstand the wrath of the dragons, Lord Otheris. That’s why I gave my life.”

Otheris's violet pupils contracted slightly. The humiliation was still etched in the memories of the Vareses family: Corakshweh had been stolen, Jedorinth had been proven to still belong to the Meral lineage, the King and Queen had narrowly escaped an attack, and Damon Blackfyre had ridden away on a stolen dragon.

“Your Majesty, you are not Damon Blackfire.” Othiris’s voice was as cold as the long night that had just passed: “And King’s Landing now is not the King’s Landing of yesteryear.”

“Is that so?” Aegon sneered. “Then why are there still conspiracies circulating in the streets?” He suddenly ripped open his collar, revealing a winding scar on his pale chest, a mark left from the Battle of the Long Night: “You always treated me like a child who needed protection, but I am no longer that boy hiding behind everyone!”

The green dragon suddenly raised its head and roared, spewing sulfurous smoke that enveloped the three of them. Ser Duncan seized the opportunity to clamp Aegon's wrist, his movements as gentle as if he were holding a bird, but no matter how the king struggled, he could not break free.

"This isn't protection, it's restraint!" Aegon's voice echoed through the dragon's lair. "Lord Othiris, do you remember? Do you remember what everyone told me? 'Aegon, dragons fear not fire, but cages.' Othiris, stop restraining me!"

Othris picked up Aegon's fallen crown, moonlight streaming across the silver dragon crest of the laurel leaf. "Your Majesty," he said, "your father, Prince Mecca, before he died in battle, also instructed me to protect you. This is an obligation of an elder, and a responsibility of a prime minister to his king."

Aegon's breath hitched. His father's name pierced his chest like an ice dagger.

As the heavy iron gate slammed shut, Aegon heard Othris outside say to Duncan, "The guards change every two hours, and even the food and water are checked. I don't want His Majesty to harm himself."

"Yes, my lord."

On the other side, the dragon's lair at dawn.

The red light from the magic crystal danced on Daenerys's face, highlighting her furrowed brows.

"He really said that?" Hoffa Varese's voice came through the blizzard. Behind him, Starsong was tearing apart the mangled remains of a ghoul mammoth, frost clinging to the black dragon's crown-like horns. His voice was low and tense, as if suppressing some emotion about to erupt. "Immediately notify Randyll to reinforce the defenses of the Red Keep. I've asked my father to send another dragon rider."

“No!” Daenerys interrupted him, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the tail of Dawn, and the pink dragon let out a low growl. “You have more important tasks,” she said, her voice lower, almost a whisper, “Leave Aegon’s affairs to us.”

As she turned, twelve Silverblood Knights of House Vareses were already kneeling in the shadows, silent as statues. These elites, who were supposed to accompany Igor on his expedition, were specifically left behind to protect the Targaryen siblings.

“Keep an eye on Dreamfire.” Daenerys’s voice was as cold as ice. “If His Majesty tries to approach the old dragon—” She paused, then said firmly, “stop him.”

The temporary chambers at the deepest part of the dragon's lair were once the rooms where the dragon guards observed the dragons; the heavy iron doors had only a narrow observation window. Sir Duncan stood like a mountain blocking the doorway, his eyes flashing with vigilance.

"What did he say?" Daenerys asked in a low voice, pressing her ear against the cold iron door.

“His Majesty said nothing.” Duncan’s voice was heavy. “There has been no sound from inside for a long time.”

Daenerys nodded; she had the key to open the iron gate that even Duncan couldn't open.

The screeching of the iron gate hinges interrupted the whispers. Aegon stood in the moonlight streaming through the crack in the window, bruises from his struggles still visible on his wrists. The moment he saw his sister, a flicker of tenderness crossed his violet eyes, as if he were a child being scolded by his elders. "Even you've come to mediate?" He tried to smile, but only managed a broken arc. "Don't worry, I've thought it through." He coughed twice, a faint trickle of blood seeping from between his fingers. Anger and frustration had taken their toll on Aegon's health; sometimes he even doubted whether he was still alive. "But...could the Maester send some poppy milk? Duncan won't even give me wine."

Daenerys stepped forward and embraced him tightly, her fingers gently stroking his back as if soothing a frightened young dragon. Her movements were tender yet firm, but Aegon could sense her will.

Daenerys was firmly opposed to his plans, and he couldn't get his sister's support.

“Don’t do anything foolish.” Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible: “Think about what everyone expects of you, my brother.”

Aegon's body stiffened, then he hugged her back even tighter. His fingers slid imperceptibly along her belt, and with a gentle flick of his fingertip, the bronze key silently slipped into his sleeve.

As the iron gates closed again, Aegon opened his palm in the darkness. The edge of the key still held his sister's warmth, and a resolute smile played on his lips.

Daenerys has always been careless, and based on Aegon's understanding of his sister, she wouldn't remember that she used a key to open the door until her next visit to him.

As the bells rang for the seventh patrol, Aegon opened his eyes, which had been feigning sleep.

Ser Duncan's footsteps were always as heavy as a battering ram. Through the crack in the door, Aegon watched the steel boots pass by. Thirteen steps to the left, a pause—he was checking the ventilation window; twenty-nine steps to the right—Duncan was making sure no one was deliberately approaching the bedroom; then a short pause—Duncan was handing over a task.

Even the most resilient person can't endure long shifts.

The chains rattled softly as Aegon cautiously approached the gate.

Suddenly, the clanging of armor came from outside the door. Aegon froze, listening as the second-in-command in his golden robes complained, "Lord Otheris is too tense. Does His Majesty think he can dig through stone with his fingernails?"

As the laughter faded, Aegon's key was already in the lock. The lock-picking skills Hargen Varese had taught him in the North came in handy: "Remember, every mechanical lock has a sweet spot, like the most vulnerable scale on a dragon's neck."

If you are careful enough, you won't make a sound.

The sound of the latch snapping open was softer than a heartbeat.

The torches in the corridor cast spiderweb-like shadows. Aegon moved along the stone wall, each step precisely treading in the patrol's blind spots. Around the corner were displays of ancient dragon rider armor, and on the belt of the last suit hung a ceremonial dagger. Although the family crest on the blade had been worn away, the distinct ripples of fine steel still flowed like a black river in the moonlight.

As Aegon's fingers touched the hilt of his sword, he suddenly felt a sulfurous breath behind him. He slowly turned his head and saw Dreamfire's aged blue vertical pupils staring at him in the darkness. A sandpaper-like sound came from the old dragon's throat, as if it were sighing.

Aegon could even see the Silverblood Knights in purple robes running in and out of the Dragon's Lair in Dreamfire.

“This is the last time, old friend.” Aegon stretched out his hand. “Breathe fire for me one last time.”

Dreamfire suddenly raised its head, but instead of flames, it spewed out a cloud of thick smoke mixed with sparks. As the smoke enveloped the corridor, Aegon's figure had already disappeared into the shadows.

No one noticed that the king had left the place where he was imprisoned.

No one noticed that the armor was missing a ceremonial dagger.

(End of this chapter)