Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 395 Madam, I finally found you

The bloody smell in the throne room had not yet dissipated. As soon as the headless body of Harlon Peck was dragged away, the golden robes brought in the next sinner.

"Lucas Rothstein." Daeron II's voice echoed in the stone hall, and blood drops from the Blackfire Sword slowly dripped.

The long-time intelligence chief, Lord Harrenhal, raised his head. His once carefully groomed grey hair was now unkempt, his expensive black velvet robe had been stripped off, leaving only a dirty linen shirt. The elegant and confident smile on his lips was no longer there.

The Rostan family was destroyed, and his sons, grandsons, brothers, and even illegitimate children were killed in the joint charge of the Greybeards and Silverblood heavy cavalry in the North. Only he was captured by Lord Harvard Frey and Earl Harvard.

"Your Majesty wants to do it yourself? It's an honor." Lucas' voice was hoarse but calm, "My father always said that the Rostan family-"

The Black Fire Sword neatly chopped off the "pimp's" head, blocking the second half of the sentence in his trachea forever.

In the past, trials would not be held in the throne room, but in the square, with executions in public. However, this rebellion was too serious and involved too many nobles. Daeron did not want to have too much of an impact, so he placed the execution ground directly in the throne room.

Darren slowly drew back his sword, watching the blood spurting from the neck of the "pimp". He waved his hands feebly in the air, and finally fell to his knees. "Didn't your father teach you that people who talk too much die faster?"

The man in golden robe immediately dragged the twitching corpse away, leaving a sticky bloodstain on the ground.

“Quentin Pole.”

When Sir Fireball was pushed forward, his body was covered with wounds from the battlefield. He did not beg for mercy, but stared at Ringol Vareses.

“You have broken your oath, Quentyn Pole.” Daeron raised his Blackfyre. “You swore to watch over Daemon and defend the crown.”

"I defend the true Targaryen!"

"Your ambition has tarnished your glory, Fireball." Ringol coldly pronounced his end.

There was a flash of sword, and Quentin's head rolled to the feet of Ambrose Butterwell.

Ringol unfolded a brand new sheepskin map, on which the emblem of the East River Land had been mostly crossed out by ink.

"Based on military merit and loyalty," the Prime Minister's voice was steady and powerful, "the former Darry territory will be given to the Frey family."

Lord Harvard Frey knelt on one knee, the cloak with the Twin Towers trembling with excitement.

"Stonehedge and all the surrounding territory belong to the Blackwood family."

Lady Catelyn bowed gracefully, her weirwood hair gleaming in the candlelight as she took over Raventree in her late husband's place. The widow glanced at the empty seat of the Brackens—the feuding family was now annihilated, and between the Blackwoods and the Freys, no Brackens would survive—not even bastards or posthumous children.

"The town of Harroway goes to Mallister, and the town of Saltpans goes to Piper." Ringol continued to announce, and with each name read, a new lord came forward to swear allegiance.

Finally, he pointed to the eerie castle in the center of the map.

"Harrenhal and its immediate territories are given to Brynden Silverblood, who shall assist the king and lead the defense of the East."

Brynden, with a bandage on his head, walked out of the shadows, and a white raven landed on his shoulder. He did not kneel, but just nodded slightly. He would not go to Harrenhal. Instead, he would continue to stay in King's Landing to assist the king and the Prime Minister.

"Orion, Bran Harrenhal. Is it really okay?" Dan looked at Brynden, who had lost an eye, with some concern.

"Bran will not go to Harrenhal." Orion sighed and said, "Harrenhal's strategic location is very important. The king and his brother are not confident in handing it over to outsiders. So Bran has to take over this responsibility. Dan, don't worry. You know, the curse of Harrenhal has the same origin as Bran's heritage, so don't worry."

Dan nodded. The afterglow of dusk shone through the stained glass windows, coating the Iron Throne with a layer of blood.

Daeron II looked at the old and new nobles in the hall - the lords of the western border were secretly delighted by the division of Reyes's territory, the new nobles of the riverlands were ready to fight, and the envoys of the Stormlands and the Borderlands exchanged vigilant glances.

"Your Majesty, it's time to rest." Ringol whispered, "It will take time to heal the kingdom's wounds, and so will yours. The Riverlands also need food support."

The king touched the bandage between his ribs - it was a gift left that night. He was bruised in a hurry on the way to the Black Palace, and Queen Xirui was unable to walk normally for several days because her thigh was rubbed by the saddle. He suddenly remembered that there was a special prisoner in Maegor's Tower: Baelon Targaryen, the young man who went mad after witnessing the fall of Sea Smoke, and he would be sent to the Wall tomorrow.

"Tell Lord Maegon," Daeron said softly, "Lady Elsa can go see Baelon before he leaves."

At dusk in Tyrosh, the sea breeze carried grains of salt that blew on Lady Rohanne's face.

She stood on the stone steps at the edge of the harbor, her three children snuggling close to her. Little Aemon and Little Aegon no longer showed the arrogance they had when bullying their younger brother. One of them held his younger brother tightly in his arms, while the other held his brother and mother, huddled together timidly. Only little Daemon, still in his cradle, was sleeping soundly.

The silver wings of Valenna Varese were circling over the city, and Rohanni's heart tightened with every flap of the graceful old dragon's wings.

"She is also a mother." Rohanne clenched the three-headed dragon ring Daemon left her, her knuckles turning white. "She will understand and forgive the innocent child."

No one knew her own identity better than Lady Rohanne, a ruined noble from Tyrosh, the dragon-blooded daughter-in-law chosen by the Dragon Chaser for Daemon - no wonder, she was the descendant of the small Valyrian noble who was taken away by Varezes. Dragonzer packaged the identities of her parents and placed them in Tyrosh as a hidden chess piece.

But there are also different types of dark chess. Balmi, who has been hunting dragon chasers for twenty years, is one type, and Lady Rohanni, who hesitates in front of her child, is another type.

But the next second, she thought of Valenna's husband, Dan Varese, the dragon rider who killed four dragons. Even when he was drifting on the sea, Valenna had heard of the vicious reputation of him and his dragon.

"That thing is not a dragon at all, it is an ancient evil creature that crawled out of Sothoryos!"

In the port of Tas Island, a drunken old sailor was smashing a wooden cup on the ship she was on, with low-quality beer dripping down his beard. At this time, the news that Haiyan was shot down had just come out. He claimed that he had seen the monster in the sea outside Silver Crown City - the dark green scales looked like rotten copper coins in the moonlight, but the belly was shining with a strange silver light, like melted silver.

"When it flies over, the sea water freezes!" The old sailor gestured confidently, "The patterns on its wings will move, like millions of eyes blinking!"

"I saw it tear Jed Olins apart—"

In Lys, a tattooed Lysian sailor swore while trading on the ship. His client's friend participated in the war and witnessed the air battle with his own eyes. He exaggeratedly marked that when the emerald dragon flame of Jade Olins collided with the dark green breath of Cendros, the bright light of the explosion almost blinded half of the soldiers on the battlefield.

"The tail of that green monster - by the Weeping Lady!" The sailor trembled as he took a sip of rum, "was like a double-edged battle axe, which split Jed Orlins' neck in half at once! When the rebel dragon rider fell off the dragon's back, the green monster swooped down..." He suddenly shut up, stared at the wine glass and said no more.

In Myr, a crazed Myrish septon aboard a ship insisted that Centrolos had not used dragonfire against Koraxhu at all.

“It uses scales!” the monk screamed at the top of the deck party. “Those damn leaf scales fly! Like a razor storm, they shave the red dragon that was badly injured by the old dragon to its skeleton!”

After saying this, he did not forget to drink a glass of barley wine.

These scenes echoed in Lady Rohanni's mind.

"Will he let Daemon's child go?"

"Ma'am, we finally found you."

(End of this chapter)