Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 396: The Great Wall Has More People

Chapter 396: The Great Wall Has More People

A tall man walked out of the shadows, half of his face was covered with burn scars, which were the marks left by the dragon flame. When Danella drove the dawn to destroy the last fortress of Duke Bol, Simon Belleris, one of the last dragon chasers of the Tiger Party, betrayed all his subordinates and barely escaped the devastating dragon breath of the silver dragon. Behind him followed a thin young man, with the high tower emblem of the Hightower family embroidered on his gray cloak, "the last Hightower" Harold. The Grey Isle was purged at the beginning of the Blackfyre Rebellion, but the Hightower family had already declined - Harold Hightower relied on accidental luck and the identity of a posthumous child to leave the island under an alias before the Blackfyre Rebellion.

"Tyrosh is the lair of the silver dragon, my lady. It is not safe here." Simon's voice was as hoarse as the friction of rusted iron. "But Volantis... there are still friends there."

Rohanni subconsciously protected the children behind her. "What do you want to do?"

Harold took out a letter from his sleeve. The wax was printed with tiger stripes and a three-headed black dragon emblem. "Lord Daemon has already made arrangements. If this fails, let us take you and the children to Volantis. The Elephant Party is losing power, and the Tiger Party is about to regain power. The Stupid Elephants have offended all the Blackwall nobles. Although they have declined, their influence and wealth are still there. When they work together, the Stupid Elephants will also pay the price. Madam, Volantis has a prosperous population and strong soldiers and horses. We can take shelter well under the Tiger Party."

Simon took a step forward, his scar looking particularly hideous in the twilight. "Varezes will not let go of the Blackfyre bloodline, ma'am, but if we get there first..."

Rohanne looked down at little Eamonn, who was looking at her with his father's purple eyes. She asked innocently, "Mother, when can we go home?"

Her heart seemed to be grasped by an invisible hand.

She sighed and motioned for young Aegon to hand her the backpack.

"This is the last gift Lord Damon left for you," Simon whispered. "He said... you will know when to open it."

Rohanne nodded tremblingly. The things in this backpack were given to Princess Diana by Damon before he set off, and the paranoid old princess gave them to her again when she set herself on fire to send them off.

The roar of a silver-winged dragon was heard in the distance. The Governor's Guard of Tyrosh had already searched the port area as usual.

"Madam, it's time to decide." Simon's hand was on the hilt of the sword, "Whether to trust in Varese's mercy or to fight for the children's lives."

The sea breeze suddenly became biting.

Mrs. Rohanni finally decided to take a chance.

She followed Simon onto another ship, and in a secret room at the bottom of the cabin, Lady Rohanne took a stone from her backpack.

Simon's face suddenly turned ugly.

Lady Rohanne glanced at Simon and gently broke open the outer shell of the stone.

Inside was a black dragon egg with scarlet lines all over the surface.

Harold Hightower gasped. "Is this really a dragon egg? Where did Daemon get it—"

"Syrax's egg," Rohanne said softly. "It was a dragon egg hidden by the late King Aegon. Lord Lucas Rostam gave it to my mother. It has been buried in the oven in the manor for many years."

Little Aemon reached out to touch it curiously, but the dragon egg suddenly pulsed faintly, scaring him so much that he retracted his fingers.

Simon's eyes flashed with enthusiasm: "Just give it to the fire wizard of the Red Temple, and then..."

"No." Rohanne put the dragon egg back into her backpack. "This is the legacy Daemon left for his children, not your weapon." In the damp dark cell, Aegor was chained to the stone wall, his knees below soaked in the seeping groundwater.

Baelor Targaryen stood before him, his gray cloak stained with dungeon mold, and he looked at him not as a prisoner but as a lost relative.

"Egg," he began, his voice low, "you could have been a hero. Like Benson."

Aegor raised his head, his black hair stuck to his forehead, and his purple eyes flashed with sarcasm. "Hero?" He laughed hoarsely, "The end of a hero is to be cursed by future generations. When the Targaryen throne was crumbling, you did not stand on the side of the bloodline, but on the side of the thief who stole the throne, uncle."

Damion Vareses stood in the shadows, his fingers stroking his Valyrian steel lancet, his eyes colder than a frozen river in winter.

"Varys could have survived," Baelor's voice trembled slightly, "if you hadn't attacked by surprise—"

"There is no honor in war, uncle." Aegor grinned, revealing bloody teeth. "There are only victors and corpses."

"Let me kill this bastard! He killed my son!"

The roar of Vermax came from the dragon's lair, as if responding to the anger of his master. Irion's silver hair was messy like a lion's mane, and the burning hatred in his purple eyes almost burned through Aegor. His hand was on the long sword, and the blade was three inches out of the sheath, and the cold light reflected Aegor's sarcastic face.

The guards of the Black Prison followed the old prince with horror on their faces, but they could not stop the furious Prince of Oldtown at all.

Baelor Targaryen stepped forward, his gray cloak separating the two men like a wall. "Aerion, Aegor is Aegon's son," he said in a low but firm voice. "The blood of Varys will not be repaid with the blood of more Targaryens."

"He is a traitor! A kinslayer!" Aerion pointed his sword at Aegor, trembling. "He does not deserve the royal family's forgiveness! Aegon's folly should not be borne by my son!"

Aegor raised his head from under the chains, a provocative smile on his lips. "Come on, great Prince of Oldtown," he hissed, "show me if you have the resolve."

Baylor slammed his fist on the stone table, interrupting him. "That's enough!" He glanced at Damion Varese, who was watching coldly.

"Aegor Dragonheart." Baelor's voice fell like a hammer of judgment. "You betrayed the Iron Throne and murdered the dragon rider Varys Targaryen. You should be put to death."

Aerion's breathing was as heavy as a dragon's, but Baelor continued, "But royal blood cannot be ended by royal hands. I sentence you to eternal exile on the Wall, to spend the rest of your days as a Night's Watchman, to take the sheep thief back into the royal family, and to never allow you near a dragon."

Aegor's laughter was like a knife scraping across stone. "Ha! You want me to play house with ice cubes and wildlings?"

Damion Vareses stepped silently behind him, the Valyrian steel lancet glowing green in the candlelight. "No," he said quietly, "I want you to never ride a dragon again."

Two black cell guards held down Aegor's shoulders, and the blacksmith's pliers burned red. When the hot metal touched his knees, the flesh and blood made a terrible hissing sound. Aegor's scream stopped abruptly - he bit his lip and held it back, blood dripping down his chin, but the hatred in his eyes did not diminish at all.

"Dragons," he panted, his purple eyes fixed on Aerion, Baelor, and Damion. "They don't fly on their knees."

(End of this chapter)

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