Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 404: Dragon's Heritage
The reign of Daeron II was like one long spring dream.

Under the covert manipulation of Lord Bloodraven Brynden and the overt leadership of Ringol Vareses, the flames of war in the Seven Kingdoms were completely extinguished. The embers of the Blackfyre Rebellion were extinguished, wheat sprouts grew again on the scorched earth of the Riverlands, and the whispers of the Blackfyre could no longer be heard in the streets of King's Landing.

The end of winter came quietly. One morning, the people of King's Landing opened their windows and found that the snow had stopped falling, replaced by tender green shoots. The Citadel's announcement arrived at dawn on the same day. The Archbishop led the monks to light seven crystal lamps in the Cathedral of St. Jacaerys, symbolizing the arrival of the "Long Summer" blessed by the Seven Gods. People poured into the streets, throwing the last handful of winter snow they had treasured into the air, letting it melt in the sun.

In the same year, in the delivery room of the Red Fort.

Queen Xirui's labor lasted a whole day and night. When the baby's cry finally broke the silence of the Red Keep, Daeron II knelt in front of the delivery bed, his silver hair soaked with sweat.

"He's like you." Xirui smiled weakly, her fingertips lightly touching the baby's lavender eyes, "As quiet as the silence before a storm cloud passes across the sky."

Daeron named his son "Aerys" - the Targaryen who was later called "Son of Peace". When Prime Minister Ringol and young Prince Baelor carried the newborn to the balcony to receive the cheers of the subjects, the bells of King's Landing startled flocks of white doves, forming a flowing crown in the blue sky.

The long summer arrived, and the kingdom began to recover like rain after a long drought.

In the fourth year, a raven brought a letter sealed with black wax from Winterfell, and the north wind brought the bad news that Lord Cregan Stark died peacefully in his sleep.

This "Old Man of the North" turned Rickon Stark into a white-haired old man.

Daeron II stood at the window of the throne room, looking at the gloomy sky in the north, and whispered: "Another giant of the old times has fallen."

Queen Xirui held his hand tightly, and the fetus in her belly kicked gently. Three months later, their third son was born and named Reg. This prince was called the "Happy Prince" in later history books. It was said that he was smiling when he was born.

And in Dragon's Nest, Lusiris Vareses finally took the last step:
The wild dragon Moon Dancer crouched low in the full-moon night, her scarred scales reflecting the starlight, allowing him to climb onto the dragon's neck, fasten the saddle, and eat the carrots and apples he brought.

"She's just too lazy to throw you off." Seneolle complained, but his eyes were full of envy.

The Varese family has one more dragon knight.

Seneo did not have to wait long.

In the late autumn of the fifth year, the crimson Serelis finally stopped spitting warning smoke at him. On a frosty morning, when she bent down to sniff the raw mutton in his hand, Seneoer gently stroked her nose.

The dragon did not resist.

When the news reached the Red Castle, Queen Xirui personally sent her royal guards to deliver a gift, a dragon whip wrapped with silver dragon patterns. It was a gift made by the queen herself to commemorate her lost youth and her dream of riding a dragon.

"Her Majesty," the guard bowed his head respectfully, "May your dragon flame be as eternal as your patience."

At dawn in the sixth year, the Dragon Cave Square in Dragon Nest City was covered with a layer of morning dew.

Jonil Varese stood at the entrance of the dragon's lair, the white breath he exhaled quickly dissipated in the morning mountain breeze. His brown hair was wet with morning dew and stuck to his forehead. His palms were covered with calluses from years of holding the reins, and there were a few unhealed scratches on his knuckles, which were the "memorials" left by Sun Biao with his tail spine three days ago.

The black dragon Riwei was entrenched in the deepest part of the cave, its dark scales glowing blue under the torchlight. It sensed the approach of humans, and a low tremor rolled out of its throat, and its sulfurous breath condensed into a fine yellow mist in the air.

"No meat today." Igor's voice came from behind. Igor, who was becoming more and more calm, was wearing riding clothes and holding nothing. Jonniel's gray eyes were cold: "What should I bring?"

"yourself."

"I understand, uncle."

The shadow of the dragon's lair engulfed the boy's silhouette.

Ribi's pupils shrank into needle-like shapes. In the past six years, this brown-haired boy always approached with food he liked or disliked. He slowly got used to it and liked his respect and smell, but today he dared to step into the territory with bare hands? The black dragon raised its head suddenly, and its wing membrane spread out, and the airflow it created made the torch shake violently.

Jonniel did not flinch. He slowly raised his hands, palms facing upward, covered with tiny scars: cuts from dragon scales, rubbed by reins, and repeatedly eroded by burns. The latest one, which ran across the entire palm of his right hand and was covered with dark red blood scabs, was caused by Sunfish's sudden tail swing when he was trying to adjust the saddle strap last week.

"Look." The boy said in a hoarse voice, "I shed more blood than I fed you with meat."

The black dragon exhaled hot breath, and sparks splashed on the tip of Jonniel's boots. But he suddenly knelt on one knee and untied a piece of leather from his waist - it was woven from all the scrapped dragon saddle straps in the past six years, and every mark of wear and tear recorded failure.

"One last chance." He raised the ring above his head. "Either burn it and me, or..."

When the fangs of the Sun-Breath were only a few feet away from his throat, the dragon's pupils suddenly reflected the bronze scale necklace on the boy's neck - the old scales shed by Wormisol, polished into a talisman by Adele. The breath of the old dragon made the black dragon's movements sluggish.

The moment the dawn light pierced into the dragon's lair, Jonniel rode on the dragon's back.

The roar of the Sun-Break shook off the loose stalactites on the cave ceiling, but its struggles became weaker and weaker - it didn't even struggle at all in the beginning. When the boy used the scarred leather ring to fix the first saddle nail, the black dragon suddenly became quiet.

Igor stood in the shadow of the cave entrance, watching Jonnir lean over to eat his ear bone - there was an almost invisible old wound there, left by a bite from his own kind when he was young. The boy imitated the Valyrian language that Igor used to comfort Wormithor, his pronunciation was clumsy but firm:

"Lykirī (calm)."

The black dragon's wing membrane slowly folded up.

At noon, a dark shadow passed over the Summer Hall.

The people looked up at the sky with interest, wondering which giant dragon had left its lair and was flying. The dark body of the Sun-Breath swept through the city like a storm, and the brown-haired figure on its back was not wearing any saddle, and only relied on his hands to hold the dragon's neck spur to maintain balance. When the black dragon swooped back to the huge courtyard of Dragon's Nest City, Jonniel suddenly let go of his hands and opened his arms with a cry of surprise -

Then he was thrown into the haystack by the sudden turn of the sun.

"Idiot!" Maggie screamed and rushed over, only to see her brother laughing and spitting out grass clippings, while Ribi was tapping his back with his tail club, proudly sweeping up a cloud of dust.

Igor, who was watching the battle from a distance, raised his lips slightly.

"I told you before," he whispered to Aslan beside him, "blood never determines color."

(End of this chapter)