Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 418 Shouldn't bloodline be proven with a sword?
The eastern cliffs of Dragonstone

When the three found Iris, he was sitting in the crook of Tyrexu's claws reading a book, with the dragon's tail coiled into a natural barrier, as if to isolate the whole world.

"Aerys." Baelor called him helplessly, "Father has sent another letter."

"Burn it." Iris said without looking up. "Unless he can get Tyrexu and me to attend the wedding."

Lusiris couldn't help laughing: "Would you rather marry a dragon?"

"A dragon won't ask me to attend boring banquets, nor will it cry because I can't give birth to a son." Aerys finally closed the book, a trace of sneer flashed in his purple eyes, "Besides, don't you think it's ridiculous? The Targaryen family ruled the Seven Kingdoms with dragons, but now they have to live like farmers counting the number of their descendants. When did my family become so unconfident?"

Jonniel looked at the vague shadow of a ship on the distant sea level. It was another supply ship coming from King's Landing, and its deck must be carrying more "secret medicine for fertility".

The two Vareses looked at each other awkwardly and tacitly kept silent.

Terekshu suddenly blew out a thick smoke, covering the four people. At that moment, everyone was silent tacitly, as if as long as they stayed under the shadow of the dragon, they could temporarily escape the burden of the kingdom.

At sunset, Jonil and Luthris prepared to return to Dragon's Nest.

"Tell the Hand and Lord Rhaegon," Baelor whispered as he said good-bye, "I will try again. But not for those damned drugs, but for Adele and Daenerys."

As Sundrink and Moondance took off into the sky, Jonnir looked back and saw Baelor standing on the edge of the cliff, his figure elongated and lonely by the setting sun; Aerys had already returned to Tyrexu's back to continue his secluded reading; and at the castle window, Adele was holding her daughter's little hand and waving goodbye to them.

"Do you think they can succeed?" Lusris shouted into the wind.

Jonnell did not answer.

King's Landing, Rhaenys Hill, Dragon Rider Manor
The afterglow of dusk gilded a layer of blood on the stone walls of the manor. The spire of the Red Castle in the distance pierced through the twilight, standing like a dragon bone. Benson Dragonheart stood in front of the fireplace, the fire illuminating his short gray hair. It was not until he was old that he had the Targaryen features he had longed for when he was young.

ridiculous.

His son, Garin Targaryen, stood in the center of the hall, his black hair slightly curled, his purple eyes downcast, as if he dared not look at his father, a dragon rider who had been on the battlefield for a long time. The young man had a slender figure, but his shoulders were slightly hunched, as if he was always ready to avoid other people's eyes.

"Look up." Benson's voice was as low as thunder.

Garin raised his eyes, but did not dare to look directly at his father.

Benson strode forward and looked at his son with displeasure. He was apparently very hardworking, but he was introverted and cowardly.

"Do you know how I survived the Battle of Red Grassland?" Benson suddenly asked.

Galen shook his head.

Benson unbuttoned his collar, revealing the hideous old wound below his collarbone.

"Korakshu's flames almost melted my armor. The unicorn almost tore me apart in order to stop the bloodworm and buy time for Wormithor." His voice was hoarse, "But I survived because I knew that dragons don't care whether you shed blood or sweat, but only care whether you dare to stand in front of it. I roared at the traitor and the old dragon, and then Wormithor arrived. We won."

Garin's purple eyes flickered slightly, and his fingers clenched the hilt of the sword.

"But they all say," he said, almost drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace, "that dark hair is not fit to ride a dragon."

Benson suddenly grabbed his son's shoulders with such force that Galen groaned.

"You have the blood of Aegon the Conqueror flowing in your veins!" he growled. "Why did King Daeron allow me to live in Dragonrider Manor? Why did he allow you to have the last name Targaryen? Because although I am a bastard, I am also the king's son, and your mother is also an orthodox Targaryen. Princess Serena of House Vareses and Prince Jonnir also do not have silver hair, but no one dares to question their bloodline and dragon-riding abilities because they have proven themselves. Now, what you have to do is to prove that you are worthy of this last name and the training you have undergone since you were five years old."

There was a faint sound of sobbing coming from upstairs.

Prince Maegon's daughter, Rhaella Targaryen, was leaning against the railing. Her silver hair was streaked with gray, but she still maintained the elegance of a royal family. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the railing.

"Do you really want him to die?" Her question was as light as a feather falling to the ground. "The people in the Red Keep will tear him apart like wild dogs sharing their prey. Benson, where is your caution and neutrality? Can't you see the current situation clearly? My child is just a shield in their hands!"

Benson was silent for a moment, then took down a Targaryen three-headed dragon emblem from the fireplace.

"You can either wear this and walk into the Red Keep with your head held high," he slapped the badge into Garin's palm, "or you can throw it into the Blackwater, and I will send you to Braavos as a sellsword tomorrow. This is your only chance to get rid of the Bastard Son forever."

He looked upstairs at his wife.

"Sorry, Leilei, it's all for Garin." Garin stared at the family emblem on his palm. The fire was dancing in the dragon's eyes inlaid with gold, as if an ancient soul was awakening.

“Remember, go in with your head held high, and then, keep your head down.”

Benson said seriously: "Learn to be silent and go home alive."

At the Red Castle training ground, the sun shines on the knights training on the training ground.

The sun was shining brightly when Garyn Targaryen stepped onto the sand, making his black hair take on a dark sheen. His purple eyes swept across the field, where a group of knights of House Velaryon stood with their arms folded, their silver and blue seahorse emblems gleaming in the sun.

"Ha! Look who this is?" The leading knight, Darren Velaryon, deliberately raised his voice. "Bastard of a bastard!" He grinned, revealing his gold-plated teeth. "How did your father beg King Aegon to tame the dragon? Crawl into the throne room on his knees?"

Laughter broke out. Garin's knuckles turned white on the hilt of the sword, but his father's words echoed in his ears, bow his head, be silent, and come back alive.

He turned to grab his training shield, but another Velaryon knight tripped him. Garin stumbled, sand filling his boots.

"Be careful, 'Dark Hair'." The knight reached out to help him hypocritically, but suddenly pinched his wrist when he touched him. "The wind in the Red Keep is strong. Don't break your neck here."

Garin shook his hand off, his purple eyes as cold as fine volcanic glass.

In the shadow of the column, the fourth prince Maekar Targaryen leaned lazily against the stone sculpture, turning a gold dragon coin between his fingers. His eyes fell on Garin, and he neither stopped him nor showed any interest, as if he was watching a clumsy street farce.

"Your Highness, don't you want to take care of it?" his attendant asked in a low voice.

Meka sneered: "What's so interesting about wild dogs barking at each other?"

The gold coin bounced up with a "ding" sound and fell back into the palm of my hand.

Purple robes swept into the training ground like a storm.

"You are a bunch of seahorse bastards!"

Rhaegal Targaryen's roar made the whole place silent. He grabbed Daeron by the collar, and the seahorse knight's toes almost left the ground.

"Who gave you the guts to mock Targaryen blood on the Red Keep's turf?!"

Darren's face turned pale: "Your Highness, I just..."

"You just forgot your identity, Velaryon." Rhaeg's voice suddenly dropped to freezing point. "If it weren't for my wife, I would have driven you back to Drifthead Island long ago. Remember, his blood is the son of Targaryen." He pointed at Garin fiercely, "Ten thousand times purer than your dirty mouth!"

The Velaryon knights froze in place, no one dared to move.

"Why are you angry, brother?"

Maika walked slowly into the field, his silver hair almost blinding in the sun. He tilted his head to look at Garin, the curve of his lips like a dagger drawn from its sheath.

"Shouldn't bloodline be proven with a sword?"

Reg's pupils suddenly contracted.

"What do you mean?"

Maekar shrugged, gold coins flickering between his fingers. "Literally. Since this 'cousin' has dragon blood." He raised his hand sharply to the weapon rack, "Let him prove whether he is worthy of the name Targaryen!"

Garin's breath hitched.

Maekar was right. The Targaryen Iron Throne was proven by sword and dragonfire. To prove one's bloodline, the best way is also sword and fire.

Reg was furious, but Meka raised his hand to stop him.

"Why? Are you afraid that he will lose?" Maekar chuckled. "Or do you think that he is just a bastard and unworthy of the Targaryen name?"

(End of this chapter)