Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 423: Spring Plague

Hoffa Varese stood in the middle of seventeen extinguished glass candles, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the twisted black smoke on the candlesticks. The boy was a little frightened, but still stood up straight.

Brynden, who had secretly flown to Dragon's Nest on a dragon, stood expressionlessly beside the boy. A white crow landed on the Marquis's shoulder, and the Marquis's one eye was fixed on the blue flame that the boy had lit in his palm in the center of the circle of glass candles. The flame did not leap like an ordinary flame, but coiled around Hoffa's fingers like a snake, sometimes turning into a dragon shape, and sometimes scattering into starlight.

"Stop." Blood Crow's voice seemed to come from far away.

Hoffa woke up suddenly, and the fire suddenly went out. Fine beads of sweat oozed from his forehead, and his breathing became rapid. At that moment, he not only saw Brynden's frown, but also saw his own pale face through the crow's eyes.

"I'm sorry"

"No need to be sorry, kid." Brynden's hand pressed to his forehead, and Hoffa shuddered at the cold touch. "Tell me, what else have you seen recently?"

Hoffa's eyelashes fluttered.

“Dream of a dragon,” he whispered. “I dreamed I was flying in the clouds. When I woke up, the feeling of flying was real.”

Brynden's fingertips paused.

"anything else?"

"At dinner yesterday." Hoffa pursed his lips. "I tasted the lemon cake on Little Varal's plate, but there were only apples on mine."

"Be serious."

"I never ate whale meat before, but yesterday I suddenly started drooling over it for no apparent reason." Hoffa restrained his smile, "And I feel like I've eaten it before, and it tastes pretty good."

Blood Raven's single eye narrowed slightly. This was not a simple dragon tamer's empathy, but the shapeshifter talent of the Stark family. Hoffa had most likely unconsciously entered the body of a dragon, possibly even a dragon with an owner. The two bloodline magics were actually blending in this child's body.

Brynden took Hoffa to the restricted section and unrolled a yellowed Valyrian scroll.

"The wizards of old Valyria could see through the eyes of a dragon." He traced a fingernail across an ancient hieroglyphic inscription. "And the Stark ancestors could travel through the wolf's dreams. But it's not the same magic."

Hoffa suddenly covered his eyes and screamed.

His vision was splitting. His left eye was still in the dim library, but his right eye suddenly rose and rotated, penetrating the stone wall and overlooking the vast bay. He saw the ships in the bay as small as toys, and saw the panicked whales running away in a panic. Because at this moment, Hoffa's right eye was embedded in the pupil of a giant dragon.

"Star Song." The boy curled up in pain. "It's in King's Landing. Why can I..."

Brynden pushed him onto the stone table and poured half a bottle of Nightshade Water into his mouth.

"Because you are the direct descendant of the Prime Minister." Blood Raven's voice seemed to be through a thick layer of ice, "Otherwise, Star Song would not allow your soul to be branded in its body."

Hoffa's magical gifts were a minor sideshow in the latter part of King Daeron's reign.

This summer did not last long. After a short autumn, there was an equally short winter. Just when the winter snow disappeared, people were happy to think that it was another familiar long summer.

Tragedy strikes.

From Braavos to Oldtown, death came suddenly.

Summer Hall.

The first victim was a flower girl.

She collapsed at the early morning market, cradling a basket of freshly picked summer roses, petals stained with the black blood she had coughed up. People thought she was just drunk until her skin began to ulcerate, as if burned from the inside out by an invisible fire.

When the news reached Dragon's Nest, Igor was teaching Hoffa how to identify the temperature of dragon flames at the training ground. The servant stumbled in, his face pale:
"My lord, Black Blood Fever broke out simultaneously in Summerhall, Silvercrown, Wineport, and Tyrosh, and the death toll has exceeded a hundred!"

Igor's hand suddenly tightened, causing his son to frown.

"Can you confirm it is Black Blood Fever?" "Maester Velomuel and Lord Sebastian have examined it and can confirm it is Black Blood Fever."

"Order!" Igor ordered immediately, "Seal the city gates, light the beacon fire, recall all the dragon knights and their families outside, let the children of the Purple Palace move into the castle, and requisition all warehouses as quarantine points and temporary sanctuaries."

The bronze brazier supported by four obsidian dragons on top of the Silver Blood Tower in Dragon's Nest City was lit again after decades.

"Father, what is this?" Hoffa stood on tiptoe, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the silver flames dancing in the basin.

Igor did not answer, but cut his palm and dripped blood into the fire. The flame suddenly surged and turned into a winding fire snake, moving along the ancient runes engraved on the four obsidian dragons.

"Your great-grandfather cast a protective spell when he built the castle," Sebastian explained in a low voice. "The blood of the Dragon King, the obsidian that seals the fire magic, the bronze that is the friend of fire, and the ancient runes can block the plague and evil spirits."

Fire snakes climbed up the walls, weaving between every brick and stone. Wormisol hovered in the air, the dragon flames resonated with the runes, and the silver fire slowly merged into the entire castle, as if it had some kind of strange resonance with the entire red mountain range.

Hoffa leaned against the window and watched the last group of caravans being stopped outside the city. The Silver Blood Army and the City Guards directed them to the temporary temple for treatment and isolation.

"Is this all we can do?" the boy's voice trembled.

Igor's hand rested on his son's shoulder, heavy as a ton of weight:

"If it was the ancient Valyria, dozens of blood witches could solve a plague, but not now. Grandfather set up a complete epidemic prevention system back then, and it can still be used today."

The heir to Dragon's Nest City sighed.

“Can we participate?”

Igor looked at his son with satisfaction.

"The magic amulets are limited. When everyone comes back, we will arrange for everyone to participate in epidemic prevention."

Hoffa nodded heavily.

King's Landing, the king's apartment.

Daeron II's face was as dry as a dead tree, with black lines spreading from his chest to his neck. When the raven brought the news that Baelor was about to return from Dragonstone, the king used up his last strength to break the letter tube.

"Don't let him enter Junlin." With every word he spoke, a trace of black blood flowed out of the corner of his mouth. "This is Wang Ling. Prime Minister, please stop him!"

Queen Sirui held her husband's hand tightly, tears falling on their interlocked knuckles. She knew that Daeron would rather die alone on his sickbed than let his eldest son step into this plague city.

Temple Square, King's Landing

Prince Reig stood in front of the makeshift medicine shed, his purple eyes darkened. He hadn't slept for three days, his fingers were wrinkled from the herbal juice, and his cuffs were stained with blood and ashes. The maesters urged him to rest, but he just shook his head and continued to pack mint and wormwood into linen bags.

"Your Highness, the medicines in Silk Street and Blacksmith Street have been distributed." A gray-robed monk came running over breathlessly, "but another twenty died in Flea Bottom."

"Make another batch of fire wine, vinegar, milk of the poppy, and bitter mint." Reg's voice was so hoarse that it was almost inaudible. "Tell Sister Silent to prepare more shrouds."

His wife Alessa stood not far away, distributing silk scarves soaked in vinegar and packaged medicines to sick children in the slums. The hem of her skirt, with the seahorse and three-headed dragon as her family emblem, swept through the mud like a stubborn wave.

"Madam, you should go back." The fully armed old nun was worried, "This is not the place you should come to. Madam, this place is full of patients."

Alessa just smiled and tied the last scarf around the wrist of a coughing little girl: "May the sea breeze bless you."

She didn't tell anyone that her fingertips had been feeling cold since early morning.

(End of this chapter)