Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire

Sansa was awakened from her sleep by a wolf howling. The blue velvet pajamas were designed to be very loose, but she felt as if her neck was being pinched, and she felt stuffy all over.

She panted loudly, and the sweat stuck Sansa's red hair to her face. She turned her head and looked out the closed window.

The golden robes dispersed the crowd, and the long spears and steel spears drove away the flesh and blood. All the civilians who showed a trace of unwillingness in their eyes fell in a pool of blood. This was the last picture that the lady saw for herself before waking up from the dream. It jumped to a low wall and disappeared in the streets amid the frightened cries of beggars.

The girl's instinctive fear just rippled, but was forcibly suppressed by the beast in the direwolf.

"Little girl, did you have a nightmare?"

The hoarse voice that frightened Sansa appeared next to her ears again. She looked up and suppressed her fear. The hideous face of the hound appeared in front of her. The scar burned in the fire pit was like the mark of a stranger.

The stranger is not so rude, Sansa thought. Since the day of her first menstruation, Joffrey's dog has been watching her all the time, but fortunately he didn't tell anyone.

Why didn't he tell others, Sansa speculated again in her heart, but still didn't dare to look directly at the Hound.

She is a wolf from the north and doesn't believe in the Seven Gods, Sansa emphasized again.

"Just some," she sounded very calm in her words, "a nightmare that is not worth mentioning." Sansa swallowed slightly, raised her head and looked directly at the Hound.

"The nightmare happened in front of you, you'd better not experience it yourself." The Hound responded, and the two fell into silence again.

The hideous scar stagnated in the darkness for a long time, and then the heavy footsteps sounded, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief when the wooden door closed with a "creak" sound.

She quietly left the bed, walked to the window, and looked into the distance without making any sound. Sansa was sure that chaos and blood were happening in the seemingly silent distance.

Sansa rolled up her red hair and gently stroked it beside her face. There was a slight ripple in her eyes, but there was a little more depth in them. The loneliness and pity that only belonged to a little girl when she met the southerners before were no longer found.

The dew in the early morning had not yet wet the grass and trees, but Tyrion felt the coldness on his face. He shivered suddenly and half-raised his upper body.

Bronn stood beside Tyrion's bed with blood on his face. His squire Podrick stammered and gestured with his hands, as if he wanted to explain.

"The mob almost overturned the whole street," Bronn spat, "Get up and follow me quickly, before your house is torn to pieces by these bastards."

He lifted Tyrion with a big hand and almost dragged him outside.

"This is incredible. How could an unarmed civilian..." Tyrion stumbled and fell to the side of the warhorse, looking very embarrassed.

Before he finished speaking, he was already sitting on the horse. The galloping horse brought the stench and cold wind from the streets into his thin sleeves. Tyrion shuddered and got rid of all his sleepiness. The wall of the Red Castle was right in front of him.

Pile of broken limbs, blurry corpses lying beside the well, civilians in shackles who were at a loss, and fully armed golden robes holding spears and short sticks.

"Gods," Tyrion instinctively lowered his body and clung to the horse's back. Even in the Lannister camp, he had never seen such a scene.

Fortunately, the journey was safe. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until he looked up and saw the wall of the Red Castle.

"The Prime Minister is waiting for us, Lord Tyrion." The blond servant of Lannister approached him and reminded him.

Tyrion glanced at the servant twice. He didn't remember which Lannister this was. He sighed and walked towards the royal meeting hall without thinking much.

Approaching the heavy wooden door of the royal meeting, Tyrion heard the furious voice of the incompetent Lord Renfrey through the wall.

"Seven layers of hell! These people are scum who completely despise the laws of the kingdom! Mobs! They robbed private property, or the sacred property of nobles who are blessed by the Seven Gods!"

"Ambassadors of the Free Trade Cities! Rich merchants and nobles who have good relations with the royal family! The mansions of the great nobles of the Seven Kingdoms are all there! These lowly people committed crimes under the king's nose! They must be severely punished!"

The voice of the Minister of Finance was particularly loud, and Tyrion waited for him to pause before walking in lightly.

"I know your house was burned to ashes last night. We know this. The Prime Minister and the royal family will definitely make up for your losses." Varys looked at Renfrey with a bitter face, as if sympathetic.

"Fortunately, Lord Renfrey fell asleep in the arms of a lovely girl last night, otherwise we wouldn't have seen such an angry finance minister today." Tyrion said sarcastically at the right time. He looked at the seat next to him. There was a stranger in the archbishop's seat. The gorgeous monk's clothes could not hide the shock on his face.

A trace of surprise flashed in Lord Renfrey's eyes, "You, what are you doing? You are slandering"

"The girl's name is Rose? A nice name. I remember she was the top card in the North. I had a warm night with her." Tyrion focused his eyes on the uneasy monk, but the sarcasm in his mouth did not stop, "How do I know? Come on, I didn't expect Lord Renfrey to be so forgetful. We were in the same store last night, weren't we?"

"Enough!" Tywin's eyes flashed with anger, and he stopped.

Tyrion knew that if he kept talking about brothels and prostitutes, his father's face would always be flushed with anger. He reached out and grabbed a glass of wine on the table and swallowed it in one gulp. It tasted sour and bitter.

"Your Excellency, Prime Minister, Count Reifrey, I am here to tell you that the Archbishop died in a night of riots." The monk timidly spoke, but before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Count Reifrey.

"Okay, this mob dares to kill even the Archbishop!"

"No, no, no," the monk waved his hand quickly, "The Archbishop was not killed by the mob. How could a chosen one of the Seven Gods who was loved by the people be killed by the people?"

"He died in the church?" Tyrion asked, frowning, "People are just thirsty, not crazy from hunger. How can they embarrass the Archbishop who is so fat that he can't walk?"

The monk swallowed his saliva and said, "The Archbishop is dead, he is dead."

Tyrion looked at the monk's obviously nervous face and roughly guessed the answer in his heart.

"Some nasty filth?" he asked.

The monk seemed to have grasped a life-saving straw and nodded quickly, "The Archbishop has no scars on his body. I thought he was drunk, but I didn't expect it."

"Thorough investigation," Tywin said, looking directly at the monk. "The king will give the church an explanation, but I believe that the wisdom given by the Seven Gods is enough for the church to understand how to act."

The monk breathed a sigh of relief and bowed slightly, "This is the responsibility of the church, and the archbishops have already started discussing it."

"No," Tywin's tone left no room for doubt.

Tyrion raised his head and looked at his father. He knew his father's character. For the church, an organization that can influence people's thoughts anytime and anywhere, how could dear Lord Tywin not get involved?

The monk looked at Tywin hesitantly, "Prime Minister, what do you mean?"

"The duty of the church is to share the worries of the royal family, not to allow the people under the protection of the Seven Gods to break laws and disorderly," Tywin said calmly, leaning on the back of his chair, "The Iron Throne will elect an archbishop, and the church must The opinion of the Iron Throne is of paramount importance."

"This" the monk who came to report the news was obviously very young and did not know the current situation of the church in King's Landing. His face was sweating and his eyes were wandering around. "I'm afraid this is not in compliance with the rules."

"I'm just suggesting that you repeat it to the church, word for word." Tywin responded indifferently.

The monk looked at the undeniable stern look in the Prime Minister's eyes and struggled to say one word, "Okay"