Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire

Attis held Myrcella's hand and felt the warmth conveyed under the silk handkerchief.

The Hundred Furnaces Hall was empty, and the wind was blowing outside the window. Fortunately, the iron door was closed tightly, otherwise the temperature of the furnace fire would dissipate from time to time.

The Queen Mother's coffin lay quietly in front of the long table in the main hall, next to the Duke of Harrenhal's chair.

The coffin was opened, Cersei Lannister folded her hands on her abdomen, and two smooth stones with painted eye patterns pressed against her eyes, adding a sense of humor and absurdity to her pale face.

Myrcella's neck was stiff, and her eyes never moved away. She was wandering in one place, as if she was missing some of her spirit. She was just a puppet standing there, still needing the support of Attis.

"Myrcella," Attis reminded softly, "You have been standing here for too long. Go back to your room and rest."

"No," Myrcella's voice was soft but firm. There were no tears in her eyes just now, but when she said it to Attis, her eyes suddenly became wet, and crystal tears rolled inside, "Just let me wait."

Attis did not insist anymore and stretched out his arms to pull Myrcella into his arms. He remained silent and just let Myrcella cry in his arms.

After all, she is still a little girl, and it is unwise to force her nerves to pretend to be strong.

He had to find a way to let Myrcella relax, at least for now, to be a free princess, and to be a happy queen in the future, instead of letting her always think that she was being treated as a political bargaining chip and pawn.

Attis stroked Myrcella's black hair that had not completely faded, "I want to see your blonde hair. There is no need to ask Melisandre to dye her hair in the future, my princess."

Myrcella was stunned for a moment in his arms, raised her head slightly, looked at him blankly for a moment, stretched her neck, kissed Attis gently on the cheek, stopped talking, leaned her head on her chest, and closed her eyes. Eyes, let the tears decorate the cheeks.

Except for the five towers that tower above the top, Harrenhal still looks like twisted and deformed black fingers. It still looks scary from the outside, but the rest of the castle is dominated by countless people brought from the riverlands and the Vale Kings. Handicraftsmen take care of it and make it neatly organized.

Although Tob Mott has not yet brought the blacksmiths from King's Landing in batches, the farriers, toolmakers and blacksmiths who master the art of sword and chain mail casting from the Land of Three Rivers have already settled in Harrenhal, which has been deserted for a long time. Living rooms, towers, storage rooms.

Only half of the furnaces in the Hundred Furnaces Hall remain. Nearly a hundred furnaces were placed here when the participants of the tournament were entertained. Now there are only thirty-five furnaces left. The rest have been removed and placed in five Some interiors of the tower and many of the buildings in between.

The kitchen is a huge circular building, equivalent to the size of the main hall of Winterfell. Under the hemispherical roof is the kitchen. Forty or fifty cooks are busy inside, and more are in the military camp outside Harrenhal. Here, in addition to providing food for the thousands of soldiers stationed here, they also need to be delivered by blue robes to the increasingly large taverns along the King's Road anytime and anywhere.

Thinking about the fact that the Tails family was reduced to the embarrassing situation of only one cook in Harrenhal, it is really puzzling compared to the extremely huge Harrenhal.

After sending Myrcella back to her room, Attis walked around the fake wooden figures used for attendant training in the Flowstone Courtyard, passed through a low wall outside the godswood forest, and watched the dragon egg and the heart tree burning in the sea of ​​fire. boiling.

"Every winter, the thirteen dark scratches on the Heart Tree bleed, and the most bleeding begins this winter," Steward Harrenhal murmured to himself as he walked sideways. The fat old man's nose was red from the cold, and his cheeks seemed drunk, as if he came here to keep warm. He looked at the pool of blood under the sea of ​​fire, "Fortunately it wasn't real blood, but the woman in red robe threw a few more leeches into it. I don't know whose blood it sucked."

The steward seemed not to have seen him, standing alone by the low wall of the godswood, watching silently, until Attis walked past him, the latter's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the Duke's expensive blue woolen coat, Crescent Hunter An eagle is painted on the cloak.

"Duke!" The steward jumped in surprise, like a fat spring bouncing from the ground. He touched the tip of his nose, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"No need to be polite, Simon," Attis said, without moving his eyes away from the dragon egg. He pondered for a moment and then asked a question: "Can the dragon really come out?"

"Look," Simon stretched out a finger and pointed around, "the shadow of the Heart Tree almost covers the fire. This is the work of your Shadowbinder."

Attis raised his eyebrows and raised his head, "Aren't the towers at Harrenhal too high?"

Simon suddenly choked and hesitated, "This, this, I want to say, there are so many capable people and strangers around the Duke. Although dragons are rare animals, they must be hatched. I am afraid." In front of his eyes. The figure of a dragon seemed to appear with its wings spread out, covering the sky and the sun. The fear in his eyes became even more intense. "Everyone in the world knows that dragons are gods. Only Targaryen can tame them. There are also rumors about dragons in the Eastern Continent."

Before he could finish speaking, the green bachelor "Red Man" came over and staggered across the gravel, "Ms. Melisandre can do some blood magic, but it's not enough."

"What do you mean?" Attis asked.

"Red Man" breathed a sigh of relief, "At the beginning, the Valyrian people were just a group of nomads living near the ring volcanoes. They discovered dragons at the Fourteenth Fire Peak. They don't know why they mastered the method of controlling dragons. They only know that this It is an evil blood magic that requires a steady stream of blood sacrifices. In the end, the Valyrian people actually bound their bloodline to dragon control. The conditions are the same. The dragon's horn makes the dragon obedient, and the blood magic allows the dragon to merge with humans. "

"Is this your guess?"

"It's a reasonable guess, and your Red Lady believes it too." The Child of the Forest pointed to the back, and Melisandre's beautiful red figure appeared beside the fire, her eyes blurred in the fire.

Atis looked at the vines and tangled roots of the heart tree. The fire around the heart tree was very intense, but it did not spread along the branches and vines. This must be the work of Melisandre.

"So," Atis frowned, "We need a magician who is proficient in blood magic?"

"Red Vine" nodded, "The hatching ceremony is reasonable. I am sure that the dragon egg will hatch sooner or later. The long night in the north is approaching, and the unfinished ghosts around Harrenhal have been nourished by the heart tree for so many years. There is a lot of king's blood here, and even the thirteen scratches on the heart tree have traces of Targaryen. We looked at the witch at the time on the Thousand Faces Island." He stood up, as if recalling.

"The witch of Harrenhal?" Artis thought of what was written in the book, "Aly Rivers?"

"Thank you very much, you are so knowledgeable," Hong Man opened her eyes wide, looking at Artis with some admiration, "Aly Rivers wanted to give birth to her Targaryen child, and did a lot of experiments in Harrenhal. There are many traces of blood magic, which is why the dragon can be hatched, but to tame it and make it obey the blood of Arryn, I'm afraid it's not enough."

"Who knows blood magic?" This question came out of the mouth of the butler Simon, but everyone's attention was attracted by the hissing sound from the flames.

A crack extended downward from the top of the sky-blue dragon egg, and the fragments of the shell fell into the fire. A head with dark blue scales and thorns emerged from it, opened its mouth with some sharp teeth, and hissed towards the sky.

Dragon!

Marwyn drove the donkey cart, whipped it, and hummed a little song, just like when he was strolling by the Black Ash River in Asshai, but there were no donkey carts at that time, and all animals that entered Asshai died tragically without exception. It seemed that only the deformed species in the shadow land outside Asshai could survive on this land.

He hissed, and his finger was suddenly cut by something sharp, and a drop of blood flowed out.

"Haha!" He laughed, this was the same scene as when he left Asshai and ventured to Styria.

This represents good luck, Marwyn thought.