Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 421: The Fall of the Dragon

Even with an endless supply of White Walkers on this side of the Icebone Tower, only five or six could escape from it at a time. Viserys would kill the White Walkers, and the Icebone Tower would create or release more, maintaining a fragile, dynamic balance between the two forces.

With all three dragons present, the overall situation had improved. But the prolonged fighting was taking its toll. More White Walkers and wights were gradually advancing from the ruins of the Great Wall.

Fortunately, two escape routes had been opened, allowing the armies of The North and the Night's Watch to begin their retreat. They estimated that an hour at most would be enough to withdraw completely from the battlefield. However, the army of wights they were combating seemed to grow fiercer, their eerie blue eyes glowing brighter with intensity.

The exhausted forces of The North and the Night's Watch struggled to hold their ground. Dany led the remaining four dragons in repeated sweeps across the battlefield, trying to alleviate the pressure on the retreating soldiers. But to do so effectively, the dragons had to fly dangerously low. Their supply of explosive charges had long since been depleted, leaving only dragonfire as their weapon.

Dany’s violet eyes remained wide open, scanning intently to distinguish between the White Walkers and her own people. She knew she couldn’t afford any mistakes—but the task was far from easy.

“Four.”

Her heart sank as she realized what had happened. In the chaos, she had accidentally unleashed dragonfire on a Night’s Watch soldier. Although she had killed dozens of wights and at least three White Walkers, this single error weighed heavily on her.

Dany couldn’t suppress a wave of worry. If she, a seasoned dragon rider, could make such a mistake, what of Hermine? And the two dragons flying without riders—how many friendly soldiers might they inadvertently harm?

A sudden, thunderous roar snapped her attention away from her thoughts. It was the black dragon, Nymerion!

Dany’s head whipped around just in time to see Nymerion falling, a massive ice spear protruding from its neck. The weapon, five or six meters long, was unmistakable—the same kind of ice spear Viserys had warned her about so many times. Its sheer size and power were devastating.

Nymerion let out a pained, harrowing cry, its massive body writhing as it fought to stay alive. Among all the dragons, Nymerion had always been the most mischievous. Dany's mind briefly flashed back to the dragon’s younger days, filled with fond memories despite the chaos.

She remembered the time Nymerion had knocked over a frying pan while she was cooking with Kyla. Infuriated, Dany had instinctively grabbed the pan and struck Nymerion on the head. To her surprise, it was astonishingly easy to land a hit on the dragon’s snout with the pan. Since then, Dany had joked that she could hit Nymerion from nearly 20 meters away—but even now, whenever Nymerion saw her holding a pan, the dragon would shrink back instinctively, trying to hide.

No matter how naughty she was, Nymerion was still a Targaryen dragon—Dany’s dragon—and there was no question about what she had to do. She had to save it.

But first, she needed to find out where the ice spear had come from. Her eyes darted across the battlefield, searching for the source. Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine, from her tailbone to the top of her head. It was an unmistakable feeling, one that Viserys had described to her before.

"It feels like being locked in," she thought grimly.

“Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!” she shouted frantically, unsure whether Hermine or the riderless red dragon, R’hlloros, had been targeted. She knew only one thing: gaining altitude was the safest move. The three dragons ascended sharply, their wings cutting through the icy air at breakneck speed. Dany glanced down in growing anxiety. Nymerion was still grounded, roaring in frustration and pain.

The black dragon fought valiantly, using its claws and powerful bites to fend off the relentless swarm of wights surrounding it.

But Dany couldn't ignore the grim reality of what she was witnessing. The black dragon, her Nymerion, looked like a fragile butterfly under attack from an unending swarm of ants. Though it held its ground for now, Dany could see the ice spears pelting it in a cruel barrage. Individually, they weren’t fatal, but together, they were sapping the dragon’s strength and vitality.

Nymerion raised its head, her eyes locking onto Dany’s. In that moment, Dany could see its plea for help, a desperate cry that tore at her heart.

Tears welled in her violet eyes. She knew the truth—if the Night King or the White Walkers wanted to, they could have killed Nymerion outright with more of the massive ice spears. They didn’t.

They were baiting her.

"Outflank and attack the support," the term echoed in her mind, a lesson from Viserys on battlefield tactics.

Before she could decide her next move, another agonizing roar pierced the air. This time, it wasn’t Nymerion—it was R’hlloros, the red dragon. Dany’s heart clenched as she spotted it faltering in the sky. His flight became unsteady, but with great effort, it managed to stabilize.

Squinting, she saw the cause: a hole the size of a bowl had been pierced through his wing. While such an injury might have been fatal for a human, it wasn’t as deadly for a dragon, especially since it hadn’t hit a more critical area. Though clearly in pain, R’hlloros pushed through and continued flying—a small mercy in an otherwise dire situation.

Nymerion’s plight remained the most urgent. Just as Dany was about to act, a formation of knights clad in black armor stormed the battlefield below. It was the Order of the Dragon’s Wing! Eustace led over 200 heavily armored knights, their charge aimed directly at the wights surrounding the fallen black dragon.

The cavalry’s arrival invigorated Nymerion. It could sense the living essence of the knights and, with renewed spirit, shook off some of the attacking wights. Together, the dragon and the knights temporarily pushed back the immediate threat.

But it wasn’t a solution. Nymerion was grounded, unable to take flight, and the White Walkers’ forces showed no sign of relenting. The encirclement was vast, and moving such a massive, injured creature out of danger would be no small feat. It seemed impossible.

Dany hovered above the battlefield, watching the knights fighting desperately to protect Nymerion. Eustace was at the forefront, his leadership evident as he commanded his men. Dany’s heart wavered. Should she order them to retreat to save their lives, or let them continue their stand?

She didn’t know what to do.

If you zoom out to the battlefield, the fallen Black Dragon and the sudden appearance of the Dragonwing Knights have drastically curtailed the advance of the White Walkers' forces. Their intervention has provided significant strategic breathing room for the retreating Night's Watch and soldiers of the North.

At least 10,000 men have already joined the large army brought from the South. If the defenders can hold their ground a little longer, dozens—perhaps even hundreds—more lives might be saved.

Sacrificing 300 men and a crippled dragon to save 1,000 lives or more…

The sharp, eerie sound of projectiles slicing through the air interrupted Dany's thoughts, like ghostly screams piercing the chaos. She shouted urgently in Hermine's direction:
“Hermine, be careful!”

But there was no response. The position where Hermine had been just moments before was empty.

Dany’s heart clenched. Steering her dragon into a sharp turn, she scanned the skies and ground frantically. But Hermine was gone—as if she had vanished into thin air.
“Hermine!” she called again, her voice cracking as panic clawed at her chest.

Suddenly, a burst of light flared to the northwest. There she was—Hermine—riding the Green Dragon. She had launched a surprise attack on several Icebone Towers. Just as another Icebone Tower adjusted its aim, Hermine disappeared once more.

After a few heartbeats, she reappeared, this time near the Black Dragon, unleashing a torrent of dragon fire that set a cluster of wights ablaze. Then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, she vanished again.

“Long live Prince Hermine!!!”

Eustace’s roar of triumph echoed across the battlefield. The Winged Knights around him cheered in unison, their morale surging.

Dany exhaled deeply, a wave of relief washing over her. At the same time, she was struck by how much had changed. Only three months ago, when she first encountered the Hermine sisters, they had been forced to live in hiding. She had never imagined they would develop so rapidly under Melisandre’s guidance. Their newfound strength offered hope—hope that they could fight the White Walkers even more effectively in the battles yet to come.

But her thoughts were quickly interrupted. The Black Dragon’s peril was far from over.

Her eyes shifted to Viserys—and her breath caught. The Yellow Dragon’s back was empty. Viserys was gone.

On the battlefield below, Viserys fought in close quarters with the White Walkers, the ground beneath him coated in frost and ice shards—the remnants of fallen enemies.

“Your Grace! Give me another hundred breaths!” Benerro shouted from nearby.

“I’ll give you 150!” Viserys called back, hardening his voice.

At this moment, the three dragons circled above, sweeping away the White Walkers on the outer perimeter. The ones still emerging from the Icebone Tower were weaker than expected, leading Viserys to believe he could hold out even longer. Yet, a troubling thought gnawed at him.

Could the Night King’s Icebone Tower actually house a teleportation array? The mere idea seemed absurd, but the evidence was piling up in unsettling ways.

By his count, he had already killed at least 200 White Walkers—enough, by any estimation, to construct another seven-meter-high Icebone Tower. The sheer volume of White Walkers produced was irrational, bordering on the impossible. It reminded him of a game he once played—Red Alert. Back then, he’d been baffled at how an endless stream of soldiers could pour out of a single, tiny barracks that looked like nothing more than a flimsy tent.

No, that can’t be it, he thought. If the Night King really had a teleportation array, he wouldn’t have needed to build that ice boat out of the Icebone Tower to cross the sea and encircle Ned’s army.

He shot a glance at Benerro. This wasn’t the time to voice his suspicions; he’d wait until he uncovered the truth behind the Icebone Tower.

Just then, he noticed something odd. The cracks at the tower’s base, which had been steadily producing White Walkers, had suddenly stopped.

Viserys stepped closer, peering cautiously into the dark fissures. Without warning, a blast of icy steam erupted from the crack. He leapt back, narrowly avoiding it. From within the frost-filled haze, a figure emerged—one Viserys recognized instantly.

The Night King.

The spiked crown atop his head, the piercing deep-blue eyes, his moon-pale skin, and armor of glacial ice that seemed forged over millennia—all unmistakable.

Viserys froze for a moment, memories flashing of their prior encounter. The Night King had once spoken to him through a Shadow Assassin, using it to communicate from afar. Back then, the Night King had the upper hand, annihilating the Shadow clone with ease. But now, there would be no intermediaries—both were here, in the flesh.

The sheer force of the Night King’s presence was palpable, rippling across the battlefield. Even Benerro’s group, not far off, felt the oppressive aura. It was as though they were standing at the heart of a storm, the Icebone Tower itself trembling under the weight of his power. Their focus on scanning the tower wavered, nearly breaking under the pressure.

The Night King spoke, his voice a chilling rumble in Valyrian. “Viserys, why are you getting in my way?”

Viserys’s eyes narrowed, his mind reeling. Valyrian? Why is he speaking Valyrian?