Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 425: The Savior’s Appearance

"If only we had bows and arrows, we could have saved so many lives!"

"Yeah! If I had a bow and arrow, I could’ve taken down at least ten more White Walkers!"

"Damn this weather. It's freezing."

"It’s all because of that cursed Icebone Tower!"

For Edmure, a commander whose expertise lay in archery, losing access to crossbows was akin to losing his arms. Though his own skill with a sword was mediocre, his ability to lead and command archers was unmatched. While he couldn't wield the weapons himself, his battlefield awareness was exceptional.

Edmure believed that with a thousand archers at his command, he could have eliminated at least 10,000 more wights. This notion lifted the spirits of those around him. The inability to use crossbows had significantly diminished their combat effectiveness. Most White Walkers lacked substantial armor, and if they had been able to deploy the obsidian-tipped arrows and bows as planned, the casualties inflicted on the Night King's forces would have been devastating.

A rough estimate suggested they had already taken down nearly 300,000 wights and White Walkers in the battle. If crossbows had been in play, that number could have exceeded 400,000. As Edmure voiced these thoughts, Red Viper’s eyes glimmered, recalling something he had seen at the Dragonpit.

He remembered the dark, rune-covered skull at the Dragon Gate, adorned with golden inscriptions. That must be the weapon Viserys had mentioned—a countermeasure against the Icebone Tower. While the construction of the Dragonbone Tower wasn’t a secret, what Viserys had concealed was the production of cannons.

Viserys had been quietly amassing an arsenal of over 3,000 Ming Dynasty-style red cannons. Since the end of the Restoration War, iron production had surged repeatedly, driving prices higher and higher. Yet, due to the technological limits of this world, only smoothbore cannons could be produced—rifled guns were still out of reach. Likewise, explosive shells remained beyond their grasp, leaving the current cannons with limited power and accuracy.

Still, with the cannons he had at his disposal, Viserys was preparing for an annihilating strike against the Night King when the time was right. However, that was a matter for the future. For now, he had a more pressing and electrifying announcement to share.

Setting aside the radiant envoy, Viserys turned to the gathered crowd and declared, "You may all be wondering why the Night King's army suddenly retreated. The reason is simple: I defeated the Night King."

His words landed like a spark in dry straw, igniting a flurry of excitement among the nobles and officers.

"Your Grace defeated the Night King?"

"We’ll survive the Long Night for sure now!"

"Your Grace must be Azor Ahai!"

"Long live His Grace!"

The murmurs quickly coalesced into a unified cheer, but just as they were about to shout in unison, Viserys raised his hand, cutting through the noise.

"To be precise," he added with deliberate clarity, "I defeated the Night King together with the Queen."

The distinction gave pause to some of the nobles. A few exchanged questioning glances, while Red Viper shot a sidelong look at Manfrey, as if silently asking why Viserys felt compelled to share the credit. As emperor, he could have claimed the glory for himself, and Dany likely wouldn’t have objected.

On the other hand, Quentyn gazed at Viserys with newfound admiration. To him, such openness and humility marked the kind of monarch worth following. Garlan, meanwhile, didn’t dwell on the matter. As the military leader of House Tyrell, he preferred to leave such political nuances to his grandmother, the formidable Old Rose.

Ned Stark, however, remained pensive, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the sword in Viserys’s hand.

Viserys continued, his voice calm but resolute:
"Not only did I defeat the Night King, but I also dealt him a severe wound. I doubt the White Walkers will attack us again anytime soon."

The room fell silent for a moment, his words sinking in. Viserys hesitated to elaborate further, knowing that describing the Night King's impalement and subsequent dismemberment would seem fantastical to those unacquainted with magic. He shifted the focus.

"But for now, they still hold a significant number of Icebone Towers. The extreme cold generated by those towers prevents us from launching a large-scale offensive. To counter this, we need weapons crafted from Dragonbone—an essential material. That’s why I have decided to travel to Valyria myself..."

Before he could finish, the room erupted in murmurs. Concerned glances were exchanged among the nobles, their faces etched with worry. Valyria, once a pinnacle of civilization, was now a place of death and despair. No Targaryen had ventured into the Doom since Arianne's ill-fated journey with the Black Dread, which had left her gravely injured.

“Your Grace,” Jon Snow interjected, his voice steady but concerned. “You can send others to mine the Dragonbone. There’s no need for you to go yourself.”

The room grew quiet again. Jon Snow was no longer seen as a mere 'royal lackey.' His early detection of the White Walkers’ encircling maneuver had saved countless lives. Though only fifty of the five hundred men stationed at Icebreaker Castle survived, Jon’s bravery had earned him the respect of all.

"Yes, Your Grace," added Mors Umber, Greatjon's cousin. "There’s no need to endanger yourself."

Other voices of agreement followed, including that of Ned Stark. Rising to his feet, Ned urged, "Your Grace, please reconsider." Bran and Rickon quickly stood as well, and their actions prompted the northern lords to join. Soon, the southern nobles followed suit.

The consensus was clear: no one wanted Viserys to leave Westeros. His presence, as the man who had vanquished the Night King, provided a sense of safety.

Viserys raised a hand to quiet the crowd. "Everyone, the Queen will remain here in Westeros to lead the fight against the White Walkers. When I was still a sellsword, I ventured into Valyria and returned with a dragon’s egg and a suit of Valyrian steel armor. I know the path and have walked it safely before."

This revelation caused the nobles to exchange glances. They now understood why Viserys had credited both himself and Dany for defeating the Night King: he wanted to reassure them of her capability. Yet despite his reasoning, doubts lingered. Entrusting a pregnant woman with leading the defense of Westeros against the White Walkers seemed precarious.

Viserys made a surprising move to address these concerns. Turning to Ned Stark, he said firmly, "Lord Ned."

The mention of his name caught Ned off guard. He had been mourning the loss of his son, and now Viserys’s focus on him felt both unexpected and heavy.

Descending from the main seat, Viserys extended his gleaming weapon to Ned.

"Everyone," Viserys declared, his tone unwavering, "during my absence, the defense of the North will rest in the hands of Lord Commander Ned Stark. If you need anything, consult the Queen."

Ned stared at the sword, then at Viserys, before sinking to one knee. "Your Grace, the Starks have been Wardens of the North for centuries. I will fulfill my duty. But if you are determined to go to Valyria, please, exercise the utmost caution."

Ned’s words carried the weight of reluctant acceptance. He knew Viserys’s reputation all too well. The songs sung of his exploits painted him as a man who achieved the impossible. As an adviser, there was little more Ned could do than offer his loyalty and prayers for his safe return.

With Ned taking the lead, the rest of the nobles followed suit. Many stepped forward, urging Viserys to assemble an elite escort of the strongest swordsmen and warriors. Some even proposed their own heirs to accompany him, seeing it as an opportunity for glory and allegiance.

Watching the spectacle, Red Viper couldn’t help but marvel. Even the lords of Dorne, who rarely involved themselves in northern matters, were eagerly offering their best to join the expedition. He realized that this was what the savior of Westeros looked like—a figure to whom everyone clung.

If this is the savior’s bloodline, he thought, then it is more valuable than any emperor’s lineage.

His gaze drifted to Hermine, standing beside Viserys. With her light brown hair and striking purple-green eyes, she was undeniably beautiful. I hope he remembers the marriage agreement, Red Viper mused. Arianne’s son is already four years old. Surely Viserys wouldn’t object to uniting their families through marriage?

In contrast, the northern nobles had no patience for such thoughts. Their priority was survival.

"Lord Stark," Viserys reassured with a smile, "do not worry. I will return safely, and I’ll bring back more than enough Dragonbone to counter the Icebone Towers."

The nobles’ offers of goodwill were accepted graciously. Viserys would be leading an expedition of 20,000 to 30,000 people to Valyria, with room for a few hundred loyal retainers. He saw no harm in taking some of their recommendations—it was a show of loyalty, after all.