The Fading Firewall's Chill Omen
The snow in Winterfell was falling thick and sticky. No longer fine particles, but clumps of snowflakes, they landed on the green flames of the The Trench of Fire Oil with soft hisses, turning into wisps of white steam. The wind then plastered them onto the soldiers' armor, freezing into thin crusts of ice.
Daenerys stood behind the merlons in the middle section of the city wall, her fingers unconsciously stroking the scales on Drogon's neck—the black dragon had just circled back from above the The Trench of Fire Oil, sparks still clinging to his nostrils, and the hot air he exhaled condensed into a layer of frost on her hand. Her gaze was locked on the green flames; that firewall, which had once held the wights half a mile away, was now more than half diminished. The tongues of flame, which could originally shoot two zhang high, now barely reached the wights' knees, blackening their bones but no longer instantly reducing them to ash as before.
"The dragonglass powder in the Sow's Butter is almost exhausted," Illyrio's voice came from beside her. He held a small piece of charred earth he had picked up from the edge of the fire pit, rubbing it between his fingers. Black powder sifted down. "We miscalculated the erosion rate of the ice mist earlier. It not only lowers the temperature but also dilutes the efficacy of thenglass. In another half an hour, this firewall will be useless."
Jon walked over from the east side of the city wall, bone fragments of wights still clinging to longclaw. He wiped the blade with snow, his brow furrowed: "Wights have already started climbing the wall on the west side. The Unsullied have stabbed down three waves with dragonglass spears, but they seem endless. Bran says the Night King is still behind the ice mist, not showing his face—he's waiting, waiting for our defenses to show a weakness."
Daenerys looked up to the north. That pale blue ice mist was thicker than half an hour ago, thick like irresolvable ink, so dense that even the sharpest archers couldn't see any movement within it. Only the occasional blue glint proved that wights were still pouring in. She suddenly thought of Viserion, the little dragon who always loved to rub against her palm and liked to hide hay in the dragon pit. He was now guarding the arrow tower south of the city, growling softly at the ice mist alone.
"I'm going to see Viserion," she said instinctively, her feet already moving towards the stairs. Drogon seemed to sense her worry, responding with a low rumble, his wings sweeping across the city wall, stirring up a swirl of snow mist.
Illyrio quickly grabbed her wrist: "Don't go alone, it's too dangerous in the ice mist. I'll go with you, let Jon stay here to command. If anything happens, we'll use signal arrows to communicate."
Jon nodded, unfastening the signal arrow quiver from his waist and handing it to Daenerys: "Red means we need support, green is safe. I'll have the archers keep an eye on the south side of the city; if there's any unusual movement, they'll open fire immediately."
Daenerys took the quiver, her fingertips touching the cold metal arrow shafts, but an inexplicable panic filled her heart. She always felt that something was hidden in that ice mist, something more terrifying than wights—it was a premonition from her bloodline, like the palpitations when she encountered a Khalasar in the Red Waste, like the tremor when she first saw the Unsullied in Astapor.
II. Dragon Speech at the South Arrow Tower
The arrow tower to the south of the city was shorter than the other towers because it had once been Winterfell's granary, later converted into a defensive structure. Viserion lay on the open ground in front of the arrow tower, his silver scales gleaming coldly in the snowlight. His right wing was slightly folded, the place where he had been wounded by an arrow still wrapped in linen, which was now covered with a thin layer of ice.
Seeing Daenerys and Illyrio approach, Viserion immediately raised his head, letting out a joyful low growl. He wanted to get up and rub against her palm but, fearing the distant ice mist, only dared to pace in place. His nose constantly sniffed the air, and he whimpered softly in his throat, as if warning them of something.
"He's afraid," Daenerys knelt down, gently stroking Viserion's forehead. The temperature beneath his scales was much lower than usual. "There's something in the ice mist that frightens him."
Illyrio went around to the other side of the arrow tower, where the view was more open, allowing him to see the edge of the ice mist. He raised his spyglass, and the sight in the lens made his pupils constrict—in the deepest part of the ice mist, a tall figure vaguely stood, clad in tattered armor, holding something longer than a spear in his hand, glowing with a pale blue light, as if carved from a single block of ice.
"The Night King," his voice tightened, his fingers clutching the spyglass. "He's there, holding an ice spear."
Daenerys suddenly stood up, looking in the direction he pointed, but she could only see a blurred blue mist. Viserion seemed to hear the words "Night King" and suddenly became agitated. He rubbed his head against Daenerys's arm, trying to push her towards the arrow tower, his low growl turning into an urgent warning.
Just then, an extremely faint sound suddenly came from the ice mist, not the dragging sound of wights, nor the sound of wind, but a "click" sound similar to cracking ice. Before Illyrio could react, he saw a blue cold light shoot out from the mist—it was the ice spear in the Night King's hand. The spearhead cut through the air, carrying a bone-chilling cold, flying directly towards Viserion.
"Look out!" Illyrio roared, lunging at Daenerys and pressing her against the stone wall of the arrow tower. Almost simultaneously, Viserion suddenly spread his wings, shielding them. With a muffled thud, the ice spear accurately pierced Viserion's left wing, embedding itself between his scales. The spearhead emerged from his right wing, bringing with it a gush of warm dragonblood that landed on the snow, instantly freezing into red ice crystals.
Viserion let out a mournful shriek, a sound not like a dragon's roar, but more like the wail of a young beast. He tried to pull out the ice spear with his claws, but only tore the wound wider. dragonblood flowed down his scales, forming a red stream on the snow, which was quickly covered by fresh snow. His body began to sway, his silver scales lost their luster, gradually turning pale, as if all their warmth had been drained.
Daenerys broke free from Illyrio's hand and rushed to Viserion's side like a madwoman, embracing his neck. Her tears struck his scales, instantly freezing into ice beads: "Viserion! Hold on! I'll take you back to the dragon pit, I'll heal you!"
But Viserion could no longer hear. His eyes slowly closed, and his body gently collapsed onto the snow, wings spread weakly, like a fallen cloud. The ice spear was still embedded in his body, the blue light from its tip growing brighter and brighter, making the surrounding snow turn pale blue.
Illyrio stood by, his heart gripped by ice. He saw the Night King in the ice mist move, the tall figure slowly emerging from the mist, extending his hand, and making a pulling motion towards Viserion's corpse. He suddenly understood what the Night King was going to do—he was going to resurrect Viserion, turning him into his Ice Dragon.
"Daenerys, we have to go!" Illyrio grabbed Daenerys's arm, forcefully pulling her away from Viserion's corpse. "The Night King is going to resurrect him! If we don't go now, it'll be too late!"
Daenerys stared fixedly at Viserion's corpse, refusing to move. She saw Viserion's claws suddenly twitch, saw his eyes reopen—no longer the warm gold, but the same blue as the wights, cold, hollow, without a trace of warmth.
III. The Despair of the Ice Dragon's Awakening
Viserion's body began to convulse, his silver scales rapidly covered by a layer of white frost, and his once warm dragonblood turned into black ice shards. He slowly stood up, his left wing unable to spread due to the embedded ice spear, forcing him to support his body with his right wing. He let out a hoarse roar towards the sky—no longer a dragon's roar, but a chilling ice howl. The howl swept across the snowy ground, causing the surrounding temperature to drop abruptly, even freezing the iron railings on the arrow tower.
The Night King slowly walked to Viserion's side, extended his hand, and gently stroked his neck. The Ice Dragon obediently lowered his head, as if responding to his master's comfort. Then, under Daenerys's despairing gaze, the Night King swung onto the Ice Dragon's back. The ice spear was pulled out by him, held in his hand, and pointed towards Winterfell.
"Shoot! Shoot arrows quickly!" Illyrio shouted towards the city wall, simultaneously pushing Daenerys into the arrow tower. The archers on the city wall had already noticed the unusual movement here and immediately nocked dragonglass arrows, firing them at the Ice Dragon and the Night King. But before the arrows could get close, they were frozen by the cold air exhaled by the Ice Dragon, falling onto the snow and shattering into pieces.
The Ice Dragon spread its right wing, taking flight with the Night King, soaring towards Winterfell's The Trench of Fire Oil. His flight speed was faster than when he was alive; where his wings swept, a thin layer of ice formed on the snow, and even the air seemed to be frozen.
"He's going to break the firewall!" Illyrio pulled Daenerys towards the city wall. "Jon doesn't know what's happening here yet, we have to warn him before he reaches the The Trench of Fire Oil!"
Daenerys's steps faltered, tears blurring her vision. She watched the Ice Dragon's figure grow more and more distant, watching that little dragon who once tickled her palm now become a weapon to destroy Winterfell. Her heart felt torn, half from the pain of losing a dragon, half from hatred for the Night King—a hatred more intense than when fighting the slave masters in Meereen, more piercing than when deceived by the warlocks in Qarth.
"Drogon!" she suddenly shouted towards the sky, her voice hoarse. Drogon, who was circling above the city wall, heard her call and immediately changed direction, flying towards her. He also seemed to sense Viserion's change, letting out an angry roar, sparks from his wings scattering onto the snow, burning small black spots.
Illyrio pulled Daenerys onto Drogon's back, and the black dragon immediately took flight, soaring towards the The Trench of Fire Oil. Looking down from above, the green flames of the The Trench of Fire Oil were almost extinguished. Wights were trampling over the corpses of their companions, trying to cross the fire pit. And the Ice Dragon was diving towards the fire pit, already gathering cold air in his mouth—he was going to breathe icefire, extinguishing that last defense completely.
"Jon! The Ice Dragon is coming!" Daenerys shouted towards the city wall, simultaneously pulling a red signal arrow from her quiver, nocking it onto a makeshift bow, lighting the fuse on the arrow's tail, and shooting it into the sky. The red signal arrow arced through the snowy sky, like a desperate warning, falling over Winterfell.
IV. Three-Way Standoff at the Fire Pit
The moment Jon saw the red signal arrow, he knew something had happened. He immediately ordered all archers on the west side to move to the The Trench of Fire Oil, and at the same time, told Grey Worm to take two hundred Unsullied to rebuild the dragonglass spear formation behind the fire pit. But before the soldiers could get into position, an ice howl came from the sky—the Ice Dragon had arrived.
The Ice Dragon swooped down, breathing a pale blue icefire at the The Trench of Fire Oil. That icefire was more terrifying than imagined; it landed on the green flames without a sound, and the green flames instantly extinguished. The Sow's Butter in the fire pit turned into black ice, and even the soldiers by the ditch were frozen, becoming ice sculptures.
"Disperse! Disperse quickly!" Jon shouted, using longclaw to cleave a piece of ice shard flying towards a soldier. The wights, taking advantage of the extinguished firewall, charged madly towards the city wall, their blue eyes glinting in the snow, like a pack of hungry wolves.
Drogon immediately breathed dragonflame at the Ice Dragon. The orange-red flames collided with the pale blue icefire in the air, creating a sizzling sound and forming a wall of white steam. The Ice Dragon was forced back a few steps by the dragonflame, but the Night King showed no fear, raising his ice spear again and throwing it at Drogon.
Illyrio shouted from Drogon's back: "Duck!" Daenerys immediately pressed Drogon's neck down. The black dragon sharply lowered his head, and the ice spear grazed his back as it flew past, embedding itself in a crack in the city wall's stone, instantly freezing a large section of stone.
"We have to lure the Ice Dragon away!" Illyrio told Daenerys. "Let Jon take this opportunity to reorganize the defense, otherwise the wights will break through the city wall!"
Daenerys nodded, wiped away her tears, and her eyes once again became resolute. She patted Drogon's neck, and the black dragon understood, flying towards the snowy plains outside the city, attempting to lure the Ice Dragon away. The Ice Dragon indeed followed; the Night King needed to protect his "weapon" and couldn't let Drogon harm the Ice Dragon.
Watching the two dragons disappear into the ice mist, Illyrio breathed a sigh of relief and turned to shout at Jon on the city wall: "Quick! Use the oil barrels to relight the fire pit! I'll go inform Bran, let him use Greensight to interfere with the wights!"
Jon immediately gave orders. Soldiers carried spare oil barrels, braving the wights' arrow rain, and poured the oil into the ditch. Illyrio, meanwhile, ran down the city wall's stairs, heading towards the Godswood—Bran was still there, he was the only one who could interfere with the Night King, and he was the Night King's true target.
The snow was still falling, the ice mist still permeated, and the roars of wights, the growls of dragons, and the shouts of soldiers intertwined, forming Winterfell's most tragic symphony. Daenerys, riding Drogon, parried with the Ice Dragon on the snowy plains; Jon, gripping longclaw, fought the wights on the city wall; Illyrio ran through the snow, heading towards the Godswood.
They all knew that Viserion's death was just the beginning, and the Night King's true offensive had only just begun. And all they could do was fight with all their might to defend this city, to defend the last hope of this world.