Viserys's yellow dragon and Monterys's blue dragon swooped down toward the seven-ter-tall Icebone Tower designated by Benerro. Surrounding the tower were hundreds of White Walkers and twice as many wights. These wights, however, were not the typical dismbered "cannon fodder" variety but fully intact "special wights"—giants, reindeer, ice wolves, and more.
As Viserys and Monterys approached, the wights and White Walkers turned their attention upward, sensing their presence. Even the giants, usually plagued by poor eyesight, fixed their gaze on the dragons. They hefted massive wooden clubs, prepared to repel the incoming attack. Yet the difference in size was staggering. A giant, standing over three ters tall, appeared as insignificant as a hare before a twenty-ter-long dragon.
And these dragons were not rely imposing; they were weapons of destruction. They resembled fiery war chariots in the sky. The dragons unleashed streams of black smoke-like dragonfire on the giants attempting resistance, forcing them back before splitting into two directions to encircle the Icebone Tower. The inferno they unleashed turned the wights into blazing orange torches, while the White Walkers disintegrated into cascades of white ice dew.
The yellow dragon landed, sweeping its imnse tail at the still-burning but mobile monsters. Each powerful swing of its ten-ter-long tail cut through the crowd like a scythe, accompanied by a mournful "oooh" sound. The sheer force cleared wide swaths of enemies. On its back, a group of red priests clung desperately to a massive “fishing net vest” secured around the dragon—constructed from thick iron chains and hemp rope, with additional straps to hold them in place. Despite these precautions, so priests couldn’t help but vomit from the dragon's jarring movents. Thankfully, neither the dragon nor Viserys seed to notice.
As the yellow dragon's riders disembarked, Monterys and the blue dragon circled the Icebone Tower, vigilantly intercepting any wights or White Walkers approaching the structure. anwhile, Benerro led the red priests closer to the tower, becoming the first living beings to approach it this closely. The Icebone Tower, seven ters tall, lood before them. Though similar in height to streetlamps from Viserys's mory, its macabre composition—writhing, twisting severed limbs crowning the top—was grotesque. Just one glance left the priests feeling as if their skin was crawling with ants and centipedes.
“Your Grace, we are about to begin,” Benerro announced, swallowing hard. “Please protect us as best you can. We may not be able to stop imdiately while examining the Icebone Tower's structure.”
“Very well. Make haste,” Viserys replied, his resolve firm. He would grant them the ti they needed, even if it ant sacrificing a dragon.
To his surprise, the red priests didn’t approach the Icebone Tower like conventional surveyors. Instead, they arranged themselves into two concentric circles around Benerro—an elliptical outer ring and a perfect inner circle, with Benerro at its center. The formation resembled an eye, with Benerro as its pupil. He raised his hand and began tracing intricate fla runes in the air with his fingers. Within monts, he completed the runes and directed them toward the Icebone Tower. The runes collided with the tower, sparking brightly.
The heads atop the Icebone Tower—human, bear, wolf, deer, and more—let out a unified roar, black smoke pouring from their mouths. Viserys glanced at Benerro, noting the strain etched on his face. Clearly, this was not the outco Benerro had anticipated.
There was no ti to dwell on this, however, as the White Walkers around them began converging rapidly. Viserys tightened his grip on the situation. Benerro needed more ti, and Viserys was determined to give it to him.
Viserys continued to unleash streams of fire from his dragon as he worked to hold back the advancing White Walkers. Together with Monterys, he constructed a blazing “firewall” around the Icebone Tower to protect Benerro and the red priests. Though fire was a natural deterrent to both White Walkers and wights, their relentless determination revealed their intent. It beca clear that they understood Viserys's goal and were willing to sacrifice themselves to thwart it.
The White Walkers’ icy mist, released as they touched the flas, had an unsettling ability to "extinguish" the fire. Viserys observed as a White Walker Knight charged directly into the dragon's inferno. The first was burned pale by the heat, but as the second arrived, it pushed further into the flas, aided by the lingering mist of its predecessor. Then ca the third, the fourth, the fifth—until the oppressive, almost tangible white mist punched a breach in the firewall.
Through this opening, the White Walkers and wights surged toward Benerro and his group. However, they were imdiately t with another fiery barrage from the dragons. Viserys swiftly realized the gravity of the situation. The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming. Each breach in the firewall ant another surge of foes crashing through, threatening the red priests and hindering their reconnaissance efforts.
The dragons, reduced to acting as "firewall repairn," moved tirelessly to seal the gaps with fresh fire. But no matter how quickly they worked, there were always more breaches than they could cover.
“Monterys, go get Hali over here!” Viserys shouted to Monterys.
Monterys nodded and took off with the blue dragon to summon their ally. Two dragons weren’t enough for this assault, but with three, they stood a chance.
The departure of Monterys increased the strain on Viserys. Undeterred, he called upon his fire magic to fortify the defenses. Sitting astride his dragon, he began chanting a spell. The firewall roared to life, growing more than three tis in height and twice in thickness. The flas shifted from red to an intense white, their searing heat a testant to their increased power.
The brilliant white flas lit up the dark battlefield like a beacon. Monterys, flying off to fetch Hali, turned his head and gasped at the radiant spectacle behind him. The sight filled him with renewed determination.
The flas’ reach extended beyond the imdiate battlefield. Jai, locked in fierce combat, noticed the White Walker before him hesitate, its icy features suddenly illuminated with eerie clarity. Taking advantage of the montary daze, Jai swiftly decapitated his foe. Turning toward the source of the light, he saw the towering flas blooming like fiery flowers against the night.
The sight of the dragons and the blazing inferno lifted the spirits of soldiers across the battlefield. Their shouts rang out:
“Long live Your Grace Viserys!” Jon yelled, driving his sword into a wight.
“Long live Your Grace Viserys!” bellowed Garlan, clad in his green armor, as he fought a White Walker Knight.
The chant grew louder, spreading across the battlefield.
“Long live Your Grace Viserys!”
“Long live Your Grace Viserys!”
“Long live Your Grace!”
“...Long live Your Grace!”
The rallying cry, carried by countless voices, surged like a spell of courage, montarily overpowering the bitter cold wind.
Viserys’s reserves of magic were running dangerously low, and the intense white flas he had summoned began to dim and sputter. Fortunately, before the firewall failed completely, Monterys returned with Hali and her dragon. With three dragons now on the battlefield, they thodically repaired the blazing barrier, holding the White Walkers and wights at bay. It seed they had bought themselves a brief reprieve—perhaps a quarter of an hour—when the situation took a grim turn.
Without warning, cracks appeared at the base of the Icebone Tower. From these fractures, dozens of pale White Walkers erged, their icy forms glinting ominously in the firelight. They moved with alarming speed, charging directly toward Benerro’s "Eye Array."
The realization hit hard: the Icebone Tower had served not only as a fortification but also as a concealed troop deploynt point. It was a clever and ruthless tactic, showcasing the Night King’s unorthodox ingenuity.
The red priests were unprepared for this ambush. Before they could organize a defense, the White Walkers were upon them, scattering the formation. Chaos erupted. Three or four priests fell imdiately, their lives claid by the icy blades of their attackers. The dragons couldn’t intervene with fire; the risk of harming their own allies was too great.
Benerro, desperate, swung his flowing red sleeve, conjuring a fiery gust that slamd into the advancing White Walkers. Yet, to his dismay, the flas barely affected them. These White Walkers bore intricate, natural patterns on their pale skin—patterns that seed to grant them resistance to magic. Although a few embers clung to their bodies, the flas failed to deal significant damage, serving only to slow their advance.
The priests could see the grotesque, mummified features of their attackers in the flickering firelight. Fanged and clawed, the White Walkers pressed forward relentlessly. Just as Benerro began to despair, a cold gleam sliced through the night.
A White Walker nearest to him was bisected from shoulder to waist, shattering into icy fragnts. Benerro blinked in shock, realizing the attacker had been felled by Viserys. The king leaped from his dragon into the fray, cutting through the ranks of White Walkers with startling precision. Though resistant to magic, these creatures were physically vulnerable, and Viserys exploited this weakness. His blade moved like a whirlwind, slaying a dozen White Walkers in quick succession and montarily stabilizing the situation.
But even as he fought, new cracks opened in the Icebone Tower’s base, revealing a dark fissure from which more White Walkers crawled, their numbers seemingly endless.
“How much more ti do you need?” Viserys demanded, not pausing in his onslaught.
Benerro, though panting and visibly strained, responded with fervor, his voice tinged with exhilaration. “Your Grace, just give another quarter of an hour! Another quarter of an hour, and I can make the Dragonbone Tower even stronger!”
It was clear that amidst the chaos, Benerro had discovered sothing extraordinary about the Icebone Tower—sothing that could turn the tide of the battle.
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