After addressing the situation at the Griffin's Roost, Viserys made his way to the Isle of Faces. The diminished power of the Bloodraven—the enigmatic Greenseer—had changed things, making it impossible to ignore the bond they shared over vast distances.
Upon arriving, Viserys approached the Weirwood where he and the Bloodraven had once forged their pact. It was an uncanny sight; while nearly all trees in Westeros were stripped bare, the Weirwood of a Thousand Faces remained lush and thriving.
Lighting a lantern brought from Valyria, Viserys illuminated the area. A face slowly erged on the Weirwood before him—weathered, missing an eye, unmistakably the Bloodraven. The face seed to stir awake, squinting in irritation at the sudden light.
“You’ve co,” the Greenseer rasped, his voice weak and weary.
Viserys didn’t waste ti. He needed to know how many White Walkers the Night King had sent south, though he could sense the Bloodraven was too drained to offer exact numbers.
“I’ve co to ask you about the Night King,” Viserys said, keeping his tone steady. “I’ve seen White Walkers near the sea.”
The Bloodraven regarded him with a long silence, his ancient features etched with fatigue. At last, he spoke.
“Go back and protect King’s Landing. The Night King is targeting Dragonstone.”
“So he’s desperate now?” Viserys asked, trying to discern the implications of this move.
“Desperate?” the Bloodraven said with a faint chuckle. “You might call it that. Go, Viserys. I can already feel spring in the air.”
The cryptic remark caught Viserys off guard. His eyes brightened as he pressed further. “What do you an? Are we going to win?”
The Bloodraven chuckled again, the sound more akin to a dry rasp. “Victory is still distant,” he admitted. “But dawn is near.”
“Dawn?” Viserys looked up, puzzled. The sky remained cloaked in its perpetual darkness. Yet before he could ask more, the face on the Weirwood faded into the wood itself, leaving Viserys with a sudden sense of clarity and relief.
Two realizations struck him in that mont.
First, the pact between the exiled Aenar Targaryen and the Greenseer had ended. The Targaryens were no longer bound to be chosen or manipulated by the Greenseer’s will.
Second, he understood why the Bloodraven spoke of the sky brightening. The Night King had expended trendous resources to bring the White Walkers south. Should this attack fail, he would not be able to mount another assault for a long ti. This would grant Viserys ample ti to complete the Dragonbone Tower and eventually march north—beyond the Great Wall’s ruins—to the Land of Always Winter itself.
Looking at the Weirwood one final ti, Viserys understood that the Bloodraven was gone, but the Greenseer’s bloodline would soday reawaken among the First n.
...
King’s Landing.
While Viserys had worked diligently over the years to reinforce the three main lines of defense against the White Walkers, his personal attachnt to King’s Landing ensured its fortifications were exceptional.
Dozens of fortresses now encircled the capital, each connected to the main city by simple drawbridges. The defenses were so robust that even Randyll Tarly admitted no army could breach King’s Landing without dragons.
As the city braced for the coming storm, every asure of its formidable defense was put into action.
From above, Dany patrolled the skies on her silver dragon, sweeping over the eastern and southern periters of King’s Landing.
The Blackwater Rush had beco a battlefield of ice and death. Over the years, the river’s flow had slowed due to the encroaching cold, and its water level had dropped significantly. Now, the massive ice blocks floated into place by the White Walkers had damd it, causing the river to spill out across the surrounding terrain. These colossal, white ice blocks resembled shattered eggshells, and from within them erged hordes of White Walkers and wights, crawling like a tide of insects.
Dany watched the terrifying scene unfold from her vantage point, estimating that their numbers exceeded 200,000—more than half the population of King’s Landing. The realization was chilling, especially considering the farms and villages surrounding the city. Hundreds of thousands of people lived there, and it seed unlikely they would escape the onslaught.
Yet, amidst the chaos, one small relief stood out: no Icebone Towers were visible. As the battle raged, simple Dragonbone Towers had been erected in key locations. With five such towers, the entirety of King’s Landing was protected. These structures ensured that soldiers could continue using their crossbows without fear of their slain comrades rising again.
Dany directed her silver dragon to the eastern side of the city, overlooking the Narrow Sea. Here, the White Walkers and wights were relentlessly scaling the cliffs, defying logic and fear. Years earlier, the cliffs near the Red Keep had been smoothed and fortified as a defensive asure. No one had anticipated that the White Walkers would freeze themselves to the stone walls, creating a grisly, frozen ladder for the others to climb.
The sight was horrifying. If Viserys were present, he might liken the advancing White Walkers to the relentless spread of a Venom-like parasite. Their thod of attack was unnerving, and Dany felt an uncharacteristic chill of fear. But she refused to let it consu her. The Red Keep was her ho, and her children were still inside its walls. She could not, and would not, let the White Walkers breach it.
With determination, Dany guided her dragon to the top of the cliffs. The silver dragon carried more than a dozen steel-woven baskets beneath its belly, each loaded with explosive charges. Dany pulled a rope, releasing one basket’s contents. A dozen charges plumted ten ters before she snapped her fingers, igniting their fuses. The midair explosions sent shards of ice and wights tumbling into the sea below, their descent accompanied by the crackling sound of breaking branches.
She continued bombing the cliffside until the imdiate threat was neutralized. Cheers erupted from the defenders below.
“Long live Your Grace Daenerys!” they cried, their voices echoing as they resud firing at the remaining White Walkers below.
Within the city, the situation was less dire. The soldiers there remained relatively safe under the protection of the Dragonbone Towers, which ensured that corpses within their range could not turn. The Red Keep, in particular, was heavily fortified. Though it occupied only a tenth of King’s Landing, it was safeguarded by three Dragonbone Towers.
However, the outer fortresses faced a far grimr fate.
On one such fortress, a Kingsguard soldier nad Ander stood amidst devastation. The small, 100-square-ter structure had once housed 33 n. Now, Ander was the only one left alive.
“Andry! Hurry! Co quickly!”
The shouts of his comrades from the main city walls reached him, urging him to retreat. He needed only to sever the drawbridge ropes to escape. Yet, as he moved, a dark, icy hand seized his ankle.
Looking down, Ander saw the reanimated corpse of a fallen comrade clutching him. His face paled in realization: this wasn’t resurrection—it was a corpse turning.
If he cut the ropes now, the undead might swarm into the city.
Then he froze. The face holding him was not that of a comrade, but his adoptive father—the man who had once been an Unsullied.
At twelve, Ander had been adopted by the Unsullied soldier. Though his father rarely spoke, he would loosen up when drunk, recounting the day Viserys had liberated the slaves of Astapor. The story had grown tireso over the years, but in this mont, Ander could see his father’s face clearly, hear his words vividly.
His gaze shifted to the burning torch nearby and the explosive charge at his feet. His decision was made.
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