There were dozens of outposts like the one Viserys had just seen, spread along the Wall, housing at least 700 to 800 Night's Watchmen. Now, all of them had met the same grim fate, transformed into wights under the control of the White Walkers.
Bloodraven shifted the vision to the Wall itself, revealing its current state. The ancient Wall, which had stood tall for 8,000 years, hadn't yet collapsed, but hundreds of massive cracks ran vertically across its length. They resembled jagged sword blades, or serpentine fractures, slicing through the once-solid ice. The Wall was no longer secure; even Castle Black, built against it, now faced a precarious future.
After Bloodraven closed the vision, Viserys turned to the face in the Weirwood. "What is the story of those towers?"
Bloodraven's voice sounded weak, weary. "I'm not certain. I only know those towers create intense, unnatural cold—a cold generated by magic that ordinary flames cannot repel."
He paused, then continued, "The White Walkers call them Icebone Towers."
Viserys absorbed the name. "Icebone Tower. Fitting." He realized that the Night King had been preparing his strategy for 8,000 years, constructing an invisible, lethal wall of cold to protect his domain. With these Icebone Towers dotting the landscape, Viserys would not be able to simply march his armies northward with dragons.
Magic can only be fought with magic, he thought. If ordinary flames wouldn't work, what about wildfire? Or dragonfire? To defeat the Night King, the Icebone Towers would have to be destroyed first. But how to withstand the intense cold they radiated? Viserys knew he'd have to experience it himself, testing his resources against this magical freeze. And perhaps Melisandre, who was now at the Wall, could help strategize.
"Keep a lookout for me. I need to…" Viserys began, but Bloodraven cut him off, his voice fading.
"I'm… on my last legs. To hold back the Night King even a little longer, I may need to fall into a deep sleep."
No, not now, Viserys thought urgently. "Can you hold out? Or if there's something you need, tell me, and I'll help."
"No… You've changed too many things already, Viserys." Bloodraven's voice was faint and labored, like an old man at the edge of life. "Let me give you one final word about the Icebone Towers…"
Viserys held his breath, straining to catch every word.
"… fire magic can… deal with it…"
"That's it?!" he muttered in frustration, but no further reply came. Bloodraven's presence had faded completely, leaving only the solemn, carved face in the Weirwood, gazing back at him with a kind of sadness.
Viserys sighed. "That's all he told me," he muttered to himself. He would need to act quickly, before the cold and the White Walkers could advance further.
...
Using his Dreamer's ability, Viserys reached out to Dany. Their unspoken agreement was that when important news arose while they were apart, Dany would rest, allowing him to enter her dreams.
"So what should we do now?" she asked once he'd conveyed the urgent news.
"I'll head to the Wall first. Tell Sam to prepare explosive packs and send them with the men. Alert all the county lords and prepare the realm for battle readiness."
"What about the Free Cities?"
"We'll consider that later." Viserys hesitated; putting all of Westeros into battle readiness could have unpredictable effects. Besides, he reasoned, the White Walkers were likely to remain focused on Westeros. The Narrow Sea would separate Essos from the immediate threat, making the Free Cities his best fallback position if necessary.
"Good," Dany replied, as steadfast as a loyal comrade, meticulously aligning her plans with Viserys'.
"Take care of yourself, Dany. I'll be back soon," he said.
In her dream, Viserys reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. If they'd known the change would come this soon, they might have delayed their plans to expand their family. Now, with the weight of pregnancy amid this turmoil, Dany was feeling the strain.
"Well, brother, you take care too," she said softly.
As their connection faded, Viserys awoke on the warm back of his dragon, the vast cold of the North a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating beneath him. He shifted, adjusting to dissipate some of the heat. In just a few short days, he had found himself a father of five more—Hali, Hermine, and Sansa's triplets: two boys and a girl.
Hali and Hermine were well, but his thoughts lingered on Sansa's children. The dark memories of Summerhall's tragedy haunted him, and it was hard to ignore that the Night King's invasion had coincided with the birth of Sansa's triplets.
No, he thought, forcing himself to clear his mind. There would be time to dwell on such thoughts later.
He looked down, watching snow-covered woods, hills, plains, and farmlands blur beneath them as they flew. Over recent years, he had relentlessly campaigned for bodies to be burned to prevent them from being raised as wights. Mass graves, castle ruins, and battlefields had all been cleared. Even noble houses, including House Stark and House Karstark, had complied with cremating the remains of their ancestors. It was one step in his fight against the dark forces that now threatened the realm.
As they crossed Gods Eye Lake and moved northward over The Neck, he saw the land scarred by the recent earthquake. Many villagers had been left homeless, their houses reduced to rubble, and they wandered the land in confusion and fear. Even some smaller castles had suffered significant damage. Seeing his dragon—a yellow-scaled beast more than twenty meters long—soaring low, many of the civilians knelt in prayer, hoping the royal family would bring them aid.
In response, Viserys decided to land and reassure them. As he dismounted, the villagers looked on warily, too intimidated by the dragon to approach. Eventually, a middle-aged man, presumably the village chief, mustered his courage and stepped forward.
"Your Grace, I am the village chief here. We need help."
Judging by their location, Viserys guessed they were near Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. "Go and gather the wounded, and assess the damage. I will inform your lord myself, and the royal family will send aid shortly."
With a simple gesture, he cast a small spell, causing their makeshift campfire to burn brighter, its warmth pushing back against the cold.
"Thank you, Your Grace. The gods bless your mercy," the village chief said gratefully.
Viserys mounted his dragon again. He had surveyed enough damage at this low altitude; he would fly higher to avoid distracting the people below. His next destination was Winterfell. Robb Stark would need to mobilize the northern lords immediately. The Wall, though fortified and heavily resupplied, was in jeopardy. Its first line of defense was unlikely to hold, and it was imperative that the second and even third lines be activated without delay.