As the Night King spoke, Viserys immediately realized the futility of the day's negotiations. Yet, this was exactly what he wanted—to crush any remaining illusions and force everyone to understand that the relationship between humans and White Walkers was one of absolute opposition: survival or annihilation.
"If you are willing to give up the North, we can guarantee not to attack for ten years. If you are willing to give up all of Westeros, I can guarantee not to attack for thirty years," the Night King declared coldly.
"Shameless beast!"
"Damnable monster!"
"Who do you think you are!"
The Night's Watch erupted in fury. To concede without fighting would be a betrayal of everything they stood for, a negation of their very purpose. No one believed for a moment that Viserys would accept such conditions.
Viserys, who had been scheming against the Night King long before Robert Baratheon's death, responded with a sneer.
"The explosives we used before? Those were just a warm-up. I've brought another million charges to the Wall." His tone was sharp, mocking. "How about this? You send me 100 White Walkers every day for me to kill, and I'll refrain from bombing you for one day."
The Night King's glowing blue eyes flickered faintly in silence.
"And if you don't agree to this condition," Viserys continued, "I have another plan."
The Night King's voice carried no inflection, calm and devoid of any traceable emotion. "If you refuse this offer, we will proceed with our own plans."
Before Viserys could retort, Tormund Giantsbane, the self-proclaimed "Giantsbane," interjected.
"We won't accept any of your damn plans! I'll personally carry the explosive packs and blow your icy asses to kingdom come!"
"Yes! Blow you to kingdom come!"
"Blow you to pieces!"
The Free Folk leader's bold proclamation stirred the crowd, earning cheers from others who shared his defiance. Tormund, having seen firsthand the devastating power of the explosive charges, had already resolved how he wanted to face death—with fiery, heroic destruction. Many of the older Free Folk, too, had decided they would sacrifice themselves for the younger generation.
The Night's Watch echoed this sentiment, though not all of them dreamed of strapping explosives to their backs. Regardless, they all agreed on one thing: surrender was not an option.
Over the years, Viserys had drastically improved their circumstances. From better cold-weather gear to more effective weapons, enhanced living conditions to renewed morale, the Night's Watch had been transformed under his leadership. They unanimously believed that without Viserys reclaiming the Iron Throne, their lives would have been far bleaker.
Still, Viserys was unbothered by the outbursts. His sword was already unsheathed, ready to sever the puppet's head as soon as the Night King finished.
"Go on," he said with a smirk. "Let me hear what other nonsense you've got to say."
The Night King's reply was as chilling as the icy wind that suddenly swept through Castle Black, snuffing out the torches. Flames that had burned bright moments before were reduced to faintly glowing embers.
"Send me a Targaryen child every year," the Night King said, his voice steady and emotionless, "and I will guarantee one year of peace."
The weight of his demand froze the air further, thickening the tension. Viserys didn't flinch, but the atmosphere among the assembled men shifted uneasily.
The audacity of the Night King's proposal stunned some, and though outrage burned brightly in many hearts, there were those whose thoughts briefly faltered. The promise of peace, even at such a terrible price, was not without its allure to the faint of heart.
"I'll be up at eight in the morning!"
Viserys's voice thundered in his mind as images flashed before his eyes—the young, innocent faces of his children and those he had come to care for: Victoria, Willemrys, Duncan, Elizabeth (Shinelli's second daughter), Heidi (Shinelli's youngest), and Sansa's triplets. Hali and Hermine, whom he had only recently grown close to.
A surge of violent rage erupted from his chest, surging past his throat and pounding in his skull as though it would burst. This was the rage of a father—a primal, protective fury that demanded action.
The Night King's demand weighed on him. Accepting it would strengthen his position with some, but rejecting it could create distance between him and the nobles of Westeros, even if they despised the Night King. Yet, Viserys believed no one would be swayed by such terms. The Night King's credibility among the living was nonexistent.
Jaime was the first to notice the change in Viserys's expression. Without hesitation, he snatched a spear from a nearby guard and drove it through the chest of the wight puppet.
"A monster who speaks such nonsense deserves to die!" Jaime declared, his voice ringing with righteous fury.
Viserys turned to Jaime, their eyes locking for a moment of understanding. Jaime's decision was bold, but it stemmed from his gratitude toward Viserys. After Joffrey and Tommen fled Westeros, Viserys had arranged for them and other Lannisters seeking refuge to be sent to the Free Cities. Jaime's trust and loyalty had deepened ever since.
Ned quickly leaned in to whisper, "Your Grace, rest assured that the content of today's negotiations with the Night King will never leave this room."
"No," Viserys replied, his voice calm but firm. "It will."
The crowd turned their attention to him, startled. Viserys's gaze swept over them as he spoke.
"Do you know why the Night King wants Targaryen children?" he asked, his voice sharp and commanding. "I will tell you. These monsters can turn children with noble blood into powerful White Walkers. Targaryen children would buy a year of peace. Stark children, perhaps three months. As for other noble children—maybe a month, or even just a few days. But I ask you—would you trade your children for peace?"
"No!"
"No!"
"No!"
The surrounding Night's Watch erupted in anger, their voices a unified roar of defiance.
"Very well!" Viserys exclaimed, his anger burning brightly. "It seems none of us are cowards. We are human beings—not chickens laying eggs for the Night King!"
His words rallied the room, their collective spirit ignited by his unyielding resolve.
"Sam!"
"Your Grace!"
Sam stepped forward, his expression composed but watchful. He had been paying close attention to the crowd, gauging their reactions. No longer the timid, plump boy of old, Sam had grown into a sturdy and reliable man, his burly frame carrying an air of confidence.
Viserys and Jon Connington had been grooming Sam for greater responsibilities, preparing him to become the next Hand of the King. Sam understood the weight of this moment and would never allow anyone to blackmail or coerce Viserys into surrendering.
"Prepare some explosive packs for me. I want to blow them all up!"
"Yes, my lord!"
The Night's Watch had boarded the Wall.
The last time Viserys bombed the enemy, they were still a fair distance away. This time, however, the Night King and his army of wights were so close that they could witness the might of the dragon bombers firsthand.
From morning till night, Viserys rode the Yellow Dragon, relentlessly bombing the White Walker positions for two consecutive days and nights. A staggering 70,000 to 80,000 explosive packs were deployed, leaving both Viserys and the dragon noticeably fatigued. Rest was imperative before they could continue.
The results, however, were undeniable. A conservative estimate suggested that at least 10,000 White Walkers and wights had been annihilated, along with the destruction of over 300 Icebone Towers. The air was heavy with the stench of sulfur and charred flesh, and flames burned fiercely even in front of the Wall. The once-biting cold had been subdued by the heat of battle.
The morale of the Night's Watch soared.
"Just one dragon can wreak this much havoc! Your Grace has seven dragons in total. It won't be long before they obliterate all these monsters!"
"Yes, we just need to follow the dragons and take care of the crippled wights and White Walkers. This is easier than fighting the living!"
Some even began to jest, their spirits lifted by the destruction.
But their reprieve was short-lived.
The Night King launched a counterattack. The shattered remnants of the Icebone Towers began to twitch. From these ruins, a chilling mist began to seep, extinguishing the fires ignited by the explosive charges. The dismembered wights crawled toward the remnants of the Icebone Towers, using their bodies to repair the damaged structures.
What was more horrifying, some of the Icebone Towers began to move.
In the areas Viserys had just bombarded, wights dragged themselves toward the Towers. The broken Towers shifted toward the more intact ones, while smaller fragments merged with larger pieces. Soon, an enormous Icebone Tower—nearly 300 feet tall—emerged from the chaotic assemblage of limbs and fragments.
This towering structure climbed atop a small hill, its height now rivaling the Great Wall itself.
The Night Watchmen and Freefolk soldiers, who had been jesting moments ago, fell into a stunned silence.
Atop the colossal Tower, a massive spear of ice and bone began to take form. Its exposed portion was already eight or nine meters long, but its full length likely exceeded ten meters. A single strike from it would spell certain doom for the Yellow Dragon, whose length was only about 20 meters.
The spear rose ominously, its intent clear: to bring down Viserys and his dragon.
Viserys, sensing the threat, felt every hair on his body stand on end as the colossal weapon locked onto him.
"Retreat! We'll be safe behind the Great Wall!"
This was the only thought racing through his mind.
Moments earlier, he had considered calling Hali and Hermine to join him so they could experience the thrill of piloting a dragon bomber. Now, that idea seemed absurd and far removed from reality.
A piercing, shrill sound tore through the air, mingling with the howling wind—a cry that seemed to emanate from the depths of the soul.
Viserys urged the Yellow Dragon upward, climbing higher and higher into the sky. But the ice-spear moved with terrifying speed, far outpacing the dragon's flight.
On the Wall, Ned and the others could only hear the harrowing screech. The events in the sky were obscured from their view, but the sound alone filled them with dread. It carried like the wail of a tormented ghost, chilling and unrelenting.
Viserys realized, with growing horror, that the spear was tracking him.
It's like a missile, he thought grimly.
But who was the target—himself or the dragon?
Turning his head, he saw the ice-spear angling to strike both him and the Yellow Dragon in a single devastating blow. The massive weapon closed the distance rapidly, leaving no time to maneuver or escape.
In that fleeting moment, clarity struck Viserys.
If he jumped off the dragon's back, both he and the dragon might survive.
Without hesitation, he stood and leaped, pushing off the dragon's back with all his strength.
In midair, man and dragon separated, forming a triangle with the oncoming spear.
The ice-spear adjusted its trajectory, homing in on Viserys.
Far below, the Night King smirked. Even if he couldn't kill Viserys outright, the injury would surely be catastrophic.