The Night King, after months of eerie silence, had reemerged with a vengeance, his forces now striking along Westeros's coasts. Viserys had discovered the White Walkers infiltrating the Stormlands' shores. The heaviest concentration, however, had been near the Griffin's Roost—Connington's fief.
After a brutal battle, Viserys and the local defenders managed to repel the White Walkers, but many scattered into the Rainwood, slipping through the dense forest terrain.
"Your Grace, all the ones we killed were White Walkers," the Maester of Griffin's Roost reported gravely, placing fragments of fine ice on the table before Viserys.
Viserys studied the remains, the icy shards gleaming in the firelight. Twisting them between his gloved fingers, he speculated aloud,
"The Night King is preparing to open a second front."
It was well-known that the White Walkers, or the Others, formed the elite corps of the Night King's army. Estimated at 70,000 to 100,000, they were far fewer in number than the two to three million undead soldiers believed to compose the Night King's ranks.
Viserys reasoned the Night King's march south had two objectives.
First, to find a new "source of soldiers." The South, with its larger population and more plentiful human remains, offered fertile ground for expanding the army of the dead. However, Viserys's widespread cremation campaigns over the past few years had severely limited this possibility. Many skeletons had been burned, and even those buried in the warmer southern climate would have decayed beyond use.
That left the second objective: to disrupt production and spread panic.
"The Night King knows warfare," Viserys muttered, still toying with the icy shards. Coming from a Dragonlord lineage, the Night King was well-versed in Valyrian-era military tactics, where air superiority allowed dragons to target enemy supply lines deep behind the front. It appeared he was applying similar strategies now, though his dragons were replaced by the freezing tendrils of winter and his undead forces.
Viserys issued a few more instructions to the Maester at Griffin's Roost before immediately departing for the Isle of Faces, seeking counsel from Bloodraven, who remained the most attuned to Westeros's shifting tides.
At King's Landing.
Hali's dramatic entrance into King's Landing had caused quite a stir. Her abrupt arrival on dragonback and her dire warning about the White Walkers spread unease among the populace. Fortunately, Daenerys managed the situation with her usual poise.
She swiftly announced Viserys's victory in Valyria and assured the people that Dragonbone Towers, like the one they had just seen activated, would soon be erected throughout King's Landing and across Westeros. The promise of warmth and protection brought cheers from the crowd, who were then calmly evacuated to make way for urgent royal business.
In the Tower of the Hand, Daenerys convened an emergency council. She sat at the head of a long, triangular table, a design crafted by Viserys to ensure that everyone could see each other clearly during discussions. Normally, this seat belonged to Viserys, but in his absence, Daenerys presided with authority.
Closest to her sat the senior members of Viserys's dragon party:
Jon Connington, Samwell Tarly, Benerro, Monterys Velaryon, Lync Brune, and Dick.
Further down sat newer appointees such as Willas Tyrell, who had been Master of Ceremonies for two years, and Roose Bolton, serving as Master of Justice. Even Lorarys, recently returned from Valyria with Hali, was present, her expertise on the Dragonbone Tower deemed critical.
Behind Daenerys stood Hali and Hermine, her Dragon Knights, their imposing presence a reminder of the power and vigilance the Targaryens wielded. The room was dimly lit, with the crackling fireplace and whale-oil candles providing warmth and illumination.
Despite the physical heat, the mood was frosty. Almost every face was clouded with concern. The sudden and direct threat of the White Walkers hitting so close to home was difficult to process.
"My Lords, please share your thoughts. I need as many opinions as possible," Dany said sternly, her voice carrying the weight of authority.
Most had come to accept the arrangement of a co-rule between the queen and the king. Dany had occupied this position longer than Viserys, and when she made such a request, it was understood as an open invitation for all to speak freely, regardless of rank.
"Your Grace," Sam spoke first, glancing briefly at Connington. "There has been no sign of White Walkers along the coast, not even near Dragonstone. We should use this time to fortify our defenses, distribute weapons to the common people, and notify all feudal lords to remain on high alert."
Connington, however, was quick to counter. "Distributing weapons to the common folk is premature," he said. "It could spark panic. We don't yet know the scale of the White Walker incursion. Drafting additional soldiers would be a more measured approach."
His response was thoughtful, presenting a more strategic plan.
Another voice joined the discussion. "Your Grace," said Theobald, a man in his fifties with the bearing of a Maester. Once the archmaester to the Citadel, now split in two by Viserys, Theobald had played a pivotal role in recruiting its best minds for the newly established Royal School, where he now served as Maester.
"While the full strength of the White Walkers remains uncertain, we must prepare for the worst. I propose sending Prince Willemrys and the royal family to the Moonlight Palace and Casterly Rock as a precaution."
Both locations—formerly The Eyrie and Casterly Rock—were renowned for their defensibility. Evacuating the royal heirs there would be a prudent safeguard. However, Theobald's suggestion wasn't limited to the royal family. It implied mobilizing vital supplies, troops, and resources to accompany them.
His words left a ripple of unease among those present.
"Maester Theobald," Meris, the warden of King's Landing's prisons, spoke up, her tone reflecting disbelief. "Has it truly come to this?"
The idea seemed almost incomprehensible to her. With nine—no, ten—dragons and over 100,000 soldiers, the dynasty forged by Viserys and Daenerys seemed far too formidable to face imminent collapse.
The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Dany. Beneath her calm exterior, unease flickered in her violet eyes. Her thoughts turned to her eldest son, Willemrys, still a child with traces of baby fat on his cheeks. He was barely four, the same age she had been when she lost Ser Willem, who had protected her and Viserys in their youth. The cruel symmetry of fate struck her, filling her with a sense of foreboding.
As she wrestled with her thoughts, Lyman Darry, her twelve-year-old cupbearer and heir to House Darry, approached. The panic in his expression was palpable, and a collective tension gripped the room.
"Your Grace," Lyman stammered, his voice trembling, "a large force of White Walkers has landed at Blackwater Rush and is attacking King's Landing!"
Gasps filled the chamber. Dany's eyes widened as she fixed her gaze on the boy.
"How many?" she demanded sharply.
"I-I don't know," Lyman stuttered. "But there are many."
Dany straightened, her resolve hardening. She knew she had to see the situation herself.
"My lords, King's Landing is my home," she declared, her voice steady and commanding. "I have already lost it once. I will not lose it a second time. We still have eight adult dragons and 20,000 Kingsguard. No matter how many White Walkers the Night King sends, they will not set foot in King's Landing!"
Turning to her advisors, she issued orders with unwavering determination:
"Send word to the people of King's Landing: the dragons are with them, the royal family is with them, and the Targaryens are with them!"
"Let the war begin!"