Winter had fully set in across the North. The biting cold now held Winterfell in its grip, and the entire castle felt the weight of the coming battle. Whitebeard sat in the courtyard, resting his massive frame against one of the stone walls, his bisento leaning beside him. The preparations were nearly complete, and the forces of the living were gathering.
The stillness of the morning was shattered when Robb Stark approached. His breath was visible in the cold air, but his expression carried a sense of determination. He had grown more confident in recent weeks, standing taller, his voice more steady as he spoke to the man who had now become his most powerful ally.
"Word has come from the East," Robb said, voice low. "Cersei's forces are moving. The Golden Company has landed in Westeros."
Whitebeard looked up, his gaze calm but filled with interest. "So, the dragon queen's other war is still on the horizon," he muttered.
Robb nodded. "Daenerys plans to deal with the dead first. She believes we need every man and every dragon to face the Night King. But if Cersei makes her move before we're ready..."
Whitebeard chuckled, his laugh booming even in the icy morning. "If that happens, she'll regret it. Let the South play their little games of thrones. When they come for us, they'll find nothing left of their enemies but dust."
Robb looked uneasy but didn't question Whitebeard's confidence. "I trust you'll be ready when the time comes?"
Whitebeard shifted, rising to his feet in a smooth motion that belied his size. "I'm always ready, boy."
---
Inside the castle, Jon Snow, Daenerys, and Tyrion sat around a war table, their faces grim as they studied the map of Westeros. Jon traced his finger along the Northern borders. "We've sent out ravens to every house that still has men to spare. Most have answered. The North is behind us."
Tyrion folded his arms. "But is it enough? The numbers the Night King has at his disposal are beyond anything we've seen."
Daenerys, sitting across from them, leaned forward. "Our dragons will even the odds."
Jon met her gaze. "Your dragons are powerful, but the dead can't be burned forever. Whitebeard can destroy entire armies with his power. He'll be the key."
Tyrion nodded slowly. "He's certainly made an impression. The Northern lords fear him as much as they respect him. But will he listen when the time comes for more... delicate decisions?"
Jon hesitated. "Whitebeard doesn't care about thrones or ruling. His only concern is protecting those he calls his family. As long as he believes we're fighting to protect the living, he'll fight with us."
Daenerys studied Jon's face for a moment, then turned her attention back to the map. "I'll speak with him again. We need to ensure that he's fully committed to this cause. The fight against the Night King is bigger than any of us."
---
Later that afternoon, Daenerys found Whitebeard standing on the battlements of Winterfell, his eyes scanning the snowy landscape. She approached him quietly, her silver hair flowing in the cold wind.
"Whitebeard," she called.
He didn't turn but acknowledged her presence with a grunt. "Queen."
She joined him at the edge of the wall, staring out at the horizon. "I've seen men who can command armies, men who claim to be invincible. But I've never seen anything like what you did the other night."
Whitebeard's lips curled into a smile. "My power is different from anything in this world, that's true. But I'm not invincible. I'm still a man."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "A man who can tear apart castles and armies."
Whitebeard finally turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming with a strange mix of amusement and weariness. "Strength like mine comes with a price. You win battles, but you lose other things along the way."
Daenerys looked at him, sensing a deeper pain in his words. "What have you lost?"
Whitebeard stared off into the distance. "Too much to count. But that's not why we're here, is it, Queen?"
She nodded. "No, it's not. I need to know... when the battle begins, will you fight with us? Not just for the North, but for the entire realm?"
Whitebeard was silent for a long moment. "I'll fight for those I care about. The people in Winterfell — Jon, Robb, the Starks — they've earned my loyalty. I'll fight for them. And if the dead come for the world, I'll fight for that, too."
Daenerys seemed satisfied with his answer, though she knew Whitebeard's loyalty was something far more personal than the political alliances she was used to. "I'll take that as a yes."
Whitebeard grinned. "Good. Now let's get ready to crush some skulls."
---
Beyond the Wall, the Night King's army continued its slow, unstoppable march southward. Thousands of undead trailed behind him, their lifeless eyes fixed on Winterfell. At his side was Viserion, the fallen dragon, now a creature of ice and death.
The Night King raised his hand, and the winds of winter howled around him. The storm was coming.
---
Back in Winterfell, Whitebeard stood alone in the courtyard, staring up at the grey sky. His hand tightened around the haft of his bisento. He had faced many enemies in his life — rival pirates, marines, monsters of the New World. But this... this was something else.
He could feel it in the air, a cold unlike anything he had ever known. The dead were coming, and for the first time in his long life, Whitebeard felt a strange sense of unease.
"Let them come," he muttered to himself. "I've never backed down from a fight before."
He hefted his bisento over his shoulder and walked back into the keep.