Chapter 187 — The Night King Isn't Easy to Kill
Seeing Ramsay Bolton act so respectful, Daenerys Targaryen initially thought she might have misjudged either King's Landing or Winterfell.
But the moment she heard Drogon's inner voice, she realized how close she had come to being fooled by Ramsay's facade.
"Open the gates immediately. Let Jon and part of his men enter. Provide them with food and lodging."
Daenerys didn't bother with politeness—she gave the order directly.
She could already tell that even a fortress as large as Winterfell couldn't possibly hold all the troops outside. The best they could do was allow Jon and the key commanders inside first.
Ramsay hadn't expected someone so young to be this commanding.
For a moment, he considered resisting.
But under Drogon's watchful gaze, any such thought was instantly crushed. He lowered his head and complied.
Winterfell, even at full capacity with soldiers sleeping on the ground, could only hold a little over ten thousand men.
Though the gates opened, only a portion of the army was allowed in. Yet those left outside had no complaints—their goal was reinforcement, not shelter.
After Jon Snow and the others entered, Drogon took to the sky and warned Rhaegal and Viserion not to wander recklessly.
They were only allowed to fly above Winterfell or to its south.
The last thing he wanted was for them to blunder straight into the Night King's army—by then, even he might not be able to save them in time.
Shrinking in size, Drogon landed and returned to Daenerys's shoulder.
This wasn't Dragonstone.
Here, without Barristan Selmy or her bloodriders to guard her, Drogon was her only true protector.
Jon quickly arranged accommodations for the troops who had entered, then brought Davos Seaworth and the others to the council chamber.
As Drogon observed the group following Jon, his gaze lingered on two figures—Bran Stark and Melisandre.
When Bran met Drogon's calm, steady eyes, he realized something unsettling.
It was as if the black dragon had always known he was here.
There was no surprise. No curiosity.
Only certainty.
Bran recalled the moment he had once tried to observe Drogon through the greensight—how the dragon had warned him.
That meant Drogon had already known where he was back then.
Bran could peer into the world through visions.
But Drogon gave him the eerie feeling that he himself was the one being seen through completely.
It left him deeply uneasy… and faintly afraid.
In truth, Drogon was just as surprised.
This version of Bran felt… more human.
Less distant. Less detached than before.
As for Melisandre, the moment she saw Drogon, she immediately lowered her gaze.
Drogon understood.
She had sensed it—
the aura of a true god.
He couldn't help but wonder how she compared him, a newly ascended being, to the Lord of Light she worshipped.
Both Bran and Melisandre had already seen Drogon outside the walls.
And both had been profoundly shocked—
by just how much he had changed.
They didn't want to face Drogon—the black dragon carrying a true god's aura—but circumstances forced their hand. Even if they avoided him now, they would have to face him sooner or later.
After introductions were finished, Daenerys voiced the question weighing most heavily on her mind.
"How did The Wall fall so easily?"
"It was because of the Horn of Winter," Jon Snow replied grimly.
"The Horn of Winter?" The name immediately reminded her of the Dragonbinder horn.
"Yes. The Night King likely obtained it from Craster…"
Jon then gave a concise account of the battle at the Wall.
According to him, the legendary horn may have come from Craster—the man who had offered his own sons to the White Walkers. Older members of the Night's Watch had once heard that Craster had searched for the horn's whereabouts, and he had long served the enemy.
Daenerys was stunned. The idea that a man would willingly sacrifice his own children to such creatures was beyond comprehension.
But she didn't press further.
The Wall had already fallen.
Where the horn came from no longer mattered.
Before arriving, she had already learned from Jon that Stannis Baratheon had been gravely wounded and died. She felt little personal attachment to his death—but when she thought of Shireen Baratheon, now far away seeking treatment, a trace of unease lingered in her heart.
She shifted back to the matter at hand.
"Where is the army of the dead now? How long until they reach Winterfell?"
Jon turned to Bran Stark, who knew the situation best.
"They've reached Last Hearth. At their current pace, they'll arrive in eight to ten days."
"Eight to ten days… that's too fast," Daenerys said after a brief calculation. "Our infantry will take at least twelve days to reach Winterfell."
After a moment's thought, she asked again, "Is there any way to delay them?"
Jon frowned. "Not really. Unless we intercept them far from Winterfell—but the losses would be enormous, and it wouldn't delay them for long."
"How many are there now?"
Jon considered briefly. "Around one hundred thousand. By the time they reach Winterfell, probably closer to one hundred twenty thousand."
Daenerys knew the truth—every corpse they encountered only made their army larger.
Jon then asked the question everyone cared about most.
"How many troops are coming from Dragonstone and King's Landing?"
Daenerys answered after a quick calculation. "King's Landing is sending forty thousand, plus Ramsay's forces—around ten thousand. Dragonstone will send ninety thousand. The Vale is contributing five thousand. Roughly one hundred fifty thousand in total."
At that, Jon and the others' eyes lit up.
With their current forces combined, that would bring them to around one hundred sixty-five thousand soldiers—plus three dragons.
Confidence surged.
For the first time, victory seemed possible.
[The Night King isn't that easy to deal with.]
Drogon's cold thought cut through the rising optimism.
He recalled what he had learned from ancient records.
Long ago, during the Long Night, it was said that a hero named Azor Ahai had ended the darkness with a weapon forged through immense sacrifice—Lightbringer.
In another version of events, the Night King had been slain by Arya Stark using Valyrian steel.
But Drogon didn't believe it was that simple.
If Valyrian steel alone were enough, why would Azor Ahai have needed to forge such a legendary weapon in the first place?
Even now, Drogon had no clear method to kill the Night King.
Hearing his thoughts, Daenerys grew even more uneasy.
Before setting out, she and Tyrion Lannister had already discussed their strategy.
The army of the dead could be fought with dragonglass weapons.
But the Night King himself…
Their only hope had been Drogon's dragonfire.
And now—
even Drogon wasn't certain it would work.
The truth was terrifyingly simple.
The Night King was the source of everything.
As long as he lived, every fallen soldier could rise again.
If he couldn't be killed…
Then no matter how many wights they destroyed—
it would never be enough.
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