Chapter 191 – The Power of Ice
That last attack had been nearly twice as fast and powerful as the previous ice spears.
If Drogon hadn't gained altitude in time, the Night King might already have struck him again.
On Drogon's back, Daenerys felt his body shudder violently as the glowing blue spear ripped past beneath him and vanished into the horizon.
She instantly realized—
He had been hit.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed herself against the dragon's back, but she said nothing. This was no time for panic. She could only cling to him silently while her heart tightened with fear.
She had seen the Night King's attack with her own eyes.
The man was already terrifying enough, yet he could somehow amplify the power of those ice spears even further.
And throughout all of it, Drogon had not only been forced to dodge deadly attacks—he had also been protecting her.
Daenerys suddenly made up her mind.
Once they reached safety, she would have him take her back to Winterfell.
Staying on his back now would only become a burden.
After flying several more kilometers and confirming the Night King wasn't pursuing aggressively—only slowly advancing with his army—Drogon finally descended.
The moment he landed, Daenerys jumped down and hurried to his chest.
Then she froze.
A wound nearly a meter long stretched across his scales, still releasing faint streams of cold vapor.
Shock flashed across her face—followed quickly by relief.
The injury wasn't deep.
The spear had torn away several scales and carved a gash roughly two fingers deep into the flesh beneath. Compared to Drogon's enormous body, it wasn't a fatal wound.
But what truly unsettled her was the blood.
Or rather… the partially frozen blood.
Even now, icy crystals clung to the wound, refusing to melt completely.
Drogon was a fire dragon. The heat radiating from his body was intense enough to scorch ordinary men.
Yet even his natural heat hadn't fully neutralized the cold left behind by the spear.
Looking down at the wound himself, Drogon was equally alarmed.
The icy power contained within that spear was far more terrifying than he had expected.
Daenerys instinctively reached toward the frozen shards embedded in the wound—
[Don't touch it!]
Drogon's warning exploded in her mind.
She jerked her hand back immediately.
Those weren't ordinary ice fragments.
They carried the power of the god of cold itself.
Touching them recklessly could easily freeze her flesh solid.
Lowering his massive head, Drogon gently nudged Daenerys aside and exhaled a stream of heated breath over the wound on his chest.
The moment the hot vapor touched the icy fragments lodged in the flesh, blood immediately began flowing from the gash again.
Once the frozen shards finally melted away, Daenerys stepped forward once more, pulling out a silk cloth to carefully wipe the blood from the wound.
"Drogon… can we really defeat the Night King?"
As she cleaned the blood from his chest, her voice carried a trace of helplessness.
She had once believed that with hundreds of thousands of soldiers—and three dragons—the army of the dead could eventually be destroyed.
But now she realized how terrifying the Night King truly was.
Even Drogon had to face him cautiously.
Even Drogon had been wounded.
Part of her wanted to abandon all of this and return to Dragonstone with him, to keep him from being hurt again.
But she knew she couldn't.
If they retreated, the Night King would ravage the North… then march south. In the end, all of Westeros would become a frozen wasteland beneath endless winter.
Now, the only thing she could do was look to Drogon for hope.
[The Night King will die.]
The certainty in Drogon's voice stunned her.
"Really?"
She hadn't expected such a confident answer.
For a moment, guilt crept into her heart.
Had he only been injured because she was there, forcing him to protect her?
Drogon, of course, had no idea what she was thinking.
And his answer hadn't merely been an attempt to comfort her.
That clash had revealed another of the Night King's hidden cards.
Instead of frightening him, it had actually reassured him.
"Drogon… being able to talk to you like this is wonderful."
After finishing with the wound, Daenerys wrapped her arms around his enormous head, smiling despite herself.
With the enemy closing in, she no longer cared about hiding the fact that she could hear his thoughts.
[What a shame we can't comfortably sleep together anymore…]
Daenerys blinked.
"What does that have to do with sleeping?"
Then realization struck.
Her face flushed instantly.
"You—!"
So all this time, when she'd been teaching him how to write, he'd been treating it like some kind of bedtime lullaby.
She wanted to get angry—but the memory of those quiet evenings, sitting together while teaching him letters, only softened her mood.
Truthfully… she had enjoyed those moments just as much.
And now that they could communicate directly, there was technically no need to continue teaching him.
The thought unexpectedly left her feeling disappointed.
But then another idea surfaced.
She could understand Drogon's thoughts—but no one else could.
Not Shireen Baratheon.
Not anyone.
Which meant…
Maybe she still needed to keep teaching him how to write after all.
Drogon rose to his feet. Judging by the Night King's movement, the army of the dead would soon reach this area. He needed to continue drawing them farther away.
"Drogon, take me back to Winterfell."
Daenerys already understood she would only become a liability if she stayed.
Drogon looked at her for a moment, then nodded slightly.
She climbed back onto his back.
After observing the Night King's direction from the sky, Drogon realized the enemy hadn't abandoned the march toward Winterfell. He deliberately flew north for a while, looping around before finally heading back toward the castle.
At Winterfell, seeing Drogon return so quickly with Daenerys, Tyrion Lannister and the others initially assumed the attempt to lure the Night King away had failed.
They hurried outside the gates to meet them.
But the moment Tyrion saw the meter-long crimson wound across Drogon's chest, his expression changed.
Shock flashed across his face.
He, like everyone else, had been placing their hopes on Drogon.
Yet the battle hadn't even begun, and the dragon was already injured.
"Drogon is fine," Daenerys said calmly as she stepped down from his back. "The army of the dead has been diverted. We need to accelerate the forging of dragonglass weapons and strengthen the defenses."
Her composed tone surprised Tyrion for a moment.
Then he understood.
Drogon was the heart of the army's morale—the symbol of victory itself.
If word spread that he had been wounded before the true battle even started, the alliance's spirit would suffer a devastating blow.
Tyrion immediately waved the others away, signaling that further discussion should happen inside.
"Be careful, Drogon."
Daenerys hugged his enormous head and kissed him gently, reluctant to let him go.
Drogon rubbed against her softly, reassuring her without words.
Then he spread his wings and launched back into the sky toward the advancing dead.
Watching him fly away without any visible difficulty despite the wound, Tyrion and the others finally relaxed slightly.
Drogon was their greatest weapon against the Night King.
If something happened to him, then killing more wights would mean nothing.
Back in Winterfell's council chamber, Daenerys described the Night King's terrifying abilities in detail.
No one had imagined his ice spears could be so powerful.
Even Drogon—who could shrug off scorpion bolts—had been unable to fully evade them.
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