hotmtlnovel Chapter 665: Dragons vs. Giants
Chapter 665: Dragons vs. Giants
Chapter 665: Dragons vs. Giants
Barrowlands
Tens of thousands of troops marched like a tidal wave, heading straight for Winterfell in the North.
"Roar..."
A huge black creature streaked across the sky, slowing down as it hovered above the Kingsroad. The sound of hooves stamping the ground was deafening. Facing the coalition army head-on, a cavalry unit galloped toward them.
"Whoa..."
The strong, white-haired old man tugged on the reins, a massive two-handed sword strapped to his back. All the soldiers wore the thickest leather coats, with two or even three horses each, carrying weapons, food, and armor.
Boom.
The Cannibal landed with a long, echoing howl. Thousands of warhorses flinched and neighed, rearing back in fear. The knights tightened their reins, struggling to keep their horses from collapsing under the dragon’s presence.
Rhaegar sat upright in his saddle and recognized the leader of the army before him. "Lord Roderick Dustin, are you also heading north to the Wall?"
The strong old man was indeed Lord Roderick, who had recently visited King's Landing. He was a powerful warrior and strategist, known to the people of the North as ‘Roddy the Ruin.’
Clop, clop, clop.
Roderick, carrying the banner with the head of a direwolf, bellowed in his rough voice, "Thank the Old Gods, Your Grace, for leading an army to the aid of the Wall. The North will never forget!"
As he shouted, his weathered face broke into a broad smile. His army, the Winter Wolves—comprised of the North's first 'warriors'—was about to march to the Wall. They would resist the cold with their own flesh and blood, sacrificing their lives to give their families an extra mouthful of hot food. With the dragon-riding King of the Seven Kingdoms leading them, they might even eat well before they die.
As Rhaegar looked at the laughing old lord, he felt a deep sense of awe. "Return to your unit. All provisions will be taken from the coalition army."
The Winter Wolves were all older men from the North, many with graying beards like Roderick. But their expressions were solemn, and they were unafraid of the snowstorm or the dragon. They were truly elite.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Roderick said, dismounting. He strode up to the black dragon, bowing on one knee. Though easygoing, the old man valued tradition and kindness. The South’s support for the North was an indelible bond.
Rhaegar slid off the dragon's back, and Roderick watched him with shining eyes, fully aware of the dragon’s terrifying power.
"How many men are in your army?" Rhaegar asked.
"Over 2,000 in total, along with tens of thousands of cattle, sheep, and horses," Roderick replied matter-of-factly. "This year's harvest was destroyed, and every household can only rely on food stored from previous years to survive the winter. We had to bring any extra men and livestock."
Not only did those staying behind need food, but so did the men marching north. Livestock was the best source of sustenance.
"The army will first settle in Winterfell, then the cavalry will march to the Wall ahead of the others," Rhaegar declared. He gazed out over the barren, snow-covered land. "The Riverlands will send food supplies without fail. There’s no need to worry about hunger or cold."
The Others were the true enemy, and only with their defeat could victory come. To that end, the entire realm must support the North. With Rhaegar I of House Targaryen’s reputation, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms would obey.
"Thank you, Your Gracious Grace," Roderick replied, his voice carrying across the desolate wilderness. He was no flatterer, but his gratitude rang clear and true.
...
Days of Marching
Winterfell, Godswood.
Drizzling...
Warm spring water gurgled softly, sending faint ripples across its surface as the black dragon's tail skimmed the water. The Cannibal crouched nearby, half its massive body immersed in the hot spring. Its green, vertical pupils were half-closed as it dozed peacefully.
In the vast forest surrounding Winterfell, the snow blanketed the ground more than three feet deep. A cold wind blew from time to time, swirling snowflakes and dropping them onto the dragon’s thick scales.
“No! You can’t do this to the Heart Tree!” A shrill shout suddenly pierced the air, followed by the sound of stomping in frustration.
Rumble...
A towering tree crashed to the ground with a deafening noise, sending snow flying in all directions. Soon, more trees followed, falling one by one.
The Winter Wolves, clad in thick furs and wielding axes, worked tirelessly to fell the trees of the Godswood and the surrounding Wolfswood. Watching in dismay, the Child of the Forest gnashed her teeth in protest. "You must respect the Heart Tree! You can’t cut down the forest!" it cried.
The trees had long served as a protective barrier for the Children of the Forest, and eight thousand years ago, the ancestors of the present men had cut down most of the forests and Heart Trees when they first landed on the continent of Westeros.
"They're not cutting down Heart Trees, just ordinary wood," Rhaegar said calmly, placing a hand on the chestnut-brown head of Billbo. "Winterfell needs firewood, and Wolfswood is part of the North. Sacrifices must be made."
“No, if you cut down the forest, nature will take its revenge,” the Child of the Forest warned, her large green eyes glaring. She climbed around the trees like a nimble monkey, occasionally darting behind Rhaegar and grabbing at his clothes, trying to scramble up him.
Rhaegar shook her off and paid her no mind. “The weirwood will remain. If you're afraid of losing your home, you can always move to Kingswood or Rainwood.”
After spending some time with them, Rhaegar had come to find the Children of the Forest surprisingly fun. Simple-minded, small, and largely unthreatening, they were also clever and adept at magic. No wonder they had been unable to compete with the First Men and were driven north of the Neck.
...
Leaving the Godswood, Rhaegar made his way through the muddy water left by the melting snow, heading back to the castle. As soon as he pushed open the door, he saw Rhaenyra directing her servants, who were hard at work repairing the castle and walls, settling the troops, and carrying provisions to the storage cellars.
Rhaenyra was dressed in a long, heavy black gown, her regal presence commanding. Her aloof demeanor radiated the majesty of a queen, and she had naturally taken up the role of Winterfell's hostess. With Lord Cregan's wife having died young, the great fortress was still run by the aging Maester.
“Rhaegar, you’re back,” Rhaenyra called as she briefly glanced up from her work. She quickly pulled a piece of paper from her sleeve. “Where are Baela and the others?”
Old Benjicot's voice boomed from atop the Wall, his sword drawn as he commanded the Night's Watch to fight back against the onslaught.
"This won’t hold!" Cregan yanked Benjicot over, his eyes filled with worry. "Sooner or later, we’ll run out of arrows and fire oil."
"What else can we do, my lord?" Benjicot shook off the younger man’s grip, his face stern. "The Night's Watch swore an oath to guard until the very end." Even if it means starving. Even if it means running out of ammunition.
A sudden roar from below shook the ground. Cregan’s heart sank as he raced to the watchtower for a better view. His eyes widened at the sight below.
The wildling horde had parted in a wide, orderly fashion, creating a path. From within their ranks, a towering mammoth lumbered forward, dragging a massive tree trunk behind it. Its snorts filled the air as it charged, swinging its long trunk like a battering ram.
Behind the mammoth came a terrifying sight—giants. A dozen of them, towering seven or eight meters tall, their bodies clad in animal skins and thick furs. They stormed toward the Wall in a tight formation, shoulder to shoulder, an unstoppable force of sheer muscle and rage.
At the head of the pack was an ugly giant, brandishing a monstrous, modified mace. With a deafening crash, it smashed the weapon into the underground passage gate of the Wall, shaking the ancient stone fortress to its core.
"Quickly! Pour the oil!"
The Night's Watchmen scrambled in terror, hoisting oil drums toward the parapets. One man, in his panic, lost his grip, and the barrel slipped from the wall before it could be opened.
Boom!
The barrel exploded violently upon hitting the ground, but the blast did little to halt the advancing giants. Led by the monstrous giant, four or five of the towering creatures huddled at the base of the Wall. Together, their immense strength focused on the iron gate, which groaned under the weight of their combined efforts.
The gate began to lift. Slowly, with a rumble that seemed to shake the entire Wall, it rose, revealing the thick wooden door behind it.
"I’ll handle this!"
One of the giants moved clumsily but with frightening strength, hoisting the trunk the mammoth had dragged. With a loud crash, the trunk was wedged beneath the gate, raising it a full foot off the ground. The wooden door shuddered as the wildlings, driven by savage fury, prepared to breach the final barrier that stood between them and the realm beyond.
“Haha, the giants are unstoppable!”
“Damn the crows!”
The wildling horde charged through the flames ignited by the fire oil, pushing deeper into the tunnel. With the iron fence destroyed, the solid wooden door stood no stronger than paper before the savage assault. Wild men hacked at it recklessly, and in no time, a groove was chiseled out of the thick wood.
The Night’s Watchmen atop the Wall looked on in horror, their hands and feet growing cold as they watched the door give way.
"Ten men, with me!" Cregan shouted, stepping forward and drawing his house sword, Ice. His voice was cold, determined. "We’ll block the door to the underground passage!"
Ten brave Night’s Watchmen broke away from the larger group, grim resolve etched into their faces. With death in their eyes, they followed Cregan toward the winch ladder.
Boom!
Boom!
The muffled sounds below were the giants hammering against the remnants of the iron fence, attempting to tear it apart. Cregan held his breath, silently praying to the Heart Tree. There was no enemy too strong, no situation too desperate.
Boom!
The iron fence groaned as large chunks of stone crumbled from the wall. Cregan stepped onto the long ladder of the winch, closing his eyes tightly in anticipation.
Suddenly, a sound pierced the chaos—a deafening roar that shook the air, like thunder rumbling across the land.
Sigh...
Cregan's heart leapt. His eyes snapped open.
Boom!
A dark shadow fell over the snowy battlefield, spreading across the land as it approached the Wall from the distance. Massive black wings, as dark as coal, loomed like a curtain in the sky. As they flapped, the wind howled, extinguishing the light of the sun.
"Dracarys!" A cold, commanding voice echoed from above.
“Roar...”
The black dragon sliced through the sky, its sharp hind legs landing on the battlements of the Wall. Lowering its head, it unleashed a torrent of greenish-black dragonfire. The flames fell like ash, drifting gently but devouring everything they touched. Wildlings, caught in its deadly path, screamed in agony as the dragonfire clung to them, burning with the intensity of bone ash.
Rhaegar, pale and grim, slid down the back of the black dragon, drawing Blackfyre from his waist.
Roar! Roar...
Moments later, the sky filled with the thunderous roars of two more dragons. The magnificent golden dragon and the grotesque mud-colored beast flew in pursuit of the black dragon, their mouths agape as they spewed their own dragonfire. Yet no matter the commands of their riders, the two dragons refused to cross beyond the Wall, circling overhead but never passing the ancient barrier.
Boom!
The Cannibal clung to the edge of the Wall with its massive forelimbs, its talons digging into the stone. It stretched its long neck, spilling as much of its dark green dragonfire as it could across the battlefield below. Its glowing, green vertical pupils were narrowed in concentration as thick, scorching smoke billowed from its body. It was as if some great threat lurked beyond the Wall, drawing the dragon's relentless gaze.
...
Meanwhile, at the entrance to Castle Black’s underground passageways, Rhaegar advanced steadily, Blackfyre in hand. His eyes were cold, focused, as he moved toward the exit between the multiple gates. The true power of the dragonborn manifested—wisps of black flame swirled around his body like shadows.
His forehead and heart were marked with dark, scaly patches, and his left arm had transformed—covered in black scales, it had tripled in strength. With every step, the air around him crackled with raw power, as if the dragon within him had fully awakened.