Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 690: The Red Dragon and the Ice Dragon

"How could this be?" Corlys could hardly stand in the wind as he stared straight at the pale dragon.

The appearance was all too familiar. But now, its vertical pupils had turned ice blue, and its scales were as pale as snow. Not only was one of its horns broken, but its wing membranes were damaged to varying degrees. It looked like a seriously injured dragon that had survived a brutal battle.

"Roar!" The pale dragon let out a long howl, raising its head as its muzzle split open in an unnatural manner, revealing a broken jawbone.

Above, the Night King raised his head proudly, and his dragon took flight, soaring toward the impregnable Wall. In his hand, he raised a spear of ice crystals.

Boom! A silent cry reverberated, and the army of dead responded with a collective roar. The pale dragon swooped down, its gullet filled with frost-white dragonfire. The Night’s Watchmen stood dumbstruck, paralyzed by terror.

They all realized something crucial—the White Walkers who once couldn't get over the Wall now had the power to leap it.

"We have to stop it, Meleys," Rhaenys said with fierce determination, quickly climbing onto the dragon's back. Once she fastened the saddle, Meleys flapped its wings and soared into the sky.

"Dragonfire!" Rhaenys glanced back at her husband and gave the command with steely resolve.

"Roar!" Meleys, swift as lightning, hurtled toward the pale dragon and unleashed a cascade of crimson dragonfire.

Corlys stood on the battlements, watching in shock as his wife rode out to confront their ancient enemies. She’d vowed, "Don’t take a single step back, Corlys," determined to keep the White Walkers at bay. The weight of her words hit him deeply, and emotions surged within him. Turning to his men, he shouted, "Prepare for battle, quickly! Draw your weapons!"

Alyn poked his head out from behind the battlements and shouted, "Draw your weapons!" as he raised his dragonglass spear. The rallying cry spread across Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and both the Night’s Watch and House Velaryon’s sailors took up their longbows and Dragoncry arrows, lighting bonfires atop the battlements.

Today, the decisive battle between humanity and the White Walkers would begin. None could stand aside.

"Roar!" Meleys soared into the air, striking first by unleashing a blanket of Dragonfire. The pale dragon’s ice-blue pupils blinked in defiance as it rose to meet the challenge, spitting frost-white dragonfire, cold as absolute zero.

Zilla zilla...

Red and white flames collided violently, casting up a spray of steam. The scarlet dragonfire burned with a heat that could melt steel, carrying the scorching essence of a dragon’s fury. The frost-white dragonfire, colder than a thousand years of ice, held it at bay.

Boom! Both dragons halted their fires, and the thick fog shrouding the sky exploded. Half of the fog was cold, half was hot, and as it swirled together in the frigid air, it quickly precipitated, sinking like a dense sheet of ice.

"Roar!" The pale dragon burst out of the fog, shaking its head to dislodge clinging frost. The Night King scanned below, searching for his elusive enemy.

Just then, the thick fog churned again.

"Roar!" A piercing roar shattered the sky as scarlet dragonfire flared from behind, crackling and snapping. Before the pale dragon could react, it felt the bite on its left wing, sharp fangs digging into its shoulder blade.

"Roar!" it shrieked in panic, flapping its wings wildly, and turned to see the scarlet dragon’s vertical pupils glaring back.

The Night King’s icy expression faltered, and he almost stood from his dragon’s back.

"Attack, Meleys," Rhaenys commanded, undeterred by the violent shaking of her body as her dragon grappled with its foe.

Crack! A sharp snap echoed as bone broke under the pale dragon’s muzzle. The creature thrashed desperately, swinging its head to snap at the scarlet dragon's neck, managing only to chip off a copper-colored scale.

Meleys, the fastest dragon in Westeros, twisted out of reach with a streamlined grace. Its body, honed for swift flight, bore a dense crown of horns along its neck, deflecting both the wind and any would-be attackers.

"Roar!" The pale dragon spat out the broken scale and began gathering dragonfire deep in its throat.

Meleys’s vertical pupils locked onto it, and as soon as the creature moved, he instantly abandoned the struggle, dodging with sharp instinct.

Boom! Frosty white dragonfire burst forth, but the scarlet shadow had already slipped away. The Night King's ice-blue eyes flashed with doubt as he stood up, scanning the skies around him.

"Roar!" A shrill roar came from the upper right, striking from the Night King's blind spot.

"Dracarys, Meleys!" Rhaenys's silver, gold, and black hair whipped in the wind, and the corners of her eyes, lined with fine streaks of determination, flashed with murderous intent.

Boom! Meleys dove from above like a streak of red lightning, blazing a fiery path downward. The pale dragon, too slow to evade, was struck mid-flight.

The Night King shielded his eyes as the fiery burst engulfed both himself and his mount. Meleys glanced back, slipping nimbly out of the flames and soaring above the ghoul army below.

Down on the battlefield, waves of undead had begun to swarm the city walls.

"Don’t waste arrows—use the fire oil!" Corlys ordered, shoving aside sailors who were firing wildly and struggling to roll barrels into position.

Boom! Boom! Barrel after barrel plummeted from the battlements, bursting into flames as they hit the ground. The fire oil splattered upon impact, spreading a blazing barrier at the base of the walls.

Rhaenys swallowed, her throat parched. "Dracarys, Meleys," she commanded, her voice steady even as exhaustion from the intense battle mounted.

Thanks to Meleys's exceptional speed, the smaller, more rigid corpse dragon was bested again and again. Meleys swooped low, spewing dragonfire across the battlefield. In mere seconds, the crimson flames tore through the horde of undead, erecting a wall of fire that held the ghoul army at bay.

Rhaenys took a few steadying breaths, her face blackened with soot, her skin dry and parched from the heat of the flames. But a sudden chill crawled up her spine, an unsettling sense of dread.

Turning quickly, her gaze darted to the sky.

"Roar!" The thick black smoke dispersed, revealing the pale dragon emerging, battered yet determined. It aimed its dragonfire toward Meleys, who continued to glide with ease above.

The pale dragon’s scales were charred black, and its wing membranes were riddled with holes, yet somehow it still flew. A layer of frost encased its shattered shoulder, its collapsed jaw hung lifeless, and its eyes were split open in a grotesque manner.

Rhaenys's eyes widened in shock; she had not expected it to still be capable of fighting. Her gaze shifted to the ghostly figure on its back, and a flash of fear passed through her.

The Night King’s armor was scorched, but he remained unscathed. His ice-blue eyes met hers, and without a word, he raised an ice spear.

Rhaenys inhaled sharply, her voice rising in alarm. "Get out of the way, Meleys!"

Boom! Frosty dragonfire hurtled down, crashing with lethal precision. Meleys dodged, its movements swift, skirting the edges of the freezing blaze.

Rhaenys exhaled in relief but kept her focus trained on the sky. The sheer resilience of her enemy amazed her; its methods were beyond anything she’d encountered before.

Whoosh! Frost dragonfire obscured her view, and suddenly an ice spear hurtled toward them, piercing the air at alarming speed.

Rhaenys’s heart pounded, her body freezing in place as the spear shot forward, heading directly for Meleys’s head.

Rhaenys shuddered in alarm, but it was already too late for her to give orders.

At this critical moment, the pupils of the man and the dragon vibrated, and an inexplicable connection resonated strongly.

"Roar!"

Meleys's vertical pupils flashed with brilliance as its body twisted in a sudden, evasive maneuver to the left.

Pop!

Just as it moved, the ice spear grazed its neck and sliced through the scarlet membrane of its wing. Meleys let out a piercing scream; a large hole appeared in its right wing, and its flight path wavered.

"Steady, Meleys." Rhaenys's body swayed as she clutched the saddle handle tightly to prevent herself from falling. "There's still a battle to be won."

Below, the battlefield was a chaotic mess, with the army of wights clawing their way up the Great Wall.

"Roar!"

Meleys barely managed to regain its balance before the pale dragon lunged forward with a roar.

Crack!

The pale dragon retaliated, tearing into Meleys's wounded right wing. Meleys screamed in pain and lashed out with its claws, raking the enemy's chest and spewing hot Dragonfire that spiraled around them, filling the air with thick black smoke.

Rhaenys was sweating from the heat, peering through the haze at her terrifying enemy. The Night King stood within the flames, his hand raised to shield his grimacing face. He reached for his spear but hesitated, realizing he had already thrown his only weapon. Helpless, he could only watch as the dragons clashed above.

One red, one white, they grappled midair, spinning like eagles. Frost and flame sprayed outward, painting the overcast sky in brilliant colors. Below, those on the ground could not see the fierce combat but heard the echoing dragon roars.

In the blink of an eye, two hours had passed.

Boom!

The battlefield below erupted into chaos as a deafening roar echoed from above. The two dragons, exhausted and bloodied, clung to each other as they spiraled downwards, falling through the clouds.

From a thousand-meter height, they plunged to a hundred meters, then continued their descent. Finally, they were less than twenty meters from the ground.

"Roar!"

Meleys stretched out its neck, wrenching its head to shatter the pale dragon's weakened jaw. With a loud rumble, the pale dragon reeled backward, letting out a shriek before crashing to the earth. Snow and debris burst across the battlefield, billowing in a cloud of white smoke.

At that moment, Meleys, dragging its injured leg, rose high into the sky once more. A strange silence blanketed the field below, where Watchers and sailors alike burst into shouts of triumph, their fatigue from two hours of relentless defense forgotten.

The army of wights stopped their assault, staring mutely at the settling smoke.

"Don’t stop, keep pushing them back!" Corlys commanded, hesitating only a moment before rallying the troops. Their temporary advantage was hard-won by Rhaenys's tireless battle, and he knew they couldn’t squander a single chance.

"Get ready, Meleys," thought Rhaenys, her gaze never wavering from the smoke as she and Corlys’s thoughts aligned. The undead army was still intact—a clear sign the Night King was still alive. She knew they couldn’t afford even a second of carelessness.

One second, two seconds...

After a few minutes, the smoke slowly began to clear.

"Roar!"

The pale dragon, now torn and battered, crawled out of the haze, half its skull shattered, its wings in tatters.

Thud, thud, thud!

Heavy footsteps echoed as a pale figure emerged from the settling dust. Rhaenys gripped the saddle rope tightly, her eyes narrowed and her body tense, ready for whatever might come.

The Night King walked forward, his ice-blue eyes cold and unfeeling.

"Meleys..." Rhaenys's voice was a tense whisper as she started to speak, watching his every move.

Unexpectedly, the Night King climbed back onto the pale dragon’s back, gripping the saddle rope as he adjusted its course.

"Roar..."

A layer of frost covered the pale dragon's body as it staggered into the air, then soared northeast, retreating from the battlefield.

"Roar..."

Meleys's fierce pupils tracked the enemy, low growls rumbling from its throat. Though one of its wings drooped and its scales were battered with wounds, the fire in its eyes remained undimmed. Yet, the pale dragon left without a second glance, gradually accelerating until it disappeared over the Bay of Seals.

'The Night King is escaping into the sea,' Rhaenys thought, her gaze narrowed in confusion. She couldn’t understand the retreat.

"We cannot let them escape, Meleys." She took a deep breath, her teeth clenched as she gave the command to pursue. The Night King was extremely dangerous, and with a wight dragon, he had the power to breach the Great Wall. She couldn’t let him slip from her grasp.

"Roar!"

Meleys roared and began to flap its wings to follow.

"Stop, Rhaenys!"

Suddenly, Corlys’s voice rang out, calling to her with urgency. "Don't chase it! We can’t kill it!"

Rhaenys paused, her hands gripping the saddle ropes as she looked down at her husband. Corlys stood on the battlements, waving his arms with a mixture of desperation and relief. "Don’t pursue a retreating enemy. Please, listen to me, okay?"

Rhaenys hesitated, her fingers brushing the dragonglass dagger at her waist. She recalled the warnings from Castle Black—the Night King couldn’t be killed easily. Yet, with a dragon and dragonglass, she estimated a fifty percent chance of victory.

"Roar..."

Meleys let out a low growl, its wings hovering mid-motion, ready to punch a path through the sky. It looked back at Rhaenys, silent and waiting. If she chose to pursue, Meleys would not refuse.

Rhaenys's gaze softened, her body sagging as exhaustion finally caught up with her. She looked at Meleys, covered in injuries, and felt a pang of guilt for her beloved companion of so many years. 'What had been a fifty percent chance is now only thirty,' she realized. Chasing the Night King could lead them straight into disaster.

"Old girl, you’re tired too, aren’t you?" Her expression softened as she leaned forward, her cheek brushing against Meleys's scarlet scales. "Let’s go back. You’re more important to me than he is."

The Night King already had a wight dragon, and regardless of the threat he posed, they could no longer risk their lives.

"Roar!"

Meleys obeyed Rhaenys’s command, turning back towards the Wall and landing gently upon it. As the Night King and his dragon crossed the Bay of Seals, the army of undead ceased their assault and began a slow retreat. The Night's Watch and the sailors, wary of any further conflict, did not block their way and instead allowed the undead to pass.

"Rhaenys, are you okay?"

Corlys pushed through the crowd, his gaze fixed on the scarlet dragon. Rhaenys recognized him and unbuckled her saddle, sliding off Meleys’s back and landing directly in her husband’s arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

Corlys’s voice was shaky as he looked her over, concern written across his face, before pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank the Merling King you're still here with me."

Throughout the intense dragon battle, his heart had been in his throat. Out of love and hope, he had clung to the belief that she would return to him. But now, with his exhausted wife safe by his side, even the boldness of his nine voyages could not mask his fear.

"Relax, Corlys."

Rhaenys leaned into him, her body weary from the exertion of battle. She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath her fingers. "I'm alive, and I’m not that reckless." She managed a faint smile, glad she hadn’t acted on impulse and pursued the Night King.

Both she and Meleys had reached their limits, and now she needed the warmth and reassurance of family to steady herself.

"You…" Corlys began, but his words faltered. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and he swayed, his tall frame teetering before collapsing backward.

"Corlys!" Rhaenys’s cry echoed as she tried to support her husband’s heavy, unconscious form.

"Princess, let me see," Alyn stepped from the crowd, carefully taking hold of the unconscious Lord and checking his condition, flipping open his eyelids and studying his face with a frown.

"How is he?" Rhaenys asked anxiously, her hand tightly gripping Corlys’s.

Alyn’s brow furrowed. "It doesn’t appear to be an injury," he said with a solemn expression. "It’s more likely fatigue, perhaps triggering an old ailment."

Rhaenys's heart sank, her fingers clutching Corlys’s hand. He was already over seventy, older even than her grandfather, the Old King. Though he was usually healthier and stronger than men half his age, the harsh northern climate and the strain of battle had taken their toll.

"Can he recover?" Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling.

Alyn shook his head regretfully. "I’m sorry. His body has endured so much. Whether he wakes…" He paused, unable to finish.

For a man of Corlys’s age, survival often lay in the hands of the gods.

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