Chapter 194: Everyone Goes Home
The voices coming from the Heart of the Undying had been unpleasant.
The voices emanating from this black mass were something far worse.
They clawed at Drogon's mind, twisting and grinding against his thoughts like jagged metal.
Fortunately, he possessed the heart and will of a dragon.
Drogon was certain that if someone with a weaker mind heard the chaotic madness contained within those voices, they would likely go insane on the spot.
So the flesh mass really was something sinister.
And the more sinister it appeared, the more determined Drogon became to destroy it completely.
Yet the thing proved extraordinarily difficult to burn.
Even more resistant than the Night King's enchanted armor.
Three full minutes of continuous dragonfire reduced it only to the size of a human fist.
Meanwhile, the sounds in Drogon's ears grew increasingly unbearable.
Howls.
Screams.
Mad laughter.
Vicious curses.
Poisonous maledictions.
The torrent of insanity intensified with every passing second.
Drogon practically clenched his teeth as he forced himself to continue breathing fire.
Thankfully, despite the relentless assault on his mind, the flesh mass displayed no other means of attack.
Five minutes later, enduring the ceaseless whispers and screams, Drogon finally reduced it to nothing.
Then he froze.
A familiar white sphere remained where the flesh mass had vanished.
The sight instantly explained why the Night King had been so terrifyingly difficult to kill.
He had never merely been a servant of a god.
Even if he hadn't reached true godhood, he had clearly been something close to a demigod.
The white sphere floated upward, shedding countless motes of pure divine radiance.
Drogon recognized it immediately.
This was divine essence in its purest form—the energy left behind after the death of a godlike being.
Opening his jaws, he began drawing it in.
The sphere's dissolution accelerated several times over as streams of white light flowed directly into him.
While Drogon had been occupied burning the Night King's true form, the battle around Winterfell had continued.
The wights had already breached the final trench and begun swarming toward the castle walls.
Daenerys, riding alongside Rhaegal and Viserion, flew repeatedly along the battlements, unleashing dragonfire wherever the undead threatened to overwhelm the defenders.
Her goal was simple: reduce the pressure on the garrison until Drogon finished his fight.
Watching the distant black dragon continuously breathing fire, Daenerys had never imagined the Night King would be so difficult to destroy.
Still, at least Drogon no longer seemed to be in immediate danger.
She wasn't the only one watching.
Countless soldiers on Winterfell's walls had fixed their eyes upon the distant battle.
When Drogon first destroyed the White Walkers surrounding the Night King, a portion of the attacking wights had suddenly collapsed.
The Night's Watch veterans quickly explained what had happened.
Those wights had been raised by the White Walkers.
With their masters destroyed, they perished as well.
The remaining undead still attacking the castle had been directly animated by the Night King himself.
If Drogon could kill the Night King, the battle would end instantly.
That realization filled every defender with desperate anticipation.
But what frustrated them was the sight of Drogon continuously breathing fire without any obvious result.
Minute after minute passed.
The dragon burned.
And burned.
And burned.
Yet the Night King refused to die.
Then, without warning—
The wights attacking the walls froze.
One moment they were clawing and snapping at the defenders.
The next, every movement ceased.
Then they collapsed.
Thousands upon thousands of bodies crashed lifelessly to the ground.
The soldiers stared in disbelief.
They looked from the motionless corpses at their feet to the countless other wights scattered across the battlefield.
Every single one had fallen.
Not a single undead creature remained standing.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then Winterfell erupted.
A deafening cheer swept across the castle walls.
"Long live the Queen!"
"Drogon! Long live Drogon!"
Someone started the chant.
Others immediately joined.
Within moments, the entire fortress thundered with celebration.
"Long live the Queen!"
"Long live Drogon!"
Even the soldiers from King's Landing found themselves swept up by the euphoria.
Though they dared not shout "Long live the Queen," they enthusiastically joined the second half of the chant.
"Long live Drogon!"
"Long live Drogon!"
The war that had threatened to plunge Westeros into an endless winter had finally come to an end.
As Drogon absorbed the changes coursing through his body, an enormous surge of faith energy suddenly flooded into his mind.
The Divine Spark within him, already expanded dramatically after consuming the Night King's essence, blazed with even greater radiance.
The benefits were immediate.
His physical strength, speed, and defensive abilities had all increased by at least another fifty percent.
"ROAAARRR!"
Drogon threw back his head and released a deafening dragon roar that echoed across the battlefield.
The sound carried an overwhelming pressure.
Many of the soldiers who had just been celebrating suddenly felt an almost irresistible urge to kneel and worship.
"How did the black dragon become so much stronger?"
Standing atop the walls, Melisandre stared at Drogon in shock.
Not only had his divine presence become vastly more powerful, but his body had grown noticeably larger as well.
"What exactly was the Night King?" she murmured.
"Was he truly only a servant of the Great Other? Why did I sense such a terrifying evil will just now?"
No matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't understand why killing the Night King had caused such a dramatic transformation.
Then her gaze shifted toward Daenerys on the battlements.
The Night King was dead.
Destroyed by Drogon's dragonfire.
Or perhaps, indirectly, by Daenerys herself.
If that was true...
Who was the prince promised in prophecy?
Could "prince" refer not only to a king's son but also to a daughter?
And if so, where was Lightbringer?
Could Drogon himself be considered Lightbringer?
But that made even less sense.
Drogon was no mere magical weapon.
He was a genuine dragon god—a divine being standing almost on the same level as the Lord of Light himself.
The more Melisandre thought about it, the more confused she became.
She had traveled all the way from Ashai to Westeros to find the promised savior and help prevent the Long Night.
Now the Long Night had been averted.
Yet she still didn't know who the true chosen one was.
For the first time in many years, she no longer knew what her purpose should be.
As for the old visions urging her to oppose the Dragon God...
How could she possibly accomplish such a thing?
She might be willing to sacrifice her life for her faith.
Yet deep down, she no longer wanted to.
Was she still truly a servant of the Lord of Light?
For the first time, Melisandre found herself questioning her faith.
She wasn't the only one stunned by Drogon's transformation.
Bran felt the overwhelming divine aura emanating from the black dragon as well.
Once again, he experienced the same unsettling realization:
Drogon had become a being beyond anything he could hope to oppose.
The roar helped release the irritation left behind by the Night King's grotesque flesh form.
After calming down, Drogon searched the battlefield.
Soon he found the Night King's fallen ice sword and the spear-shaped artifact.
Picking them up, he examined them carefully.
The sword seemed similar to the ice spears—ordinary weapons empowered by the Night King's frost magic.
The artifact, however, was different.
It still contained magical power.
Holding it in his claws, Drogon turned it over several times.
Aside from its icy touch, nothing appeared unusual.
Then he tried holding it the same way the Night King had.
The moment he focused his will, he sensed the pure magical energy sealed within.
He could use it.
But only briefly.
The artifact contained a limited reserve of power.
Every use would consume part of it.
Realizing this, Drogon immediately stopped experimenting.
Returning to his smaller form, he placed both the ice sword and the artifact in Daenerys's chambers before flying back to her shoulder.
The moment he landed, Daenerys grabbed him and began inspecting him from head to tail.
Only after confirming he hadn't suffered any serious injuries did she finally relax.
Then she noticed the wound on his chest where the enchanted ice spear had struck.
The injury had completely healed.
If not for the missing scales, there would be no evidence it had ever existed.
That was another benefit of absorbing the Night King's divine essence.
His regenerative abilities had increased dramatically.
With the battle finally over, Daenerys ordered the armies to assess casualties, gather the dead, and prepare for the next day's grim work of burning the wights and burying the fallen.
Half an hour later, the final reports arrived.
The allied forces had suffered just over twenty-five thousand casualties.
Considering the scale of the threat they had faced, it was an astonishingly low number.
With the White Walkers destroyed, the alliance began dissolving.
Jaime planned to march his remaining forces back to King's Landing the following day.
However, the Ironborn under Victarion Greyjoy had no intention of returning with him.
Instead, they would join Victarion's niece, Yara Greyjoy.
With the sacred Tidecaller Conch in her possession, Yara had defeated Euron and reclaimed the Iron Islands.
Unless Victarion intended never to return home, the Ironborn would eventually fall under Yara's authority anyway.
Besides, many Ironborn who had followed Euron were not particularly loyal to Victarion.
Joining Yara was the only realistic choice.
Cersei had likely anticipated this outcome from the beginning.
That was probably why she had sent all twenty thousand Ironborn north.
Even if every one of them had died fighting the dead, she wouldn't have cared.
Among those leaving with Jaime was Ramsay Bolton.
After making enemies of House Stark, he no longer had any hope of remaining in the North.
Even the Dreadfort was beyond his reach now.
King's Landing was the only refuge he had left.
The northern soldiers he had gathered remained behind in the North.
As for Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay had long since grown bored with him and eventually returned him to Yara.
Jon Snow faced a different dilemma.
With the Night King defeated and the Free Folk settled south of the Wall, the Night's Watch no longer had a clear purpose.
Without Eddard Stark, Winterfell no longer truly felt like home.
Surrounded by family yet somehow still an outsider, Jon felt increasingly out of place.
In the end, he made his decision.
Gathering the surviving brothers of the Night's Watch, he turned northward once more and began the journey back to the Wall.
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