Flying west along the top of the Wall, Drogon wanted to observe the defensive situation in other areas.
Ballistae were stationed at regular intervals along the Wall. After flying two or three kilometers, he found the fortifications and troop distributions to be largely the same.
Just as Drogon was about to pick up speed, he spotted a handsome young man with black hair and straight brows, clad in a heavy black cloak, walking along the ramparts ahead.
*Could that be Jon?* Drogon wondered, his heart stirring.
He circled above, following the young man for a while. He watched as Jon inspected the defenses, occasionally nudging a ballista to check its alignment.
After trailing him for a bit longer, Drogon overheard Jon greeting his companions. The words confirmed his identity: it was indeed Jon.
The same Jon—a good-hearted man plagued by a touch of self-doubt, yet infused with the Stark family's integrity and stubbornness, who had tirelessly fought against the White Walkers.
The same Jon—the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, betrayed by his own men and stabbed multiple times, only to be resurrected by the Red Woman, Melisandre.
The same Jon—a pawn in a game played with his own identity, unaware as he betrayed his lover to serve another's ambitions, ultimately left with nothing.
Drogon wondered if his presence would alter Jon's fate—whether Jon would still die, and if he would be resurrected by Melisandre.
Initially, he had only planned to observe Jon and then leave. But seeing Jon, unfazed by the biting wind, diligently inspecting the Wall's defenses, Drogon felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. He couldn't bear the thought of this conscientious Night's Watchman suffering the brutal betrayal of being stabbed repeatedly, nor could he stand to see Alliser, the mastermind, gloating in triumph.
Following Jon through the air to Castle Black, Drogon identified his quarters. He waited patiently for Jon to leave again, then left a few words for him. As for how Jon would handle them, that was entirely up to him.
After departing Castle Black, Drogon flew to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower, the Wall's primary forts. Surveying their meager defenses, he lost all confidence in the Night's Watch's ability to withstand the coming Wildling army.
*With this few men, defending against the Wildlings' assault is a fool's dream,* he thought.
Even the two-hundred-meter-high Wall would be no match for the Wildlings' resolve to breach it.
After circling the Wall, Drogon flew beyond its expanse to scout the Wildling army. After all, it was said to contain the legendary giants and mammoths.
He didn't want to return to the Wall next time only to find the Giants and Mammoths turned into White Walkers.
While the sun might have still shone beyond the Wall a few months ago, it seemed unlikely to appear now.
The further north of the Wall one traveled toward the Lands of Always Winter, the lower the temperature dropped and the fiercer the wind and snow became.
What met his eyes were either snow-covered forests or barren rocky mountains. Drogon couldn't help but admire the resilience and tenacity of the Wildlings. To survive and thrive in such a harsh natural environment—he truly wondered what they ate.
Flying at his speed, it took less than half an hour before he spotted the dark mass of the Wildling army on a small, distant rocky mountain.
As he drew closer, Drogon saw the two Giants leading the way—one on foot, the other riding atop a massive Mammoth.
The Giants stood nearly four meters tall. Their flat faces featured large noses with a protruding bridge of bone above them. At first glance, one might think a Giant's trunk grew from the nasal bone.
The ancient behemoth, the Mammoth, stood a full meter taller than the Giants. Its sharp tusks curved forward, and its entire body, including its limbs, was covered in thick, long fur that nearly trailed on the ground at its ankles.
Staring in astonishment at the Giant and the Mammoth, Drogon couldn't help but marvel at the wonders of this world. Even legendary ancient creatures like this still existed.
Just as he finished his thought, he realized that with dragons already in the picture, the appearance of other colossal beings was hardly surprising.
*Bellow!*
As Drogon was observing the Giant and the Mammoth, the once-sluggish beast suddenly threw its head back and let out a thunderous trumpeting cry in his direction.
*Did it spot me?* Drogon wondered, his heart racing. He immediately soared higher into the sky.
The same trumpet blast startled the Orc Army, which had been marching in grim silence. In their experience, Mammoths were even quieter than Giants. While Giants occasionally flew into a rage, Mammoths spent their days chewing on bark and dry grass, almost never making a sound.
Anyone who knew the Mammoth's history understood why: it was ancient, the very last of its kind still living today.
The first to notice the Mammoth's strange behavior was Mage, the Giant riding on its back. When the long-silent beast suddenly trumpeted, Mage was too stunned to react.
It wasn't until the mammoth trumpeted again that Mage finally looked in the direction of its call. High above, snowflakes swirled, obscuring everything from view. Mage's brow furrowed like a crag of rock, unable to understand why the mammoth had suddenly trumpeted.
His simple mind couldn't grasp the reason, so he gave up trying to think about it.
Mance, the Wildling King leading the army, was also startled by the mammoth's call. He thought the beast had spotted the White Walkers and rushed to Mage's side to ask what was happening.
When he received no answer, Mance immediately ordered his men to tighten their security, on guard against any White Walkers approaching their ranks.
Watching the commotion below from the sky, Drogon never expected the mammoth's senses to be so sharp. Even flying so high and using the snowstorm as cover, he had still been detected.
He carefully estimated the size of the Wildling army from above. It was roughly between eighty thousand and one hundred thousand. After following Daenerys for so long, he had unconsciously learned some military tactics.
Though the Wildlings claimed to be an army of one hundred thousand, they were more like a hundred thousand refugees. The majority were old, weak, women, and children; at most, only thirty thousand were warriors capable of fighting.
But even those thirty thousand were far more than the thousand-odd Night's Watchmen could handle. Moreover, inside the Wall, there were Tormund Redbeard, who was coordinating with Mance, as well as the Thenn—a fierce and formidable fighting force.
After estimating the numbers, Drogon considered the distance he had flown from the Wall. At the Wildling army's pace, they would reach the foot of the Wall in a week at most. That would be the moment they launched their assault.
He wondered what Jon, the future Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, would choose then. Would he stick to his decision to cooperate with the Wildlings to defend the Wall, or would he obey the millennia-old hatred between the Night's Watch and the Wildlings, keeping them outside the Wall?
Flying over the Wildling army, Drogon continued toward the Lands of Always Winter. This time, however, he flew with extreme caution, soaring much higher than before.
The army of White Walkers led by the Night King was right behind the Wildlings. He had no desire to plunge straight into the Night King's embrace.
Even though his speed and defense were now incredibly high, he still harbored a deep wariness of the Night King.
The Night King not only threw spears with deadly accuracy but was also immune to dragonfire. Although Drogon's defense was now monstrously strong, he still dared not take the Night King's spear head-on.
This world contained too many methods he didn't understand—like Pyat Pree's teleportation. No matter how powerful your abilities were, it was still difficult to defend against such unpredictable tricks.
Who knew if the Night King had other hidden tricks up his sleeve, or if his spear itself was something extraordinary, capable of splitting stone and shattering monuments.
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