Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 448: Pioneer Arrives
Beyond the Wall.

Mance Rayder stood in front of the scattered tribe, his red beard covered with ice. Less than 30% of his people were left, and the rest had either become wights or been frozen into eternal ice sculptures by the breath of ice dragons. The "King Beyond the Wall" who was elected as king by the survivors was now exhausted. If it weren't for his good relationship with the Wall, he might not have been able to achieve what he has now.

“The Great Wall!” he roared, his voice shattered in the cold wind, “Let’s go to the Great Wall. Only the Black Army can save us!”

Thousands of wild men began to flee southwards. The elderly, women and children trudged through the snow, with death following them like a shadow. Each giant carried a dozen children on his back. The animal companions recruited by the skinchangers guarded the survivors, but every day, more people and animals fell in the snow, and when they got up again, the ghostly blue fire in their eyes had already burned.

"There are still 30,000 people left." The witch Val reported hoarsely. Her tamed elk had just been torn to pieces by wights while trying to protect its young children. "Captain Mance, we don't have many young men left."

Fortunately it was torn into pieces.

Her companions did not become ghouls.

Mance looked southward, the Great Wall looming in the blizzard. He touched the token at his waist, which was given to him by Daniel Mallister, the commander of Deep Lake, and now became the final bargaining chip.

Bear Island when the savages were struggling to move south.

The sea before dawn was a strange blue, and ice crystals spread like spider webs in the shallows. Lord Jeor Mormont stood on the frozen reef, his gray-black beard covered with ice, and his black bearskin cloak rustled in the biting wind.

His eyes were fixed on the figures that were crawling out of the waves.

Ghoul.

They were once fishermen, warriors, and even drowned children, but now they have become puppets of the God of Cold. The seawater slides down their rotting bodies, but the moment it touches the air, it condenses into transparent ice armor, covering their white bones. The most terrifying thing is their eyes. In their empty eye sockets, blue will-o'-the-wisp flickers, like the aurora that never dissipates in the polar regions.

"Seven layers of hell," said Roderick, the captain of Geo's personal guard, in a trembling voice. "Are they coming from the sea?"

The long sword of the Lord of Bear Island was already unsheathed, and the blade forged from Valyrian steel was steaming in the cold mist. "Light the torches! Archers, prepare the arrows!" His roar awakened the dazed defenders, "Burn these monsters!"

As the first wight lunged at him, Jeor's blade flashed a fiery arc. Steam surged as the Valyrian steel pierced the ice armor, and rotten flesh and broken bones flew everywhere. The monster didn't even have time to roar before it turned into smoking pieces.

The Count of Bear Island kicked away the dead head of the corpse, and said, "Cut off the head and limbs, protect yourself!"

Archers on the city walls fired flaming arrows one after another, and the kerosene-soaked arrows drew dozens of green smoking trails in the air. The ignited corpses screamed inhumanly, and their ice armor exploded under the high temperature, and their rotten internal organs exploded into burning fragments.

But the joy of victory did not last for a moment, as a teeth-grinding sound suddenly came from the sea.

Geo looked up and his pupils shrank suddenly.

At the end of the sight, a huge snake-shaped shadow was swimming up and down on the sea.

It was a wingless ice dragon. Its slender body was looming in the sea fog, its ice crystal scales reflecting a dizzying cold light, and its huge claws were also covered with solid ice. The most terrifying thing was its breath, which was not a flame, but a pale cold current. Even though the ice dragon was far away from the end of the sight, the cold current still rushed to the shore of Bear Island.

"Get down—"

The voice of the Count of Bear Island was drowned in the freezing explosion. Wherever the cold current passed, the three defenders who had no time to dodge were instantly frozen, their expressions forever frozen in the moment of horror, their skin covered with a thick layer of ice, like insects in amber. One of the soldiers' sword was still raised in the air, and ice crystals spread along the steel blade, eventually freezing the entire weapon into powder.

Not as strong as imagined.

The ice dragon did not continue to attack, but raised its head, and its dark blue vertical pupils scanned the fortifications of Bear Island coldly, as if it was conducting reconnaissance.

It seems that it cannot get close to Bear Island, but it can revive drowned people near the coast.

Geo's blood seemed to freeze. This was not just a scattered attack by the ghouls, but the prelude to an organized war.

"Order!" He grabbed Rodrick's shoulder armor, and the iron gloves creaked in the frost. "Abandon Bear Island! All residents immediately board the ship, evacuate to the land, and then transfer to Winterfell!"

"But our home—"

"Home?" The Count of Bear Island pointed to the coastline, where a few ghouls were stumbling out from the frozen sea. "Once those things occupy this place, Bear Island will only become a hatchery for ghouls! We should preserve our manpower before they really move south."

As the last of the women and children boarded the longships, Jeor stood on the dock and looked back. The fortress of House Mormont, a simple castle made of stone and ironwood, stood silently in the morning light. The top of the tower was covered with frost, like a frozen corpse.

"We will be back." He muttered to himself, and plunged the family sword "Long Claw" deeply into the wooden board of the dock, with the white bear pattern on the hilt facing his homeland. "The North will never forget." The roar of the ice dragon came from the depths of the ocean, as if mocking this oath.

Maekar Targaryen stood beside the heart tree at Harrenhal, his face pale as bone, but the fire in his eyes was more scorching than the breath of Vermithor. His wounds were still unhealed, and blood seeped from under the bandages, staining the silk lining red, but his hand was tightly grasping the reins of the sheep thief, refusing to loosen even a little.

"You are looking for death." Igor's voice was as deep as thunder. He held Meka tightly, his body as unshakable as a mountain.

"Then let me die more meaningfully." Meka sneered, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly due to pain, "Or is the Varese family so stingy that they want to deprive a dying person of his final value?"

There was deathly silence in the courtyard.

Dan Vareses slowly stood up, his dark green cape billowing like a living thing. "Meka, your courage is unquestionable, but you can hardly even stand straight now, how can you control a dragon?"

"The sheep thief knows me!" Maekar growled. "It doesn't need me to be strong, it just needs me to be able to breathe!"

Jonniel frowned. "If we have to be distracted to save you on the battlefield, we might as well not take you with us."

"I don't need you to save me!" Maekar slammed the table, shaking the cups and glasses. "I am a Targaryen! My life belongs on the battlefield, not on the sickbed!"

Lei Geng sighed: "Stubborn dragon cub. Xiaolu is even more stubborn than you."

Finally, it was the "stubborn" Lusiris Vareses who broke the silence: "Let him go. Father, uncle, Igor, nephew."

All eyes turned to him.

Lusiris shrugged, a trace of sadness in his purple eyes: "We can't stop him anyway, so why not let him die heroically."

Igor was silent for a long time, and finally nodded slowly: "Then don't die in an insignificant place, Maekar Targaryen."

Maika finally smiled.

Winterfell.

When Jeor Mormont stumbled into Winterfell with the remaining Bear Island warriors, the cold wind from the North had already blown across the entire North, carrying the icy breath of the White Walkers.

"The White Walkers have bypassed the Wall!" Jeor's voice was hoarse, and the ice crystals on his long claws had not yet melted. "They are coming from the sea, and the ice dragon is testing the defense line!"

Lord Adler Stark stood in the middle of the parade ground, his grey eyes like those of a dire wolf sweeping over every wounded warrior. His voice was as cold as frozen earth: "Can't the Great Wall be defended?"

"We can hold it, but we need more kerosene." The speaker was the messenger of the Black Army, the young Cotter Pyke, "and dragons. The Black brothers have all felt the abundant magic of the Wall, which is enough to temporarily resist the White Walkers."

At this moment, Adler's grandson Brandon Stark suddenly pointed to the sky and shouted: "Grandpa! The dragon is coming!"

Brandon's younger brother, Eddard Stark, also opened his eyes wide, and his little hands unconsciously grasped his brother's sleeves. The clouds in the sky were torn apart, and five huge shadows circled down.

The moment the dragon landed, the horses of Winterfell neighed and even the direwolves stood up. Maekar jumped off the sheep thief's back, staggered for a moment, but immediately straightened his back.

"Lord Stark," he said, his voice hoarse but firm, "where are the White Walkers?"

Adler narrowed his eyes. "You should lie down, Targaryen."

"Enough of lying down." Maekar grinned. "Now, tell me where the enemies are - so I can make them lie down forever."

Behind him were Silent Dan Varese, Regyn Varese, Joniel Varese and Lusiris Varese.

Brandon excitedly tugged on his grandfather's cape, "Can we go see the dragons, Grandpa?"

Adler did not answer, but looked at Meka deeply, then turned to Geo and ordered: "Gather everyone."

"We need to burn all this ice."

(End of this chapter)