Chapter 92 – Mammoths
Flying west above the Wall, Drogon decided to inspect the defenses along the other sections.
Every stretch of the Wall was equipped at intervals with giant scorpions. After two or three kilometers, the defensive layout remained largely the same, and the number of men stationed there didn't vary much either.
Drogon was just about to speed up when he spotted someone ahead walking along the inner passage atop the Wall — a young man in a black cloak, with dark hair, straight brows, and strikingly handsome features.
Drogon's heart stirred. Could that be Jon?
He followed the young man from the air for a while and saw that he was inspecting the defenses, occasionally pushing at the scorpions to check their stability.
After trailing him a bit longer, Drogon overheard him greeting others. From their words, Drogon confirmed it — it really was Jon Snow.
The somewhat self-conscious yet stubbornly honorable Stark-blooded man. The good soul who tirelessly warned everyone about the White Walkers.
Only to be betrayed by the Night's Watch in the end, stabbed again and again, dying in the snow — then later resurrected by the Red Woman.
Used by others because of his identity, manipulated without ever fully realizing it. Forced to betray the woman he loved, all to advance someone else's cause — and in the end, he gained nothing for himself.
Drogon didn't know whether his own existence would change Jon's fate — whether Jon would still die, and whether Melisandre would still bring him back.
Originally, Drogon had only intended to take a look and leave. But seeing Jon braving the bitter wind, still diligently checking the Wall's defenses, made him hesitate.
Suddenly, Drogon didn't want this hardworking brother of the Night's Watch to suffer that brutal death by multiple blades. Nor did he want Alliser Thorne — the chief conspirator — to walk away smug.
He followed Jon through the air all the way back to Castle Black, noted which room he entered, and waited patiently until Jon left again. Then Drogon left behind a few written words. As for what Jon would do with them — that would be his choice.
After leaving Castle Black, Drogon flew on to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower, inspecting the garrisons at these major strongholds.
What he saw only made him less confident.
With so few men, holding back a wildling army was a fantasy.
Even a Wall two hundred meters high might not be enough to stop the wildlings once they truly committed to the assault.
After circling the Wall, Drogon flew beyond it, heading north to take a look at the wildling host. Legends spoke of giants and mammoths among them — and he had no desire to return one day only to find those same giants and mammoths turned into wights.
If a few months ago the lands beyond the Wall had still seen bright sunshine from time to time, now the sun was a rare guest.
The closer one got to the Lands of Always Winter, the lower the temperature dropped and the fiercer the wind and snow became.
Below stretched endless sights of forests buried under ice and snow, or bare, jagged stone mountains stripped of all life. Drogon couldn't help admiring the wildlings' toughness. To survive and multiply in such a brutal environment — what did they even eat on a daily basis?
Flying at his speed, it took less than half an hour before he spotted them: a dark mass of wildlings gathered around low rocky hills in the distance.
Getting closer, he saw two giants at the head of the column — one on foot, the other riding atop a massive mammoth.
The giants stood nearly four meters tall. Their broad, flat faces were dominated by huge noses, with pronounced nasal ridges above them. At first glance, one might almost expect a trunk to grow from the bridge of their noses.
The mammoth — an ancient beast — was another meter taller than the giants. Its sharp tusks curved forward, and its entire body and limbs were covered in thick, shaggy fur. The long hair around its ankles nearly dragged along the ground.
Staring in astonishment, Drogon marveled at how strange this world was. Even creatures from myth and prehistory existed here.
Then he thought of himself. With dragons already real, a few more colossal beasts didn't seem so impossible.
ROOOAAR—!
Just as he was observing, the mammoth — which had seemed slow and dull — suddenly lifted its head and let out a loud, piercing trumpet in his direction.
Did it spot me? Drogon wondered, immediately climbing higher into the sky.
The wildling host, previously sluggish and silent, was startled by the mammoth's cry. In their experience, mammoths were even quieter than giants. Giants might grow angry and shout, but mammoths spent their days chewing bark and dry grass — they were almost never heard making a sound.
Those who knew the beast understood why. It was ancient — the last mammoth still alive.
The first to notice something was wrong was the giant riding it — Mag the Mighty. Hearing the long-silent mammoth trumpet, he was baffled. Only when it cried out again did he peer in that direction. Snow swirled in the high sky. He saw nothing.
His rocky brow furrowed, but with his simple mind unable to make sense of it, he stopped trying.
Wildling King Mance Rayder was also alarmed. Thinking the mammoth might have sensed White Walkers, he hurried to Mag's side to ask what was happening. With no clear answer, Mance immediately ordered heightened vigilance in case the Others were approaching.
High above, Drogon hadn't expected the mammoth's instincts to be so sharp. Even flying that high, masked by wind and snow, he had been sensed.
He carefully estimated the size of the host below — roughly eighty to a hundred thousand. After spending so long around Daenerys, he'd unconsciously picked up some military sense.
This wasn't truly an army of a hundred thousand — it was a refugee column. The elderly, women, and children made up the majority. Actual fighters numbered at most thirty thousand.
Even so, those thirty thousand were far beyond what a little over a thousand Night's Watch men could handle. Especially with Tormund Giantsbane and the battle-hardened Thenns waiting on the other side of the Wall.
Judging the distance and the wildlings' pace, Drogon figured they would reach the Wall within a week. That would be when the assault began.
He wondered what Jon Snow would choose. Continue seeking cooperation with the wildlings to defend the Wall together? Or follow the thousand-year hatred between Watch and wildlings and bar them from crossing?
After passing over the wildling host, Drogon flew farther north toward the Lands of Always Winter. This time he was far more cautious, flying much higher than before.
Trailing behind the wildlings was the Night King's army of the dead. Drogon had no intention of flying straight into the Night King's embrace.
Though his speed and defenses were now formidable, he still deeply feared the Night King.
The Night King threw spears with terrifying precision — and dragonfire didn't seem to bother him. Drogon's defense might be monstrous, but he still didn't dare take one of those spears head-on.
There were too many unknown powers in this world — like the warlock Pyat Pree's teleportation. No matter how strong you were, some tricks were nearly impossible to guard against.
Who knew what other hidden abilities the Night King possessed — or whether his spear itself was something extraordinary, capable of splitting stone?