. The Allied Forces Converge in the Snow Night
It had snowed for three full days in Winterfell. The snow beneath the walls was ankle-deep, and the wind whipped snowflakes against the black castle gate, making a "rustling" sound. Jon stood on the gatehouse, his hand resting on longclaw at his waist, his gaze fixed on the snowy plains to the north—according to the message from Arya, Illyrio's reinforcements were expected to arrive today.
"Look! It's the dragon banner!" The shout of a Night's Watch sentry broke the silence. Jon looked in the direction the sentry pointed; in the distance, a banner embroidered with a three-headed dragon slowly emerged from the snowstorm. Behind the banner stretched an army several miles long: Unsullied in silver-grey armor, their ranks as sharp as a blade; Dothraki Riders on their short horses, red strips of cloth tied to their manes; and supply carts laden with dragonglass weapons and barrels of Sow's Butter, their wheels leaving deep ruts in the snow.
"Open the gate, prepare to receive them." Jon turned and ordered the soldiers behind him, his voice tinged with barely suppressed excitement. As he descended from the gatehouse, Sansa was waiting at the gate with servants, holding steaming hot mulled wine and bread—the North's winter was biting, and she had specially prepared these to warm the soldiers who had traveled so far.
Arya was the first to rush out. Dressed in black leather armor, with needle at her waist, she ran across the snow towards the reinforcements. Illyrio was riding a white horse, his red robe particularly striking in the snowstorm. Seeing Arya, he reined in his horse and dismounted.
"You're finally here." Arya's voice held a smile as she clapped Illyrio on the shoulder. "The snow in Winterfell is even heavier than in the Haunted Forest."
"Much milder than the sandstorms of Meereen," Illyrio replied with a laugh, his gaze sweeping past Arya to Jon and Sansa approaching. He stepped forward and bowed slightly: "Lord Jon Snow, Lady Sansa Stark, I am Illyrio, sent by Queen Daenerys to rendezvous with the reinforcements."
Jon clasped Illyrio's hand; his palm was rough, calloused from years of wielding a sword and tinkering with mechanisms: "Thank you for coming, Illyrio. The North needs your strength; the Others will cross the Wall soon."
Sansa also stepped forward and offered a cup of hot mulled wine: "Have some wine to warm yourselves first. The army's camp is ready, in the valley outside the city, where it will be sheltered from the wind and snow."
Illyrio took the mulled wine; the warm liquid slid down his throat, dispelling the chill in his body. He turned and ordered his adjutant to lead the army into the camp in an orderly fashion, then followed Jon and Sansa into Winterfell. As he passed through the familiar courtyard, he couldn't help but look around—the castle was more imposing than he had seen in drawings, the icicles on the stone walls like sharp swords, the ice columns hanging from the eaves like curtains, everywhere exuding the unique resilience of the North.
"Bran is waiting for you in the Godswood," Sansa suddenly said as they reached the great hall's entrance. "He says he has something important to discuss with you, about... fate and time."
Illyrio paused, then nodded: "I'll go once I've settled the army. But before that, I'd like to see your armory and training grounds—we've brought improved dragonglass weapons and wildfire formulas; perhaps they can help."
Jon's eyes lit up: "Excellent! We've been worried about the insufficient penetration of dragonglass weapons and the short burning time of wildfire." He turned to Arya and said, "You take Illyrio to the armory; I'll go to the camp to check on the soldiers' arrangements."
Arya nodded and led Illyrio through the corridor towards the armory. On the corridor walls hung House Stark banners and portraits of past lords. Arya pointed to a painting and said: "That's my father, Ned Stark. He was a good man, but he died in King's Landing."
Illyrio looked at the gentle-eyed man in the portrait and recalled the scene Bran had seen in his Greensight—Ned on the execution block in King's Landing, blood staining the white snow. "His sacrifice will not be in vain," Illyrio said softly. "We will hold Winterfell, hold the North, and avenge him and all who have died."
2. Improvements in the Armory and Coordination on the Training Grounds
Winterfell's armory was built on the west side of the castle, filled with dragonglass ore and unfinished weapons. A dozen smiths were busy around the forge, sparks splashing onto the stone floor, quickly extinguished by the cold wind. Arya pushed open the door, and the smiths looked up, showing curiosity upon seeing Illyrio.
"This is Illyrio; he has brought methods for improving dragonglass weapons," Arya introduced.
Illyrio walked to the workbench and picked up a dragonglass spear—the spearhead was polished from a single piece of dragonglass, but it lacked a metal haft, making it easy to slip in the hand. He pulled out a blueprint from his 懷 and spread it on the workbench: "We can add an iron sleeve to the base of the dragonglass spearhead, fixed to the wooden shaft with rivets. This won't affect the dragonglass's effectiveness and will increase stability when held. Additionally, the spearhead can be ground into a triangular shape, which will double its penetration power."
The smiths gathered to look at the blueprint, and a white-haired old smith couldn't help but ask: "My lord, will such an improvement cause the dragonglass to lose its effect against wights?"
"No," Illyrio picked up a piece of dragonglass ore and chipped off a small piece with a hammer. "The magic of dragonglass is internal; as long as the dragonglass part of the spearhead is not destroyed, it can pierce a wight's heart. The iron sleeve we add will actually protect the dragonglass, preventing it from shattering in battle."
The old smith nodded and immediately picked up his tools, beginning to make the iron sleeve according to the blueprint. Illyrio then walked to a Sow's Butter barrel, opened the lid, and sniffed the Sow's Butter inside: "Your Sow's Butter isn't pure enough; it only burns for half an hour. We've brought an improved formula, adding dragonglass powder and saltpeter, which can extend the burning time to an hour and increase the temperature by thirty percent, enough to burn back swathes of wights."
He had someone bring a clay pot, poured in the Sow's Butter, added dragonglass powder and saltpeter, stirred it evenly, and lit it—a green flame instantly shot up, nearly a foot higher than regular Sow's Butter flame, and it burned more stably; even with wind, it didn't extinguish. The smiths all showed surprised expressions, gathering around to ask about the formula's details.
"It's even livelier at the training grounds," Arya said, leading Illyrio towards the training grounds after dealing with the armory. From afar, they could hear the clanging of metal and the shouts of soldiers—Unsullied and Northern soldiers were engaged in sparring practice. The Unsullied's spear formations were orderly, and the Northern soldiers' swordsmanship was agile; together, they displayed a remarkable synergy.
Jon was standing on the high platform of the training grounds, watching the training below. Seeing Illyrio, he waved: "You've come at a good time; see how our coordination is."
Illyrio walked onto the platform, his gaze sweeping over the training grounds: "Very good, but not enough. Wights won't dodge like humans; they'll charge without regard for their lives. We need a more effective defensive formation." He pulled a piece of charcoal from his 懷 and drew a diagram of a "three-layer defense formation" on a wooden board. "The first layer uses shields to form a defensive line, blocking the wights' charge; the second layer uses dragonglass spears for stabbing; the third layer uses improved flame-thrower nozzles to burn back wights that break through the line. The Unsullied excel at formations, responsible for the first and second layers; Northern soldiers excel at agile combat, responsible for the third layer and flank support. This will be more efficient."
Jon looked at the diagram, his eyes full of approval: "This formation is very practical; we'll start training tomorrow. Also, when will Queen Daenerys's dragons arrive? Without dragonflame, it will be very difficult for us to deal with the Night King's army of wights."
"Daenerys's main fleet is crossing the Narrow Sea and is expected to arrive in seven days," Illyrio said. "She will bring Drogon and Rhaegal; Viserion will remain on Dragonstone, guarding the dragonglass mines there."
Arya suddenly spoke: "I can be responsible for training an elite squad to assassinate the wight leaders with valyrian steel weapons. Bran says that if you kill the wight leader, ordinary wights will lose their ability to move, which will reduce our losses."
Illyrio nodded: "Good idea. Your squad can be equipped with improved short-handled dragonglass daggers for close-quarters assassination. Additionally, I'll have the smiths add dragonglass shards to your leather armor, which can resist wight attacks to some extent."
Over the next three days, Winterfell plunged into intense preparations for war. In the armory, smiths worked day and night, improving dragonglass weapons and Sow's Butter; on the training grounds, soldiers repeatedly trained according to Illyrio's formation, moving from initial unfamiliarity to later seamless coordination; Sansa was busy allocating food and supplies, ensuring every soldier was fed and warm; Arya's elite squad also began to take shape, with twenty members skilled in close combat, wielding valyrian steel or dragonglass weapons, practicing assassination techniques in the snow.
3. A Temporal Dialogue in the Godswood
On the fourth morning, the snow finally stopped. Meera came to the armory and found Illyrio, who was instructing the smiths: "Bran is waiting for you in the Godswood; he says it's time to talk."
Illyrio put down his tools and followed Meera to the Godswood. The ancient weirwood still stood in the center, its red patterns glowing faintly in the morning light. Bran sat on the stone platform, an ancient parchment scroll beside his wheelchair—Sam's "Chronicles of the Others" from The Citadel.
"You've come." Bran heard footsteps, opened his eyes, and his usual calm was replaced by a hint of inquiry. "I've seen your past in my Greensight, but I can't see your 'origin'—what is the world you come from like?"
Illyrio sat opposite Bran, his gaze falling on the patterns of the weirwood: "In the world I come from, there is no magic, no dragons, and no Others. People there live by 'technology', sailing the seas in 'ships' made of metal, flying in the sky in 'airplanes', and fighting with 'guns and cannons' instead of swords. Our perception of time is also different from here — you believe fate is fixed, while we believe there are countless possibilities for fate; every choice leads to a different future."
Bran's fingertips lightly traced the decaying leaves on the stone table, a green glow flickering at his fingertips: "I used to think fate was fixed too. I saw Winterfell fall, and I saw the Others conquer all of Westeros. But your appearance changed all of that — you are like a stone thrown into a calm lake, stirring up new ripples, giving the threads of fate new possibilities."
"That's not my credit alone," Illyrio shook his head. "If it weren't for Jon's persistence, Sansa's meticulousness, Arya's bravery, and your Greensight guidance, the knowledge I brought would be useless. Fate is never something one person can change; it requires the choices and efforts of everyone."
Bran was silent for a moment, then opened the parchment beside him, pointing to a drawing on it — in the drawing, the Night King stood on the ice, surrounded by countless wights, with no dragons in the sky, only thick dark clouds. "This is the timeline I saw before, where the Night King would kill all of us at Winterfell, then use his army of wights to conquer the South. But now, this drawing is starting to blur, replaced by another scene — our army and the Night King's wights fighting in the snow, dragonflame lighting up the sky, your wildfire traps burning back the wights, and Arya piercing the Night King's heart with her needle."
Illyrio looked at the drawing on the parchment, a ripple of emotion in his heart: "You mean, we can win?"
"I don't know." Bran's eyes deepened. "Greensight only sees 'possibilities,' not 'certainties.' The Night King's power is stronger than we imagine; he can control the weather, turn dead creatures into wights, and even sense our plans. Our advantages lie in your knowledge, in dragonflame, and in everyone's unity — but whether these are enough to defeat him, I also don't know."
"But we must try." Illyrio's voice was firm. "In my world, there's a saying, 'Fate is in your own hands.' Even if the future seen by Greensight is dark, we must use our own hands to forge a path of light." He paused, then added, "I've studied the Others' weaknesses. Dragonglass and valyrian steel can kill them, and fire can temporarily repel them, but these are only 'defenses.' To truly defeat the Night King, we need an 'offense' — using the high temperature of dragonflame, combined with improved wildfire, to burn away the wights around him, and then let Arya's team seize the opportunity to assassinate him."
Bran nodded, the green light at his fingertips growing brighter: "I will guide you with Greensight during the battle, telling you the Night King's location and the wights' movements. Additionally, I sense that Cersei has ignited King's Landing's wildfire caches, and although she didn't burn down the entire city, it has attracted the attention of some wights — they are now moving towards King's Landing, which gives us more time to prepare."
"Cersei..." Illyrio frowned. "Her madness almost destroyed all of Westeros. Once we defeat the Night King, we must head south as quickly as possible to stop her next plan."
"First, let's defeat the Night King," Bran closed the parchment. "Now, the fate of all of Westeros rests on us. We have no retreat, only forward."
Illyrio looked at Bran's resolute gaze, then towards the training grounds outside the Godswood — the distant shouts of the soldiers, full of vibrant life, faintly reached him. He knew this battle would be difficult, and many might even die, but as long as they stood together, as long as they didn't give up hope, they would surely find their future.
"Let's go." Illyrio stood up. "We still have much to do: weapons to improve, soldiers to train, plans to perfect. For Winterfell, for the North, and for all living people."
Bran nodded, and Meera pushed his wheelchair, following Illyrio out of the Godswood. The morning light fell upon them, dispelling the last of the chill. In the distant snow, the soldiers' training continued, dragonglass weapons gleaming green in the sunlight, like seeds of hope taking root and sprouting in the soil of Winterfell.
IV. The End of Preparations and the Approaching Crisis
Over the next few days, Winterfell's preparations neared completion. In the armory, improved dragonglass weapons piled high on the shelves, their triangular spearheads glinting coldly, simple patterns carved into their iron sleeves; wildfire barrels were neatly arranged beneath the castle walls, each labeled "Improved Formula," with torches and flame-thrower nozzles placed nearby; Arya's elite team also completed their final training, the members wearing leather armor reinforced with dragonglass shards, weapons in hand, their eyes filled with determination.
Daenerys's main fleet also arrived on schedule on the seventh day. When the figures of Drogon and Rhaegal appeared in the skies above Winterfell, the soldiers erupted in cheers — black and green dragon wings blotted out the sun, and dragonflame occasionally fell, burning black pits in the snow, yet bringing a sense of security to everyone.
Daenerys, riding Drogon, landed on the training grounds. She wore golden armor, her long hair flowing in the wind. Seeing Jon and Illyrio, she dismounted from her dragon: "I'm here. Are you ready to face the Night King?"
"Ready," Jon stepped forward. "Our army is trained, our weapons and wildfire are prepared. We just await your dragonflame."
Daenerys nodded, her gaze sweeping over the soldiers on the training grounds, then towards the distant castle walls: "Winterfell is a strong fortress, but the Night King's army of wights is too numerous. We cannot rely solely on defense; we must take the offensive."
"I've already drawn up a plan." Illyrio pulled out a map and spread it on the ground. "We've set up three defensive lines on the plains north of Winterfell. The first line uses wildfire traps and dragonglass spears, the second uses shields and cavalry, and the third uses dragonflame and elite teams. Once the Night King's wights enter the traps, we'll ignite the wildfire, use dragonflame to burn them back, and then let Arya's team assassinate the Night King."
Daenerys looked at the map, her eyes showing approval: "Good plan. Drogon and Rhaegal will be responsible for the third line of defense; their dragonflame is enough to burn entire swathes of wights. Additionally, I've brought five thousand Dothraki Riders, which will strengthen the impact of the second line of defense."
Just then, Bran was pushed over by Meera, his face grim: "The Night King's army has already crossed the Wall and is advancing towards Winterfell, expected to arrive in three days. By his side are over a hundred thousand wights, as well as several Direwolves and giant wights, their combat power stronger than we imagined."
Everyone's faces grew solemn. A hundred thousand wights—this was a terrifying number. Even with dragonflame and improved weapons, they would pay a huge price.
"We have no time for hesitation." Jon gripped longclaw. "Now, everyone move to battle positions. Soldiers of the first line, depart immediately to dig Sow's Butter Ditches and set traps on the plains."
The soldiers immediately sprang into action. The Unsullied pushed supply carts, heading north to the plains; Dothraki Riders rode their horses, following behind; Arya's elite team also packed their gear, ready to strike at any moment; Daenerys, riding Drogon, flew north with Rhaegal to scout the movements of the Night King's army.
Illyrio stood on the castle wall, watching the soldiers disappear into the snow, his heart filled with complex emotions. He thought of his original intention for transmigrating to this world, which was simply to survive, yet he never expected to be drawn into such a large conflict, to fight to protect an unfamiliar world.
"What are you thinking about?" Sansa walked up to him, holding a thick cloak, and handed it to him. "It's getting cold; put this on."
Illyrio took the cloak and draped it over himself: "I'm thinking if we can win."
"We will win." Sansa's voice was firm. "My father used to say, 'Winter is coming, but spring will also arrive.' As long as we don't give up, as long as we stand together, we will surely see spring."
Illyrio looked at Sansa's determined eyes, and the unease in his heart gradually dissipated. He knew this battle would be difficult, but he wasn't fighting alone — beside him were Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Daenerys, and countless soldiers fighting to protect their homes. They might come from different places, have different beliefs, but they shared a common goal: to defeat the Night King, protect Westeros, and welcome the arrival of spring.
Night fell, and the lights of Winterfell flickered on one by one, like stars in the darkness. The wildfire barrels beneath the castle walls glowed faintly, the training grounds were empty, with only the wind swirling snow particles across the open space. Illyrio stood on the castle wall, gazing at the northern night sky, silently thinking: "No matter how many possibilities fate holds, we will choose the path that leads to light."
Three days later, the Night King's army of wights appeared as expected on the northern plains. Blue eyes stretched across the snow, like stars in the polar night, advancing towards Winterfell accompanied by deep growls. A battle that would decide the fate of Westeros was about to begin.