House of the Dragon: Daemon’s Bastard Son Who Hatched a Dragon Chapter 89: Burning

With the arrival of the Bloodfla Legion, the temper of the battlefield changed in a single breath.

Sheepstealer ca down hard upon the frozen earth, its talons gouging furrows through snow and stone alike. The great dragon's chest heaved. Its jaws sagged open, breath tearing in and out in ragged gusts that stead white in the cold air. After the endless flight and the savage hours of fighting, there was nothing left to give. Its wings trembled as they folded, and the beast lowered its massive head, utterly spent.

Baelon tightened his grip on the saddle straps, feeling the tremor run through the dragon's body. He leaned forward, pressing a gloved hand against the hot, scarred scales of Sheepstealer's neck.

"Hold fast," he murmured, voice low and urgent. "Just a little longer."

For now, Sheepstealer could only rely on the Bloodfla Legion to shield it while its strength slowly returned.

Fortunately, the Bloodfla Legion lived up to its na.

They hit the wildlings like a falling hamr. Hardened n in scorched armor surged forward in disciplined ranks, blades flashing red with reflected fire. The shock of their sudden arrival tore a wound straight through the giant host. Giants bellowed in pain and fury as axes and spears found flesh. Wildlings stumbled back, stunned by the ferocity of the charge.

A wildling war leader scrambled onto a broken mound of ice, raising his weapon high. His beard was matted with frost and blood, his eyes bright with hunger and desperation.

"All of you, charge!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. He pointed with his axe toward the dragons. "Those two are spent. I swear it by the King Beyond the Wall. Whoever slays even one shall be nad Dragonslayer!"

A ripple of sound ran through the horde. n shouted. Spears beat against shields.

"And more than that," the leader bellowed, voice cracking with feverish promise. He spread his arms wide, as if offering the world. "The castles atop the Wall. Choose any you like. Gold and silver. Won fair as you please. Take what you want and take it now!"

Greed lit their faces. Fear was swallowed by hunger. With a roar that shook the frozen ground, vast numbers of wildlings surged toward Baelon's position.

The Bloodfla Legion held, but only just. They were mighty, yet they were still n of flesh and bone. Fighting giants alone had already pushed them to the edge. Now an entire wildling horde crashed against them, wave after wave.

Steel rang. n scread.

Gradually, the red-cloaked ranks began to thin.

At the castle gate, Cregan watched the distant struggle, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles in his cheeks twitched. He had co out to assess the field, but what he saw made his stomach sink.

"This will not do," he said sharply, turning to those around him. His hand closed into a fist at his side. "The prince's dragon is exhausted. Even with reinforcents, they will not hold for long. If Baelon falls, the field is lost."

He strode toward Whitefrost, boots crunching through snow, and laid out his judgnt in terse, urgent words.

Whitefrost listened in silence. His breath fogged the air. When Cregan finished, the Umber lord shut his eyes for a brief mont, as if gathering himself. When he opened them again, they were hard with resolve.

"All right," Whitefrost said. His teeth ground together as he spoke. Weariness lay heavy in his shoulders, but he straightened them all the sa.

The old saying rang bitterly true. The first charge carried force. The second wavered. The third broke. Even a Northman born to battle felt dread at the thought of charging once more into that slaughter.

Whitefrost drew his sword and lifted it high. "Rally the troops," he barked. His voice cut through the noise. "All of them. We move to support Prince Baelon. We link up with him or we die trying."

He forced himself forward, stalking through the ranks, gripping shoulders, eting eyes, barking curses and promises in equal asure. Slowly, stubborn courage stirred again.

From within the castle, remnants of other units gathered. n with bandaged arms and blood-soaked mail limped to the gate. Able-bodied smallfolk ca too, clutching spears and axes with white-knuckled hands. Alongside the few dozen soldiers Cregan had brought from Winterfell, they scraped together several hundred fighters.

Cregan stepped to the fore. In his hands was a greatsword taken from House Umber's armory. It was heavy and unfamiliar. His ancestral blade, Ice, was gone, lost in a wildling ambush days before. The absence weighed on him, but there was no ti for grief.

He lifted the greatsword, feeling its balance, and drew a long breath.

"Warriors of the North," he shouted, his voice ringing clear. "With !"

He broke into a run. Whitefrost followed close behind, roaring defiance, dragging every remaining Umber soldier with him.

Most of the wildling army had already surged toward Baelon. That left Cregan's advance cutting into what had beco, for a mont, the enemy's rear.

They smashed into the wildling ranks with brutal force. Steel bit. n fell. The wildlings had not expected the Northn, whom they believed nearly crushed, to dare sally forth again. Shock rippled through their lines, and Cregan's n carved a bloody swath forward.

Then the wildlings recovered.

They poured in from all sides, snarling, hacking, stabbing. A few hundred n were swallowed by thousands. House Umber's soldiers went down under sheer weight of numbers. Winterfell n, already wounded and exhausted, staggered and fell, unable to hold against fresh enemies.

From Sheepstealer's back, Baelon saw it all.

His heart clenched. He leaned forward, gripping the dragon's neck, then turned his head toward the second dragon crouched nearby.

"Sheepstealer. Grey Ghost," he said aloud, voice sharp with command. "Feed on the fallen. Giants and wildlings both. Recover your strength. Quickly."

The words felt strange on his tongue, but necessity left no room for rcy.

Whether it would work or not, he could not know. But it was worth the risk.

Sheepstealer responded first. With a low, rumbling growl, it lowered its massive head and seized a fallen giant in its jaws. Bones cracked like kindling. It swallowed, then took another, feeding with savage speed.

Grey Ghost, smaller and leaner, darted forward to snatch up wildling corpses instead, gulping them down whole.

The effect was imdiate.

"The dragon is eating people!" a wildling scread, backing away, eyes wide.

"It took Gaff!" another cried, voice breaking.

"Gods," soone wailed. "It is swallowing giants whole!"

Kin were devoured before their eyes. Sheepstealer's casual brutality shattered their resolve. One bite. One giant gone. To a dragon, they were nothing but at.

Strength flowed back into Sheepstealer's limbs. The great beast lifted its head, eyes burning, and began to crawl forward toward the wildling host.

"ROAR!"

The sound rolled across the battlefield, a thunderous challenge that froze n in their tracks.

Before the echo faded, another roar answered it. This one was distant at first, then rapidly closer. It seethed with fury and hunger.

Tyraxes had arrived.

The blood-red dragon burst into view against the white of snow and ice, its scales gleaming like fresh-spilled gore. Steam poured from its body. Its chest hamred with the strain of the forced march, driving its inner heat ever higher.

Baelon looked up just as Tyraxes reared back and unleashed its fire.

Blood-red fla fell like a storm of teors, splashing across the frozen ground. Unlike ordinary dragonfire, Tyraxes's bloodfire clung and spread. It struck wildlings and did not burn them to ash at once.

n scread as the heat blood. They thrashed, rolling in the snow, tearing at their clothes in blind panic. Each movent only spread the living fla.

One beca ten. Ten beca a hundred. Soon, hundreds of crimson figures ran shrieking across the field, scattering fire with every step.

Only when the accelerants were consud did the true heat take hold. Bodies collapsed into blackened husks, cooked alive long before the end.

The Bone-Armor King stood frozen, his horn slipping from numb fingers to fall into the snow. Dragons devouring n had not broken him. This did.

Burning was one thing. This was sothing else entirely.

In that mont, he rembered the terror of dragon rule. He rembered the sha of being driven beyond the Wall.

Under Tyraxes's bloodfire, the wildling army broke. Nearly half lay dead or dying.

"Retreat," soone scread, voice hoarse with terror. "Fall back. Now!"

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