The Great Fish-Feeding Battle

Meanwhile.

The North, White Harbor.

"Hiss—"

Cannibal's green, slit-pupil eyes were utterly indifferent. Thin wisps of Dragonflame spilled from his jaws as he remained on cold alert.

"I'm fine, old boy."

Rhaegar lay on Dragonback, blinking sleepily as he opened his eyes.

It was incredible. He had actually dreamed of Daemon.

Daemon wasn't a Dreamwalker himself, so he couldn't tell whether he was in reality or an illusion.

But Daemon had gone looking for the Heart Tree and the greenseers.

The fact that he had met Rhaegar in a dream probably meant he'd found something.

"Roar..."

Cannibal growled, scattering the seabirds gathered over the bay, then glanced back at his rider.

Propping himself up with his left hand, Rhaegar sat up on Dragonback and gave a wry laugh. "I can still hold on."

The right half of his body was numb and cold, trembling without pause.

The Wall couldn't treat him.

Across the whole of the Westeros Continent, there was no systematic knowledge of magic, either.

He planned to cross the Narrow Sea and first seek a diagnosis from the Red Priestess of Lys and Varys the Blood Sorcerer.

If that didn't work, he would follow the witch Quellys's advice and investigate Asshai.

"Now that Daemon's back, Black Castle's defenses are practically impregnable."

Rhaegar glanced back, estimating how long this journey would take.

The Night King had been defeated in his first battle and wouldn't invade The Wall again anytime soon.

He would use this lull to deal with his injuries as best he could.

And find a way to face the Night King head-on.

The only way to kill the Night King was to fight him at close quarters.

The Night King had only struck once, so his true capabilities remained unknown.

Take his immunity to Dragonflame: no one