[A/N: As this fic uses book canon, the wights are 'slow and clumsy'. The Others, OTOH...]
The skies were clear when the Sealord's fleet approached the bay that sat at the tip of Storrhold's Point.
A horn sounded from the flagship. Then another, and another, as the trot-trip-trot signal spread from ship to ship. Twenty or so galleys broke off towards a small rocky island that guarded the bay's mouth where it opened north into the Shivering Sea proper. Here the Braavosi would set up camp, the tents and docks and makeshift watchtowers, even storehouses where they would store food. At least food wouldn't be a problem here, Rick sighed with relief. These waters were so rich with life that a fisherman could cast his net and fill it in minutes.
Lumber would not be a problem either. Across the bay from the island, a forest sprawled along the bay's eastern and southern shores. The dead could be lurking amongst the trees, of course, though neither Rick nor his Alexandrians could spot anything at first glance from their binoculars, nor the Braavosi with their 'far-eyes'.
The forest ended at a range of sprawling hills that lined the bay's western edge, stretching all the way north to a narrow strait which divided it from the small island where they would set up camp. Steep cliffs rose from the western shore, marked by a string of cave mouths near the bottom. Smoke plumes curled from many of the cave mouths, casting a haze over the ruins of Hardhome before dissipating over the frozen beach. Rick hoped this telltale sign of life meant the Free Folk they came to rescue were still alive. He thought he caught a glimmer on the white-capped clifftops, but when he blinked and looked there again, all he saw was rock and snow.
"How many Free Folk do you think there are?" Rick asked when the fleet came to a rest just off the bay's western shore.
"At least seven or eight thousand," Qarro guessed. "Though It seems as if all of the Free Folk in the world chose to gather here!" He raised his 'far-eye', scanning the shore for any sign of the dead. Finally he lowered the contraption and conversed in Braavosi with one of the sailors. "The coast is clear," he announced," and our boats are ready to take your men, Leader Grimes. Good luck."
"Make sure to keep the walkie-talkie on," Rick shouted as he clambered down the rope ladder dangling off the galley's hull.
"Will do," Qarro shouted back. His English, or Common as the Westerosi would call it, was getting better by the day. To Rick's amusement, the First Sword of Braavos was even beginning to pick up an American accent, a result of days of close professional contact with his Alexandrian allies.
Their boats glided over the mirrorlike water, each paddle and oar stirring a white froth. A militiaman knelt at the front of each boat, an assault rifle in hand to deal with any hidden walkers lurking on the frozen beach. On Dwight's suggestion, corroborated by a half-remembered war movie, the ends of each rifle barrel was wrapped in a condom for waterproofing, drawn from amongst the scarce supply that they occasionally scavenged back in Alexandria.
There were no walkers on the beach however. Instead a small party of warriors met the Alexandrians at landfall, clad in furs and bronze and largely armed with stones and bones.
A broad-chested man stepped forwards, long beard white as snow. "Tormund Giantsbane," he introduced himself, followed by the rest of his group. The tall young man was his oldest son Toregg, the warrior in the leather-and-bones armour was Rattleshirt, the Lord of Bones. Harma Dogshead, wizened and warlike, needed little introduction, just her dogs-headed staff.
"Now 'oo the fook are you?"
"Rick Grimes. The Westerosi call me Lord Protector or just Lord," he added afterwards, "but it's nice to get away from that bullshit from time to time."
The Lord of Bones looked at Rick with his yellowed eyes. "Not a crow by the looks of him," he finally pronounced.
"Nor kneelers either," said Tormund, after Rick finished introducing the rest of his group. "So. Why are you here?"
"To help." More boats were landing on the beach, each laden with food for the starving Free Folk, a gesture that had not gone unnoticed by their leaders - though not the man Rick wanted to see. "With your people's help, Dwight here will unload the food and bring it to your camp. But I need to talk to the King Beyond the Wall."
"Aye - but not here," Tormund pointed at a few smouldering corpses on the beach. "Stay here for too long, and the… dead things nearby would do more than prowl."
Dead things nearby. The Alexandrians had not escaped their nightmares after all.
The caves of Hardhome were much larger than Rick had thought. They weren't as much a series of single caves as they were a whole network of caverns, piercing into the rock for what seemed like miles of darkness beyond.
And there were far more Free Folk than Rick had imagined. They huddled together in large clumps, a lucky few around dim campfires, sheltered from wind and rain and any enemies that sought to attack them. The caves' entrances were a dozen or so yards above the icy ground, reachable only by a steep slope that could easily be blocked against unfriendly guests.
They had scarcely entered the caves when they were surrounded by a mass of Free Folk. The younger ones stared open-eyed at the visitors with strange clothes and black weapons that looked like nothing they had seen before. Others were more wary, picking up spears and swords and bows in turn, some getting too close for comfort. Rick would have asked Tormund to stand down his men, but the warrior was nowhere to be seen. The Alexandrians were far from defenseless however. On Michonne's command, they formed into a circle around Paula who carried the star-spangled banner, gun barrels facing outwards against any possible attacks.
Soon Tormund returned. With him was a man slightly larger than Rick himself, decked in chainmail and a winged bronze helm as if expecting battle, with a black cloak draped on top and a gloved hand rested on his sword's hilt. He wore a cloth sling in front of him, carrying a sleeping babe. "I'm Mance Rayder. I was told you Alexandrians wanted to see me." the King beyond the Wall's eyes quickly locked onto Rick. "You must be Rick Grimes."
Rick nodded. "Your kid?" he asked, gesturing to the infant.
"Aye. Take a closer look if you want. As long as you don't wake him, it's hard to get him back to sleep afterwards," Mance gently rocked the baby from side to side. "Do you have children of your own?"
"A boy and a girl, though both of them are much older than your kid, Carl's twelve and Judith's four. Good kids. Just as yours will be one day," Rick said with a friendly smile on his face.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Mance said in a deadpan tone. "We Free Folk do not name our children before their second birthday. Many never get the chance to be named at all. It is not an easy life on this side of the Wall."
I can imagine, Rick thought. These Free Folk used tools that seemed to come straight from the Stone Age. "We brought some food along, think of it as our meeting gift. I hope it helps."
"So I was told. A welcome gift in these hard times." Mance's two brown eyes glanced at Rick suspiciously, however. "I see Braavos' purple sails out there. Surely the Sealord didn't sail a hundred galleys to the middle of nowhere just to bring us food. If either of you wish to trade with us, I'm afraid we have little to offer," Mance sighed.
"Unless you want lumber, you're more than welcome to fell trees along the bay," Harma said. "As long as you don't mind the wights."
"We're here to kill the dead-" Rick said, tapping his holster for assurance.
Tormund burst into laughter. "With your fifty men? Why, hundreds o' crows were wiped out at the Fist, and our rearguard barely brought us enough time to make it here. What's next? You'll tell me that you can build a big ship and fly to the Moon?" Tormund snorted. "I'm Tormund Giantsbane, not Tormund Giant-fool."
"We have weapons that can bring down a man from hundreds of yards away. Alive is better though dead is fine too," Michonne pointed out.
"The Moon can wait," Rick said. "We're here to kill the dead if they pose a threat, but we're also here to get you folks out. We'll guard your people to the beaches, then the Braavosi will take over once we board their ships. The Sealord and I have heard of the Free Folk's plight. We're here to help."
"Our plight. We know about Braavos, well enough at least. I've never heard of any Alexandria. I suppose you could tell me more about it later... if we decide to board your ships, that is." Mance broke a small loaf of bread in two, half for himself and half for Rick. "I'm afraid my gift is far more plain than yours, that's all we can afford. Here in the true north we still hold to guest right. Eat this bread and you will be under our shelter, safe from harm at the hands of my men. But of the wights I make no guarantee."
The piece of bread was beyond stale, blander than even the worst batches of bread that disgraced Alexandria's bakeries. Still the nearby Free Folk looked at the group with hungry eyes. It had clearly been a long time since their bellies were last full. Not for much longer though. Already the first sleds were working their way into the caves, laden with bread and biscuits and dry fruit.
Rick gulped down half a bottle of water to wash away the bread's foul taste. "Tell us what you want," he said. "We'll try to help with anything within reason, so that you guys can get back on your feet again."
"We want passage south of the Wall," said Mance Rayder. "We want to remain free men, neither forced to kneel nor put in irons. And we want lands that we can call our own. Name your terms, Leader Grimes, we'll repay you for your help however we can. What would you have from us in return?"
"The first two come free." Rick said to Mance's visible relief. The Leader of Alexandria sighed. Once he had been in Mance's place, ruling over a terrified people who yearned for safety and freedom, such an offer would have seemed too good to be true. "We will also let you run communities of your own, as long as you trade with us and send people to help us when we need help. You will also make your own rules as long as those don't go against Alexandria's-"
"Many of us will prefer to make whatever laws we please," Mance stated bluntly.
"There are a few rules that everyone has to follow," Rick stood his ground. "Apart from those, you may do as you please. Or you can go somewhere else after we get back to Braavos, or even stay in Braavos if the Sealord is willing to take you in. We won't stop you."
"So we'll be going to this Alexandria of yours?" A warrior named Styr asked. "Where is Alexandria anyway?"
"It's in the middle of the God's Eye, though…" Michonne's sentence trailed to a halt. "It's complicated. There will be time to explain when we're away from this place."
"We're going back to Braavos first. Not all at once, but we're setting up camp on the island at the bay's mouth for those who we can't bring back in this wave," Rick explained. "When we get back to Braavos, those who wish to stay there can do so. For anyone who wants to live in the lands we rule over, the Crownlands' ferries will take you to Dragonstone. My son and his… followers will treat you fairly and kindly, until we can arrange smaller ships to take you up the Blackwater to Alexandria itself." King's Landing would have been more convenient as far as logistics were concerned. But Rick now knew enough of the grudges and misconceptions that existed on both sides of the Wall.
"Oh?" Mance raised his eyebrows. "Last I heard Dragonstone was held by Stannis Baratheon, the same Stannis who broke my host at Castle Black weeks ago."
"Not anymore. We took Dragonstone from Stannis. We took King's Landing from the Lannisters too, and half of Westeros while we were at it. There isn't an Iron Throne anymore, nor any kings south of the Trident."
"A pity," Mance said with a wide grin. "Shame we can't call the southrons kneelers anymore."
I wish, Rick thought. While he didn't make the lords kneel to him, the lords still made the smallfolk kneel to them, and despite Rick's best efforts Westeros had barely changed at all. Worse still was the grovelling, for favours and grants and betrothal pacts. Carl was out of reach with his betrothal to Arya Stark, but Judith was not. From Highgarden to High Tide, she had been the subject of at least ten times as many pleas for betrothal as her age. Hardhome's perils were more direct, the sort of problems Rick was used to dealing with. Rescue the Free Folk and head back south, kill a horde of walkers if need be.
"They still kneel despite my best efforts," Rick corrected his counterpart. "Old habits die hard."
"Old habits die all the same. Even those of the Free Folk," Mance mused. "Whatever happens, our ways of life will draw to a close the moment we head south of the Wall."
"That is not for you to decide," The Lord o' Bones armour rattled as he spoke, even moreso when he turned to Rick. "Might be that you fooled Mance, Rick of Alexandria, but you didn't fool me. These ships are slave ships, just like the ones that came a week ago-"
Styr drew closer to the Lord o' Bones until he loomed over the small man. "Mance's no fool and nor am I. You might not know Braavos' purple sails, but Mance does, the Braavosi and their friends are anything but slavers. And don't you remember Mother Mole's prophecy? Stay behind and wallow in your own shit before the Others take you. The rest of us are going."
"When are we leaving?" A high pitched voice asked. A boy about Carl's age had snunk into the group, looking at the Alexandrians with eager eyes.
"Dryn-" Tormund started. "One o' my sons," the giant said awkwardly,though the introduction wasn't necessary. The boy looked just like a smaller clone of his father.
"In a few hours. We'll eat lunch first, then everyone has to pack up their things, and then we'll head to the ships," Rick glanced at his watch. "Help the Free Folk pack and sort them into groups," he told Dwight and Michonne. "And tell Qarro that we'll leave at two."
Here we go, Rick sighed as a familiar tide of grey emerged from the treeline.
Nearly an hour had passed since the first group of Free Folk left the caves. They were the fastest and strongest amongst their people, those who could reach the beach and board the boats in the least amount of time. Other groups had followed since, more Free Folk tarrying on open ground in hopes of boarding as soon as possible, in that precious window before the dead arrived.
Now the dead were here - and the Alexandrians were in the way. Rick and his militia had left along with the second group, deploying behind a ruined watchtower halfway between the Free Folk and the forest.
The Alexandrians formed into a battle line, spurred on by years of experience fighting the walkers. One rank knelt in front while another rank stood behind, ready to snipe at their dead foes' heads in single round volleys. Any closer, and they would switch to three-round bursts or full auto, bringing down the walkers with sheer volume of fire.
Rick's fingers glided reassuringly across the worn grip of his trusty revolver. He would not shoot from it unless things went very wrong, but he needed to be seen close to the fighting by his followers and allies, holding back the enemy right on the front line.
"Do you think we have enough ammo?" Vincent whispered.
"Think so," mumbled Paula, pistol in one hand and star-spangled banner in the other. Thirty rounds to a mag, four mags for each Alexandrian, and around fifty Alexandrians in the militia. Six thousand bullets should be enough to hold back most walker hordes, but even at this distance Rick could already see that the horde they faced was going to be trouble. It stretched from sea to cliff, swarming towards the living in a wave of brown and grey.
The battle line was in place, the horde within range.
"Pick your targets!" Dwight ran up and down the battle line to make sure everyone was ready.
A breath, a moment as Rick watched his people shift, breathe, and acquire their aiming points.
"Hold back one magazine for emergencies. Rick, on your command."
"Ready… Aim… Fire!" Rick shouted at the top of his voice.
A bugle sounded behind him. Sharp cracks came from the firing line as flames spewed from the muzzles, hurling round after round into the horde. 'Walkers' staggered, stalled, even stopped once or twice in a couple of places where several of them were hit at once. But for every one that fell, two more took its place. Half a minute later, the horde was scarcely smaller than when they had first started shooting.
"Aim for the head! Aim for the head!" Rick repeated himself like a broken record. It's been months since any Alexandrian had seen a walker and it clearly showed. Shots that were clearly too high, clumsy mag changes, rapid shooting that resulted in undisciplined volleys. Most of the Alexandrians were already changing magazines for the second time, some for a third. Two minutes into this battle and half their ammo was gone. Even more of the dead emerged from the tree line, swelling the unstoppable tide that rolled towards the living step by step. It was no longer a matter of defeating the dead. There were too many, way too many, they would have to retreat soon. And then there were the specks of metallic silver among the sea of grey…
Rick fumbled with the binoculars around his neck, finally catching it with his one hand and raising it to eye level.
"Fuck fuck FUCK!" he screamed, even before he realised the implications of what he saw.
Rick could make out the individual dead through the binoculars, rotting skulls and skeletal limbs and all. They wore nothing, or rags, a few with leather or even steel armour from the day. But they also carried swords and spears and axes and scythes, even the occasional bow or crossbow. Sure, most of these were made of bronze or stone. But instead of a mindless horde, the Alexandrians were facing an actual army of the dead!
Think, Rick, think. Rick took a deep breath, a cloud of steam forming in front of his nose as he exhaled. There was no time but he had to think. Rick and his people will make it through this. They had survived when the dead first rose in the Alexandrians' world, they will survive the dead in this one. This time they had a whole continent's resources at their disposal, to build as many guns as they needed to shoot every last one of this world's walkers again and again until the dead stayed dead. Rick would issue orders, new military orders, orders for mobilization… when they made their way onto the ships and away from this accursed place…
"Switch to auto and shoot at their feet! Shoot at their feet! FULL AUTO!" Rick barked. The order was passed down the lines by Dwight's gruff voice. Dead after dead dropped down to the ground, their legs or feet sawn off by a hail of gunfire, tripping those who followed behind them. Soon they would run out of ammo, but even precious seconds counted…
Rick picked up his walkie-talkie, silently praising his own foresight at leaving Michonne with Mance Rayder. "Michonne! This world's walkers are ARMED!"
"What!" came Michonne's cry of surprise. "You're joking… right?!"
"Just tell Mance everyone off the fucking beach and herd them back into the caves! I'll explain why if - when - we get back!" There were far too few boats to take everyone off the beach before the walkers arrived. Some of the Free Folk would stay, no doubt, those who were already on the beach and betting that they had better odds getting on a boat than making it back to the caves. Some of them might even turn out to be right. But there would definitely be too many of them for the boats to evacuate in time. Nor did heading back to the caves guarantee survival. The swarm of dead may be slow, but the tightly packed Free Folk weren't fleeing much faster either when they were all clumped together, in one thick line stretching from cave to beach.
And for the Alexandrians themselves, the caves of Hardhome were within reach. Barely, by the looks of it.
A whole lot of people are gonna die today. Rick realised with a sinking heart. But the earlier the Free Folk got moving, the more would survive to see another day.
Rick grabbed the walkie-talkie again, quickly talking into it once Qarro's accented voice was heard. A military man, the First Sword of Braavos knew when not to question orders, especially when the rescue mission itself was under Alexandrian command. A few galleys were already moving even closer to shore so that the boats had less distance to travel to and from the beach. Brave sailors and skilled ones too. Not a single Braavosi ship had yet to be run aground.
"Flares!" Rick shouted into the radio. Rockets spewed from one of the galleys and exploded all over the bay, the same fireworks that had lit up Braavos' skies and put a smile on Carl and Arya's faces, on a night of feast and song which now seemed to be a lifetime away. A few rockets crashed into the horde, leaving behind circles of charred corpses and briefly slowing the horde, buying a few more precious seconds for the Alexandrians and Free Folk. But then the horde resumed its inevitable march.
Rick turned back to his battle line. The dead were close enough to make out their weapons by eye, and clearly some of the Alexandrians had started noticing, until…
"Fuck! The walkers are armed!" One of Rick's soldiers shouted.
"DO NOT BREAK FORMATION!" Dwight screamed, but the entire formation was already buckling. Some Alexandrians took a few steps backwards, ready to bolt the moment their commanders gave the signal. Rick couldn't blame them. Shooting a few more walkers would achieve little, if the Alexandrians couldn't escape to fight another day.
Rick turned to Dwight and motioned towards the caves. If they delayed the retreat any longer, it would be too late.
Dwight nodded. "Back rank REPOSITION! On me!" he shouted moments later.
The back rank broke contact on Dwight's command, not stopping until they formed up on a ridge thirty or so yards closer to the caves. Rick and his men would then pull back twice that distance, so that they could cover Dwight's rank as they retreated again. And then the whole leapfrogging process would repeat, as they had practiced and fought for years, until they were safe from the walkers altogether.
Rick anxiously waited until Dwight's rank was in place. "Front rank stand up!" Rick finally ordered. "Fire three more rounds, and then head back sixty yards-"
"We don't have enough ammo to leapfrog," Vincent warned. "Most of our guys have only one mag of ammo left."
Rick let out a silent curse. He stared at the horde, stretching from cliff to beach and tramping everything in their way, its seaward ranks about to brush against the crowd of Free Folk scrambling to get onto Braavosi boats -
And that was when Rick saw the glimmer again. It seemed to shift colour with its surroundings, as if straight out of the Predator movies, except it was tainted with a blue-white hue. Whereas the other walkers were clumsy and slow, the white walker moved nimble and swift, and a thin mist drifted before it, almost as if it were one with ice and snow.
Rick was in no mood to find out what this white walker could do. "Back to the new line, then EVERYONE run for the caves!" He grabbed his gun and fired two shots at the oncoming walkers, more out of frustration than anything else. Then he ran, wincing as his bad leg protested, back towards the caves from which Alexandria's finest had proudly marched forth. As fast as his bad leg would take him anyway.
"To the caves! TO THE CAVES!"
The Alexandrians barely made it in time. They jostled their way through a panicking crowd until they reached the many ropes that hung from the top of the caves' entrance. Rick was the last one to be hauled up before the walkers closed in. He had just grasped onto a rope for dear life when a Free Folk warrior tried to take Rick's place, even swinging his axe at the Alexandrian leader until an arrow from Mance Rayder's bow went through his heart. The warrior staggered backwards mid-swing and fell into the walker horde, bringing down one of his companions with him. Another arrow whistled past Rick's ear, striking a walker which was about to grab Rick's foot.
Rick only looked down once as he tried to gain better footing on the rope. The once screaming crowd of Free Folk, now blood-splattered and silent, were staring back at him with sapphire blue eyes.