A scout led the way, the one with the sharpest eyes and most experience. The snowstorm still raged but Rhaena felt more adjusted to it now. At least with Sandor, she did not feel afraid of becoming separated or stumbling. His hand remained anchored against her and never once slackened his grip. It was a great comfort to have, and with Jon just in front of her, Rhaena forced herself to swallow back her nerves and continue to soldier forwards. She was a dragon. A dragon does not bow before mere snowflakes and wind. They stopped when the scout did, sighting something in the distance though Rhaena could not distinguish what it was. All gathered together, both for warmth and protection, watching as the dark figure began to move closer, becoming clearer as it did so. "A bear." Sandor muttered darkly as Tormund nodded his head in agreement.

"Big fucker." The snow shifted and parted enough so that the shape of the bear became more distinguishable, even at a distance. A pair of bright blue eyes like glowing sapphires eyed them.

"Do bears have blue eyes?" At Gendry's question, a great swell of trepidation took hold even as the bear began to charge towards their position. The scout fled back to them, intending to take shelter in numbers, but before he had even made it halfway back, before anyone could even see through the thick veil of snow, the bear charged at the scout's flank and caught him up within massive jaws as the wildling scout shrieked in terror and pain before both predator and prey vanished. Jon rushed forwards with his sword drawn, intending to save the wildling if he could, but all he was met with was a fallen spear laid upon bloodied snow. Gathering together, everyone grasped their weapons and formed a tight circle in order to protect one another, Sandor thrusting Rhaena into the centre as she staggered and gasped for air. The snow blurred her vision so she could barely see, but she could still hear. The roar of the dead bear animated through dark powers came at them once more. It mauled at its next victim before Rhaena had even turned herself around, staring at the hulking white shape which had lost half its fur and flesh, exposing the ribcage where rotted flesh continued to decompose. Rhaena stared, horrified yet also spellbound. Jon bellowed her name when he saw her standing there, sword not even drawn.

Lifting its head, the bear snarled as it was attacked by the men of the party though the bear shook them off like they were nothing, swatting them aside with paws bigger than Rhaena's face. It was only when Rhaena saw Tormund struck down did she awaken from her horrified stupor. Although this was her first time experiencing a wight, Rheana cursed herself for being nothing more than a useless maiden. She ran to Tormund in order to see that he was still breathing, igniting a fire in her hand so that it burned brightly with violet hues as Tormund gasped for air. Within seconds his breath was back and heat flooded through him even from the barest of touches, springing back to his feet with his axe in hand, charging with a yell at the bear as it bit down upon Thoros's sword whilst he lay flat on his back. Tormund was thrown back once more despite the fact that his weapon connected, but by this point Rhaena had recovered her wits. Flinging fire upon the bear, she set alight to its fur which caused it to scream aloud before running to the others who had fallen to see if she might help them with their wounds, cauterise them if necessary, but they were all dead. By the time Rhaena turned, the bear was already dead at Jorah's hand. Rather poetic, as an afterthought. Several were dead and Thoros gravely wounded, though Rhaena hurried to tend to him as best she could, desperately searching her mind for every medicinal and healing book she had ever read, though little good it did her here. All she could do was burn the wounds shut to stem the flow of blood, though Thoros must have felt a great deal of pain, he did little more than moan and whimper. Once she was done, Rhaena removed her hand then closed her fist, extinguishing the flames as Beric watched with fascination. "Do not start proclaiming me as your Lord's anointed child, Ser Beric. Otherwise, I will burn out your tongue. Understood?" Cutting him off before he could speak, Rhaena sent him a warning look before rearing back and moving away from the burning remains of the bear, struggling to keep her eyes from it. She did not want to see it, yet at the same time she was drawn to stare. Approaching her, Jon grasped hold of her arm.

"Rhae, are you hurt? You alright?" Seeing her face was slack and void, Jon turned to look at the bear before having her face him, making her move so that her back was turned towards it. "Don't look anymore. It's finished. It won't be coming back from the dead this time." Stroking at her hair and face, Jon deftly brushed aside the snow from her with a look of understanding. "It's your first time seeing a wight, though I didn't expect a bear. I thought it were only people he can raise. It's alright though, Rhae. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you." Taking comfort in his words, Rhaena was glad when Jon pulled her into his embrace. When his strong arms came around her, she felt she could finally breathe, trembling from head to toe against him until eventually even that settled and Rhaena felt calmer. She had not been prepared for that, but next time she would be. She would not freeze again. Next time, she would burn them with her flames. Keeping her close to him, Jon made certain that Rhaena was unhurt a final time before helping to deal with the dead. They could not simply leave the bodies, so Rhaena burned them with her dancing flames, making them burn hot and swift until they were nothing but charred bone and ash. It was the best they could do other piling snow over them in crude mounds for graves, then turning away and continuing.

Having seen her gift with fire, Sandor returned to being extremely wary of Rhaena, even feeling afraid of her. Fire was his greatest fear, he could still recall the sensation of it against his face, and now he was marching with a woman who could command it like a dog. Did it not burn her? Was this some sort of mummer's trick? Whatever it was, Sandor wanted no part in it. He'd had enough of fire to last a lifetime. So he ensured to walk as far away as Rhaena as possible, though with their numbers now lessened, the distance between them was not as vast as Sandor would have liked. They continued their climb towards the mountain he had seen amongst the flames, no more cheer or laughter left to summon even a smile. There was little talk, only walking, until eventually Tormund's keen ears heard the sound of movement which was not their own. He halted and the entire party halted with him, watching until he made towards the ridge of a cliff and crawled on his belly to look down, Jon quietly joining him where they finally saw their first gathering of wights. "Where's the rest of them?" There were only a few, barely more than a dozen, yet still more than their own numbers.

"If we wait long enough, we will find out." Leading them away, Tormund decided where best to set up an ambush against the wights who were led by a White Walker, which Rhaena had determined to be a sort of lieutenant to the Night King, the leader of the army of the undead. The wights were merely the foot soldiers, the underlings, large in number but less dangerous all things considered. As Rhaena observed them from where she was hidden, they seemed to be little more than mindless slaves whereas the White Walker demonstrated cognitive ability to think and plan. It was he that approached the fire that had been made to draw their attention, differing from the wights for unlike them, he was not rotting. Pale like blue ice and peerless snow, Rhaena watched as it stared at the flames until her companions rushed to attack, taking the wights and their leader by surprise though they recovered swiftly. Jon went directly for the commander, Rhaena should have known he would. Flinging herself from her hiding place, Rhaena cast fires into her hands before flinging them at a pair of the wights, their aged clothing and dry bones catching immediately. When one ran directly at her, Rhaena thrust out her hands in alarm and shoved the burning flames directly against its face, burning that one also as it screeched horribly and fell to the ground. Drawing her blade, Rhaena rushed directly at the wight holding Ser Jorah by the throat, seeing his feet were lifted off the ground as the wight strangled him. Taking hold of the wight with a hand still wreathed in flame, Rhena thrust her Valyrian steel sword through its back even as it caught fire, screeching as it released Ser Jorah and died a second death.

No sooner had Ser Jorah and Rhaena looked at one another, the wights all burst without warning and disassembled as if crumbling into nothing, becoming no more than empty bones and rags. Jolting with a shaky breath, Rhaena held up her sword still as Ser Jorah curled his arms around her protectively, everyone staring at the dead wights who had all dropped at once, all save one. Rhaena snapped her eyes towards Jon and saw that the White Walker was no more, cleaved into piles of icy parts. Shaken by what she had seen, Rhaena bit down on her lip as the others surrounded the only remaining wight as it shrieked and snarled, bright blue eyes staring unblinkingly as it charged. When Tormund swung his fist to knock the wight off its feet, Rhaena felt a glowing sense of admiration and respect for the wildling. His kind truly were of a different stock altogether. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Rhaena moved in closer as Sandor flung himself down over the wight's body to keep it from getting up once more though now it was releasing a sound so jarring and terrible, Rhaena was certain she would never forget it for as long as she lived. Sandor covered the wight's mouth to quieten it but the creature merely bit down with its teeth and tore into Sandor's flesh. Unable to look away, Rhaena stared at the creature, saw the dried skin which had become so dried and aged it was like dark leather, wisps of hair all that remained drifting from the undead skull. It was the eyes which unsettled her the most. Were it not a creature of mindless ruination, they might have been considered beautiful.

Distant rumbling began to grow around them, quiet at first but as it became more distinct, Rheana's head shot upwards with a fearful flash in her gaze as they met with Jon's. They had heard them. They were coming. Alarm ripping through the entire group, Jon strode to where Gendry stood and grasped hold of him, ordering him to run back to Eastwatch and send a raven to Daenerys to tell her what had happened and beg for help. At first Gendry protested but Jon forced him to go as he was the fastest of them all. His attention then turned to Rhaena. As Jon looked at her, he could see her hands trembling in tight fists, knuckles turned bone white even as she gripped her sword, tense and her eyes wide with fear. It was not a look he was accustomed to seeing on her. He had seen her ride dragons and become covered in flame without being harmed. However, she was still a woman, and she did not have the security of her dragon right now. Only a motley of warriors who were about to face the entirety of the undead army. "Go with him." Jon whispered to her imploringly, giving her a firm shake as she stared at him with gaping mouth, opening and closing uselessly until finally she swallowed.

"You were speaking true…I never doubted you Jon, but to see it…and these only the first…gods…we'll all die…"

"Not if you get back to Eastwatch with Gendry. Run, run as fast as you can and do not look back." But Rhaena's legs would not move. Not because she suddenly felt brave, but because she was too terrified to move. Of everything she had ever faced and experienced, this was by far the most horrific moment of her life. Rhaena would gladly have offered herself up to Cersei in that moment rather than face an army of irrational creatures who would rather tear her to pieces than show her mercy. Jon shouted desperately, calling her name and trying to force her to run even as the others tied up the wight and covered its head in a burlap sack. Still unmoving, it was too late for Rhaena to run now. The army was closing in and Jon had no choice but to grasp hold of Rhaena and drag her with him, even when she slipped and fell he pulled her over the snow until she began to rouse herself from her terror and run with him, hand tightly clutching his. They ran together, racing through a narrow pass towards a field of ice which cracked underfoot and caused Ser Jorah to shout as Rhaena gasped for air and turned, slashing her hand outwards to create a spark of fire before channelling her magic to make it stretch across the pathway they had rushed through and build a wall of fire behind them. The flames roared and snarled, bright and hot against their faces as it drowned out the sounds of the wights as they began to appear from behind the wall of fire, dark shapes baring their teeth and snarling with guttural grunts like animals possessed.

"It will not hold them forever, hurry!" Rhaena managed to cry out, terror seeping back into her as she saw the shifting figures as they burst through the fire, thinking to leap through it only to burn up like kindling instantaneously, collapsing as charred bones into the snow. With a shout, Jon tightened his grip upon Rhaena's hand once more and together, the group ran across the frozen lake even as it cracked and groaned in protest. Behind them, the hoard of the undead continued to press against the fire which Rhaena no longer fuelled with her magic. The sheer mass and numbers of bodies pressed against the fire and although it burned them, it also smothered the flames as they fell upon it until the entire army swept forwards and broke through, howling with a bloodlust which curdled Rhaena's. They swarmed the frozen lake, running with alarming haste and speed to circle around and overtake the company as they bolted for all they were worth. It made no difference. The wights soon circled the entire lake, forcing the company to race for a single outward jutting rock at the lake's centre as their hunters closed in. A scream came from behind and Rhaena looked back as she reached the rock with Jon to see one of the wildlings going under the lake as the ice gave way, wights falling under with him.

The breaking of the ice gave them a moment of respite, Rhaena scrambling to climb up the rock as the men all pushed her further and further back, putting her as far away from harm's reach as possible as the army which surrounded them came to a halt before the barrier which now extended in a ring around their rock. Rhaena praised the gods for their mercy, collapsing to the ground as she wheezed, struggling for air until her lungs began to itch in a way they had not done so in a long time. Unable to hold it back she coughed, spluttering against the sensation until her hacking and coughing scratched enough at her lungs to expel blood from them, bright crimson vibrant against the snow. Seeing the blood caused Jon to panic, rushing to Rhaena's side and falling to his knees beside her as he demanded to know where she was hurt, Ser Jorah and Tormund also approaching with their weapons drawn, concerned for her also. "I am alright…it is nothing…" Rhaena tried to reassure Jon as he used his glove to clumsily wipe away at the blood which only served to smear it across her chin.

"You're coughing up blood. How is that nothing?" Cursing at his own uselessness, Jon did not know what to do. Managing to lift her head, Rhaena offered him a weak smile, one that seemed empty and hopeless, as if she had already resigned herself to dying here. Jon could not bear it. Not from Rhaena, not when he knew just how hard she had fought to live and survive. Gathering her up, Jon pulled her close and held her head against him, wishing there was something else he could do.

"Little dragon has weak lungs," Sandor informed eventually, everyone still watching the now motionless army of wights surrounding them. "Caught a fever that near enough killed her in King's Landing. Ever since then, she'll cough up blood if her body is put under too much strain." Jon frowned at him as Rhaena simply rested against him, recovering her breath and accepting the comfort of his embrace.

"How do you know that?" Turning his head, Jon almost flushed with embarrassment as the Hound sent him a look which near enough told him that he was a fucking fool for asking such a question.

"I've known the little dragon longer than all you folk put together. Just let her rest, she'll be alright in a moment. Unless we all die soon." As the army of wights did not make to attack, there was little else to do other than simply keep watch. Tormund suggested to Rhaena that she might start burning them all to hell, but with a sad smile she gestured to the army surrounding them and told him frankly that she could not burn them all. So long as they were not attacking, she was not of a mind to provoke them. For all she knew, Daenerys might arrive with Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion before the army decided to attack. What they were waiting for, however, she could not say. After resting she felt more recovered, even managing a little food from her provisions as she sat upon the rock and contemplated deeply. There was nothing else to do other than sit and think as she turned the horn over and over in her fingers. She had blown it once already. There was no point in hiding, the wights already had them surrounded, so Rhaena had sounded the horn whilst desperately thinking of Rhaegal and Viserion, picturing them in her head, Drogon too, though he was more closely linked to Daenerys than his brothers. It was pointless, she knew they would not hear her, but all the same it comforted her to hold the horn. She would continue calling even if the wights were to overtake them, deciding firmly that her last breath would be to commit the horn's cry to the skies one final time before falling. Rhaena had also decided that she would not die only to be made a wight. She would go up in flames and plunge Whitefyre into her own heart before allowing herself to become a mindless undead slave. The others had also agreed. They would rather die and be burned, though this indicated that Rhaena would have to be the last of them standing in order for it to happen, so Jon had wordlessly taken her hand whilst sitting beside her. Not even speaking, Rhaena already knew his intention. He would die last, if it came to it. He would be there with her until the very end.

They had already lost Thoros who had succumbed to his wounds, his body now their source of warmth as Rhaena's flames ate away at him so that he did not have to face becoming like them once they were all dead. After the flames lost their fervour and had nothing more to feast upon, they all died away, leaving the company cold and in the dark once more. "We'll all freeze soon," Ser Jorah said quietly as everyone either sat or stood facing the army, who were now little more than dark shadows under the night with thousands of gleaming eyes staring at them. Some seemed to look directly at Rhaena, haunting her even when she closed her eyes. Perhaps it would be kinder to simply end their lives now, either by falling upon their own blades or giving themselves to the water to quietly sink into a cold, dreamless sleep. So long as they weighed themselves down somehow, Rhaena did not imagine they would be brought back from the dead from the bottom of the lake floor. "When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?" A number of eyes turned to Jon as he had killed the White Walker, thinking that Ser Jorah's question was a good one.

"Maybe he was the one who turned them." If this was truly the case, then Rhaena sat up with a little sense of hope creeping back into her.

"We can go for the Walkers. Maybe we'll stand a chance."

"No. We need to take that thing back with us. There's a raven flying for Dragonstone now. Daenerys is our only chance." As much as Rhaena appreciated Jon's faith in her sister, there were still hundreds and hundreds of miles between them. Although the dragons were swift and could cover the ground in a matter of hours if they put their minds to it, there was no guarantee that Daenerys would come. Not even for her. Even if she did, she would have no idea where to find them beyond knowing that they had intended to leave from Eastwatch. She would have to search the north to find them, and by then it might be too late.

"No," Beric announced, staring at something in the dim light that still remained to them. "There's another." Raising his sword, he pointed it to a figure who had arrived atop a horse, standing above the army of wights. When Rhaena looked at him, she felt a chill as sure as deep winter ripple through her, so much so that for the briefest moment, she thought she might freeze to death. It flickered at her internal flames, the magic coursing through her growing weak before it surged back to life as if to answer the challenge that had struck against her. The Night King. In truth he looked no different from the other Wight Walkers from what Rhaena could tell. There were several of them now, yet the Night King was the one Rhaena could not look away from. The figure was not as imposing as she would have expected, it was no giant or built with thick muscles of dominating strength. In truth, were it not for the luminous eyes which stared directly at her, she would have thought him an ordinary man. "Kill him. He turned them all."

"You don't understand…"

"The Lord brought you back, he brought me back. No one else, just us. Did he do it to watch us freeze to death?" Adamant that this was the reason both he and Jon had been brought back from the dead by his so called Lord of Light, Beric seemed to be losing his rationality completely as Sandor rightly warned him that he could not afford any reckless mistakes that might cost him his life.

"Careful, Beric, you've lost your priest. This is your last life."

"I've been waiting for the end for a long time. Maybe the Lord brought me here to find it."

"Every Lord I've ever met it's been a cunt. Can't see why the Lord of Light should be any different." Despite the perilous situation, Rhaena felt amused by Sandor's quip, dragging her eyes away from the Night King's in order to look at him. Feeling uncomfortable by her glance, Sandor shifted away from her and looked for a distraction instead, his eyes falling upon a rock at his feet so lowered himself to pick it up. Drawing back his arm, Sandor flung the rock with all his might directly at the wight army, Rhaena watching it sail through the air in an arch before it struck one of the undead in the head, as far as she could tell. A good hit, though now she was scowling, telling Sandor that perhaps antagonising the many thousands of undead soldiers was perhaps not a smart thing to do. He ignored her, grasping hold of another rock when the wight did nothing other than continue to stand. Whatever it was they were waiting for, Sandor saw it as a means to relieve the anxiousness and trepidation of simply waiting. The second rock flew, however not as accurately as the first. It struck the ice and slid, the sound of its clattering ringing as everyone stared at it in horror. "Oh, fuck." Realising his mistake, Sandor watched as the wight he had struck took a step onto the icy lake which had frozen once more during the night.

"Sandor," Rhaena voiced pleasantly like silk and honey, which told him that he was now well and truly fucked. Most likely a dead man. "If they do not kill you first, I will." Turning around to see Rhaena taking up her bow and knocking an arrow against the string, she pulled it all the way back to her cheek as the impressive dragonbone bow curved, jewels glinting in the pale wintery light. Whispering in High Valyrian, the arrow caught fire and flew the moment she released the string, fire burning in a bright golden streak before slamming against the wight with so much force that it was thrown onto its back and sent sliding across the ice as it screeched, flames bursting against the exposed cage of its ribs as it kicked and thrashed before it went utterly still. It was no use. More of them were now coming. Understanding that the ice would now hold their weight, there was nothing to stop them from charging the living. Rhaena fired her arrows after setting them alight, turning constantly to shoot the wights even as they continued to race towards them, taking those that seemed the most dangerous, those that were mostly still intact or held weapons. Rhaena continued to shoot until they were all upon them and she had no choice but to shoulder the bow and take up her sword and dagger instead, Whitefyre gleaming brilliantly as if shining with glee, demanding the taste of death. Summoning her flames, Rhaena used them as she could, striking the ground around the rock which was their only sanctuary so that walls of fire burst into life and surrounded their rear so that they would not be taken from behind. When a wight screeched and ran for her, Rhaena lifted her sword and swung with all her might, the edge cutting effortlessly through bone and hardened flesh, killing it instantly. Could one kill that which was already dead? Rhaena did not care, now was not the time to consider semantics.

The fire burned with a feverish heat and she took comfort from it. Fire was her element, it made her feel safe, so she commanded it as best she could and ignored the toll it took upon her body, lungs aching and blood rushing from her mouth each time she coughed. Sometimes she could even convince herself that the flames came alive of their own accord, roaring like dragons and leaping upon their enemies to burn them to ashes, wreathing around her until her entire body was aglow with fire of violet and white. The hotter it burned, the paler it became, and Rhaena poured everything she had into killing as many of them as she could. The more she burned, the less the others would have to face. Soon enough her thoughts and emotions simply fled from her. Instinct took over, and the emblazoned desire to survive. Sword flashing brightly, Rhaena gave a roaring battle cry as she leaped forwards into the fray, letting the fire do its own work in order to stand beside the men she would either live or die with. Suddenly, she was not as afraid as before. They were undead and mindless, more likely to tear one apart than simply kill, but they could die again, and Rhaena had two weapons they feared. The dragon inside her roared and she roared with it, taking a moment to pull her horn from her hip and blast it like a rallying call, hoping it would embolden the men's spirits at the very least. Her greatest hope, however, was that Rhaegal would hear her. Magic poured throughout her entire body and the horn began to sing with a call uniquely its own, echoing boldly and with such intensity that the ice cracked around them, causing ripples as the lake shuddered beneath their feet. The cracks became breaks, and once more numerous wights fell into the water, though not all of them. Most of the lake still held, but Rhaena hardly took notice. She was alive with fire and her blood was roaring. No matter the outcome now, she was satisfied that at the very least, she would not die in fear. A dragon does not feel fear.