I feel I lost many of my readers becasue of this chapter, soif you don't want to read the wight hunt, then skip to the bottom for the summary.
Jon
The arrowhead mountain provided a perfect place for the hunting party to recover and rest after days of walking without either. There was a deep cave that was small enough to be concealed and large enough to house everyone. The fires they made for warmth were small and the wood burned a thin smoke that blended with the snow. Jon had already had his turn to sleep and was currently on watch duty, sharing a tough strip of venison with Tormund as the kept watch over the valley and mountains below them. Jon tore out a bite, finding difficulty chewing through the cold meat.
"Pass it here." Tormund said, holding his glove out for the strip.
Jon gave it to him and looked back out into the storm, barely able to see a small canyon in the distance. He thought of the moment he saw the Army of the Dead with Bran and Rickon. The sheer size of it would make anyone tremble. It was the largest army in the world, for now he hoped.
"Why'd you come with us?" Tormund asked. "You could've stayed with your woman, prepare for the war, stay safe in your castle. Yet your decided to come with us, why?"
"I don't know. I can't explain it, but ever since I saw the Night King raise his army at Hardhome, something in me had to come back."
"You're the craziest person I've met if that's your reason."
Jon looked at him, as serious as he could be. "When I saw the Night King, he wanted me to know I lost, that I was going to lose again and I couldn't stop him. And when he saw me, he knew I believed him. This is my chance to show him that we're not beaten and we're not broken."
"You're doing it because you have something to prove. I take it back, you're not crazy, your fucking mad."
"You wouldn't understand."
"I understand more than you! I've lived my entire life in fear of the White Walkers and never once has anyone I've ever known tried to do something just so that they could say 'I'm not afraid.'"
"I'm not afraid, I'm terrified! You've lived your life like that, but I haven't. I always thought they were just a story until I saw them. I realized what they were and what was going to happen to us all. I can't let that happen to my family. If this is how we can finally get people to see the truth, they might finally realize that everything we've fought about in the past has been for nothing and this is the true evil that comes for us all."
"For once I wish you would stop doing things for others and do something for yourself. It's not a crime you know."
"I am doing this for me, so that I can protect my family, so I can protect my home, and so I can live after the wars to do something worth meaning."
"Pff, you southerners are always full of drama. Everything has to have a grand reason behind it. You never keep things simple. I'm here to make sure you don't die because you saved my people, that's it."
Jon chuckled as the snows began to lighten quickly. "There are some things we do for simple reasons. I rescued Daenerys from Euron Greyjoy because I was in love."
"That doesn't count," Tormund spat, "love is too complicated to be simple."
Jon's brow arched. He was ready to counter whatever Tormund would argue with, but he found himself at a draw.
Tormund ignored Jon as he walked forward, gazing out to the distance. "Look there." He pointed out to a stream that ran through the canyon far away from them and barely visible was a small party, walking downstream. "It's them. The Free Folk never travel out in the open in such a small group."
"How many?" Jon asked, not able to see as well as Tormund.
"It looks like nine, maybe ten."
"I'll wake the others. Don't lose sight of them."
The chase after the dead didn't take long. The hunting party arrived at a cliff overlooking the stream into the canyon. Jon and Tormund looked over the edge and saw the small troop of dead men consisting of nine wights and leading them was a White Walker. "Where's the rest of them?" Jon asked.
"If we wait long enough, we'll find out." Tormund reminded. "We can ambush them downstream. Start a fire to get their attention while we wait and hide, surrounding them."
"Then let's go."
It didn't take long for them to get down inside the canyon to a good position. One of the Wildlings started a fire with all the remaining would they had while everyone else took cover, hidden out of sight from any who would pass by.
With the trap set, all Jon could do was wait and listen. The only sounds that were made were the rushing of the water, the occasional crack in the fire, and the wind softly blowing. But through all of that, footsteps could be heard and the sound of ice cracking followed. Next to Jon was Jorah and the Wildling who started the fire, all of them waiting for Tormund's group to charge first. Sure enough, they heard the sound of the others yelling as they sprung the trap and that was the signal to join them. Jon revealed himself and went straight for the White Walker. He instantly had to parry a strike from the blade of ice and the Valyrian steel singed with each strike. The others were caught fending off the wights, trying to cripple and disabled them rather than destroy them. As Jon ducked under the ice blade after a vicious attack, he struck Longclaw across the belly of the White Walker and it shattered into bits of ice. Before he knew it, Jon saw the wights collapse into nothing but life piles of cold meat and bones. All except one.
The hunting party surrounded it as it growled and hissed at them, like an animal that only wanted to kill. They all kept their distance, cautious of any wild attack it might try to do. As they slowly closed the space between them and the wight, Tormund tossed his dragonglass halberd to the side and let the wight charge at him. He easily punched it to the ground before the Hound and Jorah piled on top of it.
Before they could tie the wight up, it let out a bone chilling screech that echoed throughout the canyon and beyond, like a beast crying out to its brethren for help. The Hound took one hand off his battle axe and covered the wight's mouth, trying to silence the dead man, but the flesh of his lips tore off.
Moments later, what was thought by everyone to be the sounds of thunder turned into the sounds of a glacier cracking. The noise came from the foot of a faraway mountain followed by a familiar unnatural snow storm. They were coming.
Jorah quickly put a bag over the wight's head as Jon scanned for the directions they could go. They wouldn't be able to outrun the Army the way they came, but they might stand a chance if they could get to a high ground that only they would be able to climb, then they could flee with a lead.
Jon saw a clear area down away from the stream and it looked like their only option for now. With the wight bound, they set off as fast as they could, away from the oncoming doom, though they wouldn't get as far as they hoped. The weight of the furs and boots they wore and the deep snow slowed them down. In the clearing, the ground was flat and a small patch of rock rose out in the middle. But once they set foot on the flat ground, it cracked with each step. "Stop!" Jorah yelled as they looked down and realized they stood on ice. They were going to have to be careful not to break through. However, when they all heard growling and shoving behind them, they turned around and saw a horde of wights coming after them. They charged like ants, each wight trying to climb over the other to see who would get there first.
"Go!" Jon yelled as they all sprinted as fast as they could to the rocky island. Jon hoped they could get to the other side of the frozen lake fast enough, but more wights appeared and ran faster than him, encircling the lake and trapping them.
Jon made it first to the island and looked around at the surrounding army. They didn't have any openings they would be able to take, so they would have to fight until the death. He then looked over to others still running, Tormund, Brienne, Anguy, one of the Wildlings, and the Hound had caught up with him. Beric and the last Wildling moved slower assisting Thoros and the dead were catching up to them. The Wildling slipped on the ice and collapsed, but he got back to his feet and ran as fast as he could, but the dead were catching up too fast. He wasn't going to make it.
One of the wights got right up behind him, but before he could be tackle the Wildling, Anguy shot an arrow right through its skull. It stopped in its tracked and collapsed, tripping the wights behind it and caused the ice to break and the wights to fall in. The ice continued to break all around them, creating a perimeter of safety that protected them. Jon let out a sigh of relief as the Wildling caught up to them, out of breath as everyone else. After many wights fell into the icy waters, they stopped moving and just stood in place, like guards keeping their prisoners in their cells.
Sandor walked up to the top of the island and dropped the wight to the ground, letting it squirm and grunt in the snow. "Fan-fucking-tastic Snow!" He shouted. "We got our dead man! Now what do we do?"
Brienne shoved him in the shoulder. "He's not a Snow! He's the King!"
"Do I look like I give a fucking damn about who the fuck is King right now? Fuck you, fuck the dead," he turned his gaze to Jon, "fuck the King." He walked away from Brienne to the edge of a rise on the island, staring out to the wights who continued to surround them in vast numbers.
"He has a point," Anguy said, "how do you expect us to get out of here now? Unless you brought a dragon with you, I doubt we'll be able to fight our way back to the Wall."
"I didn't bring one with me," Jon told them, "but I can get five here instead." All heads turned to Jon as he sheathed Longclaw and walked over to a rock that emerged from the island. He sat down and got as comfortable as he could. He began to warg, but he wasn't able to find Rhaegal or the dragons. He wasn't sure how he did it from Pyke, but this time it felt like something was keeping him from going south of the Wall, as if something was holding on to him.
After a while, he returned to himself out of the void, and felt exhausted. Tormund was kneeling next with Anguy who watched in wonder. "Did it work?" Tormund asked.
"Something was blocking my reach to the dragons. I couldn't get past the Wall."
"As I said," Sandor began, "what the fuck do we do now?"
Jon thought of why he couldn't reach the dragons. He was able to warg as a raven with Bran and Rickon when the flew over the Wall, but maybe it was different in the True North. Maybe he had to find something north of the Wall and bring it south. "If you see a bird anywhere, I might be able to fly it south to Winterfell, then I can get the dragons."
"That's not going happen at all." Tormund informed. "Almost every animal knows to avoid the dead as pure instinct. The ones that fail to flee are just more meat for the Night Kings army." Tormund pointed his halberd out a section of the dead high on a cliff, consisting of snowbears, direwolves, and foxes. The eyes of blue shined brighter in the animals than they did in the eyes of the wights. Jon took a good long look at everything that surrounded them. He saw wights, animals, and giants, all gathering around the frozen lake. The numbers were in the tens of thousands and still the dead continued to appear. But even after seeing everything he did, he knew that this was nowhere near the entire army and the number of wights appearing started to dwindle.
He turned to everyone with him and could see the fear and doubt in them. "Bran," Jon whispered to himself, "if you can hear me, I need your help."
Night fell and no one had the courage to rest. The air grew colder and the dead hadn't even budged since they first ceased moving. With their supplies gone and the fires that radiated from Beric and Thoros' swords were not large enough to give enough heat, everyone paired together and huddled with each other to keep warm. Tormund tried to get with Brienne, but she had already claimed Jorah, not trusting anyone else but him and Jon. The Hound was the only one who refused, but after hours of shivering, he gave in and joined Anguy with the rest of the Brotherhood.
Jon felt himself starting to feel out of mind as the stares of the dead continued to linger on them. No matter where he looked, the eyes of blue were there, looking into his very soul. Though he could think of a worse situation. It was better for him to be able to always see that which watched him, rather than not be able to but constantly know that he was being watched, never able to find who was looking at him.
"Thoros?" Jon heard Beric speak. He turned to look at the Red Priest, realizing he stopped moving. Jon got up and walked over to Beric, Anguy, and Sandor with Tormund, inspecting the situation. Thoros lied in the snow, his eyes and mouth open and his skin as white as the snow. Beric pulled the red robes over the priest's face, the only possible burial respect he could do.
Sandor Knelt down next to Beric, offering any sympathy he could. "They say it's one of the better ways to go." The Hound found Thoros' flask and took it from him since he wouldn't be needing it anymore. He uncorked a took a small drink while Beric said his prayer.
"Lord of Light, show us the way, come to us in our darkness and lead your servant into the light."
Jon knew that having a dead body around them was risky given what could be coming to join the Army of the Dead soon. He snatched the flask from Sandor who did not look pleased at him. "We have to burn his body." Jon poured the rum over Thoros' body, covering as much as he could.
"We'll all be close behind," Tormund said, "unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire."
Beric drew his sword and ran his hand on the blade, igniting it in flames. He lit the body and allowed it to burn for a moment. "Lord of Light, come to us in our darkness, for the night is dark and full of terrors."
"For the night is dark and full of terrors." Anguy repeated as Beric stabbed his sword into the ground, dowsing the fires of his blade. Despite what happened, everyone couldn't help but gather around the burning body to fight against the cold. Everyone except for Sandor. He stayed away, not out of respect, but fear of the flames and the smell.
It didn't take long for the body to turn into a charred husk. The brief moment of warmth was gone and everyone was back together, huddling for what qualified as heat. The wight continued to squirm and grunt, the only noise other than that and the shivering were the sounds of ravens in the distance. Jon looked up to the sky and could see a flock of ravens overhead, circling the lake.
"Thank you, Bran," Jon said as he immediately warged into one of the ravens. The flock ceased circling the lake and immediately flew south. Jon unwillingly followed them, feeling the instinct of going home. The sensation he felt the first time he was a raven returned to him, but he had a better understanding of it now. As a raven, his perception of time was different. He didn't care of how long it took to fly, only that he would get to his destination. The earth below zoomed by and before he knew it, he passed the Wall and was back in the North, but he had to wait until he saw the dragons to warg into them.
As quickly has the first light came to horizon, it was followed by the sun and it became morning by the time Winterfell came into sight. The flock of ravens landed in a dead tree near the castle and the dragons were in the fields, resting together in the snow. Rhaegal lifted his head and looked directly at Jon, sensing the presence of his rider. Jon left the raven and warged into all five dragons. Ygris, Lyarras, and Rhaegal all heard him clearly, but Viserion and Drogon seemed to ignore him, pushing aside anything Jon tried to communicate to them. 'Help us.' He could sense the worry of the three dragons that listened, but he also felt discontent among Rhaegal and his brothers. He growled at Viserion and Drogon, becoming angry at their laziness. Drogon snapped his jaws at Rhaegal, merely trying to scare him away.
Jon was losing his grip on Rhaegal. They're purposes grew too far apart and he could feel himself slipping. But then he felt all three of Daenerys's dragons' thoughts align with one another as they felt something affecting their mother. The dragons turned their gazes to the castle, sensing something new, something precious to Daenerys, something precious to Jon. Whatever it was, it changed the minds of Drogon and Viserion and the same thought coursed through them and Rhaegal. 'Keep our family safe.' They were the first to take to the skies, the other two following as quickly as they could, heading for the source of the call.
Jon suddenly felt pain, a great dull stabbing pulsed in his mind. Something was breaking his link with the dragons. He returned to himself on the island, sweating and out of breath. He was on his hands and knees, gasping for air. Beric and Brienne were kneeling down to him, making sure he was alright. "You're back." Beric said.
"Aye, it won't be long now. We just have to wait until the dragons get here."
"I don't think we'll last that long. While you were gone, we were joined by more spectators."
Jon looked up and was mortified at the sight. The Army of the Dead had grown four times the size it was before he warged. This was it, the entire army. Brienne and Beric helped Jon up as he looked around. The greatest army in the world was surrounding them and the only thing that protected them from the dead was thin ice. "How many?" Jon asked.
"We haven't exactly counted them all, but if I had to guess, I would say around one hundred sixty thousand."
Jon looked around, begging that this was a nightmare to wake up from. Everyone was on edge, Tormund more than anyone. He and Sandor were sitting at the foot of the island, resting after cracking as much as the ice around it they could with their steel axes. They were trying to create a second moat the dead wouldn't be able to cross when the outer ring freezes. The most they could do was create a single line around the foot of the island, forcing any dead to have trouble advancing from the front. "I take it the ice isn't thick enough for the dead."
"No, but it won't be for much longer, they just don't realize it yet."
"If the gods were kind," Brienne said, "they never would."
Hours seemed to pass and the only thing that took everyone's attention away from the Army of the Dead was the trading of shifts to keep the ice broken. Eventually they managed to destroy the entire patch of ice with the border they made. Jon stood as the foot of the island, counting how many wights in black he could see. His number reached high into the hundreds as he grew upset.
Jorah walked up to him, shivering and quiet. "When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it died. Why?"
"Maybe he's the one who turned them." Jon suspected.
"We can go for the Walkers. Maybe we'll stand a chance."
"No," Jon said, knowing no matter how great their skill, there would be no way they would win a head on fight, "we need to take this one back with us to Winterfell. The dragons are on their way." Beric walked up next to them, his attention elsewhere. "They are our last hope."
"No," Beric said, "there's another." He pointed his sword up at a rise overlooking the frozen lake. "Kill him." Jon looked where the sword pointed and saw the Night King and six of his Walkers on their undead horses. "He turned them all." Everyone gathered with them to get a view of who the true enemy was.
Beric made it sound easy, but Jon knew that there was more to the Night King than he showed. "You don't understand."
"The Lord brought you back, the Lord brought me back, no one else, just us. Did he do it to watch us freeze to death?"
"Careful Beric," Sandor told him, "you 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 has been a cunt. I don't see why the Lord of Light would be any different."
Anguy stayed behind them with his bow readied. "Pray this works," he whispered. In a split second, he drew his bowstring with a dragonglass arrow knocked and released it. It sailed through the air rapidly towards the Night King. Everyone held their breath as it drew closer. The arrow was aimed straight for the head, but it was stopped inches away as the Night King caught it midair. He snapped the shaft and dropped the arrow before falling back behind his lieutenants, obstructed. "Fuck."
"How many arrows you got left?" Sandor asked.
"Only two. I have feathers and three arrowheads, but no shafts." Anguy informed as he patted a small pouch around his belt. "That was probably our only chance to kill him here, but now I know how fast they are." Anguy drew the last two arrows from his quiver and held one in between each of his fingers in his draw hand. "Keep your eyes on the army if this works." He quickly knocked the first arrow and released it and did the same with the second arrow just as fast. They both sailed through the cold winds, searching for their marks. The first arrow imbedded itself deep into an undead horse, causing the Walker riding it to be thrown off balance and the second arrow pierced its neck. The Walker let out a deafening scream as it cracked slowly then shattered into ice.
All around the hunting party, everyone could see movement among the wights that surrounded them. Many fell, but only a few thousand, including a giant, it's mammoth, and some of the animals. "Well now we know for sure how to beat them." Anguy said. "Maybe I can salvage the wood from one of the dragonglass weapons-." He stopped mid-sentence, frozen by something everyone missed while looking around. "Where'd the Walkers go?"
Everyone's gaze turned back to where the White Walkers and the Night King were and saw that they were gone. "Did they run away to cover?" Jorah asked.
"I don't think so," Jon said, scanning the nearby surroundings. But as quickly as they disappeared, they showed themselves walking through the masses of their foot soldiers up to where the ice caved in. They stood with their army, motionless as they were. The Night King stood in the center of them in the open, knowing they had no chance to attack him with ranged weapons. He slowly raised his arms up as he did at Hardhome after the massacre, his eye's fixed onto Jon.
What the Night King didn't notice was that Sandor knelt down behind Jon, picked up a small rock and threw it high into the air. It sailed forward and landed right on the Night King's temple, but he was physically unaffected by it. "Dumb cunt." Sandor commented.
The Night King lowered his arms and turned his gaze to Sandor, who appeared not to give a damn. Tormund and the other Wildlings turned to face the Hound, amazed. "You just hit the King of the Dead with a rock," Tormund said, Sandor looking unimpressed at his accomplishment. "If we make it back and the other Free Folk here about this, you'll be a legend."
Next to the Night King, a wight took a few steps forward, but the ice was still too thin and it gave way, bringing the wight down into the cold waters. The Night King looked at the hole for a moment before looking back at Jon. He knelt down to the ice and place his palm on it. After seconds, the patch of broken ice froze solid and all the wights looked down at the ice.
"Oh, fuck." Sandor said as a few wights began to walk over the ice, dragging their weapons on the surface making a horrifying scraping sound. More began to follow them to the island as everyone backed up and readied their weapons for the oncoming horde. The dead avoided the broken area of ice surrounding the base of the island and went straight for the sides.
"Stay away from edges!" Tormund shouted. "They'll try to pull you down!" Everyone kept close to the center as wights started to climb over one another onto the island. Jon raised up Longclaw and Beric's sword ignited in his Lord's fire.
The first wight that made it was closest to Sandor and charged straight at him. "Fuck it," he said as he ignored Tormund's advice and ran to meet the dead man. He swung his axe hard and separated the dead man's torso from his legs. He brought his axe down on the wights head and immediately swung at another wight that climbed over. At this point, everyone was attacking wights from all around, but they were coming in moderate waves.
That all change however as the broken ice began to freeze instantly from the magic of the White Walkers and the dead began to run up the foot of the island. "Form a line!" Jon shouted as he dealt with three wights that tried to overpower him, but Longclaw's edge cut clean through all of their necks with one strike. The endless coming of the dead reminded Jon of the Battle of Bastards, but the feelings weren't about the fury of the battle, they were the fear to survive.
Jon could barely keep up his defense as the wights kept coming. As soon as he killed one, another would appear faster than the first. Through the midst of the horde, Jon could notice two of the White Walkers joining the horde in approaching the island. One carried a sword of ice and the other a spear of ice. The didn't seem to be heading for Jon though. Their directions were towards Jorah and Brienne who fought defending the front. Before Jon could do anything to help them, a wight lit on fire from Beric's sword ran past him and fell onto the bound wight, attempting to ignite it. Jon chased after it and shoved it off the captured wight and impaled it with Longclaw. He doused the flames on their captive, but the sounds of growling behind him caught his attention and he fended off two wights that attacked him. One of the Wildlings dragged their wight further up the island to keep it away from its comrades, but as he got closer to the top, three other wights made it through the line and charged at him. Jon chased after them, cutting one down, another killed by the Wildling with a dragonglass pike, but it was knocked away as the third wight started to push the wildling towards the edge. Jon ran after them and killed the wight just before it reached the edge, but the Wildling was about to fall from the momentum. Jon quickly reached out his hand, but the Wildling's fingers only grazed his as he fell into a swarm of dead men. He disappeared he was pulled to the ground, screaming in the shadows as and blood spattered from his location. A moment later, the Wilding stood back up with eyes of blue.
From behind, Jon heard the hypnotic sounds of Valyrian steel clashing against the blades of ice. Jon turned and saw Brienne fighting against one of the Walkers. She seemed to be able to hold her own against such a foe, but Jorah on the other hand was desperately struggling. His ability in fighting was greater with a sword, but all he had were two dragonglass daggers. One of them broke against the ice sword because of the brittleness of rocks. Jorah couldn't seem to parry, only dodge so that his only weapon of use against the White Walker wouldn't break. Jorah managed to catch the Walker off guard and kick it onto its back away from him, but he was unable to go for the kill because of two wights that protected their master. He was able to kill them, but the Walker got back up and was about to face Jorah again.
"Jorah!" Jon shouted. Jorah turned around as Jon flipped Longclaw in his hand and tossed the sword to him, hoping he would catch it in time. The sword twirled in the air right before Jorah caught the handle and spun to meet the Walker. He clashed the sword and in moments decapitated the White Walker. Some of the wights collapsed just before Brienne impaled Oathkeeper into the White Walker she fought. Many more wights fell after, but not enough to lighten the horde that grew closer. "Fall back!" Jon ordered as he picked up the broken pike and began to fend off wights that climbed from behind the line of warriors.
From the front, Jon heard strange screeches made and saw a squad of wight direwolves charging forward. The ice underneath one of the larger ones collapsed and it fell into the water, but six more were on the way. The ones in their way were the last Wildling, Jorah, the Hound, Brienne, and Tormund. Anguy threw one if his daggers into the head of one direwolf, but the rest made it to the island. They all leaped at the line, Tormund dodged his while slicing the belly with his halberd, Jorah and Brienne fell backwards and impaled theirs, Sandor dodged his, but it turned it switched its attention to Jon and charged after him, while the last one leap onto the last Wildling, avoid his spear and tearing into his neck. Sandor had ditched his axe and stabbed the direwolf with a dragonglass dagger and fell back with the others as Jon fought the last direwolf. He dodged it and delivered a strike to its neck, but it wasn't deep enough for the power of the glass to kill it. It jumped on top of him, but Jon was able to put the pike into the mouth of the direwolf, keeping from biting at him. He wrestled with it and lost grip of the pike and it was tossed aside. Jon managed to grab hold of his own dragonglass dagger and stab it deep into the neck of the wolf, killing it. He shoved it off and crawled to the pike, instantly defending against a wight as soon as he got it.
Jon sheathed his dagger and had a moment to finally look around at the lake. Almost the entirety of it was covered with wights, all coming at them. But in the heart of the bleakness, Fire rained down onto the horde from above and exploded on the impact it made. Drogon flew over the island and continued to breath fire, creating a wall that the dead could not pass. Rhaegal and Viserion destroyed what they could on the mountains around them while Ygris and Lyarras lightened the force of wights attacking Jon and the others. The heat of flames melted the stinging cold away and everyone finally had a chance to rest themselves for a moment that was ever so brief before Rhaegal swooped down to them and landed on the island, waiting for every to get on him.
"Come on!" Jon shouted as he approached his dragon. Before he could climb up, some of the wights that weren't burned had climbed onto the island and charged after Jon, staying in the way of the living so that Rhaegal could not attack them. Jon protected himself and fought against the wights while Sandor and the others brought the wight to Rhaegal. Tormund carefully climbed onto the dragon, followed by Sandor and Brienne. Jorah, Beric, and Anguy continued to hold back any wights that continued after them. Jon joined them as soon as he finished off his wights and allowed the others to get onto Rhaegal. He stood next to Jorah and impaled a Night's Watch wight that nearly slashed at him. With enough gone that they could retreat, Jorah faced Jon momentarily and handed back Longclaw to him and ran up the island to Rhaegal. Beric followed after him after dousing his sword and Jon was the only one left. He dropped the pike and parried an axe before killing its wielder, nearly ready to get to Rhaegal.
In the corner of his eye, Jon noticed the Night King returned to the ledge, holding a lance of ice, aiming up at the sky. He threw it high into the sky, the lance whistling right before it dug deep into the body of Viserion. The dragon cried out in pain as vast amounts of blood poured out of the wound as the dragon fell from the sky. Rhaegal and the other dragons screeched in a way that sounded sad as Viserion crashed into the frozen lake. He rested on the ice briefly before his eyes fell closed and he sank into the water, disappearing from sight.
Everyone was mortified at what they had witnessed, except for Jon, all he felt was rage. He looked away from where Viserion crashed and destroyed two wights that charged after him with ease. He met the gaze of the Night King and didn't take his eyes away. The first time they looked at each other, Jon was afraid, but now he was angry, desiring the moment when the Night King would die. But the hate turned into worry as a wight behind the Night King retrieved another ice lance shethed in a holder on an undead horse, walking towards him. The Night King's gaze switched to Rhaegal who was still waiting for his rider.
Jon started to back away and ran to Rhaegal, hoping he would get there in time. Unexpectedly to Jon, the ice beneath him cracked and collapse. Jon's lost his grip on Longclaw, dropping his sword as his body landed on the ice, but his legs fell into the water. He tried to crawl out, but two wights emerged from the water and grabbed onto his legs, pulling him down with them. Jon tried to shake them off, but he was failing and knew he would go under. "RHAEGAL LEAVE!" he screamed out. The dragon looked him, not obeying his plea. Jon warged into the dragon and fought against Rhaegal's will with all he had, forcing the dragon to abandon him. Even though Jon was in the mind of the dragon, he felt the cold surround him and he was dragged into the water. Rhaegal finally obeyed and spread his wings and hopped off the island, taking a moment to adjust to the weight on his back. As Rhaegal climbed to the skies, Jon remembered the lance meant for the dragon. 'Watch out!' Jon's thoughts shouted as Rhaegal turned his body and was nearly missed by the lance, but it grazed his neck and get his hide. Luckily, the wound was not fatal or severe, but it left a large gash that stung.
Jon returned to himself as he continued to sink down into the cold depths. He had no air in his lungs and he couldn't feel parts of his body. In the water, he was able to free himself from the wights' grip on him and starting swimming up to the surface. He emerged and gasped for air, grabbing onto the ice to keep from sinking. His furs were drench and became heavy as he pulled himself out of the water and onto the surface. He reached for Longclaw and crawled forward a little before lying still, closing his eyes and begging for rest. He could feel the water beginning to turn to ice as he finally shook the tempting desires of death from him and stood up slowly. He gradually walked away from the island and towards and open area on the lake that the dragons didn't burn that he could pass.
It wasn't long before he heard the snarling of the wights approaching and saw the entire horde coming after him. There was no chance in the world he would have to survive this alone. As desperate as he could, Jon raised Longclaw up, not willing to die without a fight. In the distance, he saw flashes of light appear and a horse with a black cloaked rider galloping towards him. The horse stopped near Jon and the rider dismounted, revealing his face to him. "Uncle Benjen?" Jon shivered out as he uncle grabbed hold of him and helped him onto the horse. He tore Longclaw from Jon's hands and sheathed iit in its scabbard.
"We don't have long, save it for later," Benjen said as he mounted the horse and spurred it forward. They both rode away from the Army of the Dead and the White Walkers as Jon became to lose feeling in his arms and legs. If his gloves weren't frozen, he would've dropped Longclaw to ground. He lost consciousness and black out from the cold. "Dammit Jon, stay awake!"
Viserion dies, Benjen saves Jon and they both ride away together after Jon escapes the freezing water.
