Part 2 is here! A week after I said it would be... oops. This takes longer than I thought it would and would've taken longer had I not had half the chapter already done when I posted the first part. So I will not give an estimate when the third and final part of the Storm will be posted, but I can promise that it will be AH MAY ZAHNG! Once again, Big shotout to my Awesome Beta the Hope Lions!
Rickon
"Will she be alright?" Rickon asked the maester as who tended to Lyanna Mormont's arm inside his tent. He was standing next to Ser Jorah he watched with worry over his niece.
The maester had just stopped the bleeding and wrapped her wounds in bandages, but Lyanna looked very pale and her face was covered in sweat. "I'm afraid she's lost a great amount of blood, my lord. And her wound is only making things worse. I am heavy with healing chains and have done what I can, but it will be a miracle if she lives."
Ser Jorah looked distraught at the news. But neither he nor Rickon had the time to dwell on it as a raven outside of the tent began cawing annoyingly, gaining everyone's attention that heard.
Rickon and Ser Jorah left the tent and saw the raven perched on another across from the maester's. The moment they stepped outside, it flew into the air and joined a great flock that was moving east to the edge of the camp, cawing out.
"Somethings wrong." Rickon said. "Be on your guard, Ser Jorah." The bear knight placed a hand over the pommel of Snow as he followed Rickon passed many of the tents.
They were joined by many of the women and children who fled from the battlements with them and were also curious as to what the disturbance was.
When Rickon and Ser Jorah came out of the camp to the edge, they weren't in the least bit shocked to see that a battalion consisting of about two thousand wights were headed straight for them. Behind the dead was an even larger force of the living breaking off from the main army and chasing after them. But they were too far away to catch up.
Some of the women and other children began to panic, but not Rickon. He was afraid when he faced the tens of thousands of wights charging for him at the very start of the battle, but he wasn't afraid of just a couple of them. "How long would they have before they get here?" Rickon asked.
"Not long. They dead don't tire so they can run as fast as they can."
Rickon took another look at the men chasing after the dead. They weren't gaining on them, but the alos weren't losing any distance. "We need to form lines."
"What?" Ser Jorah asked.
"We have more than a thousand of the archers from the front lines. If we gather our strength quickly, we might just be able to hold them off long enough for the real soldiers to get here." Rickon turned and faced Ser Jorah. I want you and some others to begin rallying as many archers as you can. I want everyone with their bows and arrows they brought with them from the front lines ready to make a stand. We'll need spears and shields too."
"My lord Rickon, we won't last long against the dead." Ser Jorah argued.
"But there's no where we can't run that the dead can't follow. Now go while we still have time."
Jorah took one last look at the oncoming army before nodding to Rickon and ran to the camps shouting at all who could hear. "Archers defend the camp! Spears and shields!"
While Ser Jorah went on carrying out his order, Rickon had something he himself wanted to do that could provide greater support for the camps. Running at a quick pace, Rickon made his way through the camps to heading for the center, all the while doing as he ordered Ser Jorah to do. Some of who heard him were stricken with fear while others were heading for the front of the camp carrying bows, arrows, spears, and shields like ordered.
When he reached the center, Rickon found Bran, Sansa, and Daenerys under the guard of Ghost and Meera Reed. Bran's eyes were pure white since he was warging into hundreds of ravens. But as Rickon approached them all, Bran returned to himself.
"The archers are almost assembled." Bran informed.
"I hoped as much," Rickon told him, "but there's not enough of us. We need more. Can you warg into Lyarras and Drogon?"
"I'm afraid I can't. Only Jon can since he has the blood of Valyrians in him. Besides, Drogon in too much pain to fight and Lyarras is protecting him."
As disappointing as it was, Rickon didn't have time to dwindle on the fact that two of the most powerful forces of destruction the living had were out of the fight. "What about regular animals, can you warg into them?"
"Of course."
"Are there any big ones nearby that can kill?"
"I've brought a few with me, but I had to keep them far away from the camps so they wouldn't be hunted or attack the army. It will take a little while to bring them."
"Then what are you still talking to me for?"
Bran gave Rickon a small smile before returning to his warging state.
"Meera," Rickon said, "I need to ask you to fight with us. You're one of the few who really knows how. Ghost can keep Bran safe."
Meera tightened her grip on her spear and nodded silently. She left the company of the others and joined Rickon, but as they started to leave, Sansa spoke up.
"Rickon, where do you think you're going?" Sansa asked.
"Where do you think? To fend off the dead."
"You can't go out there, you'll die."
"And so will many others even if I don't."
Sansa quickly walked up to her brother and squeezed him in a tight hug, on the verge of tears. "I already lost you and the others once, I can't lose you all again."
Rickon returned the hug, wishing he didn't have to let go. "If I don't go, I might be the one who loses you." Sansa let go of her brother, looking more afraid than he had ever seen her before. Technically she should be joining them, but she wasn't a fighter of weapons, only politics. Each step Rickon took away from his family felt heavy with a sense of duty, but also courage.
Hurrying back to the outskirts of the camp with a bow in hand, Rickon and Meera joined other children, women, and even a few young maesters on their way to join the oncoming fight.
By the time the made it, most of the women and children were already forming lines under the guidance of a few elderly men that retreated with them.
Ser Jorah spotted Rickon and approached him, carrying a bow and only two arrows. "Lord Rickon," he said, "we've assembled all we could."
"How many?"
"Just over a thousand. And we only have enough dragonglass arrows to give two to each person."
The arrows were in short supply since most of them were left at the front battlements and a vast majority was given to the men stationed atop the Walls. It wasn't enough, but it was all they would get. "We can do this," Rickon assured him, "as long as we can hold them back long enough for the chasers to get here and save the maesters. If the maesters die, then many more will be added to the ranks of the dead and our healers will be gone, letting more of wounded die."
Ser Jorah shook his head at the reality of the situation. "So much death, and for what?" To Rickon's knowledge, no one knew the answer to that question. Whatever it was the dead were after, the living had no idea.
A young woman came up to Rickon and handed him two arrows to him and Meera, giving her a bow as well. Jorah led the way to their positions at the front of the lines with the rest of the archers that made up the first two rows. Behind them were the spears and shields, ready to step in front when needed. One of the few advantages they had was being uphill giving the living the higher ground.
With no one else to properly command them, Ser Jorah took charge of the defense. Though it wouldn't be much of one since everyone defending wasn't properly trained, and either too young or too old. There numbers were less than what they had at the front battlements since most who retreated went to their posts behind the infantry. "Archers!" he called out. "We only have two arrows each! Use them well! Knock!" All of the archers knocked their arrows to their bowstrings, most struggling from a state of panic. "Draw!" Out of since all of the bows were raised up, aiming at the dead. Before Ser Jorah could give the final command, a few arrows were released prematurely and come short of wights when they landed. "Loose!" The rest of the arrows fired on command, but even then, some were poorly released and didn't go any near as far as they should have. In the end just over half of what was shot probably hit something.
The dead that weren't hit by dragonglass arrows mindlessly ignored those around them that were and let out their cries of the undead. Speeding past them were some undead animals, mostly wolves and a few bears. But leading the vanguard of them all were three undead direwolves, the one in front familiar to Rickon by its white and auburn fur even though it was stained with blood. The body riddled with stab wounds and two daggers stuck in its body.
"Summer." Rickon whispered to himself, oblivious to Ser Jorah's order. It took the Bear Knight a shove in the shoulder for Rickon to snap out of his quick daze and knock his next arrow. When the order to draw was given, Rickon kept his eyes on Summer who was charging for the center of the lines. He kept his eyes on the path Summer was running found the spot to release his arrow that it would find its mark. But he began to feel his hand shaking with the arrow between his fingers. He knew Summer was gone, but he felt something within him fighting back not to fire.
"Loose!"
The arrows were shot, far better aimed the final time. But the moment Rickon released his arrow, he knew it would miss. The dragonglass arrow grazed through Summer's mane and instead hit a wolf that was next to him. Though Rickon made a kill, he missed his target.
"Spears and Shields!" Ser Jorah called and other men echoed. The archers stepped back and let all who carried the tools for an infantry wall take their places. With no arrows left, bows were set aside for spears which were plentiful in supply along with various other dragonglass weapons.
The previous archers got behind the lines of infantry and angled their spears to the dead, holding as strong as they could with what little strength they had.
Ser Jorah stood at the front of the lines, Snow drawn from its scabbard and ready to cut through whatever came at him.
All there was now was the wait for the dead to attack them.
But one thing that no one would have expected expect for Rickon would have guessed happened that gave everyone a moral they were missing to overcome the dead. From behind the lines of spears and shields, a heard of stags leapt high over them and brandished their antlers like lances. Everyone turned around and saw a pack of wolves and bears charging through the camps, making their way to attack the dead. Some of the infantry parted waited ways from the animals to get through while the flock of ravens in the sky dove down to join the rest of the attack. Being just birds, there wasn't much they could do except become and obstruction which is exactly what they succeeded at.
The front lines of the dead were covered with ravens and their movements become halted as they tried to swat the birds away. This gave the living exactly what they needed for the dead to be stalled long enough for the reinforcements to intercept them.
If the infantry protecting the camps were proper soldiers, now would be the time to go on the offensive. But they were nothing more than children younger than fourteen and very elderly folk. The only ones who weren't in those categories were Ser Jorah and a few women.
But even with the support of the animals, there were a few dozen of the dead who slipped by and continued the attack. Even Summer and the wolves that followed him were unfazed by the attacks of the crows and tore through whatever came at them. By the time they reached the wall of shields and spears, only a few wolves were caught in the path of dragonglass and killed. But the rest of them broke through the shields and began to attack those that were behind them. It didn't last long as they were quickly killed, but Summer was not one of them. In fact, he and the other direwolves that were with him ignored the infantry and darted into the camps.
Rickon noticed this and would've guessed that they would begin attacking the maesters and healers, but the direwolves past three of them without a second glance. If they weren't after them, then there was probably only one person they were after. Rickon turned to Meera, beginning to worry. "Bran's in trouble!"
Meera's eyes widened as she grabbed Rickon's shoulder and pulled him out of line. The two of them began to run back to the center of camp as fast as the could through the snow.
Sansa
The silence of what once was a quiet night ended the moment the three horn blasts rung out. Since then, the night had been nothing but battle cries, dragon roars, raven calls, and death. The sounds of war. It was all just echoes from the battle at the Wall at first, but after the number in the camps grew to mount a defense, the noise got closer and the sound of an unearthly screeching became distinct.
For Sansa, it was unbearable that listening was all she could do. She wasn't a fighter, couldn't be a fighter. She didn't have the stomach for being a part of battles and fighting. But even if she had drilled with the others when Jon had decided it to be, her skill would probably have been lower than Rickon's.
Bran had no chance in combat as a cripple, but his that didn't matter since every animal around was his weapon. All he had to do was sit in his chair next to Sansa and Daenerys with his eyes white like the clouds.
Sansa started to worry that maybe defense of the camps was futile. She pictured Rickon appearing from the tents, covered in fresh blood and his eyes turned blue the same as Jon's were that night.
Sansa snapped out of her distress when she felt Daenerys's hand grab hers. "Don't worry," She said, "I have not a single doubt that they'll win."
"I just can't seem to rid my mind of the thought of what will happen if they lose." Sansa told her.
"That's why we have to keep our faith stronger than our fear. A dragon does not fear even the gods, and neither should a direwolf."
Sansa chuckled lightly at Daenerys's comment. "I've always felt I was more of a Tully than a Stark."
Sansa was cut short when a great screeching erupted from the sky. She and Daenerys looked up to the clouds and saw Ygris emerge with Viserion right behind her. But the smaller white dragon immediately performed a maneuver that halted her place in the air, letting Viserion speed by. She chased after him and let out a burst of flames, but they had no effect and were stopped right before they would've hit the Night King. The two dragons ascended back into the clouds, out of sight but for the flashing lights of fire.
Afterwards, Bran returned to himself, gasping deeply for air. "The dragons," he said out of breath, "We have to get to Drogon and Lyarras. Some wights broke past and are coming for me."
Ghost stood a few paces away from them, facing the direction the fighting was at. He was snarling and baring his teeth, as if he was about to attack an approaching enemy.
Without anytime to question, Bran returned to warging and his motionless state.
Not wanting to see if Bran was wrong, Sansa let go of Daenerys's hand and grabbed onto the handles of Bran's chair. Daenerys led the way past through the camp to the dragons, being that it might be best if she was the first one they saw. Ghost walked backwards, keeping his eyes on anything that might try and sneak behind them.
Many of the maesters began to flee in the same direction, but having to push a wheelchair through fresh snow slowed them down immensely.
Ghost started to bark furiously and Sansa felt shivers run through her body. She turned her head and saw three wight direwolves bigger than Ghost halted in their tracks, making noises that sounded like snarls mixed with cracking ice. The largest of them all looked slightly familiar to Sansa. She realized that there was only one direwolf she knew of that's fate was like this wolf's appearance.
Sansa and Daenerys resumed pushing Bran's chair through the snow with greater haste. They weren't far from the dragons. But by the time they resumed retreating, the three wight direwolves rushed forward and barked a haunting sound as Ghost rushed to meet them. The red eyed direwolf lunged into the air and collided with two of the wight direwolves, but Summer slipped by and bore his dark grey teeth at Sansa and Daenerys, setting his blue eyes on Bran.
Summer jumped into the air, but dozens of ravens flew down from the air and knocked him away. Instead of hitting Bran, Summer's body collided with Sansa. She fell to the ground and quietly crawled away from Summer as the ravens kept him occupied by mercilessly tearing through the fur on the direwolf's rotting flesh.
Sansa kept crawling away from Summer and quick as she could, her mind in a state of panic. She couldn't get back to Daenerys and Bran since Summer was in-between her and them and thrashing violently enough that one stray attack would tear a limb off. "Daenerys, keep going!" Sansa shouted as Daenerys pushed Bran through the snow with all of her might.
A loud whimper sounded and Sansa saw one of the wight direwolves sinking its teeth into Ghost's rear left leg. The other one bashed into Ghost's body, knocking back and unconscious.
"Sansa!" Rickon's voice shouted. A dragonglass spear appeared and rapidly sank into the torso of the direwolf that bit Ghost. Meera and Rickon appeared from where they had just come from, Meera having drawn a sword to replace the spear she just used.
The other direwolf growled low as it faced Rickon and Meera, preparing for them to make the first move. But when Sansa got up to her feet, the fleshless skull of the direwolf turned and the blue eyes stared directly into hers.
"Sansa, run!" Rickon shouted.
Without hesitating, Sansa turned tail, lifted the hem of her dress, and ran as fast as she could, not looking behind her. She let fear pick up and carry her feet to wherever they could, feeling the undead direwolf right behind her. Every one of her senses was in a panic and her thoughts racing as fast as she was. Her current state made her not pay attention to which direction she was running, only to taking the sharpest turns, trying to lose the wolf. Twice the direwolf crashed into tents and it gave Sansa a lead, but its speed quickly closed it.
Sansa felt a great force slam onto her back and she fell hard into the snow, yelping out. Memories of the riot in King's Landing filled her mind and the feeling of the rapers had returned, making her feel helpless once again. Sansa tried to crawl forward, whimpering as a large paw pressed down on her back, pinning her. The direwolf growled its unearthly sound as it brandished its teeth right next to her ear. It opened its jaws and let out a loud snarl, but the noise was met with the cry of a soldier that stabbed a sword down the throat of the creature.
The direwolf's body fell to the side and the weight lifted from Sansa's body. She looked up and couldn't be happier to see who saved her.
"Are you hurt, my lady?" Edric asked as he offered his hand to her.
Sansa shook her head as her fear was replaced with relief.
Edric smiled and lifted her off the ground. He was surprised when Sansa tightly hugged him but didn't resist returning it. "It's alright Sansa," he assured her, "we arrived just in time."
Sansa was so overjoyed that she neared tears as her breathing calmed down. She always dreamed of being saved by a knight one day, and now her dream had come true for a second time. She loosened her hug on Edric and looked back at the direwolf who had Dawn still lodged in its mouth.
Edric let go of Sansa and knelt down to the direwolf, grabbing hold of Dawn and pulling it free. "Were there any others that made it past?" Edric asked.
By the gods, Sansa completely forgot about Summer. Before she could speak, the loud screeching of the dragons in the camp shook the air and a quick flash of light followed after.
Daenerys
The moment Sansa left her sight, Daenerys used every bit of her strength to get Bran away from the direwolf that nearly pounced on him. The last thing she heard was Rickon yelling for Sansa to run away. Pushing Bran's chair through snow was difficult by herself, but thankfully a pair of fleeing maesters saw her and gave their assistance. They were much stronger than her, making pushing Bran's chair go by faster.
When they reached the clearing that Drogon and Lyarras were in, Daenerys saw that she was the only one with the idea of hiding by the dragons for protection. While there were five maesters tending to Drogon who was still unconscious, there were large crowds of healers rushing to get to where the dead weren't yet attacking.
Wheeling Bran right next to Drogon, Daenerys knelt down to her child's head, worried with every bit of her soul that he would not wake up. Memories of when Drogo died from his festering wound flashed in her mind. She'd been too stubborn to realize that Drogo would die, but that didn't let her believe that Drogon would follow the same fate. 'He's the strongest of them all. He won't let himself die like this.'
A sudden growling snapped Daenerys's attention from Drogon. Looking behind her, she saw the dire wolf that was swarmed by ravens before had followed her. The ravens had failed to stop him, but they managed to tear off half the dead flesh of his face. He barred his teeth and let out a nasty sounding set of barks at her, but he was given a reply by Lyarras blocked his path to Bran and let out a great roar.
The dire wolf lunged forward with great speed, most likely to get past Lyarras before she could react. But her size was not as big and slow as Rhaegal and Drogon. Thrusting her neck like a spear, Lyarras clamped her jaws onto the dire wolf's body. She thrashed him in the air a while before tearing the dire wolf in half. The rear legs flew off into the camp, but the upper body landed not too far away from Lyarras. As if not being affected by the damaged just experienced, the dire wolf began to pathetically crawl, advancing to Bran.
Rickon had finally caught up to the dire wolf and looked horrified at what he saw. "Summer," he muttered.
Lyarras opened her jaws again, ready to finish what she started.
"Lyarras no!" Rickon shouted. The large blue dragon looked at Rickon questioningly. The young Stark boy slowly walked forward to the dire wolf's body with his spear in hand, afraid and sad. "I'll do it." As he got closer to the body, the dire wolf began to thrash around, as if knowing what was about to become of him.
Daenerys saw the spear beginning to shake in Rickon's hands and tears welling in his eyes. He pointed the spear head at the dire wolf, but the state he was in said that he didn't want to kill it. He had love for the creature, one that kept him from finishing the job. Daenerys remembered when she was in the position with Drogo in his vegetative state that was her fault. But it was love that made her end his life, or at least what she was tricked into thinking what was life.
Rickon yelled as he sank the spear into the dire wolf's neck, causing it to whimper out. As the blue faded from its eyes, there was a brief moment that they became amber before lifeless. Rickon stepped back from what he did and fell to his knees crying.
Daenerys walked over and knelt down beside him as he let out his emotions.
"It's not fair." He croaked out.
"It never is." Daenerys told him as she gave him a gentle hug, sharing the hurt of his spirit.
"My Lord Stark," a man's voice came. Rickon and Daenerys looked over and saw Edric Dayne with Meera and Sansa who was unharmed.
"Sansa!" Rickon got up as fast as he could and tightly hugged his sister who did the same to him.
While they had their moment, Meera walked over to Daenerys and helped her up. "Is Bran alright?" she asked.
"Unharmed and still Bran." Daenerys assured her. Meera looked relieved to hear that.
"Your Grace," Edric said, "We've successfully fended off the dead that attacked."
"Excellent work, My Lord."
"I've ordered the little ones to fall back into the camps. There are a few wounded, and sadly some that we couldn't save in time." Edric's eyes fell to the ground, ashamed that he let any die.
Daenerys's heart weighed when she heard that. 'In times of peace, sons bury their fathers. But in times of war, fathers bury their sons.' "You came as fast as you could, and thanks to those who gave their lives we were protected and not more soldiers for the Night King."
Edric nodded in agreement, but still felt guilt that it happened. "My men will form a proper defense should the dead try another attack."
"The will," Meera said, "As long as there's a weakened dragon and the Three Eyed Raven here, they'll try again."
A wildling appeared from within the camps, rushing to Edric. "Lord Dayne! One of the warg scouts just reported that King Jon is on his way here. But he also said that there's over eighty-thousand of the dead coming through the collapse."
'Perfect.' Daenerys thought. 'If Jon can mount Lyarras, he can provide support from above as long as Ygris keeps the Night King busy.'
"Did the warg see how far the cavalry was from the dead?" Edric asked.
Jaime
Screaming, for the past few minutes all Jaime had heard was the screaming of the Dothraki. When he faced them at the Blackwater Rush, he'd felt fear and disbelief when he heard and saw the Dothraki Screamers on the horizon. But being in the middle of it all was far different. They volume was immensely greater, and he thought he would go deaf, but energy the noise brought the fury of battle rushing into his blood. Even after they suffered losses from the undead dragon's attack, they did not falter and recovered quickly. He was no Dothraki, but as the force of sixty-seven thousand mounted horses charged at the dead, he couldn't help but let the world here him roar like the lion he was.
When the cavalry first received the signal from the wargs with them to charge, Jaime managed to keep his spear tightly tucked under his shoulder so he could have a firm grip on the reigns of his horse. But now that they were closing in, he let the reigns rest on his golden hand and used his legs to keep steady. His thighs were burning from the constant use of his muscles.
Jaime's knuckles whitened on the grip on his spear as the Dothraki brandished their own and their curved arakh swords. The knights of the Vale, Lannister forces, Karstark riders of the North, and the Martell lancers all kept a tight formation while the Dothraki were spread out. Jaime was told by one of them that they do it to make them harder targets. It didn't look organized or fashionable, but it was key to them winning their battles.
What none of them were expecting were the dead to have their own mounted soldiers. But there were hardly any horses coming to meet them. The wights rode on large snow bears, direwolves bigger than Jon's, stags, and mammoths. There were undead giants atop their mammoths, but also a dozen or so wights with long spears. The mammoths rode at the head of the dead's charge and begun to swing their tusks from side to side.
Some of the Dothraki switched from arakh to bow and stood on their saddles, knocking their arrows. Nothing stood between the two armies and both were forced to engage by a wall of ice on one side and a wall of burning trees on the other. Many arrows were released into the air without any command given. Some of the undead cavalry fell, but the numbers were near equal. The living had more, but the lethalness of the undead was greater.
When the two forces met, some of the Dothraki and their horses were swept from the ground into the air by the mammoth and the strength of their tusks. Both forces had their equal shares of cutting through each other. Horses were torn from head to hoof by claw and antler alike while the dead mounts were speared deep into the body, flinging their riders from their backs. To counter the mammoths, the Knights of the Vale threw their spears at the mammoths. Some of them found their mark on the great beasts while others only hit the riders.
The First thing that Jaime's spear came into contact was a wight riding a snow bear twice the size of his horse. The spear went straight through the rider and into the passage with him. The passengers were only bones and fell to pieces when the dragonglass cut what it could.
The snow bear the wights rode on was killed by another spear belonging to a rider behind Jaime. Having just used his, Jaime drew Widow's Wail and slashed at what he could while keeping himself from falling from his horse. The Valyrian Steel blade cut through rotten flesh and cold bones with hardly any resistance.
The path of Jaime's horse was set to ride past an oncoming mammoth that was knocking horses and riders aside with no problem. If Jaime wanted to get past it, he would have to time his speed at the right moment so the horse would pass the moment the mammoth swung to the other side.
The giant tusked swooshed through the air, barely missing Jaime's horse, but a spear from a riding wight stuck into the horse's neck. The front legs buckled as the horse whine, throwing Jaime off and crashing into a running wight. Widow's wail slipped through his fingers, but he was quick enough to draw his dragonglass dagger and stab it into the right eye of the wight. He scurried to his feet and search for Widow's Wail, or any weapon that had a longer reach that he could use. Sheathing his dagger and picking up an arakh from the snow, Jaime had to immediately parry a wight's spear coming right for him. The design of the arakh was too different from what he was used to. The weight and shape threw the timing off of his parry. The spearhead grazed Jaime's breastplate just barely before Jaime swung the curved blade into the wight's collar bone. The blade wasn't Valyrian steel, but it cut just as well.
While Jaime had to keep his focus on the enemies coming at him, he also had to keep his attention on his allies coming from behind him. Already there were men who were just killed risen back with blue eyes and blood staining their furs and armor. Even Jaime's horse had risen up from the dead and began to act something worse than rabid. But its reanimation was ended as quick as it started when a dragonglass spear pierced the horse's torso.
The cavalry of the living was beginning to make its turn outwards to get clear of the dead and make another charge, and Jaime couldn't let himself be left behind. Jaime followed the path of the horses that were turning northwards, cutting through what he could, very rarely making a kill with steel that had no magical effect against the dead. Even though he skill with his left hand in swordplay was average to any soldier, it was still could enough to tangle with the dead. The arakh only pushed his current limits to a point that he felt that he was improving by the minute.
Jaime managed to join some five other men who'd lost their horses. Three of them wore Karstark tunics over their armor, but only one of them seemed vaguely familiar to him and wore black when the others wore brown. The other, to Jaime's luck, was a Martell bannerman wielding a Valyrian sword Jaime had never seen before. The blade was nearly as wide as Ice, but the length was that of a bastard sword. Together the five of them maneuvered as best they could through the dead all the while keeping a quick pace.
By the time the last of the horses made it out of the shuffle with the dead and were preparing their second attack, Jaime's small group was set upon by and undead giant wielding a large tree branch as a club.
"Watch out!" One of the Karstark men shouted as the club came swinging down. Only he and Jaime were able to duck down in time and avoid the club. The other three men were swept off the ground and let out painful screams as the sailed into a crowd of wights that maniacally began to kill them. Jaime was on his back when the surviving Karstark soldier thrusted his spear into the belly of the giant. It toppled backwards and landed on the ground with a small boom.
Jaime felt relieved that the giant was brought down, but it all left him when the Karstark soldier in black pointed his spear at Jaime. The soldier's face was filled with great rage and disgust towards Jaime. "You killed my brothers, Torrhen and Harrion, Kingslayer."
"Harald Karstark," Jaime muttered, "Go ahead and claim your revenge then. There's no one here but and the dead, and that spear will keep me from coming back to haunt you."
Harald raised his spear up and quickly thrusted it at Jaime's face. Only, he missed completely and the spear went above Jaime's head. From behind, Jaime heard the spear hit something and a strange growl. He looked behind him and saw a wight that had almost crawled to him with a rusty dagger.
Harald pulled his spear up and grabbed Jaime by his breastplate and pulled him up as well. "Don't make me regret that, Kingslayer."
Jaime followed closely to Harald as the dashed through an opening and out of the dead's path. "Why?" He asked as they began to run to rejoin the other men. "You could've let the dead have me to give you an excuse."
"The dead are more important than my revenge. And I am a Northerner, not a Lannister."
Harald's words stung Jaime to his core. He knew that Harald betrayed the Starks and sided with the Boltons. But even after doing something like that it seemed he still had more honor than Jaime did.
"I thought you took the black." Jaime said.
"I did, but I won't let my daughter lead a charge at sixteen years old. The Karstarks will follow me for the battle."
"Ser Jaime, Lord Harald!" A Knight of the Vale came galloping at them with two horses whose riders didn't make it back with them. "We're nearly ready for another attack, but the mammoths are too strong and too many."
"Dispatch a force of the best lancers and mounted archer to deal with them." Jaime ordered. "If those things make another attack like the first, we won't stand a chance for much longer." Jaime and Harald mounted the horses given to them, they had a battle to return to after all.
Gendry
There was never a moment to catch one's breath. The only thing Gendry had ever been a part of was tavern brawls, his encounter with the Gold Cloaks at the beach at King's Landing, and a few bad customers at his shop. But being part of thousand men fighting the dead was a new experience. He stood alongside his men guarding the rear flank to the infantry, archers, and catapults. Every swing of his hammer was met with a body that felt like a stone wall despite the lack of weight the rotting corpses had. The dragonglass in the head of his hammer was effective from time to time, but only when it directly hit flesh.
Fighting alongside Ser Jasper Willem, Gendry found that he had a knack for battle given that men around him were injured and died, but he lived. The old knight was the only protection Gendry had in his blind spots his helmet created. Twice he saved him from attacks that would have be his meant his end. The added weight the antlers had tossed his head from side to side and nearly stabbed adjacent men in their heads.
As Gendry slammed his hammer down hard with all his strength onto a wight's skull, completely crushing it into small pieces, something slammed into his body from behind and knocked him down into the snow. The antlers of his helmet pierced through two wights and brought them down with him. Fed up with the problems the helmet was causing, Gendry slipped his head out and shook off whatever it was that fell on him. Tightly gripping the shaft of his hammer, Gendry rolled over and found a freshly turned wight clawing at his surcoat, ripping the black and yellow fabric apart. Gendry bashed the pommel of his hammer into the face of the wight. But it was a dragonglass halberd landing in its back that killed it.
Gendry was grabbed by what remained of his surcoat by Ser Jasper and hauled back to his feet. "Come on My Lord! The dead won't rest, and neither will we!" Ser Jasper swung his halberd at a charging wight and quickly to another that was right behind it. For a man well into his years, Ser Jasper was setting the bar high for Gendry.
Gendry didn't let himself rest as he returned to swinging his hammer at what dead he could. It was all had been doing since he began fighting. His body had great strength in it, but not the stamina for battle. His chest grew hot like the furnace of his forge the more he fought. The heat so much that he couldn't feel the cold winds of the winter night touch his skin.
"Giants charging!" Someone from behind shouted.
After the head of his hammer crushed a wight's ribcage and sent it plummeting to the ground in pieces, Gendry looked behind and saw twelve armored giants wielding axes with blades the size of wagon wheels charging forward, the ground shaking with every step they took.
The soldiers parted to avoid being kicked aside or stepped on, but followed the giants charge as soon they passed and joining the offensive. Wildlings, soldiers of the Stormlands and Riverlands raised their weapons to strike whatever dared to get in their way.
But the morale sank heavily when three of their living giants stopped dead in their tracks and collapsed. Moments later they all rose back up, but only to the knee as three White Walkers removed their spears of ice from the giants' chests. The spears sank so deep, it was like the Ironwood armor the giants wore was nothing but Ironwood parchment.
This was Gendry's first time ever seeing a White Walker. They were nothing like their soldiers. Skin paler than snow, and the eyes were like blue crystals of ice. Some of them had hair and they all looked like old men. All of them wore black armored that had the appearance as if it was made of black whicker.
With the ice weapons removed from their bodies, the three giants that fell immediately turned on their brethren and the rest of the living. Many attempted to kill them with the dragonglass weapons, but the Ironwood armor kept the giants safe, leaving their faces and joints the only areas exposed. Someone managed to stab a spear in the back of a giant's knee and bring it down, but it was only because of a lucky opening. Some of the living giants began to brawl with the remained undead ones, but the violence and force of their battles was so intense that soldiers of both sides were caught in the middle of it, getting injured and killed.
But the threat of the undead giants was nothing compared to the White Walkers. Their speed was far greater than any undead soldier and they dodged and broke any weapon or defense that was put against them. Their blades of ices would cut through many men with one swing, disemboweling them and freezing their innards with the magic they possessed.
By chance, Gendry saw someone with a castle forged sword take a swing at a White Walker when its back was turned, but the steel shattered on impact into tiny pieces. Now he knew what Rickon Stark meant when he said his sword was shattered before it was reforged into Snow.
Bringing his hammer down hard onto a naked collar bone of a wight, Gendry realized he'd caught the attention of one of the White Walkers. It was black with a short beard and dashing right for him. If it was anything else, Gendry's first instinct would have been to stand his ground and face what wanted to test his mettle. But Gendry was too afraid when he saw the White Walker looking right into his eyes. He wanted to run, but his legs felt too heavy to even walk.
As the White Walker got closer, Ser Japser came shouting from behind Gendry with a dragonglass spear raised above his head. He got in between the White Walkers path to Gendry, and without emotion charged to meet the evil that was meant for him.
Ser Jasper thrusted his spear with great strength at the White Walker, but its inhuman speed made it easy for it to dodge. Every attempt the old knight made was futile. The White Walker slashed its ice sword and broke the spear shaft in the middle, then it followed its attack by impaling Ser Jasper straight through his breastplate.
"No!" Gendry shouted uncontrollably.
The steel armor shattered, and Ser Jasper collapsed the instant the ice sword was pulled from of his chest. The White Walker turned its gaze back to Gendry, who was no longer feeling afraid, but ashamed that he let Ser Jasper fight alone while he just stood there. His shame turned into anger, then rage, then fury.
Tightening his grip on his hammer, Gendry started to run at the White Walker, letting out a great roar from deep within himself. Within reach, Gendry swung his hammer at the White Walkers lower body while ducking past the blade of ice. Both weapons missed their targets, but Gendry followed the momentum of his hammer and spun around while bringing his hammer above him to strike at the Walker's head. The hammer would've hit hard on the icy skin of the White Walker had the undead body of Ser Jasper not gotten in the way. Gendry's hammer landed right next to Ser Jasper's neck and broke all the bones it hit. Blood spurted out of Ser Jasper's wound and stained Gendry's shredded surcoat over the stag head. Ser Jasper collapsed and the blue of his eyes faded just as the White Walker swung its blade up and cut the shaft of Gendry's hammer in half just as it did Ser Jasper's spear. The White Walker backhanded Gendry, knocking in the snow a few yards away. The blow was so hard that Gendry had the wind knocked out of him when he landed in the snow. When he recovered from his sate, the White Walker was nearly at him, walking slowly and with desire to end him.
Not able to take his eyes away, Gendry felt both of his hands around for anything he could use to defend himself, but all he could feel was snow.
All of the sudden, there was a great large blur of grey that jumped over Gendry and bashed into the White Walker, knocking it into the snow. The grey blur was actually a a big grey wolf, a very big grey wolf. The White Walker dropped its weapon and was wrestling with the wolf, giving Gendry the time he needed to find a weapon. He got to his feet and ran over to where is hammer was broken and grabbed hold of the half with the head.
By the time the White Walker pushed the wolf off, Gendry swung his hammer as hard as he could, the dragonglass impacting square in the face. The white Walker practically shattered into ice, armor and all. Around him, Gendry saw many of the wights collapse and lay motionless, just like the King said they would.
Gendry let out a big sigh of relief as he stood up with his broken hammer in hand. His gaze shifted to the large grey wolf who was looking right at him. "You're big. Well, bigger than most. Are you Arya's dire wolf, Nymeria?" The dire wolf's ears perched up at the sound of her name. "Thank you." Gendry smiled at his correct guess as he tore his surcoat off and saw the condition of his breastplate. The dent the White Walker made wasn't too bad, but any damage inflicted in that area would most likely crack the steel. "I'll have to fix that when this is over." Gendry looked back at Nymeria and saw a great pack of wolves behind her that began to ravage at the dead, but she just kept on looking at him. "I think there's someone more important than me you should be watching over, don't you think?"
Grey Worm
Being ever valiant to hold the lines away from the dead, the infantry pressed on and held their ground, no matter what came at them, no matter how deadly. They would not let the dead get through them. Already about three thousand had fallen and turned, yet there were some from the front line that were still alive. They undead however were suffering far greater casualties. Bodies began to pile up into small hills near eight feet high. In some areas it was higher because of the bodies of dead giants. The obstruction the bodies made pushed the infantry back to make room to fight. Because of this, the wights were forced to climb over the bodies but it gave them the position to jump onto the infantry and cause more problems for them.
Every so often a wight would fall onto a spear pointed up and when they were skewered, black rotted blood would leak out of their bodies and drip onto whatever solder was below. Nearly everyone in the first three rows was covered in blood somewhere. Be it their boots, shields, spears, or helmets, their armor was beginning to be dyed crimson red with the blood of their enemies and allies.
Even with the hills of bodies and the volleys of arrows that had been shooting above them nonstop since the battle started, the dead continued to attack in vast numbers. With their current fighting tactics, the bodies that piled up were forcing the infantry to retreat backwards ever so slowly, pushing them out of the pass. No matter what, that couldn't be allowed to happen.
In the second line, Grey Worm scanned the piles of bodies as best he could, trying to determine the best course of action. If the living could get the high ground against the dead, then they would have an advantage.
"Naejot memēbagon!" He shouted as loud as he could. Other Unsullied soldiers repeated his command and some repeated it in the common tongue.
"Forward march!"
Treading carefully as to not let the defensive line weaken, the rows of infantry began to move forward and march on top of the bodies that had just perished.
As Grey Worm and the infantry began their climb over the bodies of the fallen, he could hear some displeasure expressions from some of the Westerosi forces. They did not want to fight while standing on their friends and family. But the Unsullied had no care like that. The dead are dead, and they need to do whatever they can do achieve victory at all costs.
As the first few rows reached the top, the sight of what was beyond was breathtaking, but in a terrible way. The grounds were littered with so many bodies that the snow they rested on was hardly visible. Yet still, the dead continued their charge to break through the infantry even though a section of the west wall of the pass was destroyed. In fact, wights were coming into the pass from that opening, all of them determined to break through.
The infantry lines began to settle on the dead bodies but keeping one's balance proved difficult. The dead bodies were not a fixed mass and felt like standing on rocks covered in mud.
Taking a position at the front, Grey Worm planted his shield down at the edge of the decline of bodies and aimed his spear down at the wights climbing up. Maintaining a firm grip, Grey Worm was constantly thrusting his spear down at the wights. The undead soldiers crawled over one another to try and get close to the infantry, like ants racing for a bit of honey. Except what was behind the infantry was more like an entire pot.
The constant fighting had no strain on Grey Worm's energy, but the cold was what was fighting against him besides the dead. But all he could do to keep warm was to keep fighting. To his dismay, the soldier from the Westerlands was pulled forward by his spear and into the mass of the dead. The soldier screamed as multiple blades were stabbed into his body over and over. Before a soldier could take the fallen man's place, Grey Worm thrusted his spear into the skull of a wight, but the ones around it were beginning to follow the strategy of what just transpired. Three wights grabbed at the shaft of Grey Worm's spear and pulled down hard. But being clever enough, Grey Worm let go of the spear and watched it disappear in the horde of wights.
"Spear!" Grey Worm shouted as he held his arm behind him and awaited a new weapon. The moment he felt a spear placed in his hand, he immediately resumed fending of the wights.
As the infantry held they defense with the upper hand, two horns blasted consecutively. One from the Eastern Wall, and one from behind. The meaning behind both meant bad news from the source. 'The archers have run out of arrows.'
The last volley from behind the infantry was released and sailed as far and true as they could. All of them sang through the air and ended when they landed in the wights or those that were already dead.
But a minute later, the dead seemed to notice that there were no more arrows being shot at them, and their attitude shifted. With no more artillery support, the dead ran more furiously and maniacally, climbing over one another in far greater numbers. Had the infantry been behind the wall of bodies, the wights would've appeared like a great wave and caused even greater damage.
Fending off the dead became more difficult. Dozens of men were pulled down into their ranks and joining them. Grey Worm himself nearly slipped and fell into the horde, but only because the bodies he stood on shifted a bit. But to his surprise, the bodies were still shifting, in a way that wasn't because of being stood or climbed on.
From the middle of the lines, an undead giant burst up from the wall of bodies. It carried a long thick stick with a blade poorly tied at the end. The giant swung the weapon around him, cutting through many of the infantry surrounding him who were taken off guard.
Aside from the giants, many of the dead bodies that were stood on began to rise up and attack the soldiers. Many started to fall over and sink into the wall as if they were swarmed by insects. Grey Worm looked at his feet and saw three pairs of eyes light up the color blue. He didn't understand how they were coming back from being stabbed by the dragonglass. It didn't make sense. Then it hit him, many of the wights were only playing dead. After all, how do you tell if a rotting corpse was dead or not?
Furious, Grey Worm began to stab his spear at what he stood on, unsure of what was truly dead or not. "Fall back!" He shouted as loud as he could. Only a few repeated his orders to the soldiers, but they were barely heard amidst the screaming of men being lost and killed. All around, soldiers were either being pulled forward or sinking into the bodies.
The infantry began to slowly step back as best they could without falling over or being dragged down into death.
Grey Worm's focus was scattered all around him. From below he had to watch out for hands attached to bodies with glowing blue eyes and in front of him he had to was out of wights starting to climb over the wall of bodies.
From behind, another giant burst up from the bodies, sending many who stood over him into the air in all directions. It carried a great club the size of a tree trunk and bashed it into as many as it could. Shields were splintered, and strong bodies crushed into sacks of broken bones and flesh.
Grey Worm joined two others to try and attack the giant, but as he went to thrust his spear, something grabbed hold of his leg and threw him off balance. He slipped forward and fell right into the path of the club as it came swinging. The impact of the wood against his body and shield was a loud booming noise. Grey Worm's shield was completely destroyed, and he was sent into the air towards the horde of wights.
Already, Grey Worm's body was in pain he never imagined possible, but landing on the ground was utter hell. He could feel the bones of his shield arm fracture, and some of his ribs as well. He hurt badly, but he couldn't let himself die yet. He had to return to Missandei, they had to travel to their homes, they had to love each other again.
Grey Worm's thoughts stopped when he saw a freshly killed Unsullied turn into a wight standing over him, holding a short sword. Desperate, Grey Worm tried to grab his own blade, but the cold steel of the Unsullied wight's blade entered into his neck, piercing the bone.
The blade was quickly removed from Grey Worm's neck and stabbed into his body, over and over again, as if the wight had to make sure he stabbed at every possible place that would kill him. The heat of his blood leaked out of his body, staining every inch that it ran over.
Grey Worm stopped feeling pain and started to feel cold. But not like how he'd ever felt it before. This cold was nice, and comforting. It was a blissful feeling he had, so much he wanted others to feel this wonderful cold. He wanted his men to share in what he was feeling. He wanted them to feel cold, he wanted them to be dead too.
Tormund
Listening to horns blasting aggravated the ginger Wildling. Tormund roared out as loud as he could with each swing of the large dragonglass axe he found left in the chest of some southerner. His first ax had shattered after one too many collisions with steel weapons. Even with the Northern armor and chainmail weighing on him, his strength knew no bounds as the blade of the axe tore through many wights in one swing. Even the undead giants didn't stand a chance against him in his furious state of battle.
Tormund brought his axe down on a wight, cleaving its body down the middle perfectly. But his eyes were set on a different prize than just wights. Tearing through the living without any struggle at all was an undead mammoth covered head to toe with wights that acted like a layer of armor, taking the blows that would have killed it instead.
Cutting through whatever dead got in his way, Tormund charged as fast as he could to kill the mammoth and avenge the dozens it plowed through. But before he could do that, he had to get past its guards, two giants that stole the weapons made by the Umber smiths for their giants. One of them carried an enormous mace and the other carried a great spear. Both of them killed a great many of men who tried to attack them with their spears and other weapons of dragonglass, but Tormund wasn't like any other man, killing undead giants was far easier than living ones. All you had to do was strike anywhere on the body with dragonglass or Valyrian steel.
Decapitating a wight in his way, Tormund shoved the body aside and immediately dove forward to avoid being pierce by the large spear of the first giant. He rolled forward with the momentum and swung his axe into the giant's leg. Without making a sound of pain, the giant fell forward onto two wights nearby, crushing them completely.
"One down, one to go." Tormund said to himself as a swarm of wights raced at him. There were too many for him to handle, but he didn't give a damn about that.
Taking a step back, Tormund winded up his axe and waited for just the right moment when as many wights as possible were in his reach. When that time came, he spun around and let the dragonglass tear through whatever dared come into its path. But even with the blade as sharp as sharp as it could be, the axe only gutted four wights before the momentum was halted abruptly. The axe became stuck in the spine of a Crow wight and tangled in rusty chainmail.
Tormund struggled to get the axe free as the rest of the wights drew closer to him. He let go of the axe and switched to using his dragonglass dagger and bone-handle sword. Quickly parrying a spear thrusted at him, Tormund lunged forward and planted his dagger in between the ribs of the wight that attacked him.
Tormund began to grow frustrated as the mammoth and the giants grew further away from him, ending his chance to kill them. Two wights tackled him hard into the snow, each trying to seize the chance to turn him into one of them. Tormund was able to stick his dagger into the thigh of one of them, but the other was putting up more of a fight. A set of black fingernails clawed at his right check and drew blood. With all of his strength, Tormund roared out as he threw the wight off of him. Using his sword, he stabbed it straight into the wight's chest and pinned it to the ground. As the creature struggled to get free of the blade, Tormund repeated his technique with his dagger and ended the wight's curse.
From behind him, another pair of wights charged at him with large double-bladed axes, but a beauty wielding a golden hilted Valyrian swords got in the way, and cut them down to pieces. But what she didn't she was a last wight rushing at her from a blind spot, its shrieking hidden with the rest of the sounds of the battle.
Reacting as fast as he could, Tormund threw his dagger at the wight and the blade sunk into its rib cage. The wight fell apart into a pile as Brienne turned around and saw what had nearly happened.
Walking over to Tormund, Brienne offered her hand to him and it was quickly taken. She pulled him up and was met with a big smile from Tormund.
"Would you not do that please?" Brienne asked as she scanned around for anything that might try to catch her off guard. "This is not the time or the place."
"Actually," Tormund said as he pulled his sword out of the wight pinned to the snow and retrieved his dagger, "This is the perfect time and the place to happy. At least for me." Tormund grabbed the handle of his dragonglass axe and pulled it out of the Crow wight's body with all of his strength. "The Free Folk have never taken the fight to the dead since their return, and I've never killed so many before in my life." He quickly rushed next to her with his axe at the ready. "Would you help me take down those two." Tormund pointed at the giant and mammoth that were still tearing through soldiers without getting a scratch on them.
"I will if you stop talking already." For a brief moment, Tormund could have sworn he saw Brienne smile as the started to run after the giant and the mammoth.
Together, the two of them slashed and cleaved whatever got in their way. As they got closer, Brienne grabbed hold of a dragonglass spear stuck in the ground. "Keep the dead away from me." She said as he sheathed her sword and aimed the spear.
Tormund didn't even need her to say that to start guarding her with his life. He was not going to let anything get near her even if it was the last thing he did. Luckily for him only a few wights tried to attack out of the vast many that could have.
With a small dash forward, Brienne lunged the spear at the giant and the mammoth, but her target was the giant. The spear sailed beautiful past the falling snow and sank deep into the giant's back. The giant fell to his knees and then it collapsed with a great thud. Now, all that remained was the mammoth.
"I swear when this is over, I'm think I might steal you away." Tormund confessed as he pulled his axe out of a wights neck and walked over to Brienne.
Before Brienne could reply, her eyes widened and she dashed at Tormund. "Look out!" She tackled him to the snow so hard that he let go of his axe. They rolled on the ground and from behind Tormund, the undead mammoth came charging by exactly where he was standing.
Tormund nearly pissed himself when he realized what just happened. "Thanks for that," he said, just inches away from her face. Brienne pushed herself off of him and stood up as quick as she could.
"Don't mention it." She offered her hand to him and pulled him up once again, but was unable to hide the slight hint of red in her cheeks.
Tormund looked over to wear he dropped his axe and saw the head was smashed into bits and pieces. "Damn, I liked that axe." He said as he drew his sword and dagger.
"It's coming back around," Brienne said, "I think it doesn't like us."
"The dead don't feel anything except for threats. Right now we're the biggest ones around."
Brienne drew her sword quickly and hacked apart a wight that tried to run her through while her back was turned. "So how do we kill it before it kills us?"
"We strike where it's not protected, its balls." Brienne scoffed at the idea but accepted it nonetheless. "I've tangled with mammoths before, I'll make the kill."
"Can you do it with just a dagger?" Brienne asked as she looked at the length of his only dragonglass weapon. She had a point. The length of the blade was no longer than Tormund's index finger since it had broken in half.
"If you're willing to let me borrow the sword, then it won't be a problem." Tormund hastily dropped the dagger and held out his empty hand for the sword, all the while keeping his eyes on the mammoth which was approaching fast and furiously.
Brienne was hesitant at first, but she placed Oathkeeper in Tormund's hand. "I want that back," she told him as she drew the dagger he gave her in Winterfell and got ready to duck away from the mammoth again.
Tormund held the sword at the ready, waiting for just the right moment he would get to duck in between the mammoth's legs. The timing had to be perfect if he wanted to do this without any injury. If he did it to early, his head would be hit by a tusk. Too late, and his legs would get hit and break.
The ground started to rumble as the mammoth got closer and closer. The great undead beast began to sway its head from side to side with every intention of hitting Tormund and Brienne.
"Now!" Tormund shouted. Brienne aside and Tormund dove forward the moment the mammoth's tusks where out of the way of the gap between its legs. He rolled arms-first under the beast, his forehead slightly cut above his brow by Oathkeeper's hilt. Then he rose up and sliced the edge of the sword into the mammoth's appendage.
The undead mammoth fell head first and crashed into the ground, throwing all of the wights protecting it off of its body.
Rising up to his feet, Tormund turned around and began to make his way back to Brienne, quickly, as the wights got up as well and saw her as their target. Without her sword, she would be at a disadvantage, and there were some behind her that she wouldn't notice.
Wielding both swords, Tormund slashed Oathkeeper through the body of one wight and was astonished at how clean and smooth the blade cut through bone just as it did muscle and flesh. Immediately after the first wight, Tormund blocked a stone axe of another with his short sword, and stabbed Oathkeeper up into its skull.
Even with just her dagger, Brienne was managing just fine with it. She was able to disarm a decent sword from her second kill and fend the rest off better than imagined. The dead weren't trained knights, so their skill wasn't that great. The only thing that gave them their advantage was the ability to no feel pain or die from regular wounds. But with her dagger, Brienne was managed to kill every single one of them.
What she didn't notice was one that got away from Tormund as he was fighting off one of the last that he could. It raised a broken sword above its head and nearly brought it down on Brienne's back, but with quick thinking and reflex, Tormund shoved Oathkeeper into this opponent's chest and threw his shortsword at the other wight. It sank deep into its back, causing it to screech and fumble to the ground.
Brienne was able to turn around fast enough and plant her dagger in the wight's face before it could get up. Tormund became relieved that she was able to stay alive and unharmed. He kicked the wight's body off of Oathkeeper and began to walk to her, catching his breath from fatigue. She looked just as relieved as he was as she leaned up against the sword she took, right next to the mammoth's body.
"Nice kills." She said as she looked up.
Before Tormund could thank her for one of the few praises she ever gave him, his body tensed and panicked. He saw a White Walker leaping over the mammoth from the other side, its spear aimed straight at Brienne. He roared out as he shoved her aside and barely parried the spear as the Walker landed. Immediately, the two of them began battling for the other's death.
Oathkeeper's steel sang with every collision with the spear's ice blade. The White Walker's strength was great, but so was Tormund's and his was fueled with unyielding rage. He dodged a thrust to his chest and swung Oathkeeper around his body at the White Walker, but the speed of the White Walker was greater than usual, and it was able to block the strike with the shaft of its spear.
The White Walker pushed Tormund away and twirled its spear behind its back in a motion that Tormund could where the next attack would be. The spear would be coming down from above, but if he could dodge it, the momentum of the spear would force it to the ground, leaving the White Walker's upper body open to attack for just a moment.
Resisting the instinct to parry, Tormund let the spear slash down and the moment it hit the ground, he swung Oathkeeper and landed the blade right at the neck of the White Walker's collar. The creature shattered into thousands of pieces, save its weapon, and wights collapsed around the battlefield.
Tormund let out a big sigh, but the end of it turned into a cough. A strange taste filled his mouth and leaked onto his lips. He ran his sleeve over his mouth and saw it stained it with blood. He looked down to his body and saw even more blood dripping out of a large gash in his armor. He hadn't been quick enough to dodge the entire spear, and he'd paid the price for it.
Tormund looked up and turned around, facing Brienne. She saw the blood. His grip around Oathkeeper was lost and the sword fell to the snow the same time as his knees did.
But instead of feeling his body fall cold into the snow, Tormund found himself caught by strong arms. His vision started to have flashes of becoming blurry and focused. He was turned over and dragged over to the cover of the mammoth's body. Finally gaining some focus, he could finally see that Brienne was over him, looking at his wounds. He couldn't feel any pain for some reason, only cold.
Brienne was panicking and saying something, but it was becoming muffled in his ears.
"Don't worry," Tormund spoke past the blood in his throat, "I killed the fucker… so I won't be turning into one of them." He felt something removing his glove on the hand resting on Brienne's lap, then something warm wrap around it. Brienne held it tight and close to her as he began to slip away. He wanted to speak more, but it was so hard to actually do it.
"I'm glad I get to die this way… the last thing I see… is a beautiful woman watching over me…"
He saw Brienne close her eyes and slightly shake her head, denying what he said about her.
"You are beautiful… Brienne of Tarth… I-" Tormund couldn't find the strength to speak anymore or breathe. In fact, he couldn't find anything anymore, only the warmth of a kiss on his forehead as all went dark, then turned to light like a morning sky and he was free.
If I don't see any good money, I might just wait a few extra days to post the next part because... I can. HAHAHA. But really, SHOW ME THE MONEY!
