Chapter Three – A Women of Snow and Ice
It felt like the forest went on forever. Tree trunks stretched upwards, depleted of branches that would sustain the woodland creatures during the harsh winters. Any branches that remained occupied the uppermost portions of the tree. The bark was a dark chocolate color, offering some contrast against the boundless snow. Every tree resembled one another, never changing in shape nor attributes. In every direction, the same corresponding tree could be seen giving the north a never ending appearance. Their advancement had slowed due to the depth of snow. The horses had been forced to hike their knees to their chest. Thankfully the snows light and fluffy consistency made for low day was nearing its end which meant they would have to make camp again. Which also meant not finding Jon for another day.
Daenerys was taken back when they unexpectedly exited the forest with the deep snow seeming to come to an abrupt stop as well. Daenerys scanned the open area but there was nothing in sight, no trees or mountains for miles. The horizon was flat, empty of any land mass. Even the ground beneath her horses hooves were barren, consisting of a hardened layer of impacted snow. Loose particles skimmed across the the way, polishing the surface.
"What are you bungling cunts doing!?" Tormund yelled back at Rogor and Varnvir. Daenerys wrapped around, reclining onto her arm which was extended on her horses rump. They had stopped their horses just inside the tree line.
"We can not go no further." Bottom lip quivering as fear paralyzed Rogor in place. He knew this land. Warnings that had been placed along their path had been ignored. He made no attempt in joining Tormund and Daenerys outside the forest. "This is far past Bears creek. This is white walker territory." Erratically swinging his arm out at the open area, portraying the rising panic within.
"The white walkers are dead." Daenerys replied bluntly. She was not in the mood to deal with such frivolous ideation.
"So be it, leave! Go on, get out of here!" Tormund waved his arm, cutting the conversation short.
Daenerys watched on in disbelief as the wildings, without hesitation, turned and headed back in the direction they came. "Why did you do that?" Gawking at Tormund.
"All wildlings know the legends that speak of white walkers residing beyond Bears creek, where the trees end and the perpetual snow begins. It does not matter if they know the Night King is dead, those stories were imprinted on us when we were kids. To them the white walkers are still very much alive. That is how we have lived for centuries, it does not just change over night." Explained Tormund. He dropped his legs on either side of the horses thorax, encouraging it into a trot and leaving Daenerys to digest the information.
Dorthraki were the same way. Stuck, rigid in their own practices and reluctant to evolve. She would have to tolerate that something so entangled in ones culture would be difficult to erase. With an audible exhale, she followed Tormund deeper into the desolate terrain.
They had been riding for what seemed like hours before the scenery changed. Daenerys could not help but notice the random upward projections of stone that seem to spike up from the ground, gradually growing in magnitude. What started as small jagged rocks turned into towering plateaus and mountains. The cliffs appeared to race in, closing in on them. It was so unforeseen and to her astonishment it all snuck up on her. "Have you ever been this far north Tormund?" She felt unease with the silence filling the air. Ridges reached out towards one another, looming over their heads. The only thing to break the silence were the hooves slapping the ground beneath.
"Nope. No one has." He gave her a look. He did not have to go into further detail for her to understand the dangers of this crusade. With the emerging peaks shutting out the last prevailing sunlight, Daenerys eyes had to strain to make out even the head of her horse. "We should probably make camp. I do not want to get caught out in this shit during dark." The ebony colored stone started to blend together and with the lack of contrast reflecting back at them, any strike made against them would be unforeseen and difficult to defend against.
Tormund used his body weight to pull down the corner of the mammoth skin tent, hitching it to the stake in the ground. The roof was pinned into the side of the cliff, edges splaying out to form a half cone shape. It would do given how hastily it was done. Daenerys lifted the tent flap, stepping into the confined space. Multiple pellets had been laid out for a makeshift bed. An aroma of leather coated with lard from the belly of elk curdled her stomach.
"I will be outside if you need anything." Tormund mumbled. He stoked a small flame to prevent visuals from a distance but enough to warm his extremities.
She did not remember laying down or closing her eyes. The wind was howling, tearing at the tent that sheltered her. Leather rippling wildly, sending deafening thuds into her ears. She became more troubled when Tormund was not in the tent and rushed outside. Snow was blowing in every direction with mixed assortments of snowflakes. The whirling ice stung her face, forcing her arm to act as a shield. Relentless gales overpowered her, shoving her from side to side. Temperatures had dropped to a mind numbing degree. No embers or smoke spouted from the once burning logs. Daenerys circled around but Tormund was no where in sight.
She could only assume the barely audible shrills came from the panicking horses. Their silhouettes blurred through the blizzard. Heads jerking up against the rope that tied them down. Some unknown thing seemed to spook them as they darting about, rearing up in a threatening manner.
She did not see it, not initially. Standing a few strides outside the campground, two blue eyes. Two glowing blue eyes. The figure was hardly visible, hair thrashing about. A white walker. Daenerys belly cramped as she was sick with fear. They were eradicated. Destroyed. All of them. She could feel her heart seize at the sense of another being as they approached from behind. His face level with hers due to the crouched position he was in. They both watched as the supposedly extinct myth retreated back, fading out of view.
Winds and snow ominously settled enough when a throat curdling cry resonated a top the bordering stone. A dragon, gliding through the falling snow. A paradoxical calm came over the area, opposite to the proceeding fury filled events. Tormund and Daenerys exchanged glances mixed with confusion and concern. Day break peeped over the cliffs giving an appearance of glitter hovering in the air from the light reflecting off the snowflakes.
"We need to move." Tormund spoke with a low rumble. He did not bother with the tent, leaving it where it hung.
Daenerys looked down to see her hands clearly shaking. Her adrenaline already kicking in. Remembering the last time she was so close to one of them. Instincts had taken over, her body moving without thought. More than ever did she wish Drogon was here. Her daze was cut short when a hand holding reins was shoved into her chest plate. Tormund dipped his head, understanding her horrors but reminding her of the bigger picture here. Jon.
It never completely stopped snowing, but the wind was surging again. Diminishing their sight they had to slow the horses to a walk. All Daenerys could do was preserve the small gap between her and Tormund, following his lead. How he could see anything in front of him astounded her. She notices his horse come to a complete stop and mimics his action. Her heart tears into a galloping rhythm at sound of his sword being unsheathed.
Hands planted by her eyes to offer some clarity from the relentless gales. Stepping through the whitened whirlwind, blue eyes. Merely an arms length away from their horses snout. Corpselike wrinkles were packed into its feminine face, like it had aged a thousand years. The hair was sickly thin, submissive to the wind that tossed it. Her ragged dress, torn away mid shin was left to be desired. She studied Tormund with a ravenous gaze before moving to Daenerys. No one moved. The stillness of this interaction was tormenting.
Daenerys blinked only to find the white walker walking back into the blowing snow, staying just within view. She did not know why, but something in her decided to pursue the white walker. Pulling Tormund along in tow. The longer they followed her, the more the wind and snow died down around them and the more they were able to see their surroundings. Weather in the north behaved so irradicatdcally, alternating from one extreme to another. Everything seemed so unstable, from the weather to the lifeless individual ahead of them.
Tormund and Daenerys had been so focused on the white walker they did not notice the massive structure in the foreground. It was a culmination of ice, snow and stone. Components were combined into a familiar yet foreign structure. Features of Winterfell and Dragonstone could be noted in the minute details but were overall overshadowed by the grave like sensation that was cast down on those below. They had to crane their necks to see the top, impressive to say the least. Coming across a fortress composed of ice at the expense of trailing a white walker was one thing but to see four dragons perched at the entrance or circling the skies was another. What would make a dragon fly this far north and come here of all places?
Daenerys and Tormund dismounted their horses, cautiously approaching the stairs that lead to the entrance. Eyeing the dragons and white walkers standing guard in the quad and similar to their guide, they simply stood from afar, watching. The moment Daenerys and Tormund reached the foot of the stairs, a colorless dire wolf trots out at the top. Tormund flashes a smile at the sight of Ghost, relieved to see a friendly face. But his excitement is quickly extinguished as he recognizes the unmistakable glowing blue eyes, replacing Ghosts characteristic blood red colored iris. It was unnerving for Tormund to see Ghost just stand there, peering at them. No joy or elation at his existence. With this grim revelation, both Daenerys and Tormund knew that if Ghost was here, Jon would be close by.
Daenerys thighs burned from the number steps they had to climb to reach the portcullis. Several pairs of eyes were on them the entire time making it that much more uncomfortable. Ghost was sat on the landing and closing the distance only confirmed Tormunds heartache. They entered the foyer, the air inside cooled the mucosa that lined their mouths and down into their lungs. Breathing was becoming painful. She could feel the moisture being sucked from her body. The foyer transformed into an elongated hallway that wrapped around with smaller passages branching off perpendicularly. Large wooden studs grew to support the ceiling while the wood itself was embedded in ice that bled down to form the floor. A soft layer of frost coated everything, giving off a decrepit feel to the place.
They spilled out into the inner ward, parallel arcading running the length of the room. It was devoid of any furnishings. A haze seemed to sit in the room, making it difficult to judge the true size. The edges were consumed in darkness with only the distinct glow of blue eyes lingering. Daenerys and Tormund were quite perplexed by the subdued nature of these white walkers. Impulses screaming against the current situation. Unrestrained aggression originating from the dead would be more comprehendible than their present state.
Daenerys surveyed the ward as the blue eyes in unison turned toward the platform at the head of the room causing Daenerys and Tormund to follow suit. A figure emerged through the shadows and fog. Daenerys squinted as she tried to distinguish the person approaching. A black fur cloak was placed over the shoulders of a man. Long wavy black hair fell to his shoulders, almost recognizable to Daenerys. The tips were losing their vigor though, faded white with prominent streaks longer than others. Nonetheless, the profound deep black color seemed to be vanishing. Facial hair framed his jawline and had remained untouched. Daenerys drew in a breath as his face became more visible with each step. His skin turned a deathly white, a blue hint glazing over his features. His eyes. Jons brown eyes were no longer there. She no longer felt the sense of comfort and safety stemming from his gaze. Bright blue colored eyes stared at both, her and Tormund, and they were Jons. Daenerys felt a flicker of irritation as anger stirred within her.
Daenerys would have identified this man as Jon Snow from a far. As the man she loved. As the man who stabbed her in the heart. So many different emotions of outrage flooded her body, jockeying for position. Ghost brushes past Daenerys, returning to sit at Jons side on the elevated platform. He raises a hand and slowly strokes the back of Ghost as he analyzes his new guests. Silently moving his other hand to rest on the hillock of his blade. The platform raised Jon above eye level with only a couple stairs to reach its pinnacle.
Daenerys body flushed with her rising temper. "Jon?" she whispers. No answer. The lack of engagement picked at the internal wounds of his betrayal. "You stabbed me… You killed me. Why?" Daenerys growled but still there was no answer. She could feel the anger and pain bubble up, similar to that day in Kings Landing. "I deserve to know why!" She shouted at Jon. He remained silent, unchanging in his stance. Tormund was struggling to fathom what had become of Jon, gawking at him.
Tired of getting no response, Daenerys made rapid and deliberate steps towards Jon causing Ghost to stand, bearing his teeth at her. The nearby whites readied themselves, placing their hands on their weapons but taking no action against her.
Daenerys was stopped with one foot placed on the first step. Froze by the dire wolf that stood over her. "The Jon Snow you knew felt you were a danger to the seven kingdoms, and his family." Jon finally stated. Daenerys eyes moved to his, animosity still laced on her face.
"I am his family." Daenerys snarled.
No emotion seemed to form on Jons face, just a cold blank stare was in its place. "If I must, he references the Starks as his true family. You were nothing more than a diplomatic solution, a means to solve his momentary issues. Though, I feel he does not much care for them now. Or you. Or anything else for that matter." Daenerys glowered at that statement. The man sitting in front of her was no longer Jon. Whatever vile thing had its hold on him has made him into something else, against everything Jon ever stood for. Regardless of whether the actual Jon remained, she would make him pay with fire and blood. He stole the last thing she had to live for, swept it out from underneath her feet. She did not care if his intentions were pure or righteous. No one deceives Daenerys Stormborn and continues to live.
"I, Aegon Targaryen, the White Wolf, am the one who will bring the long night." Jon took a step down the stairs followed by another. This caused Daenerys to step back matching his pace. "The Jon Snow you know and remember is dead. He died that day he drove a dagger into Daenerys Targaryens heart." He came to a stop a mere foot from Daenerys. They both examined each others face. It was only interrupted by the sound of clothing and flesh tearing. Jon looked down to find a dragonglass dagger shoved into his abdomen. A smirk grew across his face as a result. He raised his head towards Daenerys as he pulled the blade out. No blood left the opening nor did he collapse. Head tilting to the side, "Did you really think dragonglass would have an affect on me? I am a Targaryen. I have the blood of dragons and wolves alike running through my veins."
Daenerys notices a warp in the demeanor of his eyes. Jon lunges at her, clutching the back of her head tightly while he holds her face close to his. Jon smashes his lips into hers, fighting for entry. She tries to squirm from his hold, placing both hands on his chest and pushing back, separating the two. She gasps for air with a revolting expression on her face. Jon grins at her with a predator like gaze. He takes a bold step towards her before Daenerys shoulder is ripped back as Tormund pushes himself between her and Jon. "What have you done to my little crow!?" His nostrils flared, disgusted as to what has become of Jon. Tormund scans Jon up and down. He has been twisted by white walker magic. Consumed with what inhabited deep within his subconsciousness. His strings were being pulled by a guiding hand. Any hint of what he use to be, was gone.
"I think it is time for the both of you to leave." Jons facial expressions had returned to monotone and emotionless. Stomping his foot into the ground, a forceful wave sends Tormund and Daenerys flying into the wall. Free snow and ice flow past them as they attempt to gain their footing before suddenly being dragged back towards Jon. Daenerys back slide across the floor while Tormund was shoved onto his stomach.
Ice condensed into the form of a spear as Jon arched his arm back, driving it down to where Daenerys was projected to be. Narrowly missing her shoulder the spear pierced her cape, stopping her movement. Tormund skidded past unopposed. Jon was bent over at the waist, parallel with Daenerys on the ground. With him in a vulnerable position, Daenerys delivered a swift kick up and into his side. She let out a wail as she applied as much power as she could manage. It did not even phase him.
Jons fist connected with her cheekbone, sending her head down to ricochet off the ice. He grabbed the neck of her armor, pulling her flimsy body closer and allowing for a second meeting of her face with his fist. Daenerys lip was severed as blood trickled from her nose. Her vision blurred with her conscious altered from the onslaught. Unable to tell up from down, gravity seemingly pulled her every direction.