Dragons of Ice and Fire

by Diablo Snowblind

There are things hidden in the far north, secrets buried under ice. Jon Snow faces the white walkers early, and stumbles upon a power that could change the world. It forges a new path for him and everyone around him - and a new journey south, a journey as a dragon. The world begins to change - with steel and snow, fire and blood…

15. The battle of night, of ice

The battle of night, and the battle of ice

---

Val

Her screams echoed through the camp, making Val's blood run cold. She stood by her sister's side, holding her hand. The sound of Dalla's shrieks never stopped. Val had never seen her in so much pain.

"Keep breathing," the old woman ordered, crouching between Dalla's legs. "The babe's coming, but it's in the wrong position. Don't push yet."

"… It hurts… !" Dalla screamed in gaspy breaths, sweat dripping down her brow. Val clutched her hand, stroking her hair and whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

"Is the baby alright?" Val demanded, looking up to the three midwives.

"It'll be a difficult birth," the old woman replied, as a bucket of water was placed next to her. "First times always are."

"But is the baby alright?" she insisted, noticing how the old woman never answered the question.

"Stay calm, girl, I've seen worse births." Again, that never answered the question. From the dark glances the women gave her colleagues, Val guessed they couldn't have seen many worse.

The women were from Craster's keep. The oldest was over sixty, while the youngest looked barely fifteen, yet she still had a young babe at her chest. Craster's wives had joined them after Harma raided the keep, and Craster himself took an axe to the head. None of his wives had been particularly upset to see the old man go.

Still, they proved capable midwives, and as hardy as any free folk. Val had offered them protection in the camp if they cared for Dalla.

Her sister's screaming put her on edge. Val would rather face down a pack of hungry wolves than listen to her sister scream.

The baby was coming now, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Dammit, Val cursed. Of all the nights…

It was a moonless night, cold and bitter. They were less than two days away from Hardhome, so close that their few mounted men had already went ahead and came back, reporting a large settlement with fortifications and protection, building ships and offering food. A place where the free folk could finally find shelter out of the forest.

They were at the final leg of their journey. Everyone in Val's camp had grown weary and hungry, and right now they were so close they could feel it.

Just one more day's march, Val thought. We were only one more good day's walk…

That was part of the problem, though. They were so close that many of the free folk had decided to walk on through the night. There were maybe five thousand in the camp and another eight walking on ahead. That was a lot of people trekking through the forest at the dead of night, desperate to reach the peninsula by daybreak.

This is wrong, she thought. They had been careful all through the journey, setting up camp diligently, only to slip up on the final leg. Any other time, Val might have been tempted to join them in a night's march, to try and keep the host together as much as possible, but then her sister went into labour and there was no choice for her but to stop.

Garth and two dozen mounted men had went on to try to secure passage into Hardhome. Sigorn and his Thenns had left as well, to protect the host as much as possible, but they were already scattered.

Too many tales, Val thought. They had all heard mad tales about salvation and protective gods, tales that only seemed to get stronger the closer to Hardhome. It had left so, so many free folk desperate to finally reach the settlement.

Her sister was crying. One of Craster's wives rubbed Dalla's stomach, trying to massage the baby into position.

"It's alright, it's alright," Val whispered, frantic. "It's alright, it's alright…"

It wasn't alright. Not even slightly. The tent seemed freezing cold. The fire in the centre of the room flickered.

"We need more logs for the fire," the old woman ordered. "Gilly!"

The young woman, a mousy girl clutching a baby, stood up flustered. Gilly is a new mother herself, Val realised. The last of Craster's babies. "It's alright," said Val, motioning for Gilly to sit down. "I'll get them."

Val needed to get out of the tent, and Dalla looked delirious. Val's hands trembled. She pushed her way out, taking a deep breath. The night seemed dark even despite the many fires burning around the camp.

My little sister is going to survive, Val thought. She's going to hold her son. She has to.

"Will you shut that bitch's whining up?" A dark voice growled. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

Val glared, turning around to see the Lord of Bones at the tent, frowning at her. "You talk about my sister again and I'll see to it you never have children of your own, Rattleshirt," Val warned.

The man scoffed. "I just want some fucking quiet. Dammit, is she whelping a cow in there?"

There was another strangled scream from the tent. Val's gaze flickered. "Firewood," she said. "I need firewood."

There should have been a surplus of chopped wood by the main camp fire. Val had been insistent - always keep enough more than enough wood to keep the fires going. Now, the wood stack was nearly empty.

The sight made her growl. "Who the fuck has been skimping on wood chopping?" She shouted, glaring at the men watching the fire.

"What the hells are you talking about?" Rattleshirt snapped. "There was a full stack."

Val hesitated, suddenly staring at the surrounding fires. She could see the flicker of the torches through the trees. All of their fires were flickering, starving. Why are we burning so much wood?

She breathed outwards, and watched the mist shiver in the air in front of her. It's cold, she realised slowly. Very cold . Val's skin tingled. The cold had a way of creeping up on you.

Val staggered backwards slowly. The air was very quiet.

"… Oh no…" She muttered. Every instinct she had was screaming at her. Her breaths were shallow.

She rushed back into the tent. The women shared a dark look. Suddenly, all of the shadows seemed deeper.

Val never even needed to say anything. "… Aye," the old woman murmured, still tending to Dalla's side. "They're coming. I can feel it in my bones."

Val could feel it too. It felt like cold creeping under her skin, a cold as sharp as fear. Val's heart pounded.

"… Look after my sister," she said after a long pause. "Look after Dalla."

"We're not going anywhere," the old woman promised. Her voice was sad, resigned. "… Always knew we'd see them again… Craster's boys…"

"Gilly," another of the wives hissed at the young woman. "Take your boy and run. Don't let them take yours as well."

Gilly looked wide eyed and frantic. Val hesitated momentarily, before clutching the sword on her belt and rushing back outside.

She knew it almost before she heard the cry. The long sharp sound of a war horn cut through the night. It was strangled prematurely by a short scream.

"Form up!" Val bellowed, charging out clutching her sword. "Form up! We're under attack!"

There were more sounds all around her. The dark trees had never seemed so terrifying. Val could see figures rushing around the flickering flames, but it was too dark to see who or what. All around her, wildlings clutching weapons rallied themselves, but the air was thick with panic.

"Who is it?" Rattleshirt demanded. He gripped a long and sharp spear, tipped with a mammoth's tusk blade. His dogs barked furiously, so loudly Val could hardly hear him. "Where are they?"

There was a moment of absolute panic. Man ran grabbing weapons, shouting for formations. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

A small figure in a shadowskin cloak scrambled towards them, flanked by a towering shadow. The great white bear reared up and roared, while Varamyr Sixskins burst into the towards them. Three wolves scattered around his feet.

"They're here!" Varamyr shouted. The skinchanger was a small, scrawny figure clad in long, fine clothes and flanked by his beasts. "Attacking from the west!"

"The dead?"

"No." His voice was grim. "The crows."

Val turned. For a moment, there was darkness. Then, she saw figures in black riding through the trees. The sound of galloping horses charging through snow was deafening. Mounted riders charging through the camp.

The Night's Watch was attacking.

"Form up!" She shouted, clutching her sword tightly. "Form up!"

She saw arrows rain from the tree line. Men fell, and then horses were charging.

Rattleshirt released his hounds. Varamyr's wolves charged too, and then his snow bear lumbered forward as well. The wildlings had axes and spears, charging to meet the riders. Some of the horses reared and fell, but the rest just charged through.

The horses were strong and powerful. They barrelled straight through the men. Val saw lances lunging towards her.

That was the last thing Val knew before the world was consumed by panic and chaos.

The rider was just a shadow in black looming over her. Val tried to get close enough to cut at the horse, but then she glimpsed the tip of a lance zooming towards her head. She ducked, but the edge came so close she felt the tip scrape against her hood.

The body of the horse barrelled into her, knocking her into the snow. Val gasped, feeling her head spin. She was suddenly on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the bodies dropping around her.

Flaming arrows rained out of the darkness. Tents caught fire. After the charge came men on foot - rangers clutching iron swords as they rushed to meet the wildlings.

Everywhere she looked, there was fighting or burning.

A bloodthirsty roar broke through the daze. Val saw Varamyr's bear pouncing on a mounted man, dragging the horse physically to the ground. The horse neighed, kicking and screaming under the bear's claws, while more riders circled around it, furiously stabbing at the bear with spears.

An eagle screeched downwards from the sky, flying and clawing into a rider's face and knocking him straight off his horse, screaming. Wolves pounced on the screaming man in a second.

Val saw the Lord of Bones howling and screaming barely decipherable insults as he met two rangers at once, meeting their swords with his spear. "Come on you kneelers!" The Lord of Bones snarled, swinging his spear madly. "I'll skin your bones and fuck your corpses!"

The two crows tried to overpower him, but Rattleshirt spat in one's face and kicked the other in the groin. They stumbled, and one of the crows fell quickly under Rattleshirt's spear. The other crow tried to skewer the Lord of Bones before he pulled his spear back, but then one of Rattleshirt's dogs grabbed the crow by the leg and dragged the man down screaming. Rattleshirt's spear plunged through his skull.

"Free folk!" Rattleshirt screamed, dragging his bloody spear upwards. "On me! Every fighting man on me!"

The Lord of Bones is a scrawny, nasty bugger, Val thought, but he knows how to kill.

Val tried to stagger upwards off the ground. She glimpsed a man trying to charge towards her, but then a shape, as strong as a bear, tackled him to the ground and a heavy maul broke his skull. Harma Dogshead was standing over Val, her clothes dripping with blood. Her friend helped her to her feet.

"Protect the tent…" Val gasped. "Dalla…"

She could still hear her sister's screams. My sister is giving birth and the Night's Watch is attacking…

The crows had a good start - their riders tore through their camp and did huge damage, but the battle was slowly changing. Harma's men joined the fray, around the tent, while the Lord of Bones and his men were fighting through the crows up ahead. Varamyr's bear died from the rider's spears, and, like a craven, he had sacrificed his wolves to clear him a path to flee.

Still, the majority of the wildlings had scattered, fleeing from the camp. The fighting men and spearwives were still dispersed, helpless as the crows cut through them from all directions. The riders were still running ahead, charging through the rest of the camp, but more and more of them were toppling off their horses.

The second rain of arrows came splattering down, and another dozen men fell.

Val saw the dark shadows of the crows on foot heading towards them. There were maybe fifty crows left in the clearing, against the eighty free folk that had managed to rally. All others were running.

Protect the tent, Val thought furiously, clutching her sword. Protect Dalla.

A wordless war cry tore from her throat as she charged.

The free folk collided with the crows in a dull clash, splitting the air with grunts and sharp screams of pain. Val saw men wrestling with each other like bears, trying to drag each other to the ground.

For once, Harma and the Lord of Bones fought side by side. The Lord of Bones was like a viper with his spear; precise, quick and deadly. The sound of his bone shirt clanging filled the air. Next to him, Harma was a natural brawler, swinging her maul hard and fast and sending men tumbling backwards.

Val saw a free folk fall to a crow's sword across the fire. He was heading towards the tent. Val was already charging, her bronze short sword in hand as she slashed hard.

She hoped to catch him by surprise, but the man was swift. Bronze clashed against steel as he parried.

Val saw his eyes widen in surprise. He was a young man, thirtyish, with dark brown hair, wispy beard and a weak chin. He wore a heavy breastplate and a sable-trimmed cloak. Val's blonde hair was unravelled, whipping across her face as she hacked at him.

He backed away, blocking her sword on a dark oak shield. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes as he circled. Near the tent, Gilly was crouching, hiding from the fighting with her baby in her arms. Gilly was crying. The sound of Dalla's screams could still be heard.

"There's no honour in fighting women!" The crow shouted. "All women and children surrender and you will not be harmed! On my honour!"

"Fuck that!" Val hissed. "Fuck you!"

They collided. The crow was bigger than her, stronger too. He had a long steel sword as well as a reinforced wood shield, while Val only had a bronze short sword not much more than a large dagger. A single blow from him could overpower her.

Still, Val was faster. She could swing twice before he could manage once. His sword was much heavier, more cumbersome than hers. That shield of his protected him, but it also restricted his movements. Val's vision blurred as she slashed furiously, each blow hacking off his shield.

Never stay in one place, Val thought. Circle around him, keep on moving. Don't let it turn into a brawl, force him to turn to meet you.

His legs were staggering slightly as Val twisted around him, still hacking with every step. He had good reflexes, blocking each blow, but struggling to swing his sword. Val didn't dare try to parry, instead she darted backwards.

She was hoping he would try and give chase, and maybe leave himself open. He didn't, instead he stood his ground to hide behind his shield.

Val could see the sweat dripping off his brow. Val was gasping for breath. I'm going to tire faster than he will, she thought angrily. Still, she couldn't even feel the exhaustion over the sound of her heart pounding.

My sister. Protect my sister.

Val charged, screaming bloody fury. "Free folk!" She howled, swinging so hard she thought her sword might snap. "Free folk! Free folk!"

They collided. All around them, the night was screaming.

Val slammed against his shield with all her strength, so hard she could feel the bruises forming on her shoulder. Finally, the crow staggered, losing his footing.

His sword flailed wildly. Val slashed upwards. Blood steamed in the cold air.

The crow's eyes widened in horror as his sword dropped to the ground, along with three of the fingers on right hand. The blood oozed from his mutilated hand, half of his palm slashed wide open.

To his credit, he didn't fall back or yield. The crow gripped his shield tightly and tried to charge her, bludgeoning her with the solid wood. Val staggered, gripping his shield tightly with one hand as she struggled to bring her sword around with the other.

"For House Smallwood," he said, so softly Val barely heard it. "For the realm."

Val's blade broke through his defence, stabbing him straight under the arm. It was an awkward cut - Val couldn't get any leverage - but it caused him to stagger. The second stab was much better.

She wrestled his shield away as he dropped to the ground, on his knees. Val plunged her sword forward, his time straight into his chest, above his breastplate and into his sternum.

"For my sister!" She hissed, stabbing repeatedly with the sword.

His body was tough and her blade felt blunt. She must have ruined the edge hitting it against his shield. It took multiple strikes before he finally stopped moving. His blood splattered, so warm it stung.

Val gasped for breath, struggling to breathe. All around her, the crows were retreating. The Night's Watch were falling back, but none of the free folk were celebrating. It wasn't a victory.

The crows had already done their damage, now they were just retreating before their body count started to stack up as well.

Crows are evil, cunning birds. They would never fight to the death, and they would retreat in any battle they began to lose. Still, they'll never retreat too far; they would just fall back to their next position and await their next chance to gouge out your eyes.

She stared around the trashed camp, feeling her stomach squirm. The camp was ruined - most of the free folk had already fled into the forest. They would be running scared, alone, and at night.

By morning, the wilderness would have killed more people than the crows ever could.

Val had seen these tactics before. They had proved so devastating at the Frostfangs. Small groups of crows would be assaulting them all along the camp, bloodying them and then retreating. The crows would let them bleed out, before returning to finish the job.

Val looked around her, meeting Harma's eyes. The raider's gaze was dark. Across the camp, the Lord of Bones was cursing, clutching his side where a weapon had grazed his hip, shattering his armour of bone. Some of the raiders tried to pursue the crows, but both Harma and Rattleshirt had held back, cautiously.

The smell of blood hung in the air, as sharp as a blade. Val could still hear the sounds of fighting in the distance. It was cold, so very cold.

Next to her, Gilly was weeping as she clutched her child. Val stared at her, but the girl never met her eyes. Gilly held her baby so close to her chest.

A new sound broke through the ground. The sound of wailing. A baby's wailing.

Val's heart pounded. The sound was coming from the tent. Her nephew. Dalla's babe. Her sister's babe was born, and he was wailing. I have a nephew. A boy's screaming.

Dalla…

There were screams in the distance. Even as Val listened, she could hear those screams falling silent. The newborn was still wailing. The air was so cold.

In the distance, a horn blew sharply. Not a wildling horn, but a horn of Night's Watch. The horn sounded three times.

Val listened to the screaming. So many men, women and children were left running blindly in the forest, and they were here. The dead are here…

The Others were intelligent too. They must have been waiting for their opportunity, watching the sworn brothers and the free folk fight. Weakening them both until the moment the Others swept in…

"Fucking crows…" Val cursed. "Fucking crows… !"

Between the trees, the shadows whispered and hissed. It was so cold it felt like a knife in her chest. The dead are coming.

---

Jon

"Evacuate to the caves!" Jon bellowed, shoving his way through the crowd. Men and women were running around him madly. He had to scream just to be heard over the sound of so much chaos. "All refugees to the caves!"

Everyone on the peninsula could see the sails coming quickly now. It was already dusk, and the lights on the prow of the ships on horizon shone in the gloom. Jon had only just got off Alvin's boat, yet there was no time. He was still dripping wet and he could feel the chill in his bones, but his heart was beating so fast. Alvin had sailed as fast as he could, but the fleet was still right behind them. They were already sailing across their perimeter.

How long before they got here? An hour? Maybe less?

"Snow!" A voice bellowed. Jon saw the Weeper marching towards him, slamming people out of the way roughly. The Weeper had his scythe over his back and two short swords on his hip. "Your bloody friends are here!"

Jon shook his head. "They can't be the Night's Watch, I've never seen those ships before…"

There are twenty-four ships, Jon thought. Alvin had counted. Eastwatch kept an active fleet of three ships; the Talon, the Storm Crow, and the Blackbird . There were maybe half a dozen more ships that they could man in emergencies. Now where did all the others come from?

"Who the bloody hell are they, then?"

"They look like Free City galleys. Pirates? Slavers? I don't know, I…"

"I recognise one of them," Alvin called, jumping out of the boat. "That ship in the middle, near the left - she's the Blackbird, from Eastwatch. The other twenty-three I've never seen, but I know the Blackbird well enough."

Jon stammered, struggling how to react. Then the Night's Watch is taking part in this attack? What did that make the other ships? Sellsails? Reinforcements? That was bad. He saw the men's gazes flicker too. Jon knew that Night's Watch only had a thousand men. How many more men might this fleet bring?

The Weeper was glaring at him, eyes twitching. Jon bit his lip. Dammit, he cursed. I knew the Night's Watch would try to stop us sooner or later. They still think the wildlings are the threat, not the Others. They're coming to stop a wildling horde before it has time to form. I just thought I had more time…

Jon knew that the Weeper had agreed to work with him, but there was always that shadow hanging over their heads of what Jon would do when he had to raise swords against his sworn brothers.

The very thought of fighting against Grenn, Pyp, Toad or, gods forbid, Sam, made Jon feel physically ill.

Pick a side, the Weeper's voice echoed.

I'm on the side of the living, he thought. Never the dead.

"Get archers on that ridge!" Jon ordered, glaring back at the Weeper. "They're vulnerable as they come into the beach; we need bowmen on cliffs to fire at them. All warriors, along the bay! We hold position by the beach, and we fight with the high ground."

"We kill them all!" The Weeper roared, to the sound of cheers.

Jon's stomach twisted. No, we just hold them back. Force them to retreat…

The fear was so thick it felt like a knife in his chest.

"What about our ships?" The Lord of Seals demanded angrily. He clutched a bone spear tightly, beefy body covered in a seal hide cloak. "Our ships are on the beach!"

Jon shook his head. The boats and barges on the beach would be unprotected. "Forget about them. We can't defend them, and we'd lose too many people trying. We defend the camp."

Jon saw the flicker of uncertainty passing through the crowd. The Lord of Seals looked furious. They had spent weeks constructing their fleet, and now it might be for nothing. I always expected an attack from the land, not from the sea, Jon cursed. They had built their defences along the mainland, and they were vulnerable on the coast.

There was a moment of hesitation. The Weeper filled the silence. "You heard him!" The Weeper roared, cutting in for Jon. "Get moving, you chicken-shits, or I'll peel your eyes out!"

The men scrambled. Jon saw spearwives sprinting into position. Jon's heart pounded, and he could only hope he was doing the right thing. The Old Bear won't waste men, he told himself, the Night's Watch has too few of them. If they see a strong and unified defence, they'd retreat .

I need to force them to retreat - it's the only way to save lives.

Everyone's lives. Theirs and ours.

The whole battle was unnecessary, Jon cursed. They should be fighting against the white walkers, not the wildlings.

The Weeper was staring at him, with narrow eyes. "… We going to have a problem here, Snow?" He asked quietly. The way he pronounced 'snow' - it sounded so similar to 'crow.'

"… No," Jon replied. "No problem."

The Weeper glared at him. I can use Sonagon. I can scare them - end the battle before it begins.

Please, please, let them scare easily.

Jon's gaze flickered. He moved to step by the Weeper, when the man's hands clutched Jon's by the collar and dragged him to one side. All around them, there were people shouting and running. "… Snow," the Weeper snarled. "… Answer me properly this time. Do we have a problem here? "

Jon gulped, trying to stare at the man's crazed eyes, inches away. I can't fight against my sworn brothers . Jon knew he couldn't. And the Weeper could see it in his eyes.

"… Same rules apply," Jon said, taking a deep breath. "Just like I said when we first met. If they don't surrender, if they insist on attacking us, then we attack back."

"I'd feel more confident about that if you met my eyes, Snow," he snarled. "Your face is pale, and your hands can't stop trembling. Now what am I looking at? Just another boy scared of his first battle? Or do we have a problem? "

Damn, is it really so obvious? If I look like a craven then half the men here will abandon me on the spot. Jon had to force himself to pull himself together.

I've fought wights plenty of times, but going into a battle against living men… Good men…

His hands were trembling and he couldn't get them to stop. But what was the choice? Order the free folk to flee? That was just foolish. But which one will end up killing the most people? Fighting a battle or trying to run from it?

No, the only way that everyone survives this is if that fleet is the one that is forced to flee.

Jon forced himself to meet the Weeper's gaze. Faint streams of blood trickled down from man's eyes. It's the cold, Jon realised. The Weeper cries blood on cold nights. "I'll do my duty, Weeper," said Jon. "You just do yours."

Men were running everywhere, clutching weapons. The sun had fallen and it was already dark. The clouds were thick and cold. It's a moonless sky, Jon noted. A good night for an ambush.

"Furs! Haldur!" Jon ordered, pushing through the crowds and picking out the men. "Grab as many bowmen as you can find and get them up onto that ridge. We need burning arrows - aim for their sails. Hatch, Rolf, Erik, Yoldo - on me!"

"Aye, aye."

The Weeper would have to lead the main body of men; he was the only one who could. The man was already assembling his warband, his screaming bellowing over the chaos. Still, the Weeper wouldn't think about protecting the refugees, so Jon had to support him. "Find Bullden Horn, have him lead the flank," Jon ordered to a nearby group of men. "And Old Man Harwick, have him form up near the caves at the rear."

There were men running wild. Can't let them lose control. "All shipbuilders!" Jon bellowed, so loud his lungs hurt. "On me! Any lumber or logs, drag them to that ridge as quickly as possible!"

"We won't have time to build any decent wall, Snow," Hatch warned.

He shook his head. "Not going to build a wall, we're going to burn them." A lot of effort had been put into gathering that much lumber, but there was nothing for it. "Burn the logs and roll them down the beach when ready. You think you can handle that?"

"Damn right I can."

It was so hard to even think clearly in the noise of the camp. Jon hesitated, staring out over the horizon. They were getting closer. Jon could make out the striped hulls in the distance. What sort of ships had striped hulls?

He saw Alvin Whaletooth dragging up from the beach with his men. The sailor held a barbed spear and a thick leather shield, gathering his clan from the camp. "Alvin, can you make out their banners?" Jon shouted. "What flag are they flying?"

There was a long pause. "A stag," Alvin said eventually, looking through his spyglass. "A stag in a red heart."

"Well, they're sure not here to say hello," Rolf growled, clutching two throwing axes. "Who the fuck are they?"

"I don't know," he admitted. A stag in a red heart? The coat of arms was unfamiliar. Still, the stag was the sigil of the Baratheons - some division of House Baratheon maybe? Was this a part of the Royal Fleet? "… The Night's Watch sent out requests for aid," Jon said finally. "I guess somebody else answered."

How many? Twenty-four ships, with three hundred men in each one? They could easily be dealing with an army of seven thousand. A force of seven thousand knights could beat twice that number of barely organised wildlings.

The wildling's boats would be useless against war galleys like those. They couldn't fight at sea; they would have to fight on land. The ships would have scorpions, spitfires and maybe even heavy catapults. Their bows would outrange the wildlings. From a range, they'd beat the wildlings.

And these are soldiers from the Seven Kingdoms, Jon thought. Maybe there are men from the north among them too. Maybe men from Winterfell. Good soldiers, answering a call to protect the realm. Men that don't deserve to die…

A stag - that must mean Baratheon. Maybe the king himself, whoever that was now. Robert Baratheon had been a good friend of Winterfell. My father would curse me if I fought against the realm. To fight against the men my father lived, fought and died for…

He couldn't stop his hands from trembling.

"Snow!" Someone shouted, rushing to him. "We've got Mother Mole and her bunch by the heart tree! They refuse to go to the caves."

Damn, the heart tree is far too exposed, the refugees need to get to the caves. If the soldiers broke the beach, then they needed to keep all the refugees safe and out of the way, otherwise the battlefield could become too chaotic to fight. Jon was limping badly as he rushed. He had to strip off his soaking furs and cloak even as he walked. His leathers were still damp from the sea, and the cold wind felt like it stripped straight through him.

In the firelight, the shadows rippling, it looked like the heart tree was alive again. He could feel the crowd of people part around him as he walked.

Jon saw Mother Mole. The old woman was a shadowy figure as she clutched a bloody dagger in her hand. Jon heard squealing - the sound of goat crying in pain as the wood witch plunged a sharpened bone dagger into its chest. He heard the animal's skin tear as Mother Mole ripped it open brutally, spreading its entrails over the roots as she chanted. The goat's heart was placed in the heart tree's mouth.

All around him, the crowd was chanting almost wordlessly as they huddled together. Between the darkness, the blood and the frenzy, it felt… savage… surreal. The weirwood's bloody branches rustled in the darkness and the wind.

"… You need to retreat to the caves," Jon said, his voice strangely turning quiet. "In case they breach the shore, you need to get to the caves."

She didn't reply for a long moment. Her eyes seemed distant, staring at the goat's blood. In times of trouble, they sacrificed an animal, a goat or a sheep. Perhaps I'm lucky that it's just an animal, Jon thought, there had been rumours .

There was the sound of frantic neighing. A sheep being dragged by another two followers to be sacrificed. Jon hesitated, staring upwards at the shadows and white branches rippling.

"They'll come for you," her wheezy old voice said, breaking the silence. Jon stared at Mother Mole, limping forward on a gnarly cane. "I've seen it. They'll fight you with fire and false light, and they will not fall back easily. There is a power of their own on that ship. I've seen it - a witch as false and as bitter as smoking ash."

Jon's face flickered. The old woman spoke quietly, but every ear strained to listen. For a second, the old woman's eyes seemed black in the torchlight. "But I promised salvation would be found in this place, and that is still true," Mother Mole continued. "You will lead us away from the Long Night."

"Get them to the caves," Jon said. "They follow you, take them to the caves."

"… We will. If it puts your mind at ease, then we shall retreat…" She muttered. "Yet the Old Gods shall fight with you, King Snow, I promise it. Let the darkness be your armour and your cloak… Let the shadows protect you… "

Jon froze, glancing around. He could hear the thump of footsteps, of free folk banging against their shields. There was no time, he had to go grab his heavy leathers, bronze disk chainmail and his shield before the battle.

Up on the cliff, he saw burning arrows and firepits being lit. The ships were still out of range, but not far now. The best of their bowmen were firing the first arrows, testing the distance.

"Snow!" A wildling shouted, running forward. "We got outriders at the perimeter! There are people in the forest!"

"Ours?"

"Aye, refugees!"

"Then get them to help or keep the bloody bastards back!" The Weeper cut in, surrounded by armed men clutching torches and axes. "We got ships nearing the beach right now!"

Outriders. Val's host . Jon had known they had been nearby, they must be climbing up Storrold's Point right now. Was there enough time to get them in as reinforcements? No, probably not . There was barely enough time for Jon to strap his leathers on him. It would be freezing, but Jon did without his cloak. He saw men rushing around him in frenzy.

"We got a problem!" Hatch bellowed. "That bloody fool - the Lord of Seals is trying to save his damned boats."

"What?!" Jon and the Weeper shouted together. The chaos felt overwhelming. So many running, so much happening at once.

Hatch pointed. "Him and his men have gone to the boats, to try and get them to safety!" he shouted. "They're taking them out to sea!"

Jon could have pulled his hair out. The fool. He could see the Lord of Seals and his men on the coast, stealing quite a few shipbuilders as well. Ordering people he had no right to order. Maybe two hundred men, trying to get the half-constructed boats and barges out of the way. They would be easy targets for the fleet. The Lord of Seals had taken two hundred men and left them totally exposed.

What to do? Try to pull them back? No, half of them are already pushing the boats into the water. I need to get them out of the way faster . Jon cursed, but the Lord of Seals left him no choice. "Alvin!" Jon bellowed, looking for Alvin Whaletooth. "Devyn! Byrd! Take your men and get down there and help that fool. Get them out of the way as quickly as possible."

"Aye," Alvin replied, grabbing his sailors and starting to run, but there was a hint of relief in his voice too. Alvin had ships at risk on the beach too.

There still won't be time, Jon realised. He could see the shadows of the galleys rolling along the dark waves. He could see the torches and the movement on their decks. The barges would be crushed by proper war galleys that size. I've got to push them back, give us more time to organise a proper defence…

"We need your dragon, Snow," the Weeper growled, echoing Jon's thoughts. "Get that bloody beast in the fight - time for the monster to earn its stay."

Could Sonagon fly? Probably, but his wings are still tender. The dragon might not be able to fly for very long.

And one dragon against twenty-four ships . A fleet armed with men with longbows and heavy scorpions. Sonagon was powerful, but he would have no protection in the air. Yet what other advantage do we have?

Jon could feel Sonagon now. The dragon was on his perch on the rocks off the coast, prowling softly but invisible in the darkness. Sonagon could smell the panic, his body tightening and a low growl in his throat.

Still, Jon hesitated. Something about this moment just felt wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck were tingling. The scar on his chest started to ache slightly.

Jon hadn't moved in several seconds. "Snow!" The Weeper snarled. "The dragon! Now!"

Jon blinked, staring up at the moonless sky. A dark night. A good night for an ambush. "Snow!"

For a second, amidst all the chaos and panic, it felt like everyone was running blind.

We were expecting raids tonight, he remembered with a chill running down his spine. "… The Others," Jon said suddenly. "We know that the Others are in the forest right now. They've been building up for an attack for a long time. Think about it; if the white walkers see a battle happening here, what are they going to do?"

The Weeper paused, his face twisting. The Weeper was no fool. He must have felt something was off as well.

"… You think they'll be attacking too?" The Weeper said after a pause.

"I think they'll take advantage of the distraction. We might be dealing with an attack from the forest too," said Jon. "We can't leave ourselves exposed to them, not even slightly."

His hands clenched. His weeping eyes narrowed. "We've got to split," he said with only the briefest pause. "I'll take four hundred men and hold the camp perimeter. You and your dragon lead the rest and deal with them in the boats. Hardhome is defendable, we'll hold them back."

Jon shook his head. "It's not us that I'm worried about," he said, lowering his voice and stepping closer. "… What about those in the forest?"

The Weeper's face twitched. "You mean the host Val leads?"

"Along with Rattleshirt, Harma, and Varamyr." Jon nodded. "We've got fortifications. They've got nothing. They're vulnerable."

He caught Jon's meaning. The Weeper growled throatily and shook his head. "Fuck 'em," he snarled. "Protect us and our own. We can't help them."

"They want to separate us," Jon hissed, squaring up to the bigger man. The Weeper was twice his age and twice his size, but Jon knew he couldn't back down. "The Others won't let us organise; they've been waiting for the worst possible moment to ambush us - before we can join together. They ambush us in the forest too, they beat us on both sides and they break us again. We can't let that happen. We fight together."

The Weeper was glaring down at him, mad eyes wide. "You want me to abandon a nice, safe camp and run after those fools in the woods?"

"Protect them, Weeper," Jon ordered, his voice as firm as he could make it. The Weeper was a maniac and a murderer, but right now they were on the same side. "All of them. Protect them."

The man's face twitched. "Take a thousand men. As many as you can gather," said Jon. "Stop the ambush. Get as many people back to camp as you can."

For a second, the Weeper looked ready to cut him. "… You know, I rea-lly…" The Weeper stretched out the word over his tongue. "… don't like it when you give me orders like that, crow," he warned.

"Pick a side," Jon said darkly. "Are you with the living or the dead? You let them die or you save their lives."

In this distance, a lone wolf howled. The sound rang out over the night. Ghost, Jon knew instinctively. The direwolf could smell the upcoming battle too.

The Weeper paused, scowling darkly. "I'll go," he said, his voice a whisper as he pushed up close to Jon. "… And when I get back, we're going to have a long discussion about how you talk to me."

"Happily."

The Weeper stomped away, drawing his scythe into both hands. "Aggis! Marthe! Bullden!" The Weeper roared at the wildlings around him. "With me, now! Come on, you bastards, we're going hunting! As many men as you've got! Harle! Devyn! Howd! Move it already, sheep-fuckers, we've got cunts to kill!"

Few things could get the free folk moving like the sound of the Weeper screaming. The Weeper knew every man he was bringing by name as he tore through the crowd, selecting his warband man by man.

"Keep them alive!" Jon shouted. "Val, Harma, Rattleshirt, Varamyr - protect them. We need as many free folk leaders as we can get."

"Aye," the Weeper snapped. "You just worry about those ships and that dragon!"

That I can do, Jon thought with a gulp. Plenty of worry here . He turned to stare at the sails in the distance, but coming closer quickly. The Weeper would have to take the best of their fighting men. If they breach the shore, then the whole camp is in trouble, Jon thought. I stop them from reaching the camp.

He closed his eyes, feeling the presence of Sonagon, Ghost and Phantom in his third eye.

Phantom would be too hard to control, and too flighty with all the panic. Instead, Jon just left the shadowcat to cower by the cliffs, watching over the perimeter. Phantom could smell blood in the air.

Ghost could handle himself. The direwolf was familiar enough with the raiders to follow the warband, and maybe Jon could observe the battle in the forest through Ghost's eyes. The direwolf was nervous, tense, but right now Jon needed the dragon more.

Jon could feel Sonagon growling, perched onto the rocks as he stared out over the harbour with inhuman vision. The dragon was invisible in the darkness, but Jon knew he was there.

The free folk were all scared. The last time ships had attacked Hardhome, it had been a massacre that stained the ground for six hundred years.

Everywhere Jon looked, he saw pale faces staring at him. Looking at him for protection. So many of those people were wearing white stones on their cloaks, Jon noted.

Be strong, Jon told himself, taking a deep breath. Fight for them. Fight for the living.

"Free folk!" Jon shouted, drawing Dark Sister in a smooth motion. "Everyone stand together! This is our home, and this our future! We fight so that our children can see the next summer, we fight for spring!" He met their eyes, still limping forward towards the cliffs. Dammit, my leg feels so stiff . "We stay together! We fight together!"

There were no cheers. Jon didn't know what he was expecting. Instead, he just saw hard faces illuminated by the torchlight. He just walked forward to the cliffs, willing himself to move.

The ships were close now. So close that the first of the bowmen started to fire on them from the cliffs around the beach. The free folk archers could help distract the soldiers on the fleet from the dragon.

Sonagon, Jon thought, reaching out and focusing. Help. Fight. Danger. Fight.

He felt his dragon stir, accepting Jon so easily. Jon gasped, and suddenly he was staring out through a dragon's eyes.

An image flickered through his head. The image of Jon sitting on top the dragon's back. It had only ever been in his imagination before. I need to direct the battlefield, he thought. I need to fly . The thought alone made his knees weak.

The roar was so loud it shook the earth. It felt like the howl of a storm rushing over him. The free folk all gasped. For a second, Jon could even swear that the rowers on the ships faltered.

Sonagon roared as he lumbered forward. His wings outstretched slowly, gingerly, flapping in the breeze. Jon could feel the dragon's pain from trying to fly on tender wings, but the urgency soaked through to the dragon too.

It's time to fly again, Jon thought, unconsciously holding his breath.

Sonagon crashed downwards, wings outstretching wide to catch himself before he hit the water. With an immense boom, the wind hit him and the dragon was soaring over the waves.

Jon felt the jolt of pain from Sonagon as the air collided with wounded wings, but that was overwhelmed by the pure exhilaration. The dragon's muscles felt weak, weary after recovering from his injury, but he was still so, so strong. With a single flap, the dragon pounded towards the coast.

Jon was moving forward even before he quite knew what he was about to do. His heart was beating in his chest harder than ever before as he stepped towards the cliffs. For a second, Jon was staring out of two sets of eyes.

The dragon slammed into the beach so hard that the ground shuddered. There were screams of shocks, curses, or prayers from the wildlings, but there was no time. The men on the ship would see the dragon too now, and Jon wanted to use all the element of surprise.

Sonagon twisted his head towards Jon, coming so close his horn scraped against the beach and caused rifts of sand and rock to scatter. Jon saw the rope flapping off the dragon's horn, and he grabbed a hold with both hands. He had to drop his shield to climb up. The hemp rope was soaking wet; cold, worn, but strong. He had to wrap his hand around it, and then suddenly the jerk of Sonagon's head took him off the ground. The earth seemed to just fall away from him with a slight movement of the dragon's long neck.

The world blurred. Jon was left flapping as the dragon twisted on the beach, swinging against hard, pointy scales. Jon's muscles strained as he dragged himself upwards, levering against the rope to pull himself onto Sonagon's head. All around him there were shouts and cheers, but Jon could only focus on the dragon in front of him, struggling to cling on tightly as he wrapped himself between the horns. The wind felt like a hurricane.

Even before Jon got a grip, Sonagon was already extending his wings again, flapping upwards with great, powerful strikes. Jon was left half-flailing, hanging on for dear life as the world dropped away before him.

The whole world seemed to blur. The force of that first beat of wings was beyond intense, so powerful it felt like the sky itself dropped down onto him.

Suddenly, they were rising up off the ground. Jon could see the entire camp, the entire peninsula, taking shape beneath him. The fires dotted around, like pinpricks of light in a sea of shadow. Jon gaped, struggling to breathe as the cold air hit him.

Jon focused on the ships through Sonagon's gaze. The men inside were screaming more than anyone. They were all looking upwards, at the behemoth of a dragon rising above them. Jon gasped and sputtered, staring down at the fleet from atop Sonagon's head.

I fight for the living, he thought. Always the living.

"Dracarys!" Jon screamed, clinging to Sonagon's horn with one arm and Dark Sister in the other. "Dracarys! "

Sonagon roared, pulling his head backwards before shooting forward and exhaling. Powerful wings cracked like thunder. The white flames shone as bright as a shooting star in the night.

The ocean froze.

---

Davos

The world was trembling.

Davos could feel the fear in his gut, like a frozen lump of lead pressing on his spine. The shouts and screams from the boat, mixed with the steady beat of the drums for the rowers were slowly reaching fever pitch.

"Row!" The helmsman shouted, as the coxswain pounded his drums. "Row! Row!"

The smell of sweat stuck over every surface. The ships were chanting, trying to stay in formation. The rowers hoisted as one, while every soldier held shields and swords tightly. They had built a shieldwall over the rigging to cover the deck, but even at the very last moments men were running to smear planks with tar, or reinforce their cover.

They were on Salladhor Saan's flagship, a great galleas, the Valyrian, at the head of the fleet. Twenty-two ships flanking around them, sailing in as close formation as they dared in the uncharted waters. The other six from Salla's fleet had been left behind along with the queen at Eastwatch. Three hundred rowers on the Valyrian alone, all rowers pounding furiously at they picked up speed preparing for the tack around the cape. Davos could feel the rowers from every ship in the fleet causing the ocean to vibrate.

The sky was pitch black and the waters were dark and swirling. The sailor in Davos felt himself curse; he didn't envy the captain's job right now. Any hidden rock off the coast could threaten them all.

The Night's Watch had offered a ship of their own, the Blackbird, for the fleet, but as a token gesture more than anything. They simply didn't have the numbers for a meaningful contribution to the naval assault. The sworn brothers were most familiar with the waters than anyone, though, and so a dozen sailors from Eastwatch had been scattered to assist their navigators on other vessels, while Cotter Pyke captained the Blackbird on the rear rank.

They were close enough that they could see the campfires now. The entire peninsula was lit. The shadows of the fires highlighted the flickering shapes of men. It was already past dusk, and they had to light the torches at the prows. They always knew that the wildlings would see them coming, but by timing it correctly then hopefully the camp would have less than two hours to prepare for their arrival.

The fleet was in good formation. They moved in four ranks of either five or six vessels, although slightly skewed trapezoidally so that when they turned they could beach at once. The Valyrian, the flagship, took the second rank flanked by the Bird of a Thousand Colours, Old Mother's Son and the Shayala's Dance . It would have been too dangerous to take the Valyrian on the front row, Davos had argued, yet the flagship still needed to be towards the front and centre.

Davos commanded on the Valyrian, under Stannis himself, while Ser Justin Massey, Ser Ormund Wylde, and Lord Sweet commanded the other ships on their rank. Lord Axell Florent commanded the rear two ranks from the Bountiful Harvest - larger cog, not a war galley - much to the lord's chagrin, yet it gave Stannis an excuse to respect the lord's status while keeping him out of the thick of the fighting. Justin Massey, commander of the Old Mother's Son, also gave Davos some pause - he considered the young knight to be too inexperienced for such a charge - yet Ser Justin was loyal and of high birth, and Stannis needed to reward him for his service.

Still, everyone knew that it would be the front rank that would face the hardest charge. The four ships at the very front would need to establish the beachhead. Nobody said it, but it was no coincidence that the majority of the knights and mounted men were travelling in the second rank while mostly enlisted soldiers and men-at-arms took the front rank. The front rank could take the brunt of the casualties and leave the beach open for the second. The ships at the front were the Saathos Saan, the Oledo, the West Allure and the Ariel Gail - they were all cogs or older vessels, still seaworthy and strong, but also ultimately expendable. The man in command of the forward vanguard was a landed knight Ser Clayton Suggs. Personally, Davos found Ser Clayton to be a despicable man, but there was no doubting his bravery to lead front line assault like that.

Even the sight of the horizon of campfires made Davos' knees weak.

"How many?" Stannis demanded.

"Hard to say," Davos replied, forcing his voice to stay level. "The Lord Commander guessed fifteen thousand." It looks like more, he added silently.

Davos was no tactician, but he could see a hard battle. The wildlings were well fortified. To attack from the coast will leave us vulnerable from the cliffs, he thought. The landing will be an uphill struggle.

The problem with any naval assault was always the landing. The difficulty was getting the ships onto the beach and as many men out of those ships as quickly as possible. Once a proper beachhead had been established it could be a more even fight, but until then it was perilous. Charging into unknown terrain at a disadvantage.

"Ser Richard will lead the charge," Stannis said. "I shall command the rear. Lord Davos, you will command the reserve."

"Yes, your grace." Davos knew little about leading men in battle. His first battle had technically been at the Blackwater, as disastrous as that was, but even then Davos had fell quickly. Even if the Hand of the King was technically leading the reserve, Davos had little choice but to leave leading the men to the knights Ser Patrek or Ser Godry Farring.

The reserve is important too . Should the battle turn sour, then the ships had to be ready to grab men and flee. Davos had spent hours obsessing over the possibilities; how to direct their ships, their formation. So much depended on the terrain and the weather, so much that could go wrong. Even a single unlucky rock or stray current could cripple galleys of this size in waters like these. Let alone trying to navigate and control them all in darkness…

"Milord, the Bountiful Harvest is falling behind, " Davos' son, Devan, reported as he stared through his spyglass. "They're trailing towards the port rear."

His boy looked so tall and handsome clad in his squire's raiment and surcoat, standing by the king. No, Davos thought, right now Devan isn't my son - he's acting as the king's squire. Focus on my duty .

Damn, the Bountiful Harvest always struggled on the upwind turns. Too much bulk and not enough masts, Davos thought with a grimace, but Lord Florent should still be keeping it more in line . "Signal the Ghiscari Prince to take up the slack," Davos ordered. "Keep the formation close to starboard."

They'd be dealing with arrows from the coast on the portside shortly, Davos needed to keep their defence tight on that side. He signalled to the spotted to pass the orders across. The whole deck was tense, anxious.

Still, Davos couldn't help remember the last time he had been part of an assault like this. They had a much larger fleet at the Blackwater, but the memory of that 'battle' still sent shivers down his spine. I lost four sons in that fire, and now my fifth sails with me for the next one .

"This is folly!" A loud voice shouted. Salladhor Saan looked furious. His hands, clad in precious gemstone rings, shook angrily. "Folly!" He pointed a shaking hand at Stannis. "You promised me the wealth of King's Landing! Not to lose my ships in the godforsaken barbarian north."

Stannis glared at the man. The pirate prince's face twisted. There was a nervous ripple through the crew. Even pirates avoided wildlings.

Stannis never replied. His gaze was focused on the fires in the distance. He kept one hand on his sword, Lightbringer, clad and covered in its sheathe.

Three of Stannis' guards, Ser Godry Farring, Ser Patrek of King's Mountain and Ser Richard Horpe, stepped into block Salla. The knights made a formidable barrier - all broad-shouldered, well-armoured, with hard, stern faces. The pirate prince was not so easily dissuaded.

"Are you listening to me, Stannis?" Salladhor demanded. "You promised gold but give nothing but cold! Now you take my ships to war?" His eyes narrowed. "You promised that this would be an easy battle against savages. That does not look like an easy battle to me, Stannis!"

There were nervous glances around the crew. Everyone was on edge, but Davos' stomach churned as he saw the ripple move through the pirates and sailors. The king's men outnumbered the pirates ten to one, but somehow that didn't make him feel better. This was still Salladhor's ship, and they were all relying on the pirates and the sailors to man the ship.

"Be quiet," Stannis said, his body and voice stiff. "You will have your due."

"Oh aye?" Salladhor demanded. "Are there mountains of gold up in the frozen north that I cannot see? Will these savages have hordes of treasure after the battle? Or am I just risking my ships on another wasted cause?" He glared at him. "You promise. You make promises spew from your mouth in the same way I piss!"

Finally, Stannis turned. His eyes were angry. "Now is not the time," he growled, turning to Ser Godry. "Take Salladhor here below deck and keep him there."

The knight tried to grip him. Salla twisted with surprising grace. "No no no no," the pirate lord muttered dangerously, eyes glinting. "You will not force me around, Stannis. Not here. Not on my ship."

His hand raised. Suddenly, the sound of drums halted. The rowers all stopped with the coxswain. The Lysene men looked tense, nervous. Stannis' men clung to the centre of the deck, around their king. They were all armed. Every pirate had a weapon close to hand too.

Stannis' eyes burned. "Get your men moving," he ordered.

Salladhor shook his head. "No. I am done with this folly. We either turn around right now or my men will not make another step. My men. My ship."

The Valyrian was gliding over the waters. Davos gulped. Without sailors to keep her steady, the ship could easily wash onto the coast. To say nothing about the wildlings on the coast.

The other ships were watching the Valyrian too. As soon as the flagship stopped moving, the others stopped as well. If Salladhor started a rebellion, it could claim all of their lives.

"… Your grace…" Davos warned, still watching Salladhor's men. The pirates are all trained killers. All eyes were alert on the rocking deck.

The king paused. "What are you trying to do here, pirate?" Stannis said, his voice low. Salladhor swaggered closer.

"I told you, I deserve payment."

"You will get it. But not now, not in battle."

"You would leave me Salladhor the Beggar? I could have left you to die on Dragonstone, or to die on the Blackwater. Payment is owed." All laughter was gone from his face. He motioned to the wildling camp. "Slaves. Good slaves will fetch high value in the Free Cities. Fill my ships with slaves after the battle, and you will hire my services for this night."

There was a dangerous glint in the pirate's eye. Davos had known Salla for a long time, but that glint still scared him. The pirate lord was not a man to cross, and for a second Davos might have considered agreeing.

Still, Stannis never considered it for a second. "No," he said. "There are no slaves in Westeros."

"We're not in Westeros, there is no law here-"

"I am here. I am the law."

The pirate's eyes flashed. "So that is that, then?" Salladhor muttered. "I get no reward for my loyal service. Oh, poor Salladhor. You say there are no slaves, but clearly you expect me to labour and serve like one. I will have it no longer."

Stannis stepped forward, towering over the man. Everyone on deck was clutching weapons. "… Salladhor Saan…" Stannis growled. "I promised you payment for your services, and payment will be received - but treachery will only ever have one reward. Do not push me in this, pirate."

The Lysene glared at him. "Turn my ships away from battle." He didn't back down.

Stannis never even hesitated. "Ser Godry, Ser Patrek, take this man to the brig," he ordered, clutching his sword. Salladhor tried to struggle, he opened his mouth to object. The two men overwhelmed Salla easily, clutching him and dragging him with gauntleted hands. "Gag him," Stannis ordered, and Godry clamped the pirate's mouth. The knight grunted as the Lysene tried to bite him, but they both dragged him away.

The other pirates were drawing weapons, standing off against the king's men. Stannis' eyes were solid as iron. Davos tensed. He expected a fight, a brawl, but instead the soldiers moved like clockwork. Stannis' soldiers were dispersed among the sailors, and they all had swords. They moved so quickly like they knew exactly what to do.

Davos was about to shout for men to stop the spotter from signalling the other ships in the fleet, but someone was already on it. Without even pausing, Ser Harys Cobb went straight to the drums and coxswain. Salla must have been counting on more of his men fighting for him in the confusion, but Stannis' men gave them no chance.

"Any man that refuses to follow orders will be thrown overboard," Stannis ordered, as his knights held swords to the pirate's throats. "Lord Davos, you are now captain of this vessel. You are in command."

Davos blinked. "… Yes, your grace." The Valyrian was larger than any ship he had ever captained before. "Pull up the rear sails!" Davos ordered, stepping to the rudder. "Starboard from the coast!"

A few pirates tried to object, but the king's men were on them quickly. "Get those drums beating!"

The coxswain refused to cooperate, but then two knights overpowered him and another man took his place at the drums.

Stannis' men must been have shadowing the officers on Salla's ship, waiting for the signal . The officers and captains might try to side with Salla, but the common sailors and rowers were mostly press-ganged in any case. Without anyone to signal, the other ships in the fleet wouldn't even know about the coup. Davos had never seen a mutiny so smooth or well-executed.

It took five minutes before they were moving again. In total, ten men had to be forcefully removed, but the rest complied with the new command. Stannis' men were ruthless, while Davos struggled to simply get his bearings.

They were approaching Hardhome quickly. They were on the other side of the cape, but tacking with the wind around the bend. Davos could see the wildlings getting rushing, fires and torches rushing. The wildlings have no siege weapons or ballistae, Davos realised. They would shortly encounter arrows from the cliffs, but otherwise the wildlings would have try and repel their landing on the ground.

Stannis walked up to Davos, eyes fixed ahead. Davos frowned, glancing at the king. Across the boat, Lady Melisandre slowly walked up onto the deck, staring in the distance. Even in the dark night, the priestess seemed to glow. The men rippled slightly with her presence. Her eyes were distant as she stared at the fires on the coast. Lord Florent had offered to keep her with him at the rear flank, but Lady Melisandre had insisted on travelling on the flagship by the king.

"… Once again, the Red Woman proves her worth," the king said, after a long pause, to Davos. "Lady Melisandre warned me of the pirate's betrayal. She saw it in her fires."

Davos blinked. "You knew he would object?"

Stannis nodded. "I made preparations."

No wonder it had been over so fast. The knights must have been forewarned. Salladhor had clearly been betting on more confusion and hesitation when he tried to take control. Davos blinked. Stannis must have warned two dozen knights and petty lords, but not him. "… I was not aware."

"You have always been sceptical of the Red Woman's prophecies, Lord Davos," Stannis replied. "And I was advised that your friendship with the pirate may cloud your judgement. If it did not come to pass, then I saw no reason to concern you."

'Advised', Davos thought. Advised by Axell Florent and his cohorts, no doubt. Still, there was nothing to do but not and accept it. "What do you want me to do, your grace?" Davos asked.

"Keep the crew in order," Stannis ordered. "Nothing has changed. None of the other ships need to know about Salladhor's mutiny until after the battle."

"Yes, your grace." Davos wondered briefly if it was really mutiny if the man mutinying actually owned the ship, before shaking the thought out of his head.

Stannis stormed into the middle of the deck. "We'll be in bow range shortly!" he shouted. "Get shields up and bowmen ready to return fire! Send the signal to man the scorpions and spitfires. All others off the deck." The king looked at Melisandre, lowering his voice. "My lady, you should return below deck."

"I am quite safe here, your grace," she replied with a faint smile.

"Are you sure? There will be arrows."

"The will of R'hllor is powerful here, your grace. He will protect me."

All around them, knights swarmed with more large shields, holding them in position on the rigging to cover bowmen on the deck. Sailors raced to cover the ship in wet pelts and position buckets of water to stop fires. The sails had been smeared with tar and vinegar to prevent burning arrows from spreading.

Melisandre smiled at Davos. "Come, Onion Lord," Melisandre offered. "Come take shelter under the grace of the Lord of Light."

Davos approached with hesitation, staring at the priestess in suspicion. She seemed happy, as if excited, and something about her knowing smirk put Davos on edge. He couldn't help but remember the last time he had led a fleet into battle, at the cursed Blackwater. Had Melisandre been smiling then too?

Still, he went to her. I'm standing by my king, he thought to himself. Not her.

Davos couldn't help but notice that he felt warmer just by being next to her. The air was bitingly cold, but it was like the closer he stepped to Melisandre the less he could feel the chill. The ruby around her throat shimmered in the torchlight.

They stood by the masts, watching the cliffs of Hardhome come into focus. The first arrow twanged in the air, but it was fired far too early. The arrow splashed into the water two hundred feet away from them.

"Prepare to beach, Lord Davos," the king ordered. "Ser Harys, ready the siege weapons. I will ready the knights."

They carried horses in the lower hull, but it would be too cumbersome to easily dismount them, and even worse to ride the horses up the steep slope. Instead, the king had resolved to win the battle using siege weapons and ballistae to clear the beach to establish a proper footing, and long catapults to devastate the camp.

The front rank contained mostly infantry, yet the larger vessels of the second had been outfitted with heavy weaponry. Most of their time at Eastwatch had been preparation and building siege engines.

The Valyrian had a dozen large, powerful scorpions mounted on the deck with much further range than a longbow, capable of firing bolts that that could skewer a man. Personally, though, Davos thought so many scorpions were a mistake - the bolt launchers were fantastic at naval combat, but not so good for firing upwards from a rocking boat against infantry.

Their spitfires were far better. The spitfires on the Ghiscari Prince, Shayala's Dance and the prow of the Valyrian could hurl pots of burning oil nearly as far, and the flames could be devastating against any beach force trying to repel them.

The Old Mother's Son and the Bird of a Thousand Colours, though, had been outfitted with lumbering catapults on the prow - rock launchers so heavy that Davos could see the ships struggling with the weight of them during the turns. The catapults were nightmarish to aim and they had limited ammo, but also the most powerful weapons they had; they could fire casks of burning oil, large stones, or barrels of jagged iron shards. The men on had even been hoarding the contents of their chamber pots during the journey; so they could launch foul waste during the first testing shots.

"Raise the flare!" Davos ordered to one of the men. "Ready the ballistae. Those cliffs. Now."

Ever since Eastwatch, everyday, the crew had been rehearsing the actions. The scorpions had the most ammo and the longest range - they could be fired first for covering bolts, along with longbows as soon as they came in range. While the first rank prepared to beach, the second would sit it in the bay and fire heavy weapons, and the third would support from the side. The men all looked pale and scared, but they moved through the practiced motions - clear, twist, hoist - like clockwork.

"Hold," Davos ordered, as they loaded up long bolts covered in oil-soaked rags. Flaming bolts longer than a sword. "Steady and hold. Wait for a clean shot."

The fleet was rocking on the waves. The beach came into view from their torchlight. It was rocky, leading up a sharp incline.

"Signal the Oledo to ready for landing," Davos instructed the signaller hunched in the crow's nest. "We land second, but fast. The third line can flank us, tell the Bountiful Harvest that the fourth stays in reserve."

"There are boats on the shore!" Their spotter called, ducking low and carrying a shield.

"Prepare the spitfires." The firmness of Stannis' voice was like a rock amidst the growing panic. "Burn the ships first. All commanders to their divisions."

More arrows were firing from the cliffs. He saw the burning tips flashing through the air. The furthest of them stabbed into the ship's hull. The wood was hard and soaked with salt. It wouldn't burn easily, but there was always a chance. Davos shuffled slightly further behind the shieldwall, but Melisandre wrapped her arm around his, holding him still with a sweet smile.

"Have faith, Onion Lord," she said softly.

"I'd prefer to have a shield, m'lady," he replied, wriggling free to take a pre-emptive cover behind the shield wall built up on the port side of the deck. The arrows were getting closer. The sailors had to be on deck to main the rigging, and the captain had to be here to instruct them, but with every arrow it became just a little bit more dangerous.

Almost there . Right now they were just giving covering fire, to conserve their ammo. As soon as the Oledo was ready, the bombardment and assault would begin. Ahead, he could hear the sound of shouts as they engaged with the boats in the bay.

The front rank had already engaged the boats. With every wave, the second rank got closer. Our turn soon.

It had been so simple when they planned and rehearsed the movements. Who would fire first, who would follow, all of the actions and plans. Stannis had been through the battle plan and so many variants tirelessly. Now, in the middle of it, the fear in the night felt so thick that Davos was struggling to even remember his role.

Davos' hands were shivering. He had never known such cold before.

"It is not too late to embrace the Lord of Light," Melisandre said, her voice ringing through the shouts of sailors and soldiers.

"I'm sure it's not, m'lady." Davos' eyes narrowed. There were arrows coming towards them. He had never known Melisandre to walk into danger before. "… Why are you on deck, m'lady?"

"I want to watch."

"It's dangerous."

"I'm sure it is." She seemed vaguely amused by his concern. Davos hesitated, but they were still a good distance away from the beach. They would have to go around the peninsula and turn into the shore to position.

Damn, it is the waiting for the battle that is agonising . The moments spent just frantically watching the coast come into view. Davos wished he could just push the ship to make it go faster.

"You say you've seen how this battle will go?" Davos said finally. "In your fires?"

She smiled softly. "You're an interesting man, Lord Davos. A cynical man with the uttermost faith in his king. I wonder, why are you so reluctant to accept the Lord of Light?"

Because your god burns people alive, he thought. "I'm no believer."

"Like I said, it's not too late to embrace the one true god." She smiled, staring out over the horizon.

There were two snaps of wire behind him. Davos raised a hand, and the scorpions fired flaming bolts into the cliff. One of them went high, and the other one missed in the darkness. The other galleys were firing too. Men with longbows supported the heavy weapons, firing arrows upwards into the cliffs. If they were lucky, the burning bolts could set tents and structures alight.

They're nearly around now. Coming into the bay at any moment.

"How did you see this battle going?" Davos asked, glancing at the rippling shadows. More arrows were whizzing past them, or thudding into the shields covering the deck.

She smiled wistfully. "I saw a great battle of ice. A battle of darkness. A battle of where all true believers must rally against the cold." She looked at Davos. "Like I said, it's not too late. Not yet."

"I see a camp of disorganised wildlings," said Davos. "A large camp, sure, but Stannis seems to think a well-disciplined force can rout them."

"Really? Because I see a dark night." Her ruby glittered softly. "This dark night is full of terrors. I have seen them. I have told Stannis about them too. You will see the terrors too."

Davos frowned. They would need to tack soon, lest the current sweep the ships into disarray, but Davos hesitated. Something about Melisandre's voice made him pause.

"I wonder if you will still be a non-believer after you've seen the terrors for yourself," Melisandre mused. "Fear does have a way of bringing out the believer, after all. Are you scared, Lord Davos?"

"Very much so, m'lady," he replied.

"Not yet." Her words were soft. She turned to stare out over the black sea, slowly walking towards the prow.

"M'lady, take cover! The arro–!" Davos shouted warningly, but then the world trembled. The noise hit them so hard that the water rippled, like a crack of thunder. All around him, the Lysene sailors shouted warnings that Davos couldn't recognise.

"A storm?" Davos exclaimed, staring over the horizon. It was so dark he couldn't see much beyond the lights of the camp. The wind had been so smooth.

"Yes, a storm." Melisandre opened up her arms wide, shimmering like a burning figurehead of the ship. Davos was suddenly reminded of the burning carving of the Maiden, flaming brightly on Dragonstone. "A cold storm. Look to your sins, Lord Davos, for the night is dark and full of terr–"

The roar shattered the sky.

Davos could feel the impact even from the sea. He could feel the air pound like the beat of the greatest drum ever built. There was no sense in it, no thought - he could just feel it like an ant felt an hurricane.

The sky split open. Davos was staring upwards, watching as the stars disappeared under an enormous shadow. He felt his legs give way and his body topple backwards.

White wings burst into the sky. The black shadow cast over the ship even in the darkness, and a whoosh of wind above them.

The Red Woman stared upwards, her arms wide. "… For the night is dark and full of terrors…" She muttered, so quiet it was only audible in that moment of stunned silence.

A gaping mouth opened, and cold, white light broke through the sky.

The world turned into ice and blackness.

…

Davos heard screaming. It might have been him. He suspected that he screamed Devan's name.

…

… Davos couldn't breathe through all the panic. It felt like his heart was about to collapse. His hands were trembling. He had never trembled like this before.

The Valyrian jerked furiously, as it had just collided with a rock. He felt the wood groan and snap, and then up above him the whole sail was cracking against the wind. The men working the masts toppled out of the sky.

The deceleration was instant. The entire ship stopped moving with a tremendous crash. Davos felt himself flung bodily backwards, with men rolling like marbles. Only Melisandre, somehow, impossibly, managed to stay standing at the prow of the ship.

All around him, Davos was vaguely away of the temperature dropping like a stone. Cold steam billowed everywhere, blowing over the deck. The ship wasn't moving, wasn't even rocking, only creaking.

The sea, he realised dumbly. The ocean is frozen solid.

In a single instant, the hull of the Valyrian was consumed by ice.

It was so cold Davos choked for breath. The condensation so thick that Davos couldn't see a thing.

Screaming. He heard screaming. And roaring.

The white beast flew overhead, tearing over the fleet. Each pound of wings caused the thick, cold mist to billow. Davos glimpsed that white fire again, and then suddenly he saw the clouds of condensation explode over the ocean. Everywhere it touched, the ocean turned cold and froze. It didn't freeze smoothly - the white fire caused the water to explode, and then froze it into jagged spikes of ice pluming outwards.

Where once there had been lightly rocking waves, Davos could see a huge, snaking path of jagged ice twisting between the ship. The whole ocean was freezing as the beast shot between them.

First, the front rank shuddered. He saw the Oledo collapse into an iceberg, frozen as it was about to capsize. Then, the dragon twisted and shot diagonally, cutting through the second and third ranks. The frozen fire went everywhere.

The Valyrian shuddered. They were caught between wind and waves and ice. The whole ship was twisting dangerous, grinding against jagged ice. He could hear wooden planks snapping.

The whole ship was pure panic. Davos had never known panic like it. It was like all rational thought stopped working and every man was reduced to primal instinct. Like rats running mad.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors!" Melisandre shouted suddenly, her voice cutting through all other sounds. With the clouds billowing around her, but her body illuminated by an alien red glow, she looked like some figure out of a story. Like she had walked straight out of scripture. "The Great Other arises and brings ice, darkness and death, but all believers must unite and fight against the night! Lightbringer, our saviour, will stand for the dawn!"

It shouldn't have been possible for her voice to be that loud. Her voice suddenly overpowered every other sound, even the mammoth beating of wings, but it reached every corner of the bay. Unnaturally loud.

Davos was still trying to make sense of the world when he heard the chant.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors! For the night is dark and full of terrors! "

From across the deck, he couldn't hear the men shouting. The queen's men started the cry, but even the king's men were joining in. Even the rowers and sailors were chanting and gasping.

Davos gasped, clutching at the rigging and trying to stop himself from trembling. Vaguely, he saw Ser Harys Cobb, a king's man, stare upwards with frantic eyes. "… My god…" Ser Harys gasped. "… Lord of Light… The Red Woman is right… it's real…"

In the distance, the monster flew away down the coast, but Davos could glimpse it twisting in the air. Turning around for another pass. In a single sweep half the ships had been crippled. The cold mist hissed around them, cold enough to strip wood.

Davos saw Stannis charge from below deck. The king clambered over the rocking ship, his face pale and his eyes wide, but he was clutching Lightbringer tightly. The sword had never shone so brightly before. It was so bright it was blinding.

"Rally the men! " Stannis bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Archers! Ballistae! Bring that monster down! "

They were all chanting. Even as the men looked half-scared to death, and clattering over the shuddering ship, they were chanting. "For the night is dark and full of terrors! For the night is dark and full of -"

The sound of the roar overhead caused every man to shudder. The beast was circling around, directly over them.

Davos gasped for breath, staring upwards as he felt the rush of air from beating wings hit him. A dragon, he realised dumbly. A white dragon.

Melisandre had called it the champion of the Great Other. The night is dark and full of terrors. Davos had never felt terror like it.

The ship shuddered. The sound of wood snapping broke everything back to focus. The deck was tilting around him. We're against the ice - we're going to capsize .

"Pull the sails in!" Davos shouted suddenly, trying to be heard. The sailors were running scared, while the soldiers were flanking around Stannis with sudden fervent faith. "Sails to port, sails to port - the ice, the ice !" Davos screamed.

But it was too late; the whole ship was creaking, tilting and taking on water. The wind pushed it against the jagged ice and the hull spilt. The world twisted and the ship crunched.

Still, the soldiers never stopped. As the dragon came around again, even as their ships were falling to pieces, Stannis held Lightbringer high and the arrows loosed from every bowmen in the fleet. They were mere minutes away from plunging into ice and water, but they all stopped to fire. Even the catapults were launched and the great limbs slung forward, even though there was no chance they'd actually hit. Davos saw men so mad with faith that they let go off their handholds to notch a bow and fire upwards.

Even arrows that weren't covered in oil or burning rags suddenly seemed to catch alight. Every single arrow was on fire as they shot upwards like hundreds of shooting stars. The Red Woman was glowing.

Davos saw Lightbringer flash as burning arrows shot through the sky. Melisandre had her arms raised, and suddenly the sword in Stannis' hands flashed like red lightning.

The dragon roared as the red flash hit it. The arrows and bolts pierced into its body, and into its wings. The roar shook the ocean and white fire burst madly. Davos saw spikes of ice and cold shoot everywhere; freezing tidal waves into jagged icebergs, immense clouds of cold mist billowing.

The dragon was crashing - diving towards the ocean as its wings folded inwards. The ship was capsizing and cracking against the ice, tilting so furiously the men tipped off as shards of wooden splinters broke into the air.

A cask of burning oil exploded against the dragon, highlighting the scene in glowing flames. Davos only briefly glimpsed a figure on the dragon, riding on its head, clutching its horn. He remembered Melisandre's words. That moment seemed to freeze just before he fell. It's true, he thought. A young boy, with white hair and grey eyes. The champion of winter .

That was the last thing he remembered before he fell downwards, crashing onto jagged ice along with the rest of the king's men.