A/N: Longclaw here. Your support is phenomenal, and we thank you for all the kind words, follows, and favs. Just to let all know, BRuh4 and I adhere to character arcs. We will be exploring them in directions not taken by many, and progress them to their natural conclusion. Characters may not act the same as in the show, but we will make sure it is satisfying :)
BRuh4 here. To those of you that read the Ramsay scene last week without the trigger warning, I apologize for that. That's what I'm sorry for, not giving a warning. There will be a warning for scenes such as those moving forward. That being said, I refuse to apologize for the scene itself. This GoT people. We're not pulling punches. Ramsay raped Sansa, it happened, we just didn't see it. And I didn't even depict the rape itself anyway.
All of that aside, I'm glad that all you are excited about this just as much as we are. This chapter was super fun to write being as it is the first battle of the story.
Hope you enjoy.
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Chapter 4: Salvation
It was a sight to see. Seemingly thousands of Wildlings stood on the shore, waiting. From end to end, hemmed in by towering cliffs that sheltered it from the harsh winds of winter, the beach was full. Thousands of eyes, all trained upon the small skiff. Holding few, but among those few, men critical to deciding the fate of the world.
Had the Wildlings cared for titles and nobility, they would have been impressed that they warranted such attention. Instead, most of them sent arresting gazes, being as though the appearance of all these ships were largely uninvited. The glimpse of wild, ginger hair at the van of the skiff raised eyebrows but changed nothing.
Tormund stood up in the boat, grumbling, "I haven't been back in a while. These fuckers probably thought I died fighting."
No one made to respond as their small boat reached the beach, it came to skid against the sand. The Wildlings didn't immediately attack them, which honestly surprised the Stag King and his cohorts. Stannis kept a firm hand on his sword all the way. His steely gaze was clearly unsure of what's to come.
Tormund hopped off the boat into the shallow water as the other skiffs from the Baratheon ships made land. Jon followed suit, Stannis and Davos trailing. They stood in front of the crowd, all is silent. The redheaded Wildling spoke up, "We're here to see the council!" Then he started towards the crowd.
Jon looked back to Stannis and Davos, tightening the strap of his bag of dragonglass around his back. "We may be fools for trusting him, but he's our only chance now." With that, he followed Tormund.
"I hope you're right about him, Ser Davos," Stannis said, flaring his nostrils towards Jon.
Davos nodded, "I believe am, Your Grace." Then they went after Jon, a number of Baratheon bannermen trailing their King as well.
The Wildlings parted for Tormund, their eyes flickered on him for a few seconds, and then bore holes into the rest of their visitors. Jon picked up the pace to catch up to Tormund, clasping him on the shoulder to get his attention.
"What are we doing, Tormund?"
Tormund grumbled somewhat angrily, so Jon retracted his hand, then he said, "They'll gather the Elders. We'll be able to talk to them."
Jon made to reply, but stopped once he saw more Wildlings coming directly at them. A whole pack of them, and they didn't look happy. He and Tormund halted as they approached. Once they neared, Jon recognized one of them up front. A big Wildling with the skull of a man hiding his face, a long staff-like weapon in his hands.
Tormund stepped up to the man, Jon half expected a brawl to break out. But they greeted each other instead.
"Lord of Bones," Tormund said, with a raise of an eyebrow. "Been a while since I last saw you."
The bigger Wildling didn't look fazed, even appearing to ignore Tormund, instead, he raised his staff up to Jon and said, "The last time I saw you, this one was your prisoner. It's the other way around now."
"I'm no prisoner," Tormund growled, raising his hands up. "You see any chains here? We're just here to talk. Gather the Elders."
"You don't give the orders around here… not anymore."
Tormund moved closer, "Listen to me-"
The Lord of Bones cut in, "What the fuck happened to you? Where's Tormund Giantsbane? I don't see him here."
"War," Tormund drawled, with a shrug.
"Ha… You call that war?" The Lord of Bones scoffed. "Largest and best army the North has ever seen… cut to pieces by a Southern King."
The rock beneath their feet shifted as Stannis moved forward, hand on his sword, "By this Southern King." His head was held high, pride and arrogance tinging his voice. Jon silently sighed. This wasn't gonna go well.
The Lord of Bones scowl was even seen through his mask, he roared, "Who the fucks that?"
Ser Davos cleared his throat, "Stannis Baratheon, First of his name, Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."
The Wildlings around gasped, even pulled swords, and raised their axes. Some even surged forward, only to be pushed back by Baratheon men in an impromptu shield wall. Loud yelling filled the air as it all appeared that there would be an all-out slaughter than a rescue. Stannis shook his head, glaring at Davos. When Jon stomped his foot, bellowing out, "We're not here to fight! Everyone stop!" He pushed forward, shoving his way through the Baratheon guards. "Put down your swords!" Making his way to the center of all the struggle. "Get those axes down, you cunts!" He knew the Freefolk. Knew how to talk to them.
Somehow, all of that was enough to quiet the crowd even though Tormund and the Lord of Bones were locked in a brawl. Something sparked a fight amongst all the chaos. Nothing could stop them, everyone backed up from them. "You fight with the Southern Kin, and the turncoat crow!" all heard the Lord of Bones snarl, throwing a right hook. Tormund dodged and punched the other man in return, wrestling the staff from his grip. Proceeding to bash his brains in with the stick, when he's done the Lord of Bones' head is nothing more than paste. Blood spraying all over Tormund and the ground before him.
He tossed the staff aside, banging his fist against his chest. The fight halted anything else going on, all eyes on him.
"Gather the Elders, and let's talk," Tormund commanded, no room for discussion. Saying nothing else, he stomped onward.
Even Stannis looked surprised at the sight of the former man's crushed skull, Davos' eyes only widened at the scene. This was nothing new to Jon - he showed no reaction. Though he shifted over to address his King, "Your Grace." He bowed slightly.
"Lord Stark," Stannis acknowledged him.
"I know this seems… outlandish. I know it's foreign to you, but if we can secure this army, I know it will be an important addition to your forces," Jon said.
"I agree," Ser Davos declared, eyes still wandering around his surroundings.
"They do seem to be quite… vicious," Stannis noticed. "Exactly what I need for my army."
"We're going to meet with their Elders now, Your Grace," Jon pointed out. "I would exercise caution. They will not kneel for you. But they can still be our allies, what you offer is too great. They won't... cannot refuse."
Stannis exhaled, realizing what Jon's saying may be useful to remember. The sheer number of Wildlings here would be a helpful addition. Their forces would vastly outnumber the Boltons. If they wouldn't bend the knee, he would have to accept mere fealty.
Everyone gathered in a large tent, around a bonfire, the flames cascaded through a flume at the top. All the Wildling Elders stood on the far side, a wooden platform above covering them in darkness, though the fire illuminated their faces. Four large wooden pillars held it all up, many people leaned against these. Stannis, Jon, and Davos resided near the exit, in case a quick exodus became necessary. A fight was out of the question. The Wildlings surrounded them - they'd be killed in minutes.
A random Wildling in the back called out, "Who let these pricks in? They're our fuckin' enemies." Hearing that, some others started stomping their feet in agreement.
"We are not!" Jon responded to the noise, stepping up. "We are not here to destroy you. That's not what this is about. This is about the survival of your people."
"Survival?" A large Thenn scoffed. "What the fuck are you talking about, Crow?"
"I'm no Crow. Not anymore," Jon scowled.
King Stannis' voice filled the tent, "My offer is simple. Pledge to fight with me, here, now, against the Boltons. In return I offer you lands to lay your claim to. Lands large enough for all of you to settle in, lands you can farm."
"It's a fair offer," Davos echoed his King.
"It's your only offer. Your only chance," Jon grimaced, watching the disgust in the chieftain's faces. "The White Walkers are coming. You all know that, you've seen them just as I have. This is your chance at survival, all of you can have that safety you desire. Get on the right side of the wall, the way it should've been."
"That Wall was built to keep us out," A Wildling woman spoke up, seated by the fire.
"Since when do you fucks care if we live?" the Thenn said.
"Normally, we wouldn't," Stannis scowled.
"In normal times," Jon said. "But as well all know these aren't normal times." He motioned to Stannis, "A Southern King stands before you, the first Southern King to journey beyond the wall in a thousand years. He wouldn't be here if this wasn't serious." Then he removed his satchel, "Together, we can defeat the White Walkers."
"Defeat them?" The same woman laughed. "Maybe running… or hiding is a better option."
Jon handed the bag to her, when she didn't immediately take it, he said, "It's not a trick, if we wanted to murder you we certainly wouldn't have entered this damn tent." Reluctantly, the woman took it, Jon added, "Dragonglass. We recovered this some time ago."
Eagerly, the woman opened the bag and looked inside. Sticking her hand inside, she returned with a shard of dragonglass in the form of a dagger. She passed the bag along to a Wildling next to her who did the same as her.
"A man of the Night's Watch had used one of those to kill a White Walker."
"You saw this?"
"I wasn't there. But I'd trust the man with my life, and several wildlings were present when he did this, and can attest to it." He paused - not feeling it necessary to mention the wildling in question was essentially Sam's lover and her child - as other Wildlings examined the dragonglass, "Come with us and we'll share these weapons."
"I'm sorry if this seems too good to be true," The woman said. "We're just given land?"
"If you fight for me." Stannis corrected.
"Where's Mance?" The Thenn asked.
Jon froze, realizing these people had no idea what had happened to their King. He frowned before he spoke, "I put an arrow through his heart."
It all came unglued then, any Wildling sitting, rose and surged towards Jon, with Tormund hadn't blocked them with his form they may have torn Jon to pieces.
"Hey! Back the fuck up!" Tormund said.
"We should kill them! Send them back to where they came from!" The tall Thenn yelled.
"All of you shut the fuck up! None of you were there! None of you!" Tormund yelled back, making everyone quiet down. He stepped in front of the fire, "It was mercy."
Stannis crossed his arms over his chest, "I tore your army to shreds, after the battle, I tied your King to a post to be burned."
"Jon defied that order," Davos voiced himself. "The arrow was mercy."
"It's true," Tormund sighed, as much as the words hurt him to utter. "We do the same to captured Chieftains. Mance knew what would happen and accepted the flames, but this crow gave him mercy. Instead of being punished, the Southern King rewarded him with a castle!"
Incredulous, the head Thenn's eyes widened at Tormund, "You brought the men responsible for killing our King here?"
"Because he had to," Jon said, moving forward, adding his voice to the commotion. "Tormund knew it was the only chance for him and all of you."
"I am your only salvation," Stannis opened his arms. "Fight with me… and be saved."
"With you?" The Thenn spat. "The man who burned Mance? Fuck off." Many other Wildings agreed with this sentiment, adding their voices. Soon the tent became loud.
Jon hung his head, but then he turned to Tormund. His stare told the man all it needed to, for a few moments they just looked at each other. But then Tormund moved up, and yelled, "Quiet the fuck down! Shut up!" His voice contained a commanding tone, and the Wildlings obeyed. When it all went silent, Tormund looked at Jon, and nodded. They weren't friends, but they both knew the importance of this moment.
"I knew Mance Rayder," Jon said. "I did. I came to know him well, and he didn't want a war." He shook his head. "He just wanted safety for his people. He's gone now… but don't let his life have been for nothing. You can have what he wanted for you, here and now." He pointed to the earth below him, "Right now... He wanted a new life for all of you. We are prepared to give you that."
"Fight for me, and I'll provide the lands. I swear it," Stannis added. "As long as you swear it first."
"How can we trust you?"
"Do so if you can," Jon shrugged. "If not… We are your only chance. No one else is coming for you… except the dead."
"What happens when the dead do come?" Someone in the back asked.
"When the dead come, I'll defeat them as I will defeat the Boltons and the Lannisters, with no mercy," Stannis answered. Melisandre's vision, of a man fighting a great battle in the snow was always close to his thoughts. He was the man in the vision. He knew it.
"You will fight with us then, as well," Jon said. "That's a given."
"It took courage to do what Jon Snow - Stark did," Tormund said. "That's what we need now… Courage. We need the courage to make peace with these men. I know they killed our King. I know you want to murder them, but that gets fucking nowhere. We do that and then the Walkers come here first and were wiped out. It'd be the end of us forever."
"Think of your children now," Davos chimed in.
"They'll never have children of their own if we don't band together," Jon finished for Davos. "Fight with King Stannis now, so you can live. Then… when the Long Night comes, together, maybe we can stand a chance. But only together, maybe then it still won't be enough. But we'll give those ice fuckers a fight."
After that, it went quiet, everyone just looked around at each other. The Wildlings looked for something that could truly make all of this true. Jon just hoped that this is enough for them.
"You vouch for these men, Tormund?" the Wildling woman asked.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't, Karsi. I wasn't forced to come here," Tormund said, then he looked at Jon, "This man here… he came to me and asked me to come here. To convince all of you to listen and save yourselves, he went to…" He motioned to Stannis, "His Southern King, and got him to come here himself. They need us… and we need them."
Tormund continued, "I know this King killed Mance. I know it. I hate it. But this is our only chance."
"It's not fair," Davos coaxed. "That the man you have to swear to now is the same man that ended your King. But it's the only choice you have."
"Your only chance," Stannis grunted, with his hands on his hips. "I came here knowing you could kill me as soon as I set foot on the shore. Trust that I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to. But I need your army. Fight with me, and I'll give you what you want."
"We won't kneel for you. We do not kneel," Karsi glared at him. Many other Wildlings did the same.
"We came here knowing that," Jon said. "I lived with you, slept and ate and fought with all of you." I loved among you. I would never ask you to forfeit your honor by kneeling. King Stannis will accept a pledge of fealty."
The woman Jon now knew to be called Karsi moved toward him, saying, "I don't trust you yet." Then she looked at Stannis, "I'll never trust him." Finally, her eyes landed on Tormund, "But I trust you, Tormund. If you say this is what we must do… if this is the way. Then we're with you."
Tormund bobbed his head up and down, "This is it. This is the way."
Another Wildling leader spoke up, "As much as it pains me to say… let's go with them. I'm with Tormund. If we stay here we're dead. At least with the Southern King… we have a chance."
After that, the head Thenn moved towards Jon, who back up, hand instinctively going to Longclaw, "Keep that 'new life' you wanna give us. Keep your fucking dragonglass. You and your fucking King are our enemies. You're a fucking Crow. You've always been our enemy, you'll always be our enemy." He regarded the room, "As soon as you get on their boats… they'll slit your fucking throats, toss you in the sea." Then he walked a past Jon towards the exit of the tent, many wildlings followed.
All the Wildlings that wished to leave gathered by the shore, piling into the rowboats. More of them than can count lined up to hop on a boat, as soon as one arrived it left just as quick. The prospect of salvation sounded too sweet to some, the chance to leave the cold North. Those who balked at it were just too proud.
Those who wanted to stay wandered around their homes or scattered outside Hardhome's walls. Watching on in disgust as their friends take the easy way out.
Jon stands side by side with Tormund, watching the Wildlings line up to leave. Both of them feeling somewhat accomplished, though Jon's eyes scanned over the crowd in front of him, many for sure, but not all of them. He asked Tormund, "How many are coming? Six thousand?"
Tormund lifted a child into the waiting arms of a mother in one of the boats, and said, "I'm not good at counting."
"How many?" Jon repeated himself.
"I don't know," Tormund grumbled. "Something like that… The rest will come around, the food they have is running out, these lands aren't fertile, and there's nothing to hunt."
"We're leaving too many behind," Jon sighed.
"The Free Folk are too proud, you know they don't like kneeling. It took Mance twenty years to get these fucks together," Tormund told him.
After that, all was fine, boats kept coming in and going out. Stannis stood by Davos, just in front of Jon, they remarked about how these numbers might give the army the hand-up they need to defeat the Boltons. Even going as far as to complement Jon on the sentiments that brought them here. Stannis now began to realize how much he appreciates having Jon with him. He never would've been able to secure the Wildlings without him.
Then suddenly, the dogs started to bark, the ground trembled. Something is going on outside the wooden gates of the settlement. People start pouring in from outside by the hundreds, they're being driven away from something. It's so loud all eyes are set in that direction. Deep in his belly, Jon feels like he knows exactly what is happening. By one glance at Tormund, he knows as well. The crowd of Wildlings starts to increase in size, people start getting pushed into the water. Some even start to swim towards the boats in a mad hurry.
Stannis looked back to Jon, asking, "What's happening?"
In response, Jon drew Longclaw, "Your Grace, get on the next boat, you need to leave."
"Jon, what is it?" Davos asked, worried.
"The dead are already here," Tormund answered for Jon.
Nodding, Jon walked past them, "I need to go back for the dragonglass. We need it."
In front of them, the Wildlings began to close the gate. The screams of those trapped beyond soon reached all the way to the beach. Something outside began to tear them apart, those close to the gate seeing the blood flying. Only seeing the feet of the people outside shift and move. A force so strong the gate pushed out towards those on the inside.
A great storm approached, floating over the mountains, snow starting to fall all around them. The wind picked up, turning it into a small blizzard.
Then all the struggle by the gate disappeared, all the feet below faded away. The Leader of the Thenn's approached the gate, when he peered through the wooden logs of the doors, he saw nothing. Just the raging blizzard. But only for a moment, for the next thing he knew an undead person careened into the wood before him. Then hundreds came right behind.
It turned to a frenzy by the shore, the Wildlings started fighting for spots on the boats. The Baratheon bannermen tried to make them stay in line but Wildlings fought back, small brawls breaking out. Most that got through took their chances in the freezing water than facing what's coming through the gate.
Tormund grasped Jon's shoulder and pointed to the gate, "If they break through… we're all dead."
Jon nodded at the Wildling, then regarded his King, "Your Grace, you need to leave."
Stannis shook his head, and drew his sword, "No, I will not cower."
"Your Grace-" Jon started.
Davos interrupted him, "Best not argue, Jon." He gave a small smile despite the circumstances.
Jon said instead, "We need to defend the retreat." Pointing at the gate, "We need to hold them back as long as we can. They'll be coming from over there."
Unwavering as ever, Stannis turned to his bannermen and yelled, "Bannermen! With me!" He charged forward through the droves of Wildlings towards the gate. Drawing Longclaw, Jon followed his new King with Tormund right behind him.
They shoved their way towards the gate, which by now is being broken through. Undead foot soldiers crawl over the top, under the bottom, and tear through a hole in the wood. The Wildlings attempts to hold them back are in vain.
Stannis and company arrive at the battered wall as the dead began to breach. Worming their way through gaps ripped through the logs. Unprepared wildlings were set upon, their screams lost over the noise of the screeching undead. Dozens of undead surged forward, engaged quickly by the defenders and the arriving reinforcements. Many of those who took on the undead were swarmed and cut down.
The undead moved inhumanly, their limbs flopping around. Skin colored brown, and rotting, eyes blue as ice. Most all of them gripped rusty swords and axes.
A sight unlike anything Stannis had ever seen. Literal dead men, walking corpses, running straight for him with the intent of cutting him to bits. A weaker man should crawl inside himself in fear, he did not.
Jon yelled out over the wind and snow, "Stand your ground!" Snarls reaching his ears, he spun around and parried a blow from a half-rotted wight. Valyrian steel clashed with a rusted bronze, batting it away before the Lord of Winterfell buried it into its ribcage. Next to him, Tormund rushed into the fight swinging his sword like a madman, cutting down all the undead before him.
Sword drawn and wading into the fray - surprising whatever wildlings that paid attention, a southern King fighting on the front lines - Stannis decapitated a wight. It kept coming, clawing at his knees before a blow crushed the head. "Head!" he yelled. "Hit the head!" Anger rising at the fresh cuts to his shins, he bellowed a cry as he charged at two others.
Firing furiously, Karsi knew in the back of her mind that the archers weren't gonna be enough to hold them off. But as if a miracle, about a dozen Baratheon crossbowmen appeared. "Frost Fangs!" she yelled at a cluster of warriors. "Protect the southerners! You there! Fire at anything that peeks its head through or over the wall!" If the crossbowmen had any irritation at taking orders from a wildling, they didn't show it as they obeyed. Well aimed steel bolts took down wights by the score, Freefolk archers now able to pick off wights that had already charged through.
A group of wights charged at Tormund, he took down one but the others tackled him to the ground. Thrashing at his neck, the wights scratched and crawled him. Tormund wrestled his sword free, pushing it through the chest of a wight trying to bite his nose off. Then using the blade to brace against three other undead pushing against him. One hand gripped the hilt his other palm held the end of the blade, fingers dangerously close to a wight's gnashing teeth. He's forced deeper into the mud he laid in, muck seeping into his hair and onto his face.
A wight swung down at him with a jagged short sword. Tormund brought his blade up to block the attack, he succeeded, after the collision, the wight's sword bounced a landed on Tormund's hand. Two of his fingers were completely severed, he cried out in pain, watching them fall from his hand. Blood spewing out onto his chest.
The very same wight who took his fingers would've also taken his life, the undead monster reared back to slash at Tormund again, only to be cut down but a certain black haired man.
Jon took care of all the wights surrounding the Wildling, then he said, "Get to your feet, Tormund, more are on the way."
Still mourning the loss of half of his index and middle fingers on his left hand, Tormund got to his feet, clutching his sword with his intact right. He might've thanked Jon for saving his life with there weren't four more undead running straight at them. He watched as Jon jumped headlong into the scuffle, swinging Longclaw undeterred. Hacking down skeleton after skeleton, letting them hear his roar all the while. Adrenaline pumping, Tormund entered the fray as well.
Nearby, Stannis fought like a wildcat, sword slicing through corpse after corpse. Seeing countless wights trickle through a gap in the wood, he shouted, "Get a patch!" Seeing no one willing to hold them off, he charged himself. Beheading a wight, he skewered another, using it to block further infiltrators. "Fuck!" Stannis yelled, muscles straining to keep back the tide… until finally, half a dozen wildlings arrived with a large slab of stone to block it off permanently.
Breathing heavy, Stannis backed up. Watching as the Wildlings pushed their bodies against the stone, trying to hold the undead back. Nonetheless, droves of undead kept tearing through the wooden logs of the gate. Yet now there is a momentary lull in the action.
Jon runs over to Stannis, "My King, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Stannis replied, though clearly physically harmed, and his body worn out.
"I'm going for the dragonglass, now, while I have a chance," Jon told him.
"I'll come with you." Racing towards the hut, suddenly a chunk of the wall burst open, wights racing through the gap. "Get the dragonglass!" Stannis yelled, engaging the first wight, batting aside its sloppy axe blow and skewering it. "Go!"
Darting into the hut, Jon found the fire at the center having spread throughout the whole structure. Heat surrounding him. Looking everywhere for the sack, suddenly the building heat disappeared, icy tendrils forming on the walls around him. Turning, Jon came face to face with one of them.
An other.
A White Walker.
He barely had been able to turn before the White Walker had his ice spear out, headbutting Jon and sending him sprawling. Catching his bearings, he lashed out with Longclaw - but the walker was agile, dodging the blade. Spinning, the spearpoint slashed alongside Jon's chest. Leaving a shallow but long gash. A kick to the stomach sent him falling to the ground, Longclaw flying from his grip, clattering against the dirt.
Watching Jon tumble to the floor of the hut, crying out in pain, the White Walker began to follow when something else caught his attention. A single man outside, fighting like a saber-toothed cat against over a dozen corpses. One of the monster's instincts recognized. 'A King.' Emotionless eyes blazing with cold fire, he abandoned the burning hut in search of his new target.
Coughing, acrid smoke searing his nostrils, Jon heaved himself to his feet, running his hand over his wound. His chest burned from pain, blood soaking his tunic. 'Get back in the fight, Stark!' yelled a voice that sounded a lot like Jeor Mormont. His hand wavered as he got Longclaw back, clenched tightly in his hand, he looked at the sack of dragonglass spearheads and daggers. Draped in flame all around. For a moment he hesitated, fearful of the flames. But such fear was drowned in a surge of confidence, of determination. He knew they need those weapons. Steeling himself, he charged into the flames.
Sword crushing against the skull of a wight, rotting flesh disintegrating upon contact, Stannis blocked the crazed axe blow of a skeleton before decapitating its ribcage. He panted, sucking in the cold air which sobered his lungs… suddenly, the temperature plummeted, a pulsing malevolence surrounding him. Turning, the King found himself face to face with an inhuman monster - ice blue eyes boring in on him. Reacting, he plunged his sword into the monster's open abdomen…
Only for the blade to shatter upon contact, as if the steel were mere glass. The monster looked at its stomach, then backhanded Stannis at least ten feet. The King slammed into the wall of a hut, the wind knocked out of him as he coughed and struggled to rise. He felt a stabbing ache, looking down and gritting his teeth as he pulled a shard of wood out of his thigh. "Seven hells!" Blood oozed onto his trousers, but not quickly. The wound was not the pressing threat.
Walking over to him, the White Walker readied his ice spear to swipe it downward and end the King's life.
'How ironic,' Stannis couldn't help but think, pain burning through him. 'Killed by a dead man.' The cold ice blurred as it swung downward…
Clang.
Three pairs of surprised eyes gazed at the meet of ice to steel. Out of nowhere, Jon had dove, Longclaw ready for a last ditched parry… only for the Valyrian steel to stand true against the enchanted ice. White Walker shocked more than either man, Jon took advantage by leaping to his feet. He batted aside the spear before plunging Longclaw into its stomach, achieving what Stannis hoped to do as the monster shattered into flecks of ice.
Blinking, Stannis soon found a hand outstretched. "Get up, my King," Jon stated, hauling Stannis to his feet.
Stannis brushed snow off his breastplate, already feeling the pain from his leg. "Thank you, Lord Stark." Praise was rare from the Stag King, but given when earned. "I am in your debt."
Jon shrugged. "Just don't die." He tossed Stannis a dragonglass short sword, hand covered with grime and soot… but otherwise unharmed. Had the situation been less dire, Jon would have disbelieved his own good luck, he figured his glove had spared himself from the fire.
"Watch out you cunts!" At Tormund's snarling warning, Jon and Stannis looked up the massive cliff walls to see five horsemen - each resting on their mounts over twenty feet apart from the other. In the center was one different than the others. While all Walkers he had seen were long-bearded like wildlings, this one's face was bare. A crown of ice on his head.
The Night King. The one the Freefolk had so feared. Staring down, meeting Jon's eyes, he raised a single finger. Pointing forth as a booming snarl resonated behind him.
It was enough for Jon. "Run!" he screamed just as a horde of dead charged over the cliff face.
The dead had no tactics. No complex maneuvers or valiant feats of courage. Only a mindless instinct to kill, at the behest of their King. Their master. As the horde fell atop the floor of the valley and the other finally bringing down the wall of logs and staves, they surged forward in a swarm akin to ants charging from a disturbed anthill. Killing all that stood in their way.
And the living broke, fleeing frantically towards the hope of salvation on the shore.
Jon literally manhandled Stannis through the broken shacks and bloody melees, wound to his leg slowing him down. Tormund threw his axe at a charging wight as he too ran for his life. Karsi was nearly set upon by a group of undead children when Wun Wun, bellowing an ancient battlecry, batted them aside with a burning log. Using his size and strength, the giant acted as a one-man army to hold the rear as the final among the living sprinted towards the last boat.
"Come on!" Davos yelled, gesturing like a madman as he saw his King, Jon, and the last two wildlings appeared into view. "Get over here!" His heart was pounding. "Protect your King!" he yelled at the pair of archers and single crossbowman on the boat, preparing to take up oars. Arrows and bolts shot out, felling errant wights that got too close to the group with expert accuracy. "Come on!"
Legs pumping, lungs on fire, Jon summoned what strength he had and literally tossed Stannis onto the boat, leaping in not long after. He grunted as he hit the rough wooden hull. Grunts turned to cries of pain as two figures landed on top of him, jabbing into his ribs and legs. "You make for the softest of pillows, Crow."
Leave it to Tormund to wisecrack at a time like this. Jon pushed himself to his feet, they watched as the horde peeled off at the shore, biting and hacking and stabbing at whatever living remained in the massive settlement. "Row!" Davos screamed at the soldiers, all of whom were frantically slapping their oars in the freezing water. Several wights charged at them, but either splashed to their demise in the ocean or were batted aside into kindling by Wun Wun, who just waded into the water as if nothing bothered him.
"Give me wine." Stannis pulled himself to sit on the planks.
Davos turned to his king. "Are you alright, your Grace?"
Stannis was in no mood. "I said give me the fucking wine!" A wineskin was thrust into his hand, to which he downed it like a man trekking through the desert for a week. Dulling the now throbbing ache in his leg. Even Tormund laid on his back in the skiff, breathing hard, clutching his bloodied hand.
"Your Grace," Jon remarked, gazing at the shoreline, rising to his feet.
"Not now, Lord Stark." Stannis was tired. Just… so tired.
The rightful Lord of Winterfell didn't back down. "I think you should see this."
About to tell Jon off again, Stannis noticed that all but him had their eyes to the shore. Rising, his eyes widened as well. There was the Night King, raising his arms, limbs outstretched in a sort of taunt. All around him, thousands of dead wildlings… simply rose. Wights all, closed eyes opened again, turning a pale blue. Thousands of blue eyes locked onto the retreating skiffs, empty stares, but nonetheless murderous.
Jon straightened, feeling the cold gaze of the Night King. As freezing as his body already felt, somehow now feeling like all the warmth retreated from his body.
Aboard the ships, all stared at the undead horde. Baratheon soldiers, rescued wildlings, stormlands, sailors, Essosi pirates, and merchantmen manning the ships… all couldn't believe the sheer horror of what they were seeing. An ancient, legendary evil now in the flesh. Ready, willing, and able to slaughter anyone and anything that stood in its way. Quite… sobering.
Deep in the bowels of the flagship of the Stormlands fleet, the Lady Melisandre was the one man not staring at the shore. Instead, she watched the flames - flickering within the large brazier in the middle of her cabin - in disbelief. The swirling clouds sent her belowdecks, to gaze at the fire to deduce the Lord of Light's secrets as the Night's Terrors finally charged forth. To find clues for how her lord was to vanquish the Long Night from existence…
But the only vision exploded in a cloud of fire and smoke near the end of the battle. One of a figure - not Stannis - but Jon Stark swinging his Valyrian Steel sword and vanquishing a demon himself. Jon Stark, the man the flames presented to her.
She stared at the flames, mind blank as she pondered the meaning of the Lord of Light's latest message.
What was her Lord trying to tell her about Jon Stark?
A/N: Even the Wildlings would look upon a Southern King arriving in their home. It is momentous, and Stannis and Jon will have their names in the history books for this one.
Hardhome has been written multiple times (Longclaw wrote it in Empire), so we wanted to do what we could to make it unique. Hope y'all liked what we came up with. We're getting to a point where we're really gonna co canon divergent in substance, but there will be some inspiration from the parts we think were well done.
Gone are the days in which Jon and company will get into battles and walk away unscathed. It's ridiculous and it makes no sense. Aside from some facial scars, Jon in the show never really got fucked up in a battle. Which is dumb. We knew that we weren't gonna kill any major characters here, we even decided to save Karsi. But if we did that there had to be some form of injury or wounds for a fight of this scale. The wounds sustained here will have lasting consequences.
Be sure to check out our other stories: An Empire of Ice and Fire for Longclaw and To Catch a Dream (on Ao3) by BRuh4. Also, Longclaw is thinking about two other story ideas. One a post-canon AU with Jon and Dany facing a new threat called Dance of Dragons, and the other a drama/comedy with a Prince Jon dealing with a succession crisis after the mad king's death called Death of Aerys. Tell Longclaw what you think :D
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