How to rescue a dragon…
Jon
Phantom prowled down the rocky ledge. She could smell the scent of death in the air. Dead flesh, dried blood and the tang of rot.
There are four of them, Jon counted through the shadowcat's eyes.
Four wights shambling through the rocks, their limbs and ragged pelts sheeted with hoarfrost. They did not move like living men; more like puppets, their movements cumbersome over the rough terrain - but such obstacles were nothing to the dead. Every time one of the wights stumbled over a rock, it just pulled itself up again and kept on shambling forwards.
They all had pale skin, black hands, and cold blue eyes. Three of them were male - formerly Thenn warriors, the other was female. One of the males was completely naked, while all the others were clad in ragged furs. Another of the males had a severely broken leg, and it was falling behind the others as it limped on regardless.
They smelt unnatural. Dead. Dangerous. Flee, Phantom thought. Run, hide.
No, Jon pushed. Stay. Watch.
The shadowcat fought him every step of the way, but he was the one in control of her body. She could feel him inside of her skin.
The wights were heading west. There had been others heading in the same direction earlier. Something was calling them to the west. All of the ones the shadowcat had encountered were stragglers - wights that had been left behind by the main mass of their army, left to flounder in the snow.
She dropped down onto a lower ledge, her lean body prowling in the dark. Previously, she had tried to avoid the wights, but these ones were in their path. They had to be taken care of.
Kill, Jon ordered, moving her legs. Kill, hunt.
No. Dangerous, she protested, more in emotions, impressions, instincts than anything that could be considered language. Flee.
Kill, Jon insisted, squashing her response so forcefully the shadowcat could do nothing but keep prowling forward. It was like he was gripping her by the spine, so tightly she couldn't even twitch in a direction he did not allow.
Most times, Jon left the shadowcat mostly alone to freely roam, with nothing but the faint voice of the human in her head steering her to stay within a certain general range. For those periods, she had almost complete control over herself. Then - at more serious times, like now - Jon took total control, using her as a scout, moving her limbs as if they were his own.
The shadowcat dropped down a bit further down the mountain's side, stalking slightly in the night. She - Jon - went for the crippled one first.
Like a puppet missing some of its strings, the wight didn't react at first as the shadowcat leapt on it from behind, her teeth biting into the back of its neck. The flesh tasted cold and foul. It thrashed and struggled weakly, but then she was cleaving open the spine with her sharp teeth. The wight dropped to the ground. Its limbs were still twitching and moving, but Jon knew from experience at this point that whatever magic animated the wights was either centered on, or reliant on the creature's spines. With the spine and the back of the head damaged, the wight could only thrash disjointedly in the snow. It lost all muscle control and fell, dead limbs twisting madly. Then Jon - Phantom's - teeth cleaved all the way through cold bone, and the thrashing stopped.
It was bad, rotten meat - but still, it was edible. Normally she would have stopped to eat, or to drag the body away to a safer place before eating. There was no time for that now. Instead, she and Jon left the ruined wight behind while the shadowcat leapt away.
Because the rest of the wights were beginning to react.
The other three, Jon ordered. Kill.
Phantom suppressed a growl as her body moved after the others.
The first one - the biggest - was the only one clutching a weapon. A long bronze axe. It had once been a man wearing thick leathers - a Thenn, perhaps, Jon considered, his thoughts strange to the shadowcat. People, identities, these were beyond here. Men were men.
This would be the most difficult prey of the three, Phantom knew. Normally, Phantom would have fled from such a foe, perhaps tried to strike later from a better place or while the prey slept. Still, her body had no choice but to move into position, and so that she could live longer, she didn't resist - resisting the master in battle would have crippled her body before an enemy, and been akin to a kitten's stupidity.
The wights were on the alert, the hollow pits of their blue eyes searching the darkness for their enemy.
This time, these three were closer together - she wouldn't be able to take out one without alerting the others.
Wights were difficult prey to ambush. They didn't feel pain, and you had to disable them quickly to stop them. It required very precise strikes at the areas they were most vulnerable.
She lunged at the biggest wight from the side when it looked away. It had slow reflexes - that was the only saving grace. The shadowcat slammed onto it, paws wrapping around its body, forcing it to the ground while sharp teeth tore at the back of its neck. It struggled, but Phantom was ripping out its spine before it could even use that axe.
The other wight, the naked one, charged towards her with outstretched hands. Phantom reacted smoothly, lunging with a vicious claw under its swing. Sharp claws scratched across its eyes, splitting that blue gaze straight out. The wound oozed black blood slowly.
After a single swipe, Phantom darted away. Both of those wights were still moving - one of them with a mutilated face, and the other one with its eyes clawed out. Still, they were both blind, and that meant they were shambling around helplessly now. She would let them shamble around blindly, and the steep mountain cliffs would do the rest. One bad step and legs would shatter. Blind foes could be taken down at will.
It wasn't a shadowcat's way of killing, but it was an effective one. Phantom had killed more frequently and more brazenly under the control of Jon than she had ever done by herself.
There was only one left now. The girl. She stared at the shadowcat with an empty, utterly impassive face, her blue eyes glowing softly. She had once been young, slender, with dark raven hair that was now white with frost. For a moment, an image flashed in her eyes; of another girl with dark hair, about the same age as the wight had been. A long face, a quick grin, and wild eyes that loved to play.
The shadowcat paused. It wasn't her memory, but it still made her hesitate. The wight stared at the shadowcat with bright blue eyes. Jon felt himself shiver.
She can see me, Jon knew instinctively. She's not looking just at the shadowcat, she can see me.
Jon still didn't understand how - this had happened a few times before - but sometimes the gaze of the wights changed, as if a heavier presence entirely was staring out through those blue orbs.
However it worked - however the wight's masters could choose to see - he knew it was on a different level than what he could do with Phantom. He knew, down to the pit of his soul, that this wight could suddenly see more than just a shadowcat in front of it.
… Kill, Jon ordered after a heartbeat.
Phantom growled. She lunged.
Jon sighed, as he slowly pulled himself back to his own body. He was slumped over the great elk, still riding through the mountains.
He was making good progress in his warging. Not good enough.
I can handle, at most, two bodies at once, he thought quietly. The hard part about warging was being present in multiple skins at once. Ghost was easy - Ghost would follow his commands even without him, Jon could almost passively watch through Ghost's eyes without compromising his control over his own body.
Phantom was something else. The shadowcat required nearly constant supervision. Whenever Jon had to control Phantom's body directly, his own body would collapse as if unconscious. Granted, it was getting less bad over time, but still...
Controlling Phantom directly made things dangerous for him. He could only do it now because he trusted the great elk to carry him, but he became vulnerable each time he warged. It was hard enough controlling the shadowcat and keeping himself on the elk at the same time.
Still, it did feel like it was getting easier. Phantom placated noticeably after feeding, and she been eating well with the wights that they had been picking off.
Jon was learning how to fight wights, picking them off one by one with Phantom. The normal rules were useless against wights; if you severed an arm, that arm would still move. Jon had always been taught to strike for the throat or the chest in battle, but those were the worst places to strike against wights. Instead, the best targets were at the eyes, or the joints; not to try and kill them, but instead just disable them before going for the spine.
Jon closed his eyes, focusing on Ghost this time. His direwolf accepted him smoothly, without hesitation. He gave the order for Ghost to head towards Phantom - they could both share in eating the bodies of the wights. Both animals needed to eat. After that, he pushed Phantom again. His command was softer this time, ordering the shadowcat to head further north. Jon used Phantom as his forward scout, while he generally kept Ghost closer to him for immediate protection.
He sighed. His head was already pounding. Nonstop warging, constantly splitting his attention like this - it was exhausting.
Occasionally, Jon mused about taking more bodies. It was definitely tempting, in any case. Maybe a hawk or an owl to scout out from the air? Jon mused. Or even just a horse would be so useful - some mount that could carry me, that I control with my mind. If I really wanted to, I could even pick a snow bear - a great beast that could fight for me. Not for the first time, Jon remembered Varamyr's six different bodies. It was a moot point, however; for now, at least, Jon wasn't skilled enough to handle much more than he already had.
Jon stared at the ravens circling around him, and at the elk carrying him. The elk trundled on through the cliffy path with sure footing. He knew that the three-eyed crow must be warged into, at the very least, a dozen ravens and an elk all at the same time. He had no idea how the greenseer managed it.
Jon paused slightly as he remembered the wight Phantom killed. The dead girl had looked straight at him with blue eyes. It knew.
… I think the Others are using the same skill as well, Jon thought. I think that's how the white walkers control their wights; they warg into them.
He had been thinking about it for a while now. Perhaps it wasn't the exact same as skinchanging, but Jon suspected that was the same power used in different ways. Jon used it to possess animals, while the white walkers used it to possess dead bodies. The wight saw me. Wargs can always recognise other wargs . That wight saw me because there was an Other inside of it, controlling that body. It saw me through its third eye.
It made sense. Jon had never seen the Others give any verbal orders or visible instructions, but the wights still moved like perfect soldiers. It also explained why the Others needed touch (or at least close proximity) to create wights from corpses - they would possess them.
Jon thought of the stranger, the resurrected person who had never shared his name - the wight that didn't follow the Others. The greenseer is a skinchanger too. If the greenseer had somehow blocked the white walkers from possessing the stranger, then that might explain how the stranger had retained his sentience where all other wights either could not or would not.
Jon had no idea where to even take this theory, if it could be useful for anything at all - but it did make him feel slightly better, to understand his foe a little more. For every wight, there is an Other controlling it, somewhere. Perhaps, like human wargs, the Others also have a limit on the number of bodies each could control? Perhaps the number of wights is limited by the number of white walkers to command them?
And maybe if I kill a white walker, I also stop all of the wights that it is controlling.
Of course, it also meant that anything, everything a wight saw or heard, then a white walker would see it too. If it was paying attention, at least. Did white walkers sleep, ever?
In any case, the white walkers were effectively perfect commanders, leaders that could control their army perfectly across any distance, through mental instructions rather than a general's commands. That had... so many implications from a battlefield commander's perspective.
White walkers didn't need to be anywhere near their wights to control them. As for raising them... if the white walkers weren't limited in range when raising wights, then perhaps they never needed to approach the front lines at all.
It's quite possibly the perfect army, he thought with an undercurrent of dread. Cheap, perfectly controlled and infinitely replaceable soldiers. Every man, woman and child and creature they kill becomes their slave.
And even more importantly...
It means they might already know that I'm here.
That would make surprising them difficult. The number of wights had been getting thicker lately. Jon suspected that the Others were summoning reinforcements from the wights that they had left behind in the Thenn's territory. Still, the thought was reassuring; it was a bit more that he could infer about the tactics of his enemy. If you had soldiers that could stay preserved indefinitely and act autonomously, then it made sense to leave some scattered behind, maybe buried under snow, just so you had bodies everywhere in case something happened. In many ways, the wights made both perfect soldiers and perfect scouts.
Yet it meant that Jon would have to fight through more and more wights answering their master's call the closer he got.
They were already nearly out of the Frostfangs now, and heading towards the frozen wastes. He knew the ice dragon was getting close, and he knew he had to hurry. Jon was pushing the elk as hard as he dared to go.
Jon closed his eyes and tried to focus. In his mind's eye, he could still visualise the scene. Not in details, more feeling. He felt the sensation of being surrounded, of being trapped and hounded, weakened and injured. Jon's dreams had become more vivid than ever. The ice dragon was in trouble.
After weeks of being hounded and fleeing, the Others had finally had it trapped. The dragon had been starving, and the Others had come at it with great bows and arrows made of ice. The icy arrows had pierced straight through one of dragon's leathery wings. They were targeting the wings. Wights had dropped onto its wings with blades and axes, creating gashes across its wings that had stopped the dragon from flying. As soon the dragon became grounded, it became vulnerable.
It was trapped now. It had finally stopped moving, staying stationary. It had taken refuge on a small hilly outcrop at the northern end of the Frostfangs. A dragon perched on a hilltop - a last resort for a beast that couldn't fly. The Others assaulted it constantly with wights, but so far the dragon's breath had made short work of them all.
Still, the Others were patient and the dragon was starving. It couldn't hold out forever. Sooner or later the dragon would fall. The dragon was a great beast. Hundreds of years old and perhaps as large as Balerion the Black Dread, if not larger, but it wasn't invincible.
Jon had seen all of this in his dreams. In his dreams, the dragon was panicked and frenzied; furious but also desperate.
He had to hurry. He was close enough that he could hear the dragon's roars in the distance sometimes. They sounded like thunder rolls. Underneath the aurora, he could make out the outline of the hill where he knew that dragon was entrapped. And the wights kept getting thicker.
He felt the alert coming from Phantom. A stab of fear. Jon instantly slunk into her skin, staring out of her eyes. She was watching the path ahead of him, where the mountains disappeared into rock and snowy drifts.
There was a bear at the mouth of pass. A great snow bear - one that could stand thirteen feet tall, with a thick, muscled body. Its fur must have been white once, but now it was rotten with huge chunks of meat missing from its body. The animal had been savaged before it died, with half of its head sloughed away to reveal the skull beneath. The undead bear was a lumbering, massive beast. It was heading towards the dragon too.
Phantom won't be able to bring down a bear, Jon cursed. He didn't like Ghost's chances either. Perhaps together they might have a chance, but it would be dangerous and more likely to draw the attention of the Others.
Above him, the ravens cawed. The flock flickered around him. There are more wights heading towards him from the east, Jon realised from the warning, must be a group of wights. With a rustle of wings, the ravens parted - the birds would distract the wights, try to lead them away.
So far, his only shot was remaining unnoticed. There was a whole army that he had to get through. The Others were here in force and Jon was trying to sneak between them. If even a single wight sees me…
The dragon was close. Another day's ride, if that. He slipped into Phantom's skin, creeping around the cliffs to get a better view. He slipped past the bear and onwards. He could see there were more figures in the snow, all lumbering towards the hill. There were at least three hundred wights spread across the plains, with scattered shapes that weren't all human. Phantom could smell the scent of undead wolves, bears, even a couple of bulking shapes of giants.
He knew that the undead were just the pawns, though, scattered around the field. The Others themselves would be at the hill, overseeing the siege against the dragon. It was only just dusk. Jon knew that the assault against the dragon would be starting soon. They always attacked at night.
Jon set up camp early that night. He found a hidden enclave on the cliffs that gave him view of the hill, carefully out of sight from the wights. Ghost prowled next to him, on guard, while Jon's body slumped as he crept into Phantom's skin once more.
The shadowcat was scared. Terrified, in fact. So many dead littered across the snow plains. Still, Jon forced her forward, creeping dangerously into the midst of the wights. Close enough to get a view.
He felt the world tremble suddenly. The roar was so loud it shook the earth.
He saw the dragon. It was every bit as brilliant as he remembered, even if this time its hide was littered with wounds. The dragon was gloriously white and crested with red, with dark eyes that shone in the night. Its body was crouched, wrapped around itself and tight while its long neck coiled almost serpentine. Its claws dug into the stone. It looked like pure fury given flesh. Its tall whipping furiously as its head snapped back to front. Sharp teeth flashed in its mouth.
The sense of scale sent tremors down Jon's back. It was hard to imagine a creature that big, even when staring from a distance. The whole hill itself looked like some tiny mount with the dragon perched on top of it. The hill wasn't so high, but it was wide and littered in rocky, snow covered outcrops. Even a good climber would have difficulty getting up there.
Phantom crept closer, and she saw wights charging in from all directions, shambling up the rocky incline. The dragon was alert, coiled into the rocks as it saw the wights climbing upwards. The dragons took a deep breath, and Jon could see the surrounding air hazing.
Brilliant white fire scorched from the dragon's mouth in a pure, magnificent stream. It was so powerful it scorched the rocks clean, tearing the wights into pieces.
The dragon roared in a continuous stream for a several heartbeats, twisting around itself to burn the hill clear. The wights burnt into nothing under its power, like ants disintegrating in a fire. The white fire burned the rocks clean. But then more and more wights started broke out of the plains. Another wave attacked as soon as the first was vaporised. The dragon roared in fury.
It can't breathe dragonfire continuously, Jon realised. With every break in its breath, it became vulnerable. The wights were pushing the dragon constantly, hounding it until it weakened.
The dragon's scales were solid like armour. Jon saw wights clutching bows trying to take shots, but the dragon was well and truly fortified. It took shelter clutching to the large rocks of its perched, keeping its head down, and the few arrows that did hit bounced off its scales uselessly.
The wights charged up towards it, shambling with surprising speed. The dragon's tail swiped powerful wicked swings, but more and more wights filled in the gaps. The wights leapt physically at the dragon, clutching onto hard scales and striking with whatever weapons they had, or even just uselessly trying to attack with bare hands. The dragon was over a hundred-foot-long, and the wights were like insects to it. The beast roared and tried to thrash them off, but they never stopped. They came from every side relentlessly, even as they squashed by the dozens. Dozens of wights crushed or mutilated with every swipe of teeth and claws.
No, Jon thought, watching the battle. The Others never waste troops like this.
There was always a calculated intelligence behind their attacks. Whatever this was... this wasn't consistent.
Then, Phantom saw it. The wights were just distractions. The true threat came from the ice spiders.
The ice spiders were subtle. While the wights charged blindly in numbers, the ice spiders crept in between them, nearly invisible in the snow. While the dragon was trying to brush the wights off, the ice spiders were skittering up the rocks. These ice spiders were big. Bigger than the ones Jon saw at the battle in the Frostfangs - these spiders looked as large as small ponies. Their beady eyes were frighteningly remorseless as they skittered to the dragon.
The ice dragon roared. The ice spiders made it right up to the dragon's feet before they lunged, diving at the dragon's soft underbelly. The dragon's claws tore a dozen of them to pieces, but the other spiders grappled and clicked and bit. Their fangs were sharp enough to bite between the dragon's scales and into its skin. The dragon howled, but this time in pain.
The ice spiders clutched onto its hide and jabbed their fangs into its huge body. The spiders were like ticks on a horse, and the dragon couldn't shake them off fast enough.
The ice spider venom, Jon thought with quiet dread. He rubbed the thigh of his bad leg instinctively. He had been bitten by a small one, but the venom still froze the blood in his leg. The dragon was very large, but enough venom would still weaken it consistently. Jon guessed that this wasn't the first time they had done such an attack. All the Others would have to do was keep on the pressure and wait for the venom to do its job.
The dragon howled again, breathing white fire once more to clear the ice spiders from around it. It's wasting dragonfire, Jon thought. It's panicking, and wasting its fire breath indiscriminately.
The dragonfire was the only thing holding the Others back from attacking with their full army. Instead, the Others had deliberately placed their undead sparsely around the surrounding field, so that the dragon would never be able to scorch all their troops at once. It was a deliberate, effective tactic.
Normally, it might take thousands of men to bring down a dragon that size, but the Others were doing it with a few hundred wights and ice spiders. The Others are good at hunting dragons. They know what tactics to use. It made Jon think that maybe they've had practice doing it before.
As soon as the dragon's breath ran out, the next wave of wights shambled to attack. A larger force this time - the Others were free to commit more troops because the risk of the dragon's breath had run out. There were even three undead giants in this wave; large, muscular shapes armed with huge clubs and spikes that could even do damage to the dragon's thick hide. These wights weren't attacking blindly either, these were more capable, less decayed wights armed with arrows and lances. First, they sent in shock troops to draw its fire. Then, they sent in ice spiders to poison it. Now, they were committing a much stronger force that could maybe subdue the dragon all together.
Jon watched in stunned silence as the dragon fought and wrath. Arrows bounced off its hide. It tore the undead giants apart in its teeth. The dragon didn't go down easily. But the Others would never stop.
Slowly, Jon directed Phantom closer to the hill. He felt the shadowcat's breath grow hoarse and cold as he saw the glittering cold shapes on the field of snow.
If they see me, I'm dead, Jon thought with a quiet stab of panic. He could feel Phantom almost roaring at him in fear.
He could pick out the shapes of the white walkers themselves, standing in a circle around the hill, but a safe distance away. The commanders directing their army. Their shapes seemed to glitter in the dusk.
There were five white walkers in total. Two of them were mounted on undead rotten horses, one of them was on a giant spider just as big. The other two were on foot. All of them had sharp, glittering swords, one clutched a white lance. They stared upwards at the dragon with unblinking blue eyes, as still as a statue.
They took positions all around the hill, like an army directing a siege. Fortunately, their attention was raptured on the dragon, Jon didn't think they noticed the shadowcat creeping around in the shadows. Their wights were positioned sparsely enough that Phantom could creep in between them in the darkness, as silent as a shadow. Jon watched for as long as he dared. Then, he had to pull Phantom back.
He sighed as dropped back into his skin, rubbing his head in pain. The longer he forced the warg the harder it became. Jon took a deep breath, trying to take stock of his foes.
There were about four or five hundred wights surrounding the hill, all of them positioned sparsely, but more arriving every day. There was no tight rank and file of wights - which was good because it made easier to sneak through - but also bad because it meant they spread over a much greater area.
There were also five white walkers, plus however many ice spiders. Maybe three or four undead giants.
And one dragon.
The dragon had to run. It was poisoned, starving and weakening quickly. It couldn't fly, and it couldn't survive a siege.
The dragon's only chance would be if it tried to break through the Other's forces and run. Jon supposed that moving across the ground on foot must be completely against the nature of a dragon; which was why it had holed up on its perch instead. Trying to convince a dragon to fight on the ground, where was most vulnerable, would be like trying to convince an eagle to hunt on foot. Completely against the animal's nature and the white walkers were exploiting that. The dragon didn't know these lands. It wouldn't run blindly into potentially even more danger. Instead, the dragon chose to stay and fight.
The Others were summoning more and more wights to assault the dragon, they were filing through the mountains. In a few days, there could be twice as many undead.
I need to warg with it, Jon thought. The only chance he had was if he could warg with the dragon, and push it into doing something that no dragon would normally do.
Even on foot, the dragon was still big. Jon reckoned it could move quickly, and the Others wouldn't be expecting a sudden change in behaviour. The dragon could push through the undead lines, used dragonfire to clear a path, to break through into the mountains. They could reach the mountain path, and they could run down the Milkwater and take shelter in the haunted forest. The Others move slowly. You can outrun them, at least for a while .
And, above all, he needed to do it quickly. While the dragon still had strength to fight. Jon closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. I need to warg with the dragon…
He tried to remember what the dragon dreams felt like. He tried to focus on the great white dragon, pushing out his mind to meet it. He sat there for a long time, his body shivering with cold, and he felt absolutely nothing.
Jon cursed. Around him, the ravens cawed quietly. He spent a long time staying at the knowing gaze of one of the ravens as it cawed. The three-eyed crow must have known what he would face.
… It's easier to warg with animals when up close, Jon told himself. I might just be too far away. If I could touch it, or if I can look into its eyes, I would possibly have a better chance.
There were so many problems with that statement he never even knew where to begin. The army of undead. The white walkers. The dragon.
While Jon had a sword, a wolf, a cat, and an elk.
He could feel the fear so intense his body trembled. Part of him wanted to just turn and run, but he knew that he couldn't do that. He had a chance to potentially win this war, and he could never live with himself if he let that slip by.
Still, that didn't stop his heart from pounding and his hand from trembling.
There is no shame in fear, his father had told him. What matters is how we face it.
Jon gulped, took a deep breath, and started to plan.
I'm not going to die here, he thought quietly. I was ready to die once, but not this time.
He thought of Ygritte, of his family, his sister, of his brothers and his home and he steeled himself to live. This time, he was going to absolutely everything and anything he could to live.
"… I'm going to save a dragon," Jon whispered, staring out over the hills for a long time. In the distance, the white dragon thrashed.
The dream was vivid and intense. Jon stood atop a great mountain of ice, staring at the glowing northern lights. All around him, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but snow and ice.
Jon blinked, staring at the dreamscape. He knew it was a dream, which was strange. He stretched his hands, inspecting his body. I have five fingers again, he realised suddenly as he looked at his left hand. The mutilated hand was gone. His little finger, severed by frostbite, was back on his knuckles. This is just a dream .
Then a bird flapped from the sky and perched on an icy outcrop. Jon turned to stare at the black crow. This crow had a third, black eye in the middle of its forehead.
"… You can communicate through dreams?" Jon asked.
"Of course," the crow cawed. "We see more in our dreams than most realise."
Jon smiled, but the smile was grim. "The dragon is under siege. I can't reach it, and I'm not close enough to warg."
"I know. There are four hundred wights surrounding it, and more coming each day. There is a larger force heading from the north, but for now there is very brief window where they might be vulnerable."
Jon frowned. "I can't fight through four hundred. Unless I fly to the dragon. Can you fly me?"
"I'm afraid not. But I can help even the odds. There is a clan of giants to the southeast. I have directed them towards you."
Giants? Jon knew that giant clans were usually small family units and migratory, but… "You can control giants?!"
"No," the crow cawed. "But I can control their mammoths. The giants will follow their mammoths."
"How many giants?"
"Five giants, and three mammoths."
Jon shook his head. "… That won't be enough. They'll get slaughtered."
"Yes," the crow agreed. "But the Others like raising giants and mammoths - they make good prizes for their army. The white walkers will split their forces and head south to kill the giant clan. That is less for you to deal with."
He stared. "You're going to use them as bait."
"Distractions, rather. They will expect the dragon to be subdued after the night, right now they are simply waiting for the poison to weaken it further. They will not underestimate a giant clan, however, so they will send wights in force to deal with them. That gives you an opportunity. You will not get a better one."
"And the giants themselves?" he said, aghast. "You're pulling them into a battle unprepared and they'll be killed."
"Yes."
The thought made him feel sick, but there was no choice but to swallow it. "How many do I have to face?"
"I suspect less than two hundred will be left behind."
"Still too many. I'm alone here."
The bird rustled. "No. You're not alone. We can help with those odds."
Jon didn't reply. His hands clenched, glaring suspiciously. "Take the dragon and run. Warg with it. Command it," the bird ordered. "Run east over the Frostfangs and keep going, I can distract them from following you. Get the dragon to safety."
"And if I can't warg with it?"
"Then you die. So do many," the bird cawed. "Get close to the dragon, look into its eyes, and you have the best chance that anyone has."
Jon's jaw clenched. He paused to stare at his hands. Around him, there was a crack like thunder. The crow just rustled, wings outstretching. "This is your duty, Jon Snow," the crow cawed. "And, say, do you have any corn?"
The world disappeared with a flash. Jon jolted awake suddenly. He was lying on a rocky cliff, with the elk grazing next to him. The elk stared at him knowingly.
It was barely dawn. Compared to the frenzy of last night, the plains seemed quiet. The dragon was resting from the Other's assault, while the wights had backed off for the day to wait for reinforcements. Jon could still here the dark shapes littering the snows - the wights spread out and waiting patiently around the hill.
I'll charge at noon, Jon thought with a clenched jaw. There was no other way to do this.
At dawn, the Others would have to retreat. They didn't come out during the day. Likewise, Jon suspected that the ice spiders were nocturnal too. That left only the wights. Their forces were still depleted after attacking the dragon during the night, and they would be further depleted with the greenseer's giant distraction. There could only be about two hundred undead wights standing between Jon and the dragon.
Well, not true actually. The wights were spread around the entire hill, like in a siege formation. The ones on the other side of the side probably wouldn't be able to react in time. As soon as Jon broke cover and tried to approach the hill, he would likely only face roughly fifty or so.
That was still far too many for one person to face, but it was a better number. It was a number he could he could work to cut down further. If Jon moved quickly, he could possibly slip through most of them.
I need a distraction, he decided. I need to lure them away to one side to give me a clear chance at making it. I need to use Ghost and Phantom.
The plan was simple. Jon could warg into Ghost and Phantom and direct them to the western edge of the field. The two animals would attack whatever wights they could for however long they could hold them, which would clear an opening for Jon to ride up from the southeast. The elk was fully rested, and if he timed it right they wouldn't be expecting it. They would have slow reaction times.
With a clear field, the elk could probably make the journey to the hill in about an hour. With a good gallop, the wights might not be able to stop him. They wouldn't see Jon coming, and they wouldn't be expecting anyone to run into the middle of their siege.
There would still be the undead directly around the hill to deal with. There was no choice but to cut through them. There was no way to tell how many would he would have to face.
Jon's big concern (well, bigger) was the undead giant positioned by the hill. It was a huge, rotting beast, twelve feet tall with an exposed ribcage and old spears still sticking out of its dead body. Hopefully Ghost and Phantom could lure the giant away as well. If not, Jon would have to just try to avoid it. Giants were slow, he remembered one of the children of the forest saying. An undead giant must be even slower.
Jon didn't need to beat them, he just needed to get past them.
The dragon would be weak and injured from fighting the night before. Hopefully, it would be subdued. It would make it easier for Jon to get close enough to warg.
There was no escape plan. Or, rather, the dragon was the escape plan.
Jon's arms were twitching. He dropped anything that he didn't desperately need. His spare furs, his blankets, even his emergency rations. The elk needed to be able to run fast.
"I am the watcher on the wall," Jon muttered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. A quiet chant to focus the warg, to reinforce his identity. "I am the shield the guards the realm of men."
The dawn was cold and hard, the sun barely visible this far north. Still, Jon just had to hope it was enough to drive the Others away.
"I am the watcher on the wall…" he repeated, closing his eyes as he slipped into Phantom's skin.
The shadowcat growled and fought, but there was no gentleness from Jon this time. He pushed firmly, forcing her to obey. His body slumped as suddenly he was staring through the sharp, black and white vision of a cat. She didn't like operating in the day, and she liked the undead even less. Jon had to force her every step of the way.
Thankfully, Ghost followed smoothly. The direwolf reacted to Jon instinctively. Every moment waiting felt agonising. Jon let the noon sun spread high into the air, before pushing the animals to move.
Jon stayed in Phantom's skin. She was the one who needed the most control, while Ghost could handle himself. If need be, Jon would even sacrifice Phantom to let Ghost escape. He wasn't about to let his best friend die.
Run, the shadowcat urged in panic. Run, danger, run.
No, Jon pushed. Fight.
The shadowcat was used to fighting stealthily, one on one. Jon was forcing her to do the exact opposite. He needed the distraction.
The snow bear, Jon thought. The undead snow bear was close to the edge. The biggest threat. A bear like that could maybe run down an elk. He needed to take the bear down first. Attack.
She was so panicked she nearly escaped from his control. Instead, Jon pushed her harder, driving her to lunge.
The snow bear didn't see it coming. Suddenly, the shadowcat was leaping out from the snowy rocks, straight into the snow bear's hide. Sharp claws bit into thick muscle and hide. The snow bear didn't even feel it. Suddenly, everything devolved into frenzied growling, and tooth and fang. The bear straightened up on two legs, trying to knock Phantom off. Jon saw a single blue eye glowing in the faint sun. She barely clung onto its back, still tearing through any flesh she could reach.
The bear twisted, large paws swinging at her. Phantom felt its claws brush at her hind legs, and then Ghost barrelled at the bear. The direwolf was smaller than the snow bear, but he was still powerful. Sharp fangs tore at its hide, barrelling into the bear and snapping at the throat.
Ghost in front and Phantom on its back. The snow bear was scrambling, but it attacked with undead fury. Go for the eyes, Jon pushed. He could feel the shadowcat's panic as if were his own. The eyes, the nose, the skull. Take down the senses first .
Ghost twisted to one side to avoid a lunge, tearing at its back. Phantom clambered up the bear's back, hissing and growling as she dug sharp claws into the bear's face. The bear's movements were wild and powerful. Ghost pulled one of its hind legs out from under it, and the creature collapsed. Phantom had to pounce off before she was crushed as it fell. The bear was mad and blind, but it still swiped and raged.
Phantom's instincts pushed her to go for the throat, to kill it by tearing out the jugular. Jon had to override them. Wights were difficult opponents to beat; the throats were useless since they didn't breathe. If you couldn't sever the spine, then you needed to cut it down piece by piece. The arms. The legs, Jon ordered. Strip the muscles away from the limbs. Stop it from moving .
The bear charged. Ghost darted away, and then pounced on it from the side, meeting it with ferocity and strength. Phantom hesitated, waiting for the opportunity before lunging at the bears hind legs. Her sharp teeth gouged rotten flesh away from bone. Ghost handled the top. Phantom cut away at it from the bottom. Normally, the direwolf didn't like the shadowcat, but at that moment their coordination was flawless.
The snow bear was struggling. Its body was being shredded. Normally, the animals would finish the job and tear it apart, but Jon intervened. The bear is crippled. Leave it.
Phantom broke apart. Ghost snarled and retreated; a long, ringing howl breaking out of his throat. The howl rang across the field.
The other wights were already moving. They were shambling towards the animals - at least two dozen of them. Jon knew it would happen, but he also knew that the pair were massively surrounded. It's alright. I don't have to beat them, just keep them busy. If need be, the animals could lead the wights around in a chase through the mountains. Aim to cripple, don't bother trying to kill.
The snow bear was still moving. It tried to stagger after Ghost, but it didn't have enough limbs left to even move properly.
The first wight charged, swinging a stone axe. Phantom pounced on it, claws tearing through its back while the sharp teeth gouged at its shoulder. The wight was still scratching and biting even as Phantom bit its arm clean off. There's barely even blood, he noticed, only rotten ooze .
A second wight tried to charge at the shadowcat. Ghost barrelled into it, tearing it to pieces savagely, biting and snarling. The other wights were closing in fast. Jon forced himself to take control of Phantom's body and his own at the same time. Trying to move and warg at the same time felt excruciatingly painful, but at the moment Jon didn't care.
"Move!" Jon snapped, kicking at the elk. The three-eyed crow knew the plan as well. "Move! Run! Move!"
The beast broke into a gallop. Strong hooves kicked up the snow. The path was rocky, but the great elk was surefooted. Around him, the ravens erupted into the air.
It was maybe ten miles to the hill, on mostly open ground. The wights were gathered around in about a three-mile perimeter, with a few outliers. Normally they would see Jon coming straight away, but with Phantom and Ghost serving as distractions, there might be a chance. Jon's heart was in his mouth as the elk galloped. He could only hope he had timed it properly.
Through Jon's third eye, he saw a dozen wights charge at Ghost. They were all armed, but the direwolf met them ferociously. The direwolf fought them with strength and fury, while the shadowcat picked them off with precision and stealth.
Tooth and claw couldn't compare to steel. The beasts would die very quickly in any straight fight against metal blades. Their only saving grace was their maneuverability and speed. Despite his size, Ghost darted and weaved agilely, avoiding the blades but striking fierce, powerful blows.
Still, speed could always be beaten by numbers. The more wights came after them, the worse it became.
If they had been fighting men, Jon doubted if they would have had a chance. The wights were hard to kill and powerful, but they also lacked the coordination and the reflexes of living men. It took a different type of tactic to beat them. Ghost and Phantom could exploit that.
Jon's heart was pounding as the elk galloped. It was a strong beast, but even it would tire quickly running quickly.
Ghost and Phantom were slowly retreating backwards. Phantom had taken a graze to its rump, and it was taking all of Jon's concentration to force the shadowcat not to turn and flee all together. As soon as I start fighting, I'm going to lose control of Phantom completely, he thought with a grimace. Still, there was nothing for it. Jon wouldn't be able to fight properly in two bodies at once.
The animals were being forced backwards, but circling around the wights. So many wights had had their legs torn out that the dead bodies tried to drag themselves across the snow. The wights shambled over themselves to chase after the direwolf. Careful, Jon pushed, just keep them busy .
Jon was approaching the hill. He could see with his own eyes the fields that he had only previously seen through Phantom's. There were black spots dotted across the snowfields ahead. More wights, Jon thought angrily. Not all of them had been distracted by Ghost and Phantom.
Dark shapes fluttered around him. The ravens shot through the air either side of him, swarming on the nearest wights. The ravens went for the eyes, pecking and scratching viciously. The ravens kept the closest wights distracted, while the elk ran straight by.
He was nearly halfway there. He could feel the elk panting for breath, but it was still galloping hard. Jon charged straight into the perimeter that the Others had set up. A dark shadow loomed in the distance. The undead giant was still in its position. Jon cursed, but there was no choice to turn back. He would have to just try and slip by the giant.
It was open fields now. He could see the enemy coming and they could see him. Jon counted at least two dozen shambling corpses rushing to meet him.
My father had always said that one mounted man was worth a dozen infantry, Jon thought, kicking the elk a bit harder. He saw undead raiders and clansmen with bronze axes shambling to meet him.
Jon's whole body was burning as the elk rode straight into their midst.
Battle fury, he thought. It was a term he once heard the Greatjon use. The drive, the anger, that kicked in during battle. Jon had been in fights before, but he had never once charged against a foe like this.
Jon didn't feel his wounds then, or the cold on his hands, or the sweat down his brow. He wasn't thinking, he wasn't feeling, it was like time just stopped around him. There was only the fight, the enemy in front of him, and the next, and the next and then next…
Dark Sister was in his hand.
The first wight fell as Dark Sister cleaved his skull clean open. The second stroke took down another, and then the elk's antlers knocked two of them straight to the ground. One of the elk's antlers cracked and its whole body jerked with the impact, but it didn't stop. He saw another wight slash with a heavy maul, but suddenly it was like everything was moving so slowly.
It's like dancing, he thought strangely. Dancing with a sword in his hand. It seemed so slow that Jon could have danced through them laughing.
These men are dead, but I'm not.
The wights fell under him. Dark Sister slashed left and right, the fine blade knowing no equal.
Arrows flew through the arrow, stabbing the ground around him. There were undead bowmen at the foot of the hill, but their aim was terrible. He felt the arrows hiss by him. The elk took an arrow to the rump, but it kept on galloping and Jon kept on slashing. The elk whinnied in pain, while a wordless battle cry tore through Jon's throat.
The giant, Jon glared. The undead giant had a heavy club, and it was stomping forward to block Jon's path. The wights were falling and the bowmen were reloading, but the giant was still in his path. I can slip around him; it's slow I can slip by…
Then, Jon's eyes picked up movement. Movement on the white snow. His heart nearly skipped a beat.
The ice spiders, he cursed. There were ice spiders skittering towards him. The spiders were in all different shapes; the smallest the size of hounds while the largest the size of ponies.
"Run!" Jon roared. The giant raised its club. The ice spiders skittered at him, long legs twitching. "Run, run, run!"
The elk responded beautifully. It darted to the side just as the giant's club smashed downwards. The impact was so heavy it caused the ground to shudder. An ice spider lunged, but then Jon's sword sliced through two of its legs. The spider crunched around his blade. The spider bled unnatural blood, a pale blue-white liquid that radiated such cold it could shatter ice. But the liquid steamed on Dark Sister's blade, and faded away to nothing.
Another spider, one of the largest, charged into the elk. The elk neighed in panic and nearly fell, but then Jon's sword cut downwards. His stroke was true, piercing straight in the centre of all the spider's black beady eyes. The creature clicked and screeched in pain; a high-pitched cry like nails scraping against bone. The spider was still lunging at the elk with fingers and twitching legs, even while the great elk charged straight through it.
Jon barely reacted in time as the giant twisted around, extending a black hand larger than Jon's torso. Trying to grab him, to crush him in a huge fist. Dark Sister flashed in the dim sunlight, and then three of the giant's beefy fingers were falling severed to the ground.
The giant tried to lunge again with its other hand, but then the air turned black with rustling shapes and cawing. The ravens rallied together and swarmed out of the sky, all of them pecking and scratching at the giant's eyes. It was enough of distraction for Jon to get clear of the giant.
Enemies all around me. There were ice spiders circling, and more wights charging in towards him. Every moment the odds stacked up against him a bit further. Don't give the enemy time to rally.
"Forward!" Jon roared, kicking the elk. "Charge, forward!"
The elk was suffering badly. It had an arrow in its rump, and the ice spider's fangs had scraped its sides open. The poor beast was nearly frantic with panic. Still, it charged. It charged beautifully.
The hill was getting closer. Barely ten metres away. If Jon could reach it, he could maybe lose the wights by climbing the rocks…
The wight bowmen knocked another shot. This time, Jon was so close that not even the dead could miss. The elk took two black arrows to the chest. Jon screamed as the beast shattered to the ground. Antlers cracked as it toppled headfirst.
There was no saddle; Jon slid straight to the ground. He gasped in pain. The snow helped cushion the landing, but the fall still hurt. His whole body trembled from the impact, but the adrenaline overpowered any shock.
Still, Dark Sister never left his grasp. He was too angry to feel any injuries at that moment. His heart was beating so fast it was like the world was moving in slow motion.
Anger, rage - that is what keeps me alive, Jon thought furiously. It felt like there was fire in his blood. That's what keeps me fighting.
The dead and the cold could never understand that rage, that drive.
An ice spider lunged at him on the ground. He saw its fangs dripping over a grotesque mouth. Dark Sister slashed upwards, biting into the creature's head and its hairy body slumped to the ground. Its legs were still twitching even as it died under Dark Sister.
Jon roared as he dragged himself up, limping backwards as fast his bad leg could carry him. The soft snow was a foot deep, and each effort was painful. Still, Jon could barely feel pain.
Another ice spider lunged at him - a smaller one the size of a hound. Jon's sword cut it in half.
The ice spiders were terrifying foes against the fleeing and the unprepared. Still, fangs couldn't match good steel. A strong soldier could fight them off.
I count three ice spiders, four wights, and one undead giant left, Jon counted, gasping for breath. He had to take them all down quickly, before any more arrived.
The ice spiders clicked and hissed, trying to circle around him. The wights attacked first, charging at him with axes and swords. Dark Sister parried a bronze blade, and then split open a wight's skull. The wight was still thrashing even when Jon pulled his sword out of its skull.
The dead are poor swordsmen, he thought viciously, twisting to meet another wight. A second tried to ambush him from behind, but Jon spun. They hacked and slashed with axes, but their movements were so clumsy that Jon could take two of them at once.
Then the third one ambushed him from behind. Jon howled in pain as a stone maul slammed against his back. He felt something crack. The pain in his side was agony.
"… I will not die…" Jon snarled, grabbing the wight behind him and throwing him forward into the other two. "… I will not die… !"
They were strong and tough, but slow. Jon's blade sliced the top of one's head clean off, causing rotten brains to spill over the ground, but he still had to stagger backwards to avoid the creature's thrashing. Even with half a head, it still didn't fall down.
The other wight charged him. The stone axe grazed Jon's shoulder but then Dark Sister sliced off its head. Jon had never known a blade as slender as Dark Sister capable of beheading a man before.
Three spiders, one wight and one giant, Jon thought with a gasp as the head bounced off the ground. The decapitated head was still blinking, blue eyes staring at him.
Jon was still staggering when one of the ice spiders lunged at him. Jon caught it with sword, but then a second ice spider lunged from the other side. Spiny legs wrapped around Jon's shoulder, and then suddenly there were sharp fangs biting into his back.
Jon howled, struggling to throw the ice spider off. He could feel its legs wrapping around his shoulder, its teeth in his back. Jon was still thrashing while the final wight tried to split his skull open with a sword. Jon had to drop to avoid it, while the ice spider clinging to his shoulder tried to lunge at his head.
There was no time to swing his sword, so instead Jon just punched the spider with all his might. The spider crumpled around his fist.
Jon was gasping for breath. He could still feel the ice spider's fangs in his back. The wight tried to swing another stroke, but Jon shoulder-barged into him. The wight thrashed, but then Dark Sister pierced straight through its chest, severing his spine and cutting half its torso open. The wight didn't stop moving, but it crumpled.
He nearly collapsed. The ground was littered with bodies and black blood. One spider and one giant left . "… I will not die…" he muttered, blinking woozily.
The giant was struggling to pick up its club, lacking the fingers on its hand. The final ice spider, a big one the size of a pony, hissed and crackled as Jon staggered towards it.
Dark Sister was in his hand. The ice spider lunged. Jon plunged Dark Sister straight down its throat. He felt its fangs scrape against the pommel of his sword.
"… You killed me once…" he growled. "… I will not die…"
The giant finally swung its club, even despite the ravens still pecking at its face. It was a large, laborious swing. The giant was almost three times as tall as Jon. Every instinct Jon had told him to run, but instead Jon's legs staggered forward. He clutched Dark Sister in both hands, swinging it wide as he dived between the giant's legs.
Dark Sister slashed at the giant's knee. The blade shimmered, but cut straight through a leg as thick as a tree trunk.
It was a hell of a blade.
The giant shuddered, suddenly missing its right leg. The monster seemed to freeze for a tense heartbeat, before toppling backwards.
The undead giant was still moving, as were many of the mutilated corpses, but Jon didn't care to stay to finish the job. Its leg was severed and it couldn't follow. Bulky flesh struggled to pull itself up. So long as they couldn't follow him he didn't care. More were already coming. Against the dead, it was more effective to try and cripple them then destroy them.
His breathing was hoarse and pained. His ribs ached and his muscles were sore. He could still feel the spider's fangs sticking into his back, but there was no time to remove them.
The venom, dammit, Jon cursed. He could already feel the numbness spreading, like his blood was running cold. Soon, the ice spider venom might incapacitate him completely. He needed to move before that happened.
His leg jarred as he tried to clamber over the rocks. His body was stiff and the adrenaline was running low. It was a painful climb, trying to pull himself up the cliffs with a bad shoulder. He could hear the wights moving below him. The undead were bad climbers too, but Jon still didn't have long. He was hobbling with his bad leg as he staggered upwards.
All around him, he saw the rocks that had been scorched clean and misshapen by the ice dragon's breath. The air was cold.
He clambered up another rock. He could hear the dragon's breathing now, deep and steady. One more ledge, and he could see it…
Jon felt his breath freeze as he stared upwards at the shadow that was suddenly looming above him.
Its head was outstretched from its perch, staring down at him. Jon had known from a certain sense how big it was, at least in theory, but still… to see the dragon from up close… from this close... the sheer scale made his knees weak.
It was like staring at a cliff of white flesh. The dragon's scales were glittered in the sun as if they were made from polished marble, with red streaks like blood running through them.
The dragon's head alone was massive. When it opened its mouth, Jon could have sworn he could have rode a horse straight into its jaws and still not been able to touch its teeth. Wicked, curved, horns spread backwards from its skull, with a crest of scales tipped in red along its neck. Its eyes were pitch black - they seemed so small compared to its massive head. Its mouth parted slightly, revealing white teeth like swords. Its upper jaw was curved upwards slightly, like there was grin of teeth on that wicked snout.
A deep, low growl broke forth from its jaws. That growl reminded Jon of distant thunder. It was staring at him. It was staring straight at him, perched on the rocks above and looking down. There was steam billowing from between its teeth, spilling from its mouth in sheets.
"… Holy…" Jon muttered, stepping back. He couldn't help but gulp. He slowly raised his hands, trying to lower his body and his gaze. Hullen had once told him to never to look a predator in the eye. They took it as a challenge. "… I'm not here to hurt you… it's alright… it's alright…"
His breath was thin in his throat. His voice was weak. His hands were trembling. He was staring upwards at a beast that could eat him whole without even chewing, and absolutely every bit of its attention was straight on him.
It's injured, Jon realised suddenly. The dragon didn't look so good either. Arrows and wounds were scattered all across its hide, even a few spears. It took deep, laborious breaths. Everything about it seemed weary, sluggish. It's running out of fight too…
There was movement behind him. The dead, climbing.
"… Alright… easy now…" Jon gasped, slowly closing his eyes. "… I'm here to help you…"
He stretched out his mind. He had to focus on the animal in his mind, concentrate, try to slip into its skin…
Jon gasped. Suddenly, he could feel the dragon. He could feel its mind. He could feel its body, the pounding of its massive heart. The feeling was so intense it hurt. It felt like his mind was on fire.
The dragon shifted, and then roared. The force knocked Jon to the ground and caused his ears to ring. The world went deaf.
The dragon was like no other animal he had ever warged with. It was so powerful it felt like a lightning storm. Trying to control it felt like trying to chain a meteorite. Jon clutched his head in pain.
The dragon snarled dangerously. It felt Jon try to warg with it. It wasn't happy. It didn't like anyone trying to control its body.
"Easy! Easy now!" Jon gasped, dropping to his knees and averting his gaze. The dragon growled. Focus. Focus. "I'm not here to hurt you! I'm here to help! I'm here to help!"
His heart was beating harder than it ever had before. Jon gulped and tried to reach out again. Softer, this time. Don't try to force it, just… touch it…
Jon could feel the dragon. He could see it in his third eye. It wasn't warging, but Jon just lightly touched the dragon's presence, trying to express himself. The very sliver of a connection sent shivers down Jon's spine. He was gasped for breath, trying to think soothing thoughts and pass them on to the dragon. Desperately trying to gently calm it down…
The dragon didn't stopped growling. "… I've seen you in my dreams!" Jon shouted. He had no idea if it could understand him, but it seemed like it was worth a shot. "You remember? I think you've felt me as well. Do you remember the ice? You were trapped under the ice!"
Unblinking black eyes stared at him. "I was the one that released you," said Jon, struggling to breathe. "My blood woke you up!"
There was movement below. The wights were scrambling up after him. Jon's attention was fixed firmly on the dragon towering over him. "… We're going to die here," Jon said after pause. "Both of us. We'll both die here. They're going to keep on coming for you, and sooner or later they'll get you." He raised his voice. "You'll die if you stay here!"
The dragon didn't even twitch. "Do you understand?" Jon shouted. "We need to run! We need to fight, and we need get away from here! They want to kill you! They want to kill you and raise you as one of theirs!"
Jon could hear the wights clambering after him. They were right below him, and nearly at the top. "We need to go!" Jon screamed, pushing the warg as far as he dared. "Come with me if you want to live!"
The dragon's massive head cocked. There was a low, deep growl in its throat.
Jon saw the wights scramble up the ridge, swords in hand. There were four of them at the front, and far more coming from below. They were charging at him, not the dragon. Jon grasped Dark Sister tightly, raising his sword to meet them.
And then the air blurred. The dragon moved so fast it was like lightning. Instantly, the dragon's tail snaked around and flickered. The tail whipped so close to Jon that he could feel the wind brush overhead. All four wights were flying bodily into the distance. Jon stared in shock.
Around him, the dragon was moving. The great beast was lifting itself up, supported on its coiled wings like a giant bat. Great billows of steam were wafting from its mouth, it was hissing in the cold air.
And then Jon could feel it. He could feel the dragon pressing up against his mind in a way he couldn't quite explain.
Jon wasn't warging with the dragon. It felt like the dragon was trying to warg with him.
"Oh," Jon muttered, as he accepted the connection. Instantly, almost easily, Jon felt himself rising up out of his body…
The dragon's eyes were like nothing he had ever experienced. It wasn't normal vision. The vision was all vivid reds and blues, like the dragon was seeing a whole different world. The scents and smells were overpowering - a nose that put even Ghost's to shame.
It felt like there was a power in his chest, just bubbling and waiting to explode…
Jon gasped, trying to process it. He wasn't controlling the dragon, it felt like the dragon and him were standing side by side.
We need to leave, Jon thought desperately, willing the dragon to understand him. The mountain pass. I know an escape route.
The ice dragon was clambering to life. Its claws were so large they scraped the rocks as it moved. Jon darted to one side as the dragon lowered itself down, its body coiling itself low. Its head lowered itself down…
It's going to move, Jon realised suddenly, dropping back to his own body, and I need to go with it.
Jon stared at the dragon's head, at the horns and the spiky frills running down its long neck. There was only one way he could keep pace with the dragon…
Jon's heart was in his mouth as he rushed towards the dragon head and climbed up its neck so quickly he half-jumped. The dragon's neck was coiled so low to the rocks that he could reach it easily. The scales on its crest were pointy and sharp, but they protruded enough to make good handholds.
The problem was all the movement, the rocking of the dragon's head, the snaking of its neck - and the quaking, almost tectonic feel of its breathing - any of which threatened to shake him off, let alone all at once. But Jon persevered in pure desperation. The adrenaline pushed him forward, pushed him up; Jon climbed the dragon almost as if it was a ladder of scales, ignoring all pain or weakness, pulling himself upwards.
The scales nearer the top of the neck were larger, easier to get a good grip on, and when he reached the top he could wrap his arms around one of the dragon's horns and hold on for dear life. The horns were like polished white ivory, as thick as large tree trunks. Jon could barely cling onto the horn - he had to wind his arms all the way around it. The first time the dragon tilted its head, it almost sent Jon reeling off its head to a thirty-foot drop. He gasped, feeling the scales dig into his back.
The dragon barely waited for him. Jon had only just gotten a grip on the horn when the dragon reared its wings back, crouched on its legs, and leapt from the hill. It spread its damaged wings out wide, flapping furiously as it tried to glide through the air.
When it landed, it landed with the force of an earthquake, throwing up clouds of snow.
Jon was very nearly sent flying. The impact took his breath away. He hung onto the horn with both arms, and then propped his legs up and squeezed into the space between its frills. The sharp pointy scales dug painfully into Jon's back, but at the moment there was absolutely nothing he could do except hold on desperately.
All around him, the Others were attacking. The wights abandoned everything and charged madly at the dragon. The dragon was finally on open ground. It was more vulnerable than it had ever been. But not vulnerable enough.
Its tail cut down a dozen wights at once. Its body twisted and it breathed, and white fire scorched straight through crowds of wights. Arrows littered the air and wights hacked at its feet, but then sharp claws crushed them underfoot. Jon couldn't see a thing, but he heard the thrashing bodies and crunching corpses.
The dragon felt clumsy and cumbersome on the ground, it didn't have the grace that it had in the air. It moved like a bat walking on its folded wings, but it was so large that even a single awkward bound could cover great distances, moving faster than any horse.
The wights were attacking. There were ice spiders skittering up its hind legs. Beneath it, the ground was an ocean of dead, thrashing bodies all attacking and hacking, but the dragon tore through them as easily as a force of nature.
Jon could barely even process it, not when every movement caused his to jerk like a rag doll. He saw the dead bodies trying to clamber up the dragon's legs, as if they could tear it down, but the beast shook them off. It nearly shook Jon off as well.
Jon felt its body clench, and then suddenly it was jumping. The dragon's wings were flapping weakly to try and propel itself, and for a brief moment the great beast was flying.
And then it crashed into the rocky mountainside. The world went deaf with the impact. The dragon snaked its head back towards the dead, unleashed a final roar, and then they were bounding away.