Dragons of Ice and Fire

by Diablo Snowblind

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

19. Invasion, the King-on-the-Wall

The King-on-The Wall, the beginning of the invasion

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Davos

Davos gasped, sputtering water. His vision was blurry grey, which was surprising. He had never expected to ever see anything again.

Around him, people were yelling. He felt strong hands drag him out of cold water and roughly over hard ground. He was shivering, struggling to see, struggling to even breathe, only vaguely aware of his hands being bound to a post in the middle of the camp.

For a while, he felt like he would die any moment now, suffocated by the cold. It felt like there was ice in his blood.

There were other figures next to him, all similarly bound. Some were shouting or fighting, others just shivering weakly. Davos was one of the quiet injured ones. One by one, Davos watched through weak, painful vision as the cold killed others around him. Davos felt sure that he would be next.

There wasn't even any fear with that thought. Davos felt like all of his emotion had drained out of the wound in his chest. He could feel nothing but cold.

Slowly, painfully, his breath came back. His body started to warm by the fire. It took a while before he realised he wasn't going to die. It seems like I'm cursed to live.

This is the second battle in a bay where I've survived the water, he thought with bitterness, his head still woozy. First the fire in the Blackwater, and then ice in Hardhome.

He blacked out a lot. His consciousness faded in and out. When Davos woke up one time, there was an old wizened woman tending to his wounds, and then pouring rough milk down his throat and almost force-feeding him a thick paste.

"… Why are you looking after me?" Davos gasped.

"King Snow wants all prisoners alive," the old woman replied simply.

Prisoners. Davos couldn't allow himself to panic. I am Lord Davos Seaworth, he told himself, his jaw clenching. The Hand of the King. Lord of Cape Wrath. I cannot die, I have a duty. In his bones, he couldn't help but feel like it would have been so much easier if he had just died.

My son, Devan, is with the king, Davos thought. He had to believe that both of them must have survived. Stannis still had some men garrisoned at Eastwatch along with the Queen and the Princess. He could have escaped, met up with the remainder of the fleet.

And the Red Witch… Davos thought. Melisandre had been on the ice too, yet somehow Davos couldn't imagine her ever being taken captive. She had expected the defeat, but she must have been confident that she herself wouldn't fall with it.

The words she said came back to haunt Davos. 'Some battles must be lost before the war can be won'. The Red Witch had led them all to their doom. I should have killed her after the Blackwater.

The camp was heaving. He saw ragged warriors glaring at the prisoners, occasionally spitting words in a language he didn't understand. Davos saw men with painted faces and sharpened teeth, or savages clad in armour of bones. It was a huge camp - at least forty thousand men.

And then, one night, Davos heard pounding footsteps. He felt his heart tremble as he saw giant humanoids, at least thirteen feet tall, with shaggy fur and inhuman proportions. Giants, Davos gasped. In the distance, he once made out the shape of mammoths, great hairy beasts with terrible tusks.

It would have been the most incredible creature Davos had ever seen, if not for that monstrous white dragon. Occasionally, he heard the beating of huge wings, and he looked up to see the beast flying overhead. The dragon that had slaughtered so many of Stannis' men.

I'm in the land of monsters now, he thought with a gulp. And all the monsters are readying to head south.

The other prisoners were tied to stakes in the centre of the camp too. Davos looked between them, sizing them up. Maybe seventy prisoners in total. Davos recognised three Lysene officers, one of Salladhor's eunuch servants, as well as a beefy rower who was missing an arm. There were a dozen men-at-arms from Stannis' army, a bowman that seemed on the verge of death, and a grizzled veteran who looked quietly murderous with both arms behind his back.

As far as valuable hostages went, Davos could recognise few. Ser Clayton Suggs - the commander of the vanguard from the Oledo - had survived; the man was snapping and shouting at the men who passed his post. He saw a young landed knight whose name escaped him, a soldier called Axell Flowers - a bastard from one of the queen's cousins - and Ser Patrek's old squire who appeared to be pissing himself. The most valuable hostage there was perhaps Ser Justin Massey, but the young knight had taken an arrow in the battle and appeared sickly ill.

After that, there were two dozen men of the Night's Watch wearing black cloaks and haunted expressions. From the sworn brothers' presence, Davos could only guess that the Lord Commander's assault from the forest had failed as well.

Most of these prisoners are lowborn, Davos thought with a gulp. That was not reassuring. Maybe some could be tortured for information, but in all likelihood the sailors and soldiers would have nothing of value. Their presence implied that the wildlings had no intention of ransoming anyone, which made Davos all the more nervous about why they had been kept alive.

From the fragments of chatter, Davos heard that some of the prisoners had been eaten by cannibals.

Every day was cold and frightening. A woman came around to feed the prisoners daily, the fire was kept burning, but all other wildlings would spit on the prisoners whenever they came near.

Occasionally, more captives would arrive. The wildlings must be searching the coast, still taking captives of the men that had tried to run. Davos watched as new men were bound. He kept quiet, watching, but still trying to gather his strength, trying to think of a plan to escape.

On the fourth day, seven more captives were brought in. Davos stared as he saw a thrashing man dragged into camp by two burly savages. Davos had never seen Salladhor Saan so dishevelled, his fine silks filthy and ruined. The pirate prince shouted bloody fury as his fine gold rings and chains were taken from him.

"Unhand me!" Salladhor spat. "I am Salladhor Saan, merchant prince of Lys. I have family that will pay for me, I will not be treat like this! Do you hear me? Salladhor Saan! Take me to your king, I demand terms!"

Davos guessed that Salladhor's stolen lifeboat couldn't have gotten very far. He could only hope the King had better luck. The pirate prince shouted indignantly, but he got only a backhanded slap for his efforts as he was tied to a post.

Salla was chained at the other end of the clearing, such that Davos could barely even see him.

"What are you planning on doing to us?" Davos demanded. The wildlings only grunted.

It was another horribly cold night. All of the ice floating in the bay created a constant fog. In the distance, Davos could see camps being unfurled. The wildlings are preparing to move. Davos saw that white dragon flying to and from camp repeatedly, over the hill. Davos found his eyes constantly on the sky, looking for any sign of the beast, and each time he glimpsed its shape it would take his breath away.

Near dusk, Davos saw a white wolf, a wolf larger than any he had ever seen before, bounding between the tents. A direwolf, he realised. It moved at ease among the men, the wildlings even parted to let it pass. Some of them stared at the wolf with a mixture of awe and respect.

"That's Ghost," one of the captive sworn brothers hissed. He was a big man with a blunt face. "I knew it, that's Ghost."

"Quiet!" Another Night's Watch man snapped. Not unreasonably; one of the guards sent to watch over them - a mean little man who wore an armour of crackling bones - would beat any prisoner he saw talking.

"But that means Jon's here," he muttered, so quiet Davos could barely hear. "Jon is really here…"

"Jon is one of them," the partner growled. "Fuck, Jon leads them."

Davos eyed the men quietly. The big one bit his lip, uncertainly. "Jon…" Davos called, his voice low. "You mean Jon Snow?"

The black brother nodded. Davos had heard Cotter Pyke's report about Jon Snow. The bastard of Winterfell, Ned Stark's illegitimate son. The report had said Jon killed his commander and turned wildling.

The woman said 'King Snow', Davos recalled. "You know him?" Davos asked.

"Aye. We were recruits together." The man gulped. "I never believed the reports, never believed he would defect…" He looked shaken. "Jon was my friend. He helped practice in the yard. He taught me how to ride…"

"Your friend is holding you prisoner," Davos noted. All of the other prisoners were listening intently.

"I knew Jon as well, Grenn," another brother spoke suddenly. A stout boy with mean eyes. "I remember Jon setting his direwolf on me when I slept - to look after his little henchmen Tarly. Jon had a nasty streak in him too." The man's voice was dark. "The bastard would have defected months ago, to go join his half-brother's rebellion, if you lot hadn't have stopped him. Hells, I'm not surprised he made a rebellion of his own, I'm just surprised he did it so quickly."

Davos listened quietly. "The dragon," he asked in a low voice. "Where did that dragon come from?"

Grenn's head shook. "I've got no idea." He paused. "But I heard them say that Jon controls it."

"How?" Davos pressed.

Grenn shook his head again.

"I never knew how Jon controlled that giant wolf of his, either," the other black brother added darkly.

"Enough of this," another man snapped. One of Stannis' men, the grizzled veteran with the sharp eyes. "We must focus on escaping. If we could escape these binds, how many men here would be strong enough to fight?"

There were no replies. "There are forty thousand wildlings in this camp," Davos warned.

"And they're confused and spread wide," the veteran growled. "We break the binds, we cut through them while they're asleep. We get to the coast, steal a ship, and sail away."

"Fuck running," Ser Clayton Suggs said. "Let's wait until it's dark and free ourselves. We steal a blade and go straight for their 'king's' tent."

Davos could only stare at him. Ser Clayton was a vicious man. The veteran just shook his head. "Bugger that, we need to get out of the camp."

"We'll never get far with that dragon in the sky," a man muttered fearfully.

"Then we'll run into the forest, and head south."

"Hells no," Grenn said darkly. "There are more monsters in that forest than there are in this camp."

All of the men of the Night's Watch shared a haunted look. Davos' eyes narrowed. "Craven," Ser Clayton snapped. "I'm not going to sit here and die, if–"

"Quiet," Davos hissed. He saw a figure approaching. The man with the bone shirt was heading towards them; the rattle of his mail gave him away. Any man that even looked like he was a plotting an escape would be beaten. That man wearing bones is a cruel one. The night was spent in fearful silence.

The next morning, Davos knew he had to do something. He was the King's Hand. He could not die like this. He had a duty.

"I am Lord Davos Seaworth," Davos said, to the woman who came to feed them. "Hand of the King. I would like to treat with King Snow."

The old woman said nothing. "King Stannis has appointed me to act in his stead," Davos pressed. "I can negotiate terms."

No response. "Please," Davos hissed. If they thought he was useless, they would get rid of him like he was useless. Davos needed to show worth if he wanted to survive, to hopefully return to his king's side. "Let me speak to your leader."

For a long time, Davos thought she wasn't going to reply. "King Snow will speak to you when he chooses to," the woman said, moving away.

Later that night, the veteran man broke his own hand to escape the ropes. He nearly got free too, if not for the guard spotting him. The veteran looked half crazed as he charged at their jailor, but the man with bones simply released his dogs and watched.

All of the prisoners looked in quiet horror as the man screamed and thrashed while the hounds pounced and chewed on him, dragging the man across the ground. The veteran survived, actually, as he was tied back and restrained, but the dogs took a hand and half of his face. The man suffered a cruel death as he bled to death on his post.

Nobody else, not even Ser Clayton, tried to escape after that.

The next day, Davos finally met the wildling king.

He saw Jon Snow first by the procession he brought. He walked clad in thick grey and black furs wearing dull iron and bronze, a mismatch of armour well-worn and aged. He was flanked by fighters each much bulkier than himself, but Davos still felt his eyes drawn to the boy. The first thing Davos realised, was that Jon Snow was young. Very young, in fact, barely more than a teenager. He could have even been comely if not for his gaunt cheekbones.

Second thing Davos saw was his eyes. Pale grey eyes. Jon Snow's face was young, but he had the eyes of someone much older.

He wore a dark shadowskin cloak, thick and rich, but everything else about him seemed ragged, hard and worn. His face was long and narrow, a gaunt face that was bruised and still bloody. His forehead was gashed with dark bruises under his eyes, but he wore the look well. He walked with a bad limp, but it seemed an old injury and well-compensated for in his gait. His hair was as white as bone, almost startling compared to his dark expression and clothes.

Davos had seen the boy fight on the ice. Davos had seen him cut through a dozen men. Davos looked at Jon Snow's expression now and he felt shivers run down his spine.

"That's him. That's Jon," Grenn muttered in shock. "Holy… what happened to his hair?"

The prisoners rippled as the wildling king approached. He made a formidable sight, escorted by wildlings with that giant white wolf by his side. There was a long moment of quiet.

Slowly, Jon Snow turned to look at the black brothers. "… Grenn," he said in a low voice. He greeted the sworn brothers in turn. "Rast. Brenn. Garth. Wick."

"You bloody bastard," the man named Rast snarled. "It's true. You fucking lead wildlings now?"

"Watch your tone, crow," a wildling with a gruff voice growled.

"You're a turncoat, Snow," he snapped. "A bloody traitor."

Snow's eyes were cool. "You would be dead in the woods if not for me," he said. "You saw the dead. You saw the Others." His voice was dangerously low. "You're not my enemy, Rast. And I'm not yours - not unless you want me to be. I fight against the Others."

Davos' eyes narrowed. What is the man talking about? The Others? Still, Davos saw the black brothers shift uncomfortably.

Snow turned around, staring around the posts. "You can't keep us here," the man named Grenn begged. "Please Jon, we were friends. You can't do this to us."

"Yes," he nodded. His voice sounded stiff. Something about the man's tone reminded Davos of Stannis, and that made him uncomfortable. "And there are a lot of people in this camp that would like to kill you, Grenn. Hatred between the Night's Watch and the free folk runs deep, and if I left you walk around the camp I don't imagine you would survive long. It is because we were friends that I'm keeping you here, safe."

"But–" Grenn gulped, before one of the wildlings growled at him dangerously.

"Please, Grenn," Snow said, his voice turning very slightly softer. "Stay here, and don't try anything. It won't be long."

Snow's eyes glanced over the dead corpse of the man that tried to escape, still tied to the post. "I said none of them were to be harmed, Rattleshirt," he snapped sharply.

The man in bones - Rattleshirt - simply shrugged. "He escaped. Tried to attack me. What was I supposed to do?"

Not feed him to your dogs, Davos thought, but he held his tongue. Snow's gaze darkened, but he didn't say anything either.

There was a pause. Snow glanced around the prisoners. Inspecting them one by one. "You," he said eventually, looking at Salla. "I hear your name is Salladhor Saan. You were asking of me?"

Salla's eyes narrowed. He was a proud, vain man, but not a stupid one. The pirate knew when to be respectful. "I am. Pirate prince of Lys, Prince of the Narrow Sea. I have much wealth where I'm from, many sons that will avenge me." His eyes darkened. "You cannot try me like this."

"We are a long way from Lys, my lord." The words 'my lord' came almost automatically from him, rather with deference. "But if we come to terms I will see you in better care," Snow promised, before turning to Davos. "And you claim to be the Hand of the King."

"That is correct," Davos growled. His whiskers were unkempt, he was unshaven. Davos knew that he looked little like a lord. "I serve as Stannis Baratheon's right-hand man."

"Indeed. Bring both of them to my tent."

"Wait!" A haggard voice gasped. Ser Justin's voice was pained. "I am Ser Justin Massey, eldest heir. I have lands and titles… um… Your Grace."

He paused, thoughtfully. "House Massey. Of Stonedance, correct? Your father is Triston Massey."

The man blinked. It was strange to hear of the lands so far south this far up north. Jon Snow is no wildling, Davos noted. "Yes," Ser Justin replied. "My father died on the Blackwater. My cousin claims my seat, but I am the rightful heir of my house."

"I see. We will talk later, perhaps."

Snow nodded, walking away without another word. Ser Justin stared in horror, while Salladhor and Davos were dragged off the ground, after the King-Beyond-the-Wall.

There were some weak curses and shouts at Snow as he walked. The king stopped at another Night Watch's man, a short wiry man with dark eyes, and then ordered the wildlings to bring that man as well.

The wildling who escorted Davos was a stout but bulky wildling with a shaggy beard and missing front teeth. The air was so cold that Davos could only tremble, and his shoulder and stomach wound still pained him. The tent that they headed to was nearby; a wide circular tent shelter of hides and furs, with a large fireplace through the centre. Inside, the stifling warmth caused Davos to stagger. He had been left in the cold for days.

The first thing he saw was the shape curled by the fire. At first Davos mistook it for a shadow. The shadow had bright yellow eyes. The shadowcat stared at them with a low snarl, but none of the wildlings paid any attention to the unrestrained animal.

It was a large tent, but cluttered. There were armour, weapons, even what looked like a mammoth's tusk littering the floor and stacked along the side. Sacks of bulky shapes and objects buried under furs, were piled up the walls to keep the warmth around the centre. The back of the tent was dominated by a huge ornate horn, six feet long. There were eight men inside, all armed, but Davos' attention was fixed firmly on Jon Snow.

Behind them, Rattleshirt clanked into the tent, on guard, with a spear in his hand and a frown on his face. Davos looked around, meeting the eyes of a bulky, ugly looking man with a twisted face and bulbous, watery eyes.

There was only one woman in the room, sitting in the corner on a fur over the ground, so far back that Davos almost didn't notice her. If not for her wildling furs, she would have looked out of place. She was a fair lady; young, golden haired, buxom and beautiful. Jon Snow's woman maybe? Davos wondered. He guessed not, judging from the distance between the pair.

Davos, Salladhor and the man of the Night's Watch all stood at the front of the fire pit, hands bound and caked in dried blood. Jon Snow kept the direwolf to his right and the shadowcat to his left.

An interrogation, Davos thought.

"Salladhor Saan, you said your name was?" Snow said finally. "I'm not familiar. You wear silk and I heard you had golden rings. Are you the captain of a ship?"

"I am the lord of a fleet," Salladhor growled, his voice venomous. "Prince of the Narrow Sea. Lord of Blackwater Bay, as the fool-King Stannis named me. The dread of the Narrow Sea, as my enemies call me."

"A pirate. Sellsail."

"An old pirate. A pirate with many friends and many sons. The Saans are an old and venerable family from Lys. It is not wise to be my enemy, Snow." His eyes narrowed. "There will be an answer for this disgrace, the theft of my belongings."

"You attacked us, remember?" Snow replied. "All men have a right to defend themselves. They have a right to vengeance, too - as my allies keep on advising me."

Salla looked ready to reply. "You would do well to watch your tone," the woman with golden hair advised coolly. "Please remember your position here."

Davos could recognise barely restrained bloodlust. Jon Snow's eyes were guarded, but the other wildlings looked ready to kill without a second thought.

"It was Stannis that attacked you, not I. The fool I was, I took his promises of gold and committed my ships to his cause. It was Stannis and that mad witch that wanted you dead, we have no grudge with each other."

"Then perhaps we could still come to agreement," said Snow, but his eyes were hard. Something about his voice reminded Davos of when Stannis' tone when he was forced to deal with someone unsavoury. He doesn't want any more enemies, Davos thought. It was Salladhor's threat of retribution from the Saan family that put Snow on edge more than anything. "We will talk later, my lord. For now, I will see to it that you have more comfortable quarters."

The King-Beyond-the-Wall turned towards Davos. His hand was on his sword. He only has four fingers on his left hand, Davos noted. "Lord Seaworth, was it? I am not familiar with the house."

"It is a new house… Your Grace," Davos said guardedly. He forced himself to say the title. He knew fine well that kings were usually the prickly sort. "King Stannis knighted me and lorded me for my service. He appointed me his Hand."

"I see." Snow's eyes were sizing up Davos just as much as Davos was inspecting him. "Let's start with the obvious question, my lord. How many men does Stannis have behind him?"

There was a pause. "Seven thousand," Davos replied. "Waiting in reserve at Eastwatch with the main force of his fleet."

Snow paused, and turned to Salladhor. "How many men does Stannis have behind him?" Snow repeated.

"Less than a thousand," Salladhor replied promptly. "Seven hundred, at most - largely the men he left in reserve with his queen and princess at Eastwatch. They have six ships left at Eastwatch. My ships, to my shame, but I expect that mutinous dog would have seized them."

Davos' face didn't twitch, but he cursed quietly.

"How many houses support Stannis? How much backing does he have from the northern lords?" Jon Snow demanded, turning back to Davos.

"The entire realm will fight for its rightful King."

Wordlessly, Snow turned to Salladhor.

"Barely any. Most certainly none in the north."

Snow nodded, facing Davos again. "And why did Stannis attack us?"

"Because you are a traitor to the realm. You are massing a wildling army to ravage the kingdom, and it is the King's duty to protect it."

Snow motioned to Salladhor. "Because that Red Witch told him to," Salladhor said bluntly. "She has the King wrapped around her finger, obsessed with some fool prophecy of a great saviour. She has him convinced that you are some great champion of doom who will bring endless night upon the world."

Davos wasn't so sure that the last statement was untrue. Still, for a second, Snow blinked in surprise, looking amused at the accusation.

"You are going to destroy what little peace we have left in the Seven Kingdoms," Davos said. "Stannis sailed to stop you."

"Then Stannis really is a fool. It seems like many men are fools, nowadays," he said with cold venom. "He attacked us with no clue about the real enemy. Because he decided to attack first and talk later, I had no choice but to destroy his ships and kill his men. I cut off Stannis' hand for that folly."

Davos bristled. "You lie."

There was a quiet snigger from one of the men. Jon quietly snatched up an object off the ground, holding it to Davos. It was the hilt of a sword; a metal pommel wrapped in black leather. The blade had been snapped clean off. There was ruby embedded into the fine metalwork.

"This is all that I could find of that glowing sword after I broke it," said Snow. "An impressive blade that - very bright, but useless. The king's hand itself was lost in the bay… and unlike you the hand didn't wash up again."

Lightbringer. Melisandre had said it was the sword that could save world. The king is missing a hand. Davos took a deep breath. "… Does Stannis still live?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Snow shrugged. "Perhaps. His knights rallied to pull him away. They escaped on a ship that slipped away. If there was a skilled enough healer among them, they might have saved the king's life."

Davos's thumb traced the severed tips of his fingers almost cautiously. The wounds had healed years ago, but the cold had still left them feeling raw. "Now," the wildling king continued. "My question. Why would Stannis attack me? Last I heard, his quarrel was with the Lannisters on the Iron Throne, not with free folk. Why did he commit so many men to an attack like that?"

Davos hesitated briefly, glancing around. I must be useful. "Because King Stannis was defeated on the Blackwater during the assault on King's Landing. He intended on routing the wildlings, protecting the realm, and using the victory to rally the northern lords."

"I see." Jon Snow looked between them. "It appears I have been removed from the affairs of the realm for some time, my lords. Do you mind entertaining me?"

Davos had no choice but to nod. If I don't answer, I become useless. Useless objects get discarded. For the sake of his duty, Davos would be a craven and answer this traitor king's questions.

Snow asked few questions, but something about the silence demanded that Davos talk. Davos talked about King Renly's betrayal, the War of Five Kings, the ironborn rising against the north, the Young Wolf's campaign in the Riverlands. Davos' voice was stiff as he told them about Stannis' defeat at the Blackwater, of their fleet burning in wildfire. He didn't mention his sons, but the pain was still there.

Snow occasionally turned to Salladhor for confirmation, but otherwise he just nodded and listened.

"What about my brother?" Snow asked after a while, almost hesitantly. Like it was a question he feared to ask. For a second, Davos was confused, before he remembered Jon Snow was Eddard Stark's bastard. "Robb Stark. What happened to him?"

"Dead." The room stiffened. Answer the questions. A more cunning man would have tried to manipulate the wildling king, but Davos didn't know how he could. "Robb Stark died three months ago."

He saw the man's mouth stiffen, his grey eyes growing dark. Angry. Very angry. "How?" He said sharply.

Because we burnt the leeches in the fire and the Red Woman worked her sorcery, Davos thought. But that was the answer he would never, ever say. "Robb Stark died at the Twins, at the hands of the Freys." Davos hesitated. Enemy of my enemy. Make sure he has reason to hate Stannis' enemies too. "Most likely at the command of the Lannisters," he added.

Snow took two steps forward. He had an unnerving gaze for one so young. "How?"

"During the wedding of Edmure Tully to Roslin Frey," Davos replied, his voice low. "Robb Stark was engaged to Walder Frey's granddaughter, but that engagement was broken. The Freys took offence, and they and the Boltons plotted betrayal. The Starks arranged the marriage of Edmure Tully in recompense, but during the ceremony they sprung an ambush. The Stark men were butchered. Robb Stark died." He hesitated. "They beheaded Robb Stark, and stitched the head of his direwolf onto the body."

Snow's nostrils flared. "And guest right?"

"The Freys broke it."

Around him, he felt the room ripple. Guest right was sacred even here in the far north, Davos had heard. Jon Snow took a deep breath.

Outside, Davos heard the beat of the dragon's wings as it broke into the sky.

"My family," he demanded. "Tell me what happened to my family."

Jon Snow had a demeanour like iron. Still, Davos could feel it shivering with every word.

His sister, Sansa, married to the Imp and then vanished after Joffrey's murder, and held responsible for the crime. His brothers, Rickon and Bran, murdered by the turncoat, beheaded and hung over Winterfell, before the castle was sacked. His other sister, Arya, disappeared during the murder of their father's men and presumed dead ever since.

Davos saw Snow's body tense at the mention of Arya.

There was a long moment of quiet. "Damn," the man in the bones said finally, breaking the hush. "Your family has fucking awful luck."

Jon Snow's eyes were dark, murderous. His pale face and white hair almost made him look like a ghost. He didn't reply for a long time. All eyes focused on him.

"Rattleshirt," Snow said, barely even moving. "That man is trying to slip out of his bindings. He has been edging towards your spear for the last five minutes. Do your job - shut up and watch the prisoners."

Davos glanced to the man of Night's Watch alongside them. He had indeed been trying to wriggle his hands free of his bounds, staying quiet but taking advantage of the distraction. Now how did Snow notice that, he didn't even glance at the man? But that shadowcat of his had been staring right at the prisoner.

Rattleshirt cursed, forcing the man to the ground. He didn't resist, but something about his eyes told Davos the black brother was just waiting for his chance.

Jon Snow dismissed Davos with barely a glance. He was unnerved, visibly angry, but something about him looked focused on his job before his emotion.

Damn, Davos thought. He reminds me of Stannis. Stannis Baratheon could take all of his rage and grief and just push it to one side, right up until the moment he needed it. Jon Snow did the same.

"You are Iron Emmett, aren't you?" Snow said, turning to the sworn brother. "We met once, briefly. Cotter Pyke considered you the finest fighter in the Watch."

"Why don't you take off these ropes and find out?" The man - Iron Emmett - challenged.

"I think not," said Snow. "How many men are at Eastwatch?"

"Not a clue."

"How many men did you take with you in the forest?"

"Never counted."

"What happened to Lord Commander Mormont?"

"Who?"

Brave man, Davos thought. Stupid, but brave. Jon Snow rolled his eyes. "Give him to me," the wildling with watery eyes offered. "I'll get him to talk. Hells, I'll make him sing."

"Don't bother." Snow sighed. "I already know the answers to those questions. There were less than a hundred left at Eastwatch, maybe plus some from the survivors. The ranging had four hundred men, their forces scattered. The Lord Commander was last seen wounded during the battle, before his men deserted him."

Snow looked down at Emmett. "In case you're wondering," he said after a pause. "Of those four hundred men, we captured two dozen. At the very most, maybe fifty or so managed to escape to the Wall during the night. All of the others were slaughtered."

Iron Emmett didn't reply. Snow continued, "I never killed them. We both know what did. You saw the real enemy too."

There was no response. Snow paced around the fire. "I would think very carefully about whether or not we are still the enemy you should fight. Not when the others are still out there."

The room felt deadly quiet. Snow paced, thinking as he looked between his prisoners. "Salladhor Saan," he said. "I will give you better quarters and treatment. If there are other prisoners who you wish to join you, select them out. In return, I want your vow not to attempt escape, and then we can discuss potential partnerships."

"Partnerships?" Salla said sharply.

"My people are hungry. We are a large host and food is thin. We have wealth, however, and the Free Cities are open for trade. We need merchants to trade with us, ships to supply us, and men to acquire for us," he said, before adding, "perhaps in return I won't sink every one of your ships I find."

Salladhor nodded, an almost predator gaze flashing across his bloody features for a moment. The pirate could sense an opportunity a mile away.

"Lord Seaworth," Snow said. "You will stay by my side. I have more questions for you, and I mean to treat with Stannis. Help me and you could spare many needless deaths."

Davos nodded, his eyes guarded and suspicious. He didn't speak. Jon paused for a moment, as if waiting for an answer, before moving on.

"And Iron Emmett," Jon Snow continued, turning to the final man. Davos tensed, sure that the king would execute him. Emmett's eyes were defiant to the end. "I will release you. In four days, you are free to return to Eastwatch."

There was a moment of silence. The wildling Rattleshirt reacted first. "What?" The man spat. "The crows attacked us, and you'd let them go!"

Snow's gaze silenced the man. The king was not in a mood to be trifled with.

"You will act as envoy to Eastwatch," he continued. "In five days, I will assault the castle. You are to bring a message to them before then. Convince them to lay down their arms, and nobody will be killed. I will be attacking with overwhelming force, but I would prefer it bloodless. The choice will be yours."

"Attack with all the force you want," Emmett snarled. "Larger armies than yours have been broken by the Wall."

Jon shook his head. "I will not be attacking the Wall. I will be attacking by sea." He paused. "And not by boat, either. I have a vanguard already in position. Four thousand men will be walking straight over the bay."

Emmett hesitated. Davos realised first. "… Your dragon," he said breathlessly. "You're going to use your dragon to freeze the sea."

Snow nodded. "And the free folk will walk straight across. The Wall will be useless."

Behind him, one of the wildlings cackled wickedly. "And if you do try to mount a defence," he said. "Know that my dragon will be flying over ahead of them. Anyone who tries to fight will face Sonagon first - and after that I can make no promises on your safety."

Davos caught the flicker in Emmett's eyes. "In case you're wondering," he continued. "The men belonging to Stannis have already fled. They ran as soon as they saw my force approaching. I spotted them sailing away from Eastwatch last night, from Sonagon's back. That will leave only the men of the Night's Watch to defend Eastwatch."

Davos took a deep breath. Had Queen Selyse truly already fled? She would never have run without Stannis, so then his King must have survived.

"I will do my part to reduce casualties," Jon Snow explained. "I will assault the Eastwatch patrols from dragonback and leave them shipwrecked. Assuming twenty men on each ship…" He thought for a moment. "I'll take the overestimate and say there'll be two hundred men left in Eastwatch. That's two hundred men to defend against four thousand free folk and a dragon, without a Wall to hide behind. Do you see why I'm encouraging you to surrender instead?"

Emmett's face was pale. There was no sign of a bluff in Jon's voice.

Could he do it? Davos thought with panic. Yes, quite easily, actually. Davos had seen the number of men Snow had, and he seen the power of the dragon. The dragon froze the bay around Hardhome into solid ice, there was no reason to think it couldn't freeze the ocean leading to Eastwatch as well.

Sure, the wildlings would be at a disadvantage trying to cross solid ice and clambering up onto the coast again, but they could do it. The presence of Snow's dragon in the fight would offset any disadvantage.

Hells, even without freezing the ocean, even if the dragon was just used to ferry men across a dozen at a time, then they could probably still take Eastwatch that way. The Wall couldn't stop a dragon.

Davos' head spun as he tried to picture it. They'd start at Eastwatch, and open the gates wide to let all of the wildlings from Hardhome come through. After that, there'd be no chance of retaking the castle again, not with the limited number of men of the Night's Watch. Jon could move across the Wall at his leisure, taking every castle one by one. Castle Black was the only one that could mount any decent defence, but even that wouldn't be enough.

After that, the wildlings would take the Wall. Until the northern lords rallied and built an army, there'd be nothing that could stop them.

The Wall was already beaten. Davos realised with a jolt that they would be relying on the Boltons, of all people, to throw out the wildlings, but the Boltons' grasp over the north was tenuous at best. Between civil unrest, ironborn and wildlings, Jon Snow could form a powerful position.

Perhaps the first ever King-Beyond-the-Wall who could actually succeed.

Davos took a deep breath to calm himself. That dragon put the whole realm at risk.

"Go think on your positions," Jon Snow said, his voice hard. "I do not want any bloodshed, but if you force me to I will reply in kind."

Stay alive, Davos told himself. Stay useful. Keep calm and keep close to him. Keep close enough you could put a dagger in his chest.

"Yes, King Snow," Davos said with a respectful bow.

---

Val

"He's beautiful," Dalla whispered, cradling the babe. "I want to name him."

"You can't, he's still too young," Val said, stroking her sister's hair.

"He deserves a name."

"Not yet, it wouldn't be right." The babe was still such a frail little thing. A quiet child. It made Val's heart pang every time she saw him clutching her sister's chest.

Across from them, there was a clanging as the pots of boiling water were hoisted up. "You should take him before the dragon," the washerwoman, Wylda, interrupted. She was a strong, beefy woman, over sixty with half a dozen children of her own. "Let him touch the scales. Let the child be a blessed by a god."

Val shifted slightly. The white stone on Wylda's chest was smooth and well-cleaned. "I dare not," Dalla said nervously. "The dragon is so big, I heard what happened to the crofter's girl."

"The crofter's girl demanded too much," Wylda said as she changed the pots. "No one ever said the god must be gentle. But look at Gilly - she brought her child before the dragon and now the child is healthier than ever. Mother Mole welcomed her into the congregation, and the boy will be raised under the shelter of a god."

Her sister looked uncomfortable. "We are not believers, Wylda," Val said sharply.

"You should be," the older woman said with a shrug. "Now is the age of the ice dragon."

The washerwoman changed the pots without another word. Dalla didn't meet Val's gaze. There was a moment of silence as she left. "Have they been pestering you again?" Val asked. "You know I could-"

"It's fine," Dalla replied. "They're fine. It's not pester, Mother Mole has been bringing me food and blankets, she sends her followers to check on me."

"Because she bloody wants you to convert."

"Val, it's fine. You don't want to make it a problem."

Val's hands twitched. Their tent was hardly the biggest in the camp, but it was still warm, sheltered in hide, with a fire pit carved into the centre. There were two guards at her door at night. That would have made Val feel more reassured except, in all likelihood, those guards would be wearing white stones too.

"I know that two nights ago a fisherman was beaten half to death for 'sacrilege'," she said. "The man complained about how much the dragon eats, and was overheard by a few devotees. It's already a problem."

"They've been nothing but kind to me."

"For now. How long before they decide that you're sacrilegious too for not praying with them?"

Dalla didn't reply. Val had asked Snow to look after her sister, and he had. He made arrangements for her tent, he assigned guards to look after her, and women to care for her and the babe after her sister's hard childbirth. Wylda and the other women stopped by very frequently, on the orders of King Snow.

No, King Snow never even needed to order them, Val thought. He just proclaimed that he wanted Dalla to be taken care of, and it had been done. They proved very good caretakers as well. Very rigorous, very devoted.

"If they ever cross the line," Val said, "I'll kill whole bloody lot of them. They can keep to cleaning pots and bringing firewood, but no preaching. I don't like the way that they preach."

Dalla paused, cradling her child. "It won't be long. We'll be going south soon."

Val shook her head. "I'm going south soon. You've got to stay in Hardhome until it's safe."

"Is Hardhome safe?"

"It's safer than attacking the Wall."

"Don't go," her sister begged.

"I've got to. It was part of the deal." She kissed her forehead again. "You just look after the babe. Once we take Eastwatch we'll start moving people south."

The camp was already in turmoil. They were gathering a force - strong fighters only - that would be marching south quickly in less than two days. The whole camp was stockpiling as many supplies as they could spare, and that dragon had been spotted flying south repeatedly. King Snow was preparing to move in force.

Val lingered by her sister's side for as long as she could. Then, she heard the activity outside, and she knew that she had to go. She kissed her sister, kissed her babe, and promised to be back soon before leaving the tent.

It's part of the 'agreement', Val thought with a scoff. He protects my family, and I have to serve him. Fealty, he calls it.

Outside, the camp was heaving. In the distance, she could hear shouting as free folk lashed together a wooden structure on the cliffs. King Snow had wanted a string of watchtowers around the camp, and it had been done.

She met the gathering warband by the southeastern cliffs. She saw Garth motioning for her, sword on his hip and spear in his hand. The older man looked weary. "Come on, party is moving out towards the cliffs."

The bay was still blockaded by ice, most of their fishing vessels still destroyed. Food was short, so instead dozens of raiding parties had to take to the forest to hunt for game. No less than thirty men per party, the king had ordered. Large parties for hunting, yet they were hunting wights as well as animals.

"What's the game this time? Rabbits? Boar? Deer?"

"No. We're hunting giants. Let's move, Snow will be joining us."

"Ah." The camp already had fifty or more giants coming in on mammoths, but they had heard reports of larger giant clans sheltering in the forests near the cape.

Val sighed quietly, collecting up her spear and bow. About thirty men from hers and Garth's warband were gathering, and another thirty from those that seemed to constantly follow Snow. They lingered on the sand dunes with a quiet wariness. Waiting for the king.

"Val," Halleck greeted. The loss of his sister had been hard on all of them, but Halleck was a fighter first and foremost. "I haven't seen you around recently."

"Aye, been busy," Val sighed. "Snow had me running around on a 'special request', of all things."

Halleck grunted, and smirked. "Aye? What sort?"

"Hunting ghosts. Searching for some red-haired lass that he knows." She had spent the last week questioning men from the Frostfangs about this mystery spearwife of Snow's. He had been insistent Val try to find her. "There's no sign of her."

"Aye, too much going on in this bloody camp. He's got every man running ragged with some task or other," Halleck grumbled. "I can't bloody keep up with what's going on."

Val nodded in agreement, tucking her furs up and settling into wait on the dunes.

"You heard the news?" Another raider said to her. "The dragon sealed off the west side of the camp last night."

"Sealed off?"

"With ice. It scorched the pass in ice, left it impassable. I hear the king's planning on making a whole wall of ice around the camp."

"Of course, he would like his walls," Val muttered.

"It's bloody insane," a spearwife said. "I saw it. The dragon created bloody ice spikes so big not even the dead are getting through that way."

"That's nothing," a large man grumbled. Val recognised him as Hatch - Snow's man. Hatch the Halfgiant. He was an enormous, bearded man holding a new iron warhammer. A lot of Snow's supporters were well-equipped now. "King Snow wants to use dragonfire to freeze sea defences around the peninsula too."

"He'll want his castle built out of ice as well, I expect," Val grumbled. "Where is Snow anyway? He coming or are we just standing around with our dicks in the air?"

"He said to wait, so we wait." Hatch folded his arms.

So he can order sixty seasoned raiders to stand around waiting for him? Val thought. If Mance tried that, everyone here would have told him to bugger off and left.

Garth gave her a cautious look. "You look annoyed?" He said quietly.

"Bloody stupid hunt, and the king makes us wait around." Val said, before pausing. "And those devotees have been pestering Dalla again."

"Ah."

She kept her voice quiet. "You know it's me she wants?" Val said. "They're trying to convert Dalla to convert me."

"I know. Mother Mole is a hag," Garth said with a grimace. The devotees were deliberately picking out the most influential targets and focusing on them. "She's been targeting a lot of leaders, to pull more to her congregation."

"They're a bunch of fools."

His eyes flickered. "You sure?"

She looked at him. "All I'm saying is that the dragon is a hundred foot long and can freeze oceans and destroy armies," Garth said. "If you want to argue it's godhood then it's easier for than against. Folk can't see the Old Gods, but they can see the dragon."

"So what?" She growled. "Just go along with them? Pray with them at night, worship at the dragon's feet?"

"It keeps them off your back."

She didn't reply, but the thought of ever putting a white stone on her chest made her feel sick.

They were waiting for another fifteen minutes, shivering in the wind, before they saw Snow walking towards them with another fifteen men. Some of Snow's bodyguards were almost as intense as any of Mother Mole's group. Now does he expect me to curtsy? Val felt more inclined to kick him in the groin for making them wait.

He approached with a nod. The king makes a good sight, she admitted, clad in shadowskin with his monster of a wolf at his heel. That white hair makes him look old. She wasn't sure of his age, actually.

"Garth," Snow greeted. "Val."

"Snow," Garth said, crossing his arms. They had over eighty fighters with them. "How much trouble are you expecting here?"

"Hopefully none. I hear we've got a clan of forest giants not far in the forest. I want to go find them and bring them into camp."

"You want to recruit some giants?" Val said. "If you expect giants to kneel to you then you're mistaken."

"Of course." He gave her a cool gaze. "I've gathered some supplies - nuts, vegetables and berries - to bribe the clans with. A gesture, show that we can support them, welcome them to our host. They should be friendly."

"They're giants," Val scoffed.

The warband moved out quickly. It was early and nobody talked. The king brought four garron to help carry the supplies and rations, but each raider still had to carry a sack over their shoulder too. The sack of turnips that Val took smelled mouldy. She was sure that Snow would take one of the horses, but instead he walked on foot. Nobody said anything.

There were several wearing white stones even in their warband, whose gazes would flicker to him with awe. Snow didn't seem to notice.

It was still early dawn when they set out. A crowd seemed to gather as they passed the barricades and guards around Hardhome. Snow can't even bloody move without a crowd around him, Val thought.

When they reached the forest, the free folk started to walk spread out but always in earshot. Everyone kept their weapons ready. There had been patrols, but any distance outside of the stakewalls was still dangerous.

"You see any corpses," Garth called. "Any at all, then we stop to cut off its head and limbs!"

Shortly afterwards leaving, they met up with a man waiting for them. He was a hulking man, black browed, with a flat nose, heavy jowls dark with stubble, and small close-set eyes. In the trees, Val glimpsed a huge shape as large as a bull, with tusks like swords. The boar sniffed at the soil and snow, snorting through the roots. She recognised the figure quickly.

"Borroq," Val muttered, as Snow greeted the other skinchanger coolly. Borroq the Boar was a stiff, taciturn man who barely ever spoke. He even looked and acted like the beast he partnered with. He joined the group without even a word, causing a few men to ripple. A lot of raiders kept their distance.

"What is he doing with us?" Val demanded as they started moving again.

"Borroq?" Snow blinked. "He will help search for the giant's camp. His boar will scout the west while Ghost searches the south.

She just grunted, settling into a continuous trek through the snow. Snow glanced at her. "Borroq has been nothing but supportive. He's even been helping me hone my own skills."

"I'm sure. You skinchangers must have much to talk about."

Snow nodded. "The free folk don't trust skinchangers very much. Why?"

"Have a look at Varamyr and see if you can guess."

"Point. I suspect I will have to send Varamyr away shortly. That eagle of his looks ready to maul me at any moment."

Val didn't reply. He glanced at her. "I was also considering recruiting every skinchanger into a single warband, and searching for any boys with talent so they can be trained properly. Bring them together so they don't need to be shunned," he said. "A group of skinchangers, sharing experience and talent."

"Why? Keep them all together for when they turn against you?"

"So I can get more use out of them," Snow replied. "The north has many skinchangers and wargs, why not encourage them rather than spurning them? Bring them into line and use them."

Val grunted. "You're a southerner," she said. "You want everything in its proper place, all the people standing in a line."

"Seems better to me than letting them run wild."

"And once again you prove that you don't even know us."

"I suppose I am still learning, my lady."

She grimaced at the honorific, glancing back at him. He kept his face as solemn as always.

There was a short call from Borroq. His boar picked up on a lead. They changed direction, walking past the scarred gouges in the woods burned by dragonfire. The trees had been scorched away that night, and the earth left deformed and twisted into jagged lumps. The ice had cooled, but the sight of what dragonfire could do even to a random patch of forest sent shivers down Val's spin.

As they walked, Snow moved between the raiders, talking to each of them in turn. He asked the names of any he didn't know. Val watched him through the corner of her eye.

After six hours of walking, they stopped for a break. A skin of malted vegetable wine was passed around, thick and intoxicating enough to keep them warm. Val noticed Snow stretching his leg against a tree.

"Answer me something," Val said, walking up to him and throwing a canteen. "You didn't have to be here. Why come yourself?"

He paused. "I wanted to see the giants."

"Aww, you want to gaze at the queer creatures?" She said sarcastically.

"I want to make sure we're on good terms. I want to bring in as many giants as possible. I thought that coming myself would be a good sign of respect and trust."

"You want giants for your army," she said, folding her arms. "But giants are more than big humans, Snow, they're different creatures. They don't have leadership, or hierarchy, they have no reason to follow orders. They don't care for gold or baubles; in a lot of ways they're more animal than man."

"Mance recruited giants for his army. Mag the Mighty followed him."

"'Follow' is a strong word. More like the giants agreed to head in the same direction. And those were plains giants, anyway, not forest giants."

He glanced at her. Val smirked. "The plains and mountain giants are the only ones with mammoths, Snow. They herd their mammoths all over the north, they eat mammoth cheese and milk; they live and die by their mammoths," she explained. "The forest giants don't. The forest giants live in very tight-knit clans, they're very isolated, very territorial. They're smaller than the plains giants too - most only grow up to ten or eleven feet."

The giants were famous for constantly being bonded to their mammoths, but that was only half true. Perhaps the forest giant clans had just run out of mammoths. Val had once heard the rumour that there were no giant women and that giants would fuck their mammoths to give birth to more giants, but she supposed the forest tribes disproved that.

"You know a lot about them."

"There was a tribe of forest giants near the village I grew up," she said with a shrug. "The kids would play games trying to sneak into their territory, and steal a tuff of giant fur." That caused Snow to blink in surprise.

"It was a bloody stupid game," Val admitted, but she couldn't help but smile. "If the giants caught you, they were likely to eat you."

"Wait, I thought giants were vegetarians? They eat berries and fruits."

"Oh, they are. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Depends on how hungry they get," she said. "Giants don't often hunt for meat, but they don't like wasting food either."

"I see."

There was a call from their outriders. Borroq's boar sniffed out the right direction, and they spotted the giant trails. Two men pointed to an uprooted pine tree, with gouged bark. "Those are giant markings," Garth said with a nod. "They mark their camps deliberately, to keep humans away."

"A warning?" Jon asked.

"More like a boundary."

"Humans have a bad habit of hunting them," Val added.

They all turned to look at Snow. Val quietly noted the way they deferred to him. He paused, thinking. "Well, these giants should be friendly. We have had scouts that made contact with them before. We go in slowly, offer the food."

"Friendly means different things to giants, Snow." Val shook her head. "You're doing this wrong. You walk this many people into their camp, they'll smell you coming and spook. They don't like surprises; they'll get confused and angry."

Jon frowned, turning to face her. "And how would you do it?"

"Small groups. Three or four going in first, make introductions, and then signal the others to filter in afterwards. Send the horses in first, butter up to the chieftain with food, and promise that there's more food."

To her surprise, Snow just nodded. "Very well. Lead away."

"Excuse me?"

"You've got more experience here than I do. We'll do it your way."

She hesitated, glancing at Garth. The older raider nodded fractionally. "Fine. Everyone else stay outside the perimeter. Bring those garron over here. And the apples. Giants like apples."

She picked out a Thenn who could speak the Old Tongue better than she could. Jon walked forward too, along with Hatch. Val stared warily. "You don't need to come. If it's safe, we'll call for you."

"I'd prefer to come myself."

"If you're trying to impress, don't bother. Don't be stupid."

"I'm not. If it's not safe, then I can have Sonagon here in five minutes."

"You think you'd last five minutes against a clan of giants?" Val scoffed. Snow looked sheepish. He's younger than he appears, she thought. "Fine, but keep that wolf back."

Snow nodded. He never even needed to look at his wolf to give orders, she noticed. "And pick up those flowers - the purple ones in that bush there," she said. "We crush them and smear them over us."

"What flowers are these?"

"Buggered if I know. But they stink and giants are less likely to be surprised if they smell you coming. Remember, their vision isn't so good but their noses are."

The trees shivered as they walked on ahead. Val walked in front, eyes peeled for the distinctive tracks. The garron neighed quietly as they crunched over the snow, heading towards down into a rocky valley in the forest. There would probably be a river through here when the snows melt, she thought. A little valley filled with rocks, maybe some caves. Sheltered and hidden. Exactly the type of place forest giants would gather.

Val glimpsed the figure before the others did. The others probably mistook it for a rock at first glance. Despite their size, it was always amazing how easily giants could blend into the woods.

She heard the curse from Snow as the rock stood up. The giant was a big one; at least fourteen feet with malted, shaggy brown fur. It wailed and stomped its feet, scratching at the leaves with stubby fingers. Even hunched up it loomed over them all, barely thirty feet between them.

"Gods," she heard Snow mutter as the other men called in the Old Tongue. "It's huge."

She smiled, edging forward cautiously. "Too big to be from one of the forest tribes. He's a mountain giant. I guess they've been taking in outcasts and survivors from other clans too."

"He's an outcast?"

"Why do you think he's sitting in the forest by himself?"

They edged forward slowly. The giant kept on wailing, but backed away and kept the distance between them. A sentry. It sniffed the air with every step back, hunched up so its knuckles trailed across the ground.

Val walked slower, but pushed on ahead. "You can tell the difference between the tribes," she noted. "The plains and mountains giants are big sods, but they're more used to moving and socialising, even with humans. They're less aggressive. Generally they'll run rather than fight."

"And the forest giants?"

"They're the ones that you really want for your army, if you can get them. They're territorial, and that means they know how to defend it. The forest giants know how to fight."

They could see the camp approaching. Between the trees, the forest shivered with large shapes moving. It was like the trees themselves were moving. They heard the sound of footsteps, and grunting and sniffing. Some of the wails sounded angry. Snow looked ready to back away.

"Stand straight," she hissed. "Make yourself as big as possible. Got to make sure they see you."

The giants seemed to ripple out of the trees, surrounding them. Some of them had brown pelts, others black, some patchy and others streaked with grey. Several hoisted weapons; huge clubs larger than a man, some so big and heavy that even the giants had to drag them across the ground.

A couple big brutes waved their clubs threatening, causing Hatch to curse and clutch his maul tightly. Snow looked ready to back away, but Val forced herself to stand her ground.

It's just a show of dominance, she told herself. Don't panic. Still, it was hard not to panic with an immense roaring beast towering over you. Twice Val's height and ten times her weight. Each one was so broad and stocky they looked like walls of fur and muscles.

The sounds of grunting and wailing filled the air. Val knew the Old Tongue, but even she could barely make out the words. The Thenn spoke the dialect better. He replied with short, sharp sentences. "Friends," the man called in the Old Tongue "Friends. We are friends!"

Most of them were around ten to eleven feet tall. The first giant they saw in the forest had been freakishly large. Hatch the Halfgiant had never looked so small.

A greying giant wailed. Val made out a word. "Dead," it cried. "Dead."

"Tell them we offer protection from the dead," she whispered. "We want to fight the wights too."

Hatch and the Thenn held their hands up in the air, shouting to the giants. Val looked for the biggest giants, or the ones with the largest club. One of the giants was speckled brown beast wearing a bone necklaces of assorted skulls - goats, wolves, possibly human too - around his neck and a thick club in his hand. "Focus on the chieftains or the best warriors. The other giants will follow them."

Val knew only vaguely about the dynamics of giant tribes. A single clan could have several chieftains that would lead them when it came to blood, but there would also be matriarchs that would lead for everything other than fighting or hunting. They formed very close-knit groups, and were quick to anger. You had to stay alert when approaching them; constantly respectful, constantly non-threatening.

Snow's mouth hung open slightly as more and more giants gathered around them, sniffing and stamping. At least a hundred, Val reckoned. Maybe more than two. In this single camp there must be several dozen giant clans forced together from the Others' attacks.

It took a long time for them to calm. A few giants looked threatening, but Val and the other free folk slowly reassured them as they placed down sacks of fruit and vegetables.

For the most part, Snow stayed quiet. "Tell them about Hardhome," he whispered eventually. "Tell them there is protection."

Val caught only a few words. One of the big ones stomped and growled. "Monster," it said. "Flying death. Monster."

Hatch translated. "They already know," he said. "They're afraid to approach Hardhome because of the dragon."

"Ah. Tell them that dragon is no threat. The dragon is there to protect them."

It took a lot of pleading for them to relax, and even more to get their meaning across. The giants skittered, staring at them curiously.

Val saw a little giant, a babe, about four feet tall. It stood up to her chest, but it was so broad it was probably already heavier than she was. It had weirdly lanky arms and knuckles that dragged across the soil. Val stared into a gaping square jaw hanging open filled with large, flat teeth. The little giant approached curiously, reaching out to touch her blond hair in fascination. She forced herself to stay still. The giant babe wasn't aggressive, yet it still had strong, curious, stubby fingers.

Slowly, the free folk asked for permission to bring the rest of the warband into camp, which was eventually accepted. Val gave orders to bring them in only four or five at a time, and to constantly talk to the giants to reassure them.

Snow had learned four words in the Old Tongue - 'Greetings', 'Friends', 'Help' and 'Snow' - and he was trying to use them repeatedly to introduce himself. He sounded like an idiot. A few of the giants were laughing at him.

The giant's 'camp' had no tents or fire pits. The giants had been huddled together against the cold.

It took a while for them to convince the giants to follow them into Hardhome. The giants made no decisions, but they weren't throwing them out either. They mingled very cautiously, but agreed that the free folk could stay with them for the night and travel back in the morning.

At Snow's order, the free folk set up a perimeter, and lit fires around the camp. A few of the free folk told stories of the dragon to the giants. The younger giants were more willing to mix with the men, while the older giants huddled together and growled at any humans who tried to approach them.

As dusk fell, Val was wide awake, keeping watch by the fire. She heard the lopsided steps as Snow approached her. "Two hundred and eleven giants," Snow said finally.

"You're a good counter." The majority of the giants in the camp were from the forest tribes, but some plains and mountains giants were mixed in.

"We've already got a hundred or so at Hardhome," he said, settling in around her fire. "Do you think any more will come?"

"Maybe," Val admitted, but with uncertainty.

Jon cast a look behind him, where Borroq was meditating by the fire pit. The skinchanger stayed a good distance away from anyone else. "We need to use skinchangers to find them. Men that can search through an eagle's eye. Groups of skinchangers could track down survivors before the Others do."

"And what? You want an army of giants?"

"I want any advantage I can get. Bring them in, give them armour, give them proper weapons. Teach them how to fight alongside humans."

Val snorted, but Snow looked so earnest she might actually believe him. He looked at her seriously. "What would it take?" Jon asked. "To bring men and giants together?"

She shrugged. "Give them shelter. Food. You'd have to talk to the chiefs one by one. The old chieftains would never agree to it - too much distrust towards men - but the matriarchs… hmm. Maybe. It would be a lot of work."

"It usually is, my lady."

Val grunted. "And what? You'd try to send legions of giants on the front lines?"

"I think they'd be better served in the rear, actually. Strength to support the troops, mammoths to carry supplies. They could move siege weapons, even. What sort of bow would a giant be able to fire?"

She glanced at him, measuring his expression. "Fine. Let's say it's possible and I agree with you. What's the plan, King Snow?"

He shrugged. "I will be marching on the Wall very shortly. Eastwatch is vulnerable, but I want to get Hardhome secure before I leave," he said. "Sonagon takes Eastwatch, we open the gates, and then move across to Castle Black. Bring through as many refugees as possible."

"And Hardhome?"

"Stays safe. Protects the women and children until we can move them by ship. Brings in the giants. Hardhome needs to keep sending out parties against the Others and looking for survivors, while I take a force to secure the Wall." He nodded. "When we're ready to leave, it has to be quick and smooth."

Around them, the night crackled and hissed. Outside the campfires, the darkness in the forest was absolute. Val sat still, judging his expression. "And you want me to…?"

"I need people to manage Hardhome while I'm gone. I need leaders I can trust. You're one of them."

She thought about it. "I see."

That was all she said. That was all she wanted to say right now, at least. Snow looked at her quietly as if expecting more, but then handed her a skin of water. "I look forward to working with you, my lady."

Val twitched. My lady. Every time he called her that, it caused her to twitch. He said it sounding so serious and forlorn too. "There are times when I think you're trying to irritate me, King Snow."

"Of course not, my lady."

Jon

He looked out over the sea, a craggy coastline overlooking the rugged waters of the Bay of Seals. He could see the towering black outline of the Wall in the distance, about ten leagues away. The cliffs were barren rocks, swept clean by vicious winds, but the wildlings had used this coast to launch raids across the bay for centuries.

Right now, they were sheltered in what used to be a small fishing village on the craggy coast. Four thousand wildling warriors left Hardhome, ready to take Eastwatch. The camp was alive, filled with warriors and spearwives ready for battle.

Jon's heart pounded. It had been pounding for days. Even after coming up with the plan, even after convincing the other wildlings to follow through with it, and even after all of the preparation, he was still nervous. All around him, the free folk were cheering, celebrating, like the battle was already won, while Jon felt the fear seeping into him.

Today is the day that I will defeat the Wall.

He looked at the hulking shape of Sonagon, resting on the ground. The men clambered around the dragon like ants.

"Leather straps!" Devyn Sealskinner ordered. "Quickly, leather straps, around its wings!"

The dragon grumbled. Jon took a deep breath, trying to push calm, reassuring thoughts. It had taken a lot for Sonagon to stay still. They had to bribe the dragon with fish, and then wait for Sonagon to roost in the evening before they could get close. Even then, Jon had to be on hand constantly.

Mounting the harness on Sonagon had proved a major feat all by itself.

It started with a quiet word to Furs about whether or not it would be possible. Furs passed it on to Devyn Sealskinner and two dozen other sailors and crafters. It had spiralled into a major undertaking requiring all the leather and hides the free folk could muster, and every skilled leatherworker in the host. Two hundred men tanning and weaving, another hundred to bring in enough leather, not even counting the men trying to coordinate them.

Truth be told, Jon did little while others arranged it. There were a multitude of tasks that needed his attention in preparation for the assault, and it was just a quiet relief to have one less.

The harness was a hulking mess of long leather straps, hides and hemp rope designed to wrap around the dragon. They hooked the rope onto the dragon's spikes, with a leather harness to across its back, and then underneath its belly. Jon hadn't quite realised how big Sonagon's body was until they tried to wrap leather around it. The saddle could have wrapped around a sizable boat.

The harness came in two parts, one on across the dragon's skull and horns and the other across his back. No more clinging desperately onto rough ropes around the horns; instead it would be a securely fastened harness that Jon could tie himself into. The leather harness on the head would be big enough to support four men easily between the dragon's horns.

The harness across Sonagon's back proved more difficult; it needed to be fastened very carefully across the dragon's wings and huge, serpentine body. The back harness was much larger, more difficult to climb on, but large enough for well over three dozen men to hold on between the dragon's wings as it flew. There were even straps that could hold the soldier's weapons, and positions that hopefully good bowmen would be able to fire from. Archers and warriors on a dragon's back.

The hard part was trying to fasten the damned thing. Strong climbers had to scale Sonagon's body to wrap the leather straps, and trying to climb a dragon's body was not a task for the faint of heart. They were all brave men trying to delicately complete such a cumbersome task, particularly when a single movement from the dragon might easily crush someone.

Jon could feel the dragon's irritation with so many figures moving around him. It took everything Jon had to keep the dragon calm, and still. Convincing the dragon to shift his body to one side slightly to allow them to fasten the straps had been an achievement by itself.

Devyn tutted slightly, frowning as he inspected his men's work. "We made the leather as strong as possible. Still no telling how long it'll hold, though. Don't let the dragon dive into the water."

Jon nodded. "Are you happy with it?"

"It's the best we could have done with so little time," Devyn conceded. "But still so little. Amazing how difficult wrapping a few straps around a dragon really is. If I had more time…"

"You'd do what?"

He thought about it. "Better leather saddles for across the back. Stronger hide as cover from the wind. I added some thick leather across the head - thought it might protect the dragon's neck and lower jaw a bit - but we should think about armour as well."

Jon shook his head. Around them, men were shouting for ropes to be pulled. "Maybe something to shield Sonagon's eyes and snout," he said, not a clue how that would even be possible. A dragon helm, perhaps? "But Sonagon's wings are the most vulnerable, and those are too wide to protect."

"Aye, that'd be a challenge. Can't put too much weight on the wings, either. Maybe a leather sheath, but damned if I know how we could mount it. For armour, most we could do is around the underbelly, neck and jaw, possibly legs, but that'd be a lot extra weight and a lot extra hassle."

"Not worth it. Sonagon's scales are already harder than most metal." He paused. "Yet I was taught that Valyrian dragonlords used to use armour dragons in steel plate."

"Heh. You would float on a breastplate that size. How much can your dragon carry, anyways?"

"I'm not sure," Jon admitted. "He could likely carry his own weight again, at least briefly. More weight and he struggles. Right now, I'm thinking two dozen fully grown men would be a safe bet for any journey."

"Well, it'll be an uncomfortable ride," Devyn noted. "Make sure you get men strong enough to hold on tight. The head is a pretty stable seat, though that one will jerk around a lot, but the back? That's going to be sitting right on the wing muscles."

"We better bring heavy furs too," Jon admitted. "It gets cold."

"Ha! I can imagine. I think you'd be best off looking for experienced sea raiders to join you up there. They'd probably handle it better."

Jon grimaced quietly. The news that he was making a harness to fly men on the dragon had spread like wildfire. I should have expected it, for bragging rights alone. How many could say that they've flown to war on a dragon's back?

Jon had been flying Sonagon frequently recently; testing the dragon's power, scouting the distance, moving between the two armies here and in Hardhome. The dragon loved flying again, growing stronger with every journey.

He had decided to ferry two dozen strong men across on Sonagon, an advance force that could make a difference if things went badly. If the harness was completed in time, Jon had offered thirty positions to the strongest warriors willing, but he had half-expected that nobody would stand forward. After all, they would have to fly through cold, harsh weather clutching a possibly unstable harness, all the while being easy targets for any archer aiming for the dragon.

That offer proved a mistake. The raiders took it as a challenge, and then two days ago Jon found the free folk hosting a miniature gladiator tournament all vying viciously for a spot on the dragon's back before Jon put a stop to it.

The harness was already being tightened, but they looked like frilly bands of leather against the dragon's white scales.

They would attack in three parts. The main force heads towards the gates, the vanguard crosses over the frozen water, and an advance force flying over on Sonagon's back.

Assuming all went well, they would arrive at Eastwatch with the depleted men of the Night's Watch surrendering peacefully, or maybe abandoning the castle all together. That would be enough for the free folk to fortify Eastwatch and open the gates wide.

If not, and things became bloody, Sonagon could douse the castle in dragonfire, and end resistance quickly. That's the final resort, Jon told himself.

Jon knew he was probably over-preparing, wasting himself in trying to plan every eventuality. They likely wouldn't face any sizeable resistance at all. Still, he was nervous so he made plans.

This time tomorrow, I will take the wildlings south. I will defeat the Wall and I will open the gates for the free folk.

He took a deep breath to focus on the task at hand. Less than twelve hours now. Did time always move this slowly?

Eventually, he left Devyn Sealskinner and the others to finish up the harness. A dozen men flanked Jon as he walked through the camp. In the distance, he saw the large shapes of mammoths rumbling over the ice. Giant clans ferrying supplies from Hardhome to them.

It was the eve of the battle, and it seemed like everyone was carving more arrowheads, weaving rope or sharpening weapons.

He met the Weeper bellowing at men to get into formation. The Weeper's face was still bruised, as was Jon's, but he had no time to hold grudges. "How goes the preparations for the march?" Jon asked.

"Aye. I got a thousand good men ready to cross the ice. As many from the ice lake clans as possible - they'll take the front. The Thenns will bring up the rear. Make damn sure your dragon does a good job freezing the ocean."

"Just make sure your men are ready to move light and fast," Jon said. "How about the men who will be riding on Sonagon? Have they been picked?"

"I've got twenty-nine of the strongest meanest raiders I could find."

He frowned. Twenty-nine? The Weeper just folded his arms. Jon shook his head. "You're not coming."

"The hell I ain't. I'm the strongest meanest raider around here."

"Your job is to lead the men over the ice."

"Let Sigorn and Rattleshirt handle that, I'll be buggered if I'll let you fly on ahead."

Jon didn't trust Rattleshirt enough for that. Hells, he didn't really trust the Weeper, but at least the Weeper was reliable in an untrustworthy way. "You lead the men, I'll lead the dragon."

"I expect the battle will be over by the time we get there."

"Perhaps." Hopefully. "But I still need the main force to secure Eastwatch."

He snorted. "It's not so hard to secure corpses."

"No killing." Jon's eyes were hard. "That was the deal."

"Sure. No killing unless they try to kill us." A cruel little grin past over the Weeper's face. "But as soon as they do, I'll slaughter them all."

Not for the first time, Jon wondered about his ability to keep the wildlings in line. It was one of many matters to worry about.

Across the camp, Devyn's men had finished securing the dragon harness. Right now, they were busy feeding Sonagon the last of the supplies they had set to one side. Huge sacks of fish, some of them rotten, were poured out in front of the dragon. Jon saw Sonagon's nose twitch hungrily as the dragon's neck stretched outwards. Normally they fed the dragon livestock or garron, but fish was a tasty delicacy for it.

There are metal-rich stones on the coast too, Jon thought. The dragon would fill up on fish, and then chew rocks for his stomach. Jon wanted Sonagon well fed and content for tomorrow, so he would be less likely to snack on any men.

He found Iron Emmett tied up to his post in a tent, but Jon had instructed that the prisoner needed extra rations. He needed his strength for tomorrow too.

"Emmett," Jon called, with the Weeper and a dozen others behind him. "How are you?"

The man's eyes were dark. Three times now Emmett had tried to escape. One time he had waited for a chance to throttle Jon. The sworn brother was every bit as dangerous as his reputation suggested. Jon took care never to approach him alone.

"You are a fool, Snow," Emmett growled. "Gods, if you let the wildlings south they'll rape and pillage the north. They always have."

"If they do, I'll stop them," Jon replied coolly. "But it seems to me that keeping them locked up north just encourages more raping and pillaging. You've seen the real enemy, Emmett, or are you doubting your own eyes?"

A pause. "I saw the blue-eyed dead that night, aye." Emmett growled. "But that does not make the wildlings any less of savages, or you any less of a traitor."

I can't really argue that one, he supposed. "Enemy of my enemy," said Jon. "But enough. We will release you when we start to march. You will have furs. We'll give you back your cloak. It's ten leagues to the Wall, I suggest you make haste. Do you know what you have to say?"

"That wildlings and monsters are coming." His voice was bitter.

"That anyone who surrenders will not be harmed," Jon said. "Surrender the castle peacefully and nobody dies, on my word."

"The word of an oathbreaker? What's that worth?"

More than you think . "It's all you have. This offer is a courtesy - I need not give it. I could quite easily take the castle by force, and I'm prepared to do so." His eyes were hard. "Make sure you remind them of that."

Emmett glared, but Jon could see the doubt in his eyes too.

"I want you and Sigorn leading on the ice," Jon said to the Weeper after a pause. "Have Rattleshirt stay behind with the reserves. The dragon goes first, the army follows, and as soon as the door is open Rattleshirt brings the rest through."

"Fine."

"And I'll send Devyn back to Hardhome by boat," Jon said after a pause. "Have him tell Val and the others to prepare to follow."

"What about the Others?" Furs asked. "What if they attack?"

"They're in retreat. Hardhome is defended. I don't think the Others are bold enough to launch an attack like that." Not yet. "They'll wait for a better opportunity."

"If you say so." Jon had organised two dozen hunt squads to work through the forests around the cape, to cut down as many of wights as possible. They could secure the area and keep the Others at bay, at least until they opened the Eastwatch gate.

Jon looked around his army and sighed softly. Tomorrow, he would fight the Night's Watch. Fight against his sworn brothers.

The thought made him pause. My real brothers died while I was lost in the wilderness searching for a dragon. The Night's Watch were the only family I have left, but then I turned my back on them too.

The camp was tense, but there was nothing to do except wait and prepare. Jon walked around the camp, inspecting the clans and soldiers. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, so instead he paced through the camp.

Even at night, at least a hundred men or women - mostly women, actually - surrounded Sonagon. The dragon gathered a retinue that would flock around him whenever he was in camp; that would prepare meals, sometimes even clean his scales. A week ago they had an incident when a crofter's girl very nearly died after being knocked by the dragon's tail and Jon had tried to stop the followers, but they always seemed to come back.

Everywhere he looked, he saw men, women and children staring at him wide-eyed, with white stones on their furs. Even more of the raiders were taking the white stones now.

Jon honestly didn't know what to do about that. It made him uncomfortable, but he also seriously doubted that he would have the same support if it wasn't for his followers. Sonagon was no god, but Jon found himself protesting less and less whenever tributes were made. There were four old women who would prepare his meals every day, served on iron plates. Jon and all of his guards ate well.

He paused for a long time, staring at the outline of Sonagon further towards the coast. Tomorrow, for the first time in three hundred years, a dragon would invade the Seven Kingdoms.

It will be an easy battle, Jon told himself. It would be so easy that it didn't deserve the amount he had been obsessing over it. They had forty times the number of men and a dragon. The Night's Watch would be fools to try and fight back. Eastwatch was an undermanned castle cradled by a fishing village, with more ships than they had sailors to man them. The castle would never stand a chance, and everyone knew it. It would be an easy victory.

So why do I feel so nervous?

He spent the evening pacing. Darkness seemed to fall painstakingly slowly, until finally it was time for the army to move.

"Weeper! Sigorn! Get ready to march!" Jon bellowed. "All men to Sonagon, we mount now! Bring rope and as many furs as possible!"

The camp seemed to ripple. Jon motioned to Rolf and Hatch to keep everyone else back, while the thirty men gathered around Sonagon. Thirty very experienced men and they all looked terrified approaching the dragon. The man leading the warband was a grizzled white-haired Thenn named Stiga. One of Sigorn's cousins, Jon had heard.

"You need to climb up onto its back," Jon instructed. "Two men at a time; climb up towards the rear, over his hind legs. The scales are poor handholds, so be careful. Do not touch the wings. Leave weapons behind for now, bring rope instead. Climb up and hook yourselves onto the back spines, and then wrap yourself in as many furs as you can. It will be really cold."

Jon went first. His heart pounded as he climbed up the dragon's horn and delicately levered himself into the unfamiliar leather harness. It was uncomfortable, but Jon wrapped furs around him and tied himself down with the straps, clutching the rope. The leather straps had been left deliberately sparse to allow quick movement, but they still felt like very flimsy, sparse tethers that might be the only thing keeping him alive.

The dragon had been well-fed and sated, but Sonagon was still on edge. Jon watched with hushed breath as the men behind him slowly scaled the dragon's back. Mounting the dragon was a feat by itself, let alone holding onto dear life.

Thirty free folk warriors - most of them Thenns - armed with willow longbows and copper spears, wrapped in sheepskin furs over bronze platemail.

His heart was in his mouth, watching with quiet horror and wondering if one man might accidentally poke one of Sonagon's wounds, and then Sonagon would surely snap and tear the man apart in anger. It took everything Jon had to keep the dragon calm, but still…

How long does it take to mount men onto a dragon? Is it always so cumbersome? They'll never be able to dismount quickly in battle. We're using a dragon alongside military tactics, Jon thought to himself, something that hadn't been done in over a hundred years. There's no experience with this. We have to make up the strategies as we go.

I wonder, how did the ancient Valyrian generals used to stop their war assets from eating their own army?

The camp was screaming, or cheering, as the last Thenn dragged himself up and held out to Sonagon's back ridges, the man tying himself to the leather straps. Stiga was shouting in the Old Tongue, a series of short harsh raspy cries to rally his men. Jon could feel the tension in the air. They all grunted fiercely; raiders about to experience the most extreme raid of their lives.

He suddenly wished that he had warned Stiga to spare the battle speech: it would be a long, cold flight, and it was still far too early for any speeches.

And then, finally, they were ready. Jon gave the unspoken command, and Sonagon lumbered upwards. The dragon growled in irritation with the passengers, but Jon soothed him. Jon clutched the ropes, and behind him he heard the screams of the raiders clutching on as the dragon reared up.

Giant wings unfurled slowly. The first beat of immense muscles sent shockwaves through the camp. The sound drowned out even the cheering of the free folk.

This is the fifth time that I've flown on a dragon now, he thought.

It never became any less magnificent, or less terrifying.

Suddenly, the night sky rushed up to meet them. The cold air hit him like a warhammer, as the dragon gained speed frighteningly fast. Even with thirty men on his back, Sonagon was no less graceful in the air.

The wind was deadly, so cold that it could easily bite off fingers. Even under his thick hide furs, clutching the Sonagon's scales, he could feel the wind buffering around him. If there was any exposed skin at all, the cold wind would bite it off.

His heart was beating. Jon couldn't hear anything from the men on Sonagon's back, but he just had to hope they could hold on.

It was exhilarating. Terrifying. The pressure, the wind, the power, the acceleration. Each beat of Sonagon's wings threatened to tear him apart.

Jon gasped, trying to focus. Focus.

He extended his mind. He felt himself slipping out of his skin.

And suddenly the world shifted. He was staring out over a black ocean, feeling the joy in his wings with every beat. Sonagon loved flying. Everything was so black and cold, even Sonagon's vision could barely make out a thing, but the smell… the scent of the ocean was so overwhelming, but on the wind there were fragrances and tastes from leagues and leagues away. It felt Jon was the king of the world, the natural predator in his element.

Focus. Don't lose myself. Give Sonagon his freedom, but keep him under control too. Focus on the task. Sonagon quite often enjoyed diving into the water during flights, but if he did that now it would kill everyone. Sonagon couldn't be completely controlled, but Jon just needed to push him in the right direction, to steer him.

The dragon swept through the black night. They would be nearly invisible in the dark.

The ships. The night patrols across the bay from Eastwatch. There were usually two ships, both undermanned by tired but experienced crewmen. Firstly, Jon needed to disable them, to keep their men away from defending or warning Eastwatch.

Sonagon picked up the pinprick scent of oak, metal and sweat among the salty sea air. Jon pushed Sonagon gently, and the dragon turned in the air, dropping low over the water.

He could see the glow of heat and lanterns from the ship. The Talon, Jon guessed. A narrow and low sloop with a dozen men on board; old, but sturdy against cold storms.

Sonagon came in fast and hard. The dragon's wings folded, beating powerful strokes as the roar broke the air. Jon heard screams. Raw, strangled screams of pure panic. Even if there were archers ready and waiting with bows, Jon gave them no chance to fire. Sonagon went too fast.

I've learned my lesson after facing Stannis' fleet. Don't give them any chance to retaliate.

The cold exploded from the dragon's jaw. Jon heard the hissing. The water, he pushed, as forcefully as he dared. Freeze the water, not the ship.

It was over in less than a dozen heartbeats. A single pass left the Talon caught in a streak of hissing ice across its port, and then the second pass it's rear was frozen too. The sea water froze in icy tendrils, trapping the whole boat instantly. The sloop would be trapped in an iceberg so cold that, even with pickaxes, it would take days to get the ship free.

It will be dangerous for them to be frozen on these waters, but I can send men to rescue them once I have a chance. Lives would be threatened no matter what Jon did or didn't do. He took the route with the best chance of saving the most.

It took an hour and a half before Jon caught the second patrol ship, off the coast of Skagos. With only a single pass, that ship was frozen too, left to drift aimlessly on a chunk of ice. The iceberg would probably drift back onto the peninsula of Skagos. Sonagon was already turning around, the dragon roaring over the bay and towards the mainland.

It was well past the hour of the raven. Need to hurry. The army will be on the move, probably nearing the coast. They wanted to cross the ocean at dawn, so they had the sunrise on their side.

The shape of the Wall loomed over head, a black brick on the coast, taller than a mountain. Eastwatch was barely a lump cradled at the Wall's feet. Jon tried to keep the dragon low and slow, to save themselves the worst of the coastal winds.

Sonagon's roar was like thunder. They'll know we're here, even if they can't see us in the dark.

Freeze, Jon pushed, focusing on the swirling ocean. Freeze, ice, freeze.

The dragon grumbled, but his body was powerful and well-rested. Songaon wanted to exert himself, to conquer. Ice was the dragon's domain. With a low growl, the white cold fire exploded outwards, firing over the sea.

Jon felt his body almost lose grip as the cold air hit them from below. Behind, Sonagon felt a shape topple off his back, crashing against his tail as he swept upwards again.

A man fell off, Jon cursed. The dragonfire was so cold that the man's body exploded before it hit the water, lost in the cold mist. Jon could only hope the remaining men would hold on tighter.

Sonagon circled for a second pass. He breathed a continuous stream of fire for nineteen seconds, but then needed to break. Not so cold, Jon thought desperately. It was hard for Sonagon to understand such awkward instructions. I need less intense dragon fire, but more continuous. Longer, freeze further streaks.

The second pass lasted almost a minute. A full minute of icy fire, transforming everything it touched into solid ice.

Each pass formed jagged chunks stripping out of the sea, the tendrils pluming outwards. Smoother, Jon thought with a silent curse. They have to walk over that ice; try to freeze the water into smoother pathways.

Half a dozen passes, and beneath them the ocean was consistently transforming into an icy wasteland. Great billows of steam rose upwards. Sonagon was panting now, straining more and more with every breath.

Jon was panting too, his muscles hurting from holding on so tightly. It was still dark, but there was just the faintest tinges in the distance of the sun about to rise.

Sonagon could hear shouts from atop the Wall. The men of Night's Watch would have seen the dragon beneath them, working his way south across the coastline. The darkness was Sonagon's best cover, but that was fading. How long before they start shooting arrows from the Wall? How long before one gets a lucky shot?

Need a distraction. Move forward, trust that there's ice enough for now.

Sonagon flapped forward, zooming over the frozen water. Jon saw the shadows and harbours of Eastwatch zooming ahead. Cut off any defence before they could mount one.

With a single breath, the harbour exploded into ice. Jon heard the bells of Eastwatch ringing in panic.

His body was trembling. Sonagon flapped, twisting around low to the group. I need to be brutal here. Force them to surrender quickly.

Sonagon roared overhead, so loud the earth rumbled. Jon wanted absolutely everyone to see the size of the dragon.

With a single beat of his wings, Sonagon twisted around in the air. Beneath him, Jon glimpsed old towers among thatch houses of the fishing village, and men and women running for their lives.

Sonagon dropped to the ground in the plains outside of the Eastwatch, the grass scattered in light snow. As the dragon dropped, great clouds of snow billowed around him.

Jon was panting for breath. It was almost dawn. The free folk had very experienced mountain and frozen lake men leading the front, men experienced at traversing ice, but it would still be slow going. Jon needed to cover them until they reached Eastwatch, to take the castle and the Wall.

"Everyone off!" Jon shouted, at the Thenns on Sonagon's back. Twenty-nine free folk as a landing party, to hold the ground until the main force arrived. "Quickly now!"

Few of them spoke the Common tongue, but they got the meaning. The men looked ill and woozy from the long flight as they lowered ropes to climb down. The dragon trembled impatiently, growling at Eastwatch as the sun rose sluggishly over the horizon. They had barely even dismounted before Sonagon burst off again, roaring into the sky.

The earth disappeared. Jon saw rushing bodies across the castle and the Wall. In the morning sun, the frozen ocean looked like some strange, alien wasteland. He could barely make out the shadow of the wildling host on the other side of the coast, on the edge of the frozen, steaming ocean. The Weeper made good time, he must have driven the men hard.

Eastwatch is still a strong castle. Don't afford them the chance to build up a defence.

This is the first time I've been to Eastwatch. I never thought I would come to destroy it.

With an immense crash, Sonagon dropped right on top the castle's keep, claws clinging to the tiled woodwork. The whole structure seemed to groan, stones clattering. With a single breath, the courtyard was split into ice. Jon could barely even hear the screams of terror. The second dragon breath tore open the balconies atop a tower, causing the stone to crackle and explode with cold. A warning for any archers that might try to take position against them.

Jon saw men on the Wall. He glimpsed shafts being loosed at them.

In a second, Sonagon shot upwards, tearing through the sky and to the top of the Wall. Seven hundred feet in an instant, the acceleration so fast that Jon nearly gagged. It took everything Jon had to suppress Sonagon's urge to eat, and instead the dragon's tail whipped out furiously, and then a craning siege weapon and winch atop the Wall shattered into massive splinters.

Jon glimpsed black shapes falling off the Wall, screaming. Men of the Night's Watch driven off the edge in the chaos and panic, and dead because of him. Jon's stomach clenched, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't save everyone.

Eastwatch was in chaos. A single sweep of the dragon was all it took to send the castle mad. Jon saw the group of free folk charging through the chaos - twenty-nine good men to hold the harbour while the dragon terrorised any defence.

How long before the Weeper's men get here? Maybe another four hours to cross the frozen ocean. Sonagon just had to stop any foolish acts of bravery until the free folk arrived, and then they would have the men to hold castle and open the gates.

A dragon could destroy a castle easily, but Jon didn't want to demolish it. Jon needed to wait for the Weeper's men before he could take Eastwatch itself.

The time moved so slowly. There was no battle; just pure, constant panic. Sonagon did regular passes of the castle, the Wall, the coast and the harbour. He saw men of the Night's Watch riding from the castle, or across the Wall. Jon considered giving chase, but then decided against it. Let them run; running is better than fighting.

It took another twelve passes to freeze the ocean before he was confident the ice was solid enough. If anything it might be too cold.

Finally, when he saw the shapes of men skittering across the ice with ropes and ice picks, Jon knew it was as good as over. The advance force held position and faced barely any resistance, while Sonagon easily scattered anything that looked like a defensive perimeter.

It was noon by the time Jon finally dismounted the dragon. The raiders were clattering on the coast. The free folk in the harbour killed seven men, four Night's Watch and three fishermen, but only those that tried to drive them away. The bodies left a foul taste in Jon's mouth, particularly as he dismounted and clutched Dark Sister tightly.

About fifty men on the harbour, but more arriving every second. Easily enough to take Eastwatch.

Jon let Sonagon fly away. "To me!" He called, as others took up the cry. "Take the castle!"

On the ground, the perspective was so different. Eastwatch was an old dumpy castle, squat and well-made, but even the brief passes from Sonagon had ruined it. Half the tower had collapsed from where Sonagon had perched, Jon noted. He hadn't realised at the time.

They encountered no resistance, but he glimpsed faces hiding in huts and houses. Old women, children, mothers - those too scared to run. The men of the Night's Watch had fled with every horse they could find.

Or so he thought. Then, Jon rushed into the castle courtyard, he saw a dozen men in black waiting for him, huddled by the tower steps, clutching swords and bows. The free folk around him growled.

"Yield!" Jon shouted, holding up his sword. "Yield right now, and you will not be harmed!"

"Aye? You mean to feed us to that monster instead?" A sworn brother growled, a broad man with a stocky jaw and broken nose.

"No one will be harmed, you have my word," Jon said, glaring at the free folk. "So long as you surrender your swords."

"And what is the word of a traitor worth?" The man spat. "Jon Snow, I presume? You made a vow."

"I did." I made several. "And please don't force me to break it. Lower your weapons." Jon glared at the man. He was a brave man, facing off against Jon and fifty wildlings behind him. The other brothers were scared, but they looked to the one in charge. "Cotter Pyke, yes? You have command here?"

"What did you do to my ships, traitor?" Cotter Pyke demanded. "The men on them?"

"The ships frozen in icebergs, ser," Jon replied coolly. "But the men unarmed. And will remain so, as long as you surrender now."

Cotter snorted. "I am no ser." His eyes were angry, defiant. "Eight thousand years this Wall has stood. You expect me to step aside and let it fall under my watch?"

Jon took a step forward. "If you are that eager to die, ser, then I have no choice but to oblige you."

There was a pause. Behind him, he had no doubt that the wildlings would happily kill all the crows they could.

Finally, Cotter's gaze twitched. "Lower your weapons," he said, his voice sour. "We surrender."

Jon suppressed a breath of relief. A castle fallen, the Wall breeched, and it appeared only single casualty on their side. One man who fell off the dragon.

Swords clattered to the ground. Jon nodded at the free folk. "Collect them, escort the crows to their quarters. If they resist, escort them to the cells."

"Where are their quarters? Where are the cells?"

"Not sure," Jon admitted. "Search the castle."

About two dozen men of the Night's Watch in total, mostly old stewards or builders. Everyone who couldn't run. Cotter Pyke himself could have run, though, Jon thought, instead he must have chosen to stay behind at his post. Brave man.

He saw wildlings roughly marching an elderly maester - Maester Harmune, he recalled - at spearpoint. Jon wanted to order them to be gentler, but he couldn't. He had to pick his battles. It already took all of his control to stop them from killing the crows, it would be too much of a stretch to order them to act nice as well. Cotter Pyke looked absolutely furious as he saw wildlings stomping into the grounds, chanting and cheering.

"You're going to destroy the north," Cotter said. "Those savages will rape and pillage everything in their path."

They will probably try, Jon admitted. He had to keep the wildlings under control too. "Your man," Jon said. "Iron Emmett. Where is he?"

"Halfway to Last Hearth by now, I expect," he scoffed, folding his arms.

So they ran to the Umbers. It made sense. Jon fully expected that Cotter Pyke's men had either ran west to Castle Black or south to the nearest northern houses for aid. Jon just nodded. "I trust he made it safely?"

"Aye, arrived eleven hours ago, half-dead from cold. Always was a faster runner, Emmett," Cotter said. "Babbling on about raiders coming, and dragons. Didn't really need to, I've seen that monster before."

Jon paused. "You were at Hardhome."

"Aye, I was escorting the King's fleet. The Blackbird was at the rear though, and much tougher than any southern ships. We made it out of the ice. The Queen never believed me when I came back rambling about what I saw. Not until the King made it back as well five days later. Never seen so many men run so fast."

"You didn't run."

"I did not," Cotter agreed. "I've spent the last two weeks trying to think of some way to stop a monster like yours. Still didn't come up with anything."

It shouldn't have been this easy, Jon thought. The Wall should be better defended. If I could get through it, then how long until the Others did the same?

"Stannis Baratheon?" Jon demanded. "What happened to him?"

"Two ships of his crawled back a week ago. They grabbed his Queen and Princess and sailed south pretty damn sharpish. Your dragon put the fear of god into them."

"Where to?"

"His Grace never deigned to tell me."

"But he survived."

"Presume so."

Jon hadn't been sure if Stannis would live or not after he lost his hand. Stannis had less than a thousand men, apparently, he was no threat now. Still, would he be able to rally more and try again?

One problem at a time. "Sigorn!" Jon shouted. "The gatehouse is through there! Have your men secure the tunnel and open the gate."

The Magnar grinned a toothy smile. Jon saw the Weeper charging through the crowd. The free folk looked exhausted from the trek over the ice, but they were already celebrating. Can't let them celebrate, not now, he thought. Free folk tended to rape when celebrating.

"Weeper, we need to get on top of the Wall," Jon shouted. "As many as you can grab, get up there and light the signal. Clear the wall and set up sentries."

"You expected an ambush?"

Not really, but it's possible. "Just be on guard," he said simply. "And then we need barricades and patrols around Eastwatch in case they've got any reinforcements coming."

"Aye," the Weeper grumbled, before snapping at two nearby men. "Abel, Sten! Go find Rattleshirt's hairy ass! Grab Rolf and Haldur too. Get them here and pass on the orders. I'll take the Wall. Lord of Bones can handle the ground."

"Be careful, the steps can treacherous."

"Snow, my lot are used to climbing the Wall without steps," the Weeper snorted, picking up his scythe.

"We sleep in featherbeds tonight, King Snow!" a raider laughed, staring at the keep. "The crow's castle is ours!"

"No laughing, no jeering and no drinking until we've got barricades and defences set up!" Jon shouted, turning to bellow at the men. "Not unless you want to risk an ambush in the middle of the night!"

Cotter Pyke didn't move, he stood still as the free folk rushed around him. The free folk would try to raid any supplies, weapons or valuables for themselves. It was in their nature. Jon had to assign men to find the important location first - the armoury, the pantry, the vault - and guard them.

Emotions were still high off the victory. They had come prepared for a battle, but there had been none. Jon couldn't let them run wild. He could feel his head aching, but he didn't dare rest lest he lose control of the rising chaos.

Maybe five hundred here already. About twenty thousand on their way from Hardhome.

Beyond the Wall, Jon could sense the remaining free folk marching through Ghost. The smoke signal rose into the air - the signal that the Wall had fallen.

Sonagon was flying off east, over the coast of Skagos. The dragon enjoyed exploring new lands. Perhaps he'd find a unicorn to eat.

It had been a long night and it looked like it would be a long day too. Jon stared around the unfamiliar castle. Jon would take the commander's quarters for himself, but he had to figure out where they were first.

"The maester," Jon ordered. The wildling gave him a blank stare. "The old man with the chain. Bring him to me, assign him to his quarters." The rookery was important. Jon had a lot of letters and world events to catch up on. "Cotter Pyke, I will let you stay alongside your men. I trust you will help keep the peace." The warning was clear.

"My ships. My men," Cotter Pyke said darkly. "You'll bring them back."

"I will." Put it alongside the other hundred tasks that I have to do urgently.

"And what did you do to Castle Black?" Cotter demanded. "Do any of the brothers there still live?"

Jon paused. "Excuse me?"

"We lost contact with Castle Black well over a week ago. No ravens. I've sent brothers to investigate, but none returned yet. What did you do to the castle?"

He hesitated, meeting Cotter's eyes. There was anger there, but uncertainty too. Cotter didn't know. "Point me to the rookery," Jon ordered. "I want any letters you have delivered to me straight away."

He walked away. Cotter Pyke didn't resist as Hatch, Rags and Erik took him to the quarters.

"We should keep marching," Sigorn hissed, staring at Jon. "Get back on the dragon. Castle Black."

Jon shook his head. "We will. Not right now. Sonagon needs to rest, so do the men. We'll secure Eastwatch first."

"My father–"

"–Is perfectly safe in the Castle Black dungeons." That might be a lie, he admitted. "Rushing isn't going to help anyone. We go slowly, secure the Wall first."

The Magnar looked unhappy, but there was no time to argue. Too much to do, so many tasks. Jon saw Maester Harmune being shuffled out of the courtyard, much to the man's chagrin.

"I'll take it from here," Jon said at the free folk, limping towards the maester. Damn, my leg seized up from riding so long. "Maester, please show me to rookery. There are also injuries that I would like you to look at."

Harmune was an old, greying maester with patchy hair, and the stink of alcohol on his breath. He floundered, clutching at his robe. "… Um, yes, Your Grace…" he mumbled, quickly lowering his head.

Jon had to stop his grimace. Your Grace. Jon Snow, the King on the Wall.

He heard the cheering as the gates were hoisted open.