Chapter 214

(Flashback of Chapter 181)

Beyond The Wall.

Jon Snow.

"WIGHTS!!!"

When the watchmen sounded the alarm, Jon didn't feel fear, he'd long since accepted the fact that sooner or later he'd have to fight the dead. Running from wights through a blizzard was pointless, the countless traces of past battles proved that well enough. The decision was made to stand and fight. The black brothers and Winterfell's guardsmen snatched up spears and bows and ran to form a ring. Gloved hands stiffened in the cold, bodies shook like leaves in an autumn wind, but steel resolve let them organize a defense in a matter of moments.

The men stared into the falling snow and waited. Jon ordered the captured Other dragged to the center and set three trusted men to guard him. The howl of the storm, the creak of ice, the wailing of the dead, the shouts of the living, all of it blurred into a single roaring chaos. For some reason, the Others didn't attack. There is nothing more terrifying than waiting, but the lull didn't last long either. A hundred dead men came pouring out of the forest. Jon let them close to a good distance before giving the order to loose. Dozens of arrows flew into their ranks, but nothing slowed them, not for an instant. Only once the arrows were set alight did the first real results appear. The dead caught fire like dry kindling and burned through in moments.

The first assault was repelled, but it was only the beginning.

"Fire, fire! Meet them with fire!" Jon commanded.

Every man had been given a torch alongside his steel. Ordinary wights posed little threat to seasoned soldiers. Yes, there were losses, but for every man who fell, dozens of wights went down in turn. Then in an instant everything changed, a massive dead bear crashed through the ranks and shattered the formation entirely. Even it was subdued quickly enough. It took a couple more minutes to finally finish off the attackers. Nearly half their number lay dead, the rest wounded in varying degrees. It seemed like the fight was finally over, but to the horror of the survivors, a lone tall figure emerged from the surrounding ring of corpses, an Other.

Unlike the one they'd captured, this one looked markedly different: greaves, vambraces, light leather armor, a cuirass, and a weapon of ice, some hybrid of spear and sword. The Other advanced toward them unhurried, without making a single sound. At the edge of his awareness, Jon noticed the ice monster left no tracks behind it in the snow. The wights remained standing at a respectful distance, it seemed the White Walker meant to finish them off on its own.

"AAAAH!" With a battle cry, Pyp charged the Walker, only to have his head taken off in a single motion.

That became the signal to attack. The survivors gathered what strength remained and threw themselves into a hopeless fight. Steel swords proved useless, at the first clash with the Other's weapon, the blades shattered into hundreds of pieces. Chainmail couldn't save its wearers, it tore like silk. The flames on their torches, their last hope of survival, guttered slowly toward death. Jon's own trusted sword was shattered, and a powerful blow to the chest sent him flying several feet through the air.

Groaning in pain, Jon realized the Other was... toying with them. Judging by how quickly the first deaths had come, the monster could have slaughtered every last one of them long ago. And yet, here they still were, alive. Thorne hauled him roughly up from the ground.

"On your feet, Lord Snow. It's not our time to die yet." The brother of the Night's Watch was covered head to toe in blood, but he was holding up better than anyone else. "Any weapons left?"

That was a problem. All their gear had been broken. A couple of intact swords remained only among their dead, but the fight had already proven those useless. In his pocket, a recently acquired souvenir rattled, a shard of dragonglass. He pulled it out, and Thorne gave a grim, approving grunt.

"I'll draw its attention, you go for its eyes." The knight didn't even wait for an answer, charging forward at once. "FOR THE WATCH!"

The Other slipped away from the cutting blow. Its ice blade sought to run Thorne clean through, but he somehow managed to twist free. Despite his years in the Watch, the old knight hadn't lost a step, but that was where his luck ran out. Ser Alliser had to take the next blow head on, and his sword shattered into a heap of useless scrap. The finishing strike should have ended another life right there, but it was suddenly stopped short, Thorne had managed to seize the creature's arms and hold it back from cutting him down.

There it was. The Other would have needed only a couple of seconds to finish what it started. Jon needed exactly the same amount of time. He surged forward. His body screamed in protest, his chest throbbed with dull pain, but he ran straight toward his own death regardless. He struck with everything he had. The Other tried to react, but the old knight's iron grip gave it no chance to do anything at all.

Something cracked. Like ice underfoot, followed by a grinding screech. Around the black dragonglass dagger now lodged in its eye, pale blue blood hissed and steamed. Within moments, the Other shattered into a thousand fragments, leaving nothing behind on the snow but the black dagger itself. The remaining wights collapsed where they stood, like puppets with their strings cut. Not one of them stirred again. The storm broke apart, and thin streaks of rose colored light fell across the battlefield.

By some miracle, they had survived.