The Dragon & The Wolf - XXXII (Patreon)

Chapter XXXII : Ice and Fire

Arthur Stark was six foot three, twenty years old, very well built for a man his age, strong and quick, he had all the abilities a warrior needed. However, despite his Valyrian Steel blade, he did not wear any kind of armor, only leather and chainmail under it. The Head-Snatcher, on the other hand, was eight feet tall, he wore a strong bronze armor, a bronze helmet and wielded a double-edged battle axe. Just like Arthur, he was a warg, so the Stark had no way of overpowering him or rely on his dire wolf to defeat him, since Shadow was busy dealing with the Polar Bear. He was quicker, and his weapon was deadlier. Those were the only advantages he could count on. For he had nothing to protect himself against Daggon’s weapon.
So Arthur danced, using his six foot long blade to his advantage to keep his opponent away from him. However, the fact that he was in hostile territory played against him. Wherever he looked or turned, Arthur was surrounded by wildlings, they were screaming insults, they were laughing at him and more importantly, they pointing their spears at him, restraining his space.

And if it was not the wildlings, then it was the fire. Though the blaze had decreased since it had started snowing, it was still dangerous.

Arthur knew he could not dodge and jump forever, he was far more tired than the Head-Snatcher given all the warging he had done to stop the Giants and rescue Cregan. 

His nose was not bleeding anymore, but his headache had gotten worse. More than once, Daggon had came close to split his skull.

Arthur could not wait for an opening, as they exchanged blows, the Northman changed tactics, he aimed specifically at his opponent’s weapon, not body.
Daggon was taller and heavier, his blows were a lot stronger than Arthur’s, his weapon was also heavier, each blow made the regent’s arms shake with pain as he struggled to prevent his sword from escaping his hands.
Arthur’s only advantage in this dual was Ice, Valyrian steel was light, but it was also sturdier and sharper than the axe. As they exchanged blows, Arthur’s arms got weaker, but so did the wilding’s weapon.

Behind the Stark, who was standing strong to prevent his opponent from gaining ground, was Shadow. 

The Direwolf was almost as large as a horse now, but he was no way as heavy as a polar bear, and the white creature’s skin and fat were too thick for the black wolf’s teeth to tear in a limited amount of time. Every time Shadow took advantage of an opening and bit his opponent’s body, the bear forced him to jump back before it could inflict any real damage. Despite the blood that had started to cover the bear’s fur, it remained strong and immovable. 

However, Shadow had an advantage that the bear did not; his link with his friend was far stronger than the one that united the bear to the wildling.

When Arthur finally managed to break one of the axe’s edges into a thousand shards, Daggon was sufficiently stunned for the Stark to turn his back on him and exchange opponent with Shadow. The King Beyond the Wall cursed as the direwolf jumped at his head, trying to lock its jaws around his helmet and break his neck with a simple turn of his own.

Arthur, on the other hand, delivered a nasty cut to the bear’s shoulder, Ice being far more effective than even Shadow’s teeth. Blood flowed onto the ground as the Polar bear roared in pain, suddenly it stood up on its lower legs and looked down at the Stark from its full height. All nine foot tall and at least fourteen hundred pounds.

Arthur quickly realized he had make a terrible mistake, fortunately for him, Shadow saw the danger his friend was in and released the Head-Snatcher’s helmet to jump at the bear’s throat.

Once again, Shadow failed to properly lock its jaws around the beast’s neck, worse, the bear managed to claw the wolf’s side, adding his blood to its own on the ground. Still, Shadow’s attack had managed to disrupt the bear’s balance, making it fall backward with the dire wolf still on top of him. Despite his pain, Shadow managed to close its jaws around his opponent’s wound, and tear its skin to flay it like a Bolton flayed a peasant.

The bear roared in agony and hit Shadow’s snout with its paw, making him release its flesh and sending him to roll on the ground with a bleeding face.

On the other side of the battlefield, the Head-Snatcher had managed to get rid of his folded helmet right before Ice’s edge stroke his face and cut out his eye.

Arthur had expected his opponent to scream in pain and to roll on the ground, he had been wrong. The King-beyond-the-Wall took advantage of the fact that he was wide open to strike him in the chest with his huge bronze gauntlet hand. Cracking three of his ribs, taking his breath away and sending him flying a few feet further, he fell flat on the ground and coughed a bit of blood.

"You fucking cunt!" Daggon laughed as he looked at the blood that had flowed on his hand. "You’re the first fucker who has actually managed to wound my face! I knew you would not disappoint me!"

Arthur spat more blood and struggled to get back on his feet. He had a hard time finding his breath, his arms felt like warm butter, he felt as if his ribcage had closed itself around his heart and his lungs. It was fortunate that he had not dropped Ice.

Daggon instantly rushed him, using the remaining edge on his axe to try and strike the Stark’s head, Arthur rolled to the side to dodge it. Unfortunately, he immediately had to jump back to avoid a swing and ended up falling into the arms of the wildings that surrounded him. The savaged pushed him back toward the Head-Snatcher who back-handed his face, sending him to roll on the ground. Arthur used the momentum to get back up his feet and pointed his sword towards his opponent to prevent him from charging him. Daggon frowned as he looked at his opponent.
"You’re getting tired, Stark. All those tricks you’ve pulled have taken your strength away."

Arthur spat on the ground, he could not contradict him. He was exhausted.
Daggon shook his bleeding head.

"Such a shame, I was enjoying myself."

He walked forward, without showing the slightest sign of exhaustion, his half-broken weapon was well in his hands, and contrary to Arthur’s sword, it was not shaking.

(-)(-)(-)

It had taken a lot of courage for Rhaenyra to ignore the terrible spectacle she had witnessed from atop the Wall. Swallowing back her fear, she implored her dragon once more.

"Syrax, please! We need to go!"

But Syrax did not budge, she whined her disapproval and shook its large head. Rhaenyra felt despair seize her bones and her heart.

The words of her father resonated in her head.

"The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They are power men should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom."

Rhaenyra had always known, but it had been so easy to ignore it. Syrax had never failed to obey her, but Rhaenyra now understood that she had acted out of trust, her dragon had never submitted to her authority. She had no power over her.

"Syrax…" She called. "I’m sorry."

Her dragon turned her head to look at her, the Princess could see the surprise in her friend’s left eye.

"I’m sorry, that I cannot see nor feel, what you see and feel. I’m sorry, that I have brought you this far from home, in this frozen hell… I’m sorry I never considered what you thought or how you felt… I’m so sorry…"

Syrax bent her reptilian neck to rub her snout against her rider’s teary face, such a kind gesture warmed Rhaenyra’s heart.

She gently cupped her dragon’s face with her hands.

"The truth is… I need you. I need you now more than ever. Because I can’t fix my mistakes without your help, Syrax. Because I can’t do anything without you."

She placed her forehead against her dragon’s snout, their breaths got in synch, as if they were sharing each other’s fear and pain.

"What I’m asking you, is unfair and selfish… The truth is… I don’t know what is scaring you so much. I’m sorry, for failing to realize the danger I’m asking you to throw us in. I promise you, I’ll never ask this of you ever again. Please… Syrax… I’m sorry I never considered your feelings before, I’ll never chain you in the Dragonpit ever again, you’ll be free to roam the sky as you wish, I will always, always be here for you, until my last breath. Please, Syrax… I need you."

The dragon whined in displeasure and fear, then, she turned towards the far North, and whined once again. She looked like she was about to jump, but stopped before her claws left the ice. She tried again, but fear seemed to have chained her to the Wall.
Rhaenyra burst into tears.

"It’s… It’s all right." She said, despite the horror and despair that she tried to hide. "I can’t force you, I won’t… force you."

Syrax whined once again, as if to apologize. Her gaze remained fixated on the horizon, where snow had started to fall on the burning forest.

(-)(-)(-)

Arthur had a hard time keeping himself alive from the blows of the King-beyond-the-Wall. The wilding had learned his lesson, he avoided locking blades with his opponent to keep what was left of his axe. That forced Arthur to move quicker than he could, and that was how the Head-Snatcher had managed to cut through his doublet, separating the direwolf’s ears from the head and weakening the chainmail under it. 

"You’re getting slower, Stark!" He laughed. "There is no escape!"

Arthur bit back any retort he had in mind to parry the axe before it found its way through his skull. It was quite possible his legs gave in before his arms. But he refused to let it happen, he would not die on his knees.

Shadow fared better against the bear, for his opponent’s wound prevented him from fully using its left paw. Yet, the polar bear remained far stronger than the direwolf, who had more injuries over its body than the Head-Snatcher’s beast.

"Kill him!" A wildling chanted.

"Skin that fucking kneeler alive!" A horn foot yelled.

"Let’s cut his cock off and feed it to the crows!" A spearwife added.

"We’re keeping all the rest! Look at the size of this twat! Let’s roast him over the fire! I bet my boys would grow stronger than him if they ate him!" 

The woman who had said those words was a middle aged red hair from the Ice River’s clan. Half her teeth were missing, and she looked at Arthur as if he was the juiciest sausage she had ever seen.

Arthur wanted to yell something back at them, but the Head-Snatcher gave him no time to do so, as he unleashed an avalanche of blows.
Arthur parried them all, but the last one snatched Ice from his hands.

Daggon rose his axe but the Regent spat in his remaining eye and rolled over to avoid being split in half, he picked Ice up and held it. His strength was abandoning him. He could not even stab a man in the back.

"Fucking bastard." Daggon roared as he reopened his bloodshot eye. 

Arthur sighed in defeat, he knew he could not parry the next blow. He had known since he had picked his sword up. His arms felt like jelly.

He had resigned himself to die when he heard some wildlings scream in alarm. Had Daggon not been distracted by his bear’s cries of agony, he would have been dead.

Giant, the brown direwolf, had emerged from the dark like a ghost from Hell, scarring away the wildlings. It locked its massive jaws around the polar bear’s lower left leg and pulled to make it fall. Allowing Shadow to jump at the beast’s back, and to finally, properly, lock its own jaws around the bear’s neck. The nine-foot tall creature tried to resist, but the black Direwolf had put all of its weight on its victim’s wounded shoulder, its claws went deep into its raw flesh, preventing the bear from rising up.

"No!" Daggon roared in anger as he was about to rush towards the pack that was killing his bear. "You fucking…!"

Arthur moved before he finished his sentence. Drawing strength from his pack, the Stark swung his blade towards his distracted opponent. This time, Daggon did not react fast enough, and his arm fell to the ground.
The Head-Snatcher screamed in pain and jumped back as Arthur unleashed a barrage of blows, but with his weapon down and the Stark’s renewed strength, the King-Beyond-The-Wall’s seconds were numbered.
Arthur aimed at his knee and cut it, making his opponent scream in agony and terror and fall forward, where the Stark’s very own knee welcomed him by hitting his face, breaking his already crooked teeth.
Arthur did not wait, he did not care to hear Daggon Head-Snatcher’s last words nor to throw him one last taunt, as Shadow ripped open the bear’s throat, Arthur began hacking at his enemy's body and head, not caring that he was already dead. He raised his sword and struck, raised and struck, again and again, until he had chopped the gigantic body of the King-beyond-the-Wall into minced meat.

When he finally turned away from the shapeless pile of meat that his enemy had become, his yellow eyes glared at the wildlings who instantly backed away before the mad gaze of this ferocious beast with the face of a man.

"Now, you listen to me, you fucking animals!" He growled. "I am Arthur Stark, descendant of Bran the Builder! Lord Regent of Winterfell and Warrior of the North! And I don’t give a fuck if you cunts kill me or eat me! Because my pack will come to rip your guts out, your children’s guts out and your women’s guts out, and hang you all with it like the fucking scum that you are! Is it my head you want?! My flesh?! My cock?! Then come at me and see how many lives you’re gonna have to waste to bloody taste me!"

Those words were nothing but bravado, there was no escape, Arthur was completely surrounded, he was out of strength and neither Shadow nor Giant would be able to save him from so many enemies. The Regent looked at the brown dire wolf, he knew his cousin was looking at him through the eyes of his friend. He had taught him well. It would take time, but Cregan would become the Lord, Winterfell and the North needed. There was nothing left for him to do, but to trust his cousin to become better than he was. He subtly commanded Shadow to go back to the Wall with his little brother. Dying here was pointless for the beasts. Their pack needed to survive.

"What the fuck are you ugly cunts waiting for?!" The woman who wanted to feed Arthur’s flesh to her children screamed. "Kill that fucker! His wolves too! You fucking stupid twats!"

In an instant, the wildlings remembered Arthur’s state of weakness, they rose their weapons and rushed him.

He rose his sword, not to fight for his life, but to make the savages pay for it with as much blood as he could spill.

It was at this precise moment, as a dozen wildlings prepared to strike the Regent of Winterfell from all sides, that half of them were engulfed in flames. Arthur never saw it coming, when fire rained, he did as the wildings behind him did, he covered his face with his arm and fell on his back. For a second, he wondered if he had died, if those flames had been the gates to Hell. But then, why would his ribs still hurt him? And what was that roar?

The wildlings around him screamed in alarm, horror, fear and panic. They scattered like ants. Out of the hundreds that had surrounded the Northman, fifty had remained and raised their heads to the sky, trying to figure out what had happened. The ones that had been standing between Arthur and the dire wolves were instantly reminded of the predators that had killed their King’s bear. Others saw a gigantic lizard with wings swooping down on them and breathing the hottest fire the Far North had ever witnessed. Killing most of them instantly and sending the remaining ones running with their clothes on fire.
As he was still laying on the ground, confused and in pain, Arthur felt the direwolves jaws around his shoulders, the animals pulled him away from the burning corpses as the forest’s blaze regained its intensity despite the snow. Despite his pain and exhaustion, Arthur pulled himself back on his feet and looked around himself.
The forest was almost completely ablaze, the wildlings were either roasted or running away, the place where he had fought the Head-Snatcher had been turned into a small black crater, whatever plant and earth that had been in this place had been burned. He looked down on himself, and wondered how he had escaped this hell with his clothes intact.

The smoke made him cough, which tore his half broken ribcage and made him shake in pain. He felt as if his lungs were on fire and his skin was being roasted like a raw chicken. He needed to get out of here. Despite his state, he managed to climb on Giant’s back. A direwolf’s back, despite its size, was not as strong as a horse, but it would do to get him out of here.
The black and brown dire wolves instantly rushed outside of the forest through the smallest crack in the wall of flames that surrounded them. Getting out of the forest took them almost a whole minute, for Giant could not use his full speed without risking Arthur falling off its back. The Northman thought he heard more cries of pain and more roars in his back. Whatever was happening, he could not wait to put some distance between his injured body and the damn brazier he had just left.

Once they finally rushed out of the forest, Giant and Shadow slowed down to catch their breaths, Arthur took the largest bowl of fresh air he ever took in his life, then, he got down Giant’s back, kneeled to pick up some snow off the ground, and dived his face into it.

His skin felt so warm that he almost expected the snow to melt instantly at its contact, but the cold bite felt like a refreshing kiss, allowing him to get rid of the blood and the soot that had darken his skin. He pulled his head out of his hands and took another bowl of fresh air, he was alive, he did not know how, he did not know what had happened. But he had survived, and even though he wasn’t out of danger yet, he was grateful.

In the distance he kept hearing the wildlings screaming in horror and pain but he did not care. As he struggled to get back to his feet, he, once again, heard that roar, which made him look up in the sky.

What he saw left him stunned.

Above him, here in the lands beyond the Wall, was a dragon. Arthur blinked, wondering if his mind was playing tricks at him. Yet, the light that emanated from the fire left no room for a mistake. There was a yellow dragon flying circles above his head, and Arthur knew that dragon.
Though he had never been introduced to it, he had seen it fly in the skies of King’s Landing on a few occasions.

This was Syrax, Rhaenyra’s dragon.

He looked at it fly for a few seconds with his mouth agape and his confused face, then he burst out laughing, until his ribs reminded him that they were cracked, turning his laugh into a mere chuckle. It did not take him long to put two and two together, yet, he had a hard time believing it. Rhaenyra had crossed more than half of Westeros on dragon’s back, she had crossed the Wall where dragons such as Vermithor and Silverwings had turned back. She had saved his life, when he had lost all hope to survive and had resigned himself to die here.

Here she was, flying on dragon’s back above him, he could not see her, he could not hear her, but he felt like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that made him smile.
That smile instantly disappeared when a large arrow came out of the woods to strike Syrax’s wing.

The yellow dragon roared in pain as it started falling down the sky, it flapped its wings in vain to maintain its altitude. But its injured wing prevented it from staying in the air, all it managed to do was to slow its fall as it fell inexorably into the dark depths of the part of the forest that had escaped the flames.

Arthur did not think, he ran. Arthur did not care about his cracked ribs or his exhausted muscles, he ran. Arthur did not care about the pain that radiated throughout his body, he ran. 

The two direwolves followed him and easily came back to his side, the Stark cursed the weakness of his legs, he was far too slow.

"Go!" He commanded his direwolves. "Go get her! Now!"

Shadow reacted before Giant, and accelerated his pace. The brown wolf looked far more reluctant, but complied nonetheless. Soon, Arthur was left alone, running in the snow, he didn’t care that he was out in the open, nor did he care about his sorry state. The only thing he cared about was getting to Rhaenyra before anyone else did.

(-)(-)(-)

Rhaenyra quickly took off the chains that secured her to her saddle and jumped off her dragon to assess the extent of her mount’s injury.
Everything had happened so fast, one moment, she was flying in circles searching for Arthur, the next, her dragon was falling down the sky after something had struck her. Now here she was, standing in the Far North, discovering the large hole in her dragon’s wing.

"Gods…" She whispered in horror. "I’m so… so sorry, Syrax."

The yellow dragon moaned in pain and despair at the sight of her injured wing, she turned towards her rider, her eyes pleading for a solution. But Rhaenyra had none, and before she could apologize once more or promise her mount that everything would be okay, Syrax was violently pulled backwards by a monstrous creature, away from the Princess’ comforting hands.

The ten-feet tall giant that had grabbed the dragon’s tail, spun around itself before releasing its enemy, sending Syrax to crash against a tree, breaking its trunk in a loud crack. The yellow dragon yelped in pain and tried to came back to its senses as more of those creatures walked out of the dark roaring at the dragon.
Rhaenyra froze, like every southerner, she thought giants had gone instinct centuries ago, yet here they were, tossing Syrax around like a rag doll. Without thinking, she unsheathed Aegon’s dagger, but instantly lost her courage when one of those things with a gouged eye, noticed her and rose its massive club.

Syrax reacted quickly, she breathed a stream of fire at the giants that had tried to surround her. Their bodies covered in fur ignited like torches, making them roar in horror and pain and distracting the one that had been about to crush Rhaenyra. 

Syrax tried to stand up to her full height to use her flames to force a path towards her rider. But a giant threw himself on her to muzzle her jaw by wrapping his arm around it like a snake. Another pulled her by the tail to make her lose her balance and force her to spread out at full length on the ground.

Rhaenyra let out a cry of horror, which had the unfortunate effect of reminding the giant who was near her of her presence. The latter roared at her. Frightening her to the point of making her lose her balance and fall backwards, while other giants, bearing numerous wounds on their faces, advanced towards Syrax to flatten her in order to neutralize her.

Rhaenyra crawled backwards as the giant with the gouged eye walked towards her with the firm intention of crushing her like an insect.

Rhaenyra was so paralyzed by fear and horror that she did not hear the rapid footsteps and bestial growls that were approaching at great speed.

The dark silhouette of a wolf as large as a horse emerged from the darkness, and jumped to lock its jaw around the head of the giant that had muzzled Syrax. When the wolf’s paws touched the ground again, it snapped its prey’s neck with a simple twist of its own, freeing Syrax’s head in the process.
Another dire wolf appeared out of nowhere and jumped at the throat of the giant that had been holding the dragon’s tail, ripping it out in a blink.
Now free, Syrax rose its furious head and breathed the largest stream of fire she’s ever breathed towards the four giants that had meant to flatten her less than a moment ago. All four caught fire in a blink and ran away in the woods as the flames started to devour them.

The one with the gouged eye, who had been furious a second ago, had turned pale in fear. It rushed towards Rhaenyra, not to crush her with its club, but to capture her with its hand.

Was it trying to take the Princess as a hostage to guaranty its escape? If such was its plan, Arthur ruined it by suddenly appearing behind it to slash the back of its knees, making it fall on all four in a scream of pain. The Stark did not wait for it to try and get back up, he jumped on the creature's back to slash its head, ending its life for good.
Arthur quickly assessed the situation, he spun around to make sure there wasn’t any giants left, but the only ones he saw were the two who had escaped Syrax’s flames, being chased away by the dragon and the direwolves.

He sighed in relief, and turned just in time for Rhaenyra to crash into his arms, making him yelp in pain because of his cracked ribs.
"I’m sorry!" She cried, releasing him.

But she did not go very far, as Arthur grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss.

It was a terrible kiss in many ways. Rhaenyra had traveled for a long time today, she had not had the time to properly clean her mouth since the morning, her breath was bad. Arthur did not far any better, despite the fact that he had ‘cleaned’ his face with snow a few moments ago, his lips still reeked of sweat, soot and blood.
Yet, neither of them cared.

The only thing those two cared about, was relieving themselves of all the violent emotions they had felt today, by savoring as much of each other as they could for however long they had. 

The moment was quickly cut short, as Syrax had started roaring at the direwolves to force them back.

Fortunately, she did not breath any fire at them.
"No! Syrax!" Rhaenyra cried, freeing herself from Arthur’s grasp and running towards her mount. "Leave them alone! They’re friends! They’ve helped us!"

The Stark followed her in her footsteps, gently motioning for the dire wolves to step back, which they did.

Syrax moaned in pain, fear and despair. For the very first time in her life, she had come close to dying, at the hands of creatures she had never seen before. Needless to say the beast was traumatized.

"It’s okay, Syrax." Rhaenyra said, trying to sound comforting. "They’re gone now, and we have friends who will help us. Please calm down."

Syrax looked at the dire wolves, then she looked at Arthur. Rhaenyra held her hand back towards the Northman.

"Give me your hand." She commanded.

Arthur took off his glove and did as he was told, his Princess quickly placed his hand against her dragon’s snout.

Under other circumstances, the Stark would have marveled at how warm and soft were the dragon’s skin. But right now, the only thing he focused on was gently gazing into the dragon’s eyes to offer her whatever comfort and relief he could.
It took a few seconds, until finally, Syrax decided that she liked Arthur enough to allow him to remain close to her. Rhaenyra released his hand.

"I don’t know what happened." She said as she took a step towards her dragon’s injured wing. " Something struck us…"

"It was a Giant’s arrow." Arthur said as he came to stand behind her to inspect the wound. "You two actually got lucky it got the wing, those tall bastards’ arrows are as large as scorpion’s bolts. Syrax’s scales don’t look sturdy enough yet to withstand it."

Rhaenyra swallowed a lump in her throat, now she understood why Syrax’s instincts had told her not to go Beyond-the-Wall. It was a miracle she had ended up obeying.

"Will she… Will she fly again?" She was on the verge of tears.

"I believe so. The arrow pierced the wing but it doesn’t look like it tore any pieces off. We can sew it back together, in a few weeks, she should be able to fly again."

The Princess sighed in relief, her guilt had not left her guts, but she was at least reassured to know Syrax’s trust in her would not be repaid by permanent damage.

Arthur took the torch he had on his belt and asked Rhaenyra to hold it while he lit it, when the flame illuminated their faces and the dragon’s wing, the Northman examined the wound once again.

"What the…?"

"What is it?"

Arthur brought the torch closer, allowing Rhaenyra to see Syrax’s frozen blood.

"That is impossible, your dragon is so warm, her blood could not have frozen so quickly…"

Arthur rose his eyebrows in surprise when he realized how much fog he breathed finishing his sentence. 

A cold wind rose, the temperature suddenly dropped, sending shivers down the spines of both the Northman and the Valyrian girl.

Without warning, Syrax whined loudly and took a few steps back, the direwolves, on the other hand, turned towards the depths of the forest, where the shadow was the thickest, and growled. Yet, Arthur could feel their fear as much as he could feel his own.

The Northerner rose his eyes.
On every branch, of every tree around them, dozens if not hundreds of crows were perched and looking at them. Not only were they unbothered by the presence of the dragon and the direwolves, but the fact that so many of them had been perched here without anyone noticing, meant that they had been here since Syrax had landed and the giants had attacked her. And they had not flown away in fear after all this commotion.

"Arthur…" Rhaenyra whispered holding her arms against her chest. "…what is going on?"

The Northerner did not answer, he simply held his torch as far as he could, scanning the darkness.

A strange sound suddenly escaped the shadows, and resonated across the forest. Despite the terror that had infiltrated his muscles, Arthur identified it; it was a laugh, a sharp laugh, sharp as icicles.
Syrax roared as loud as she could, forcing both Rhaenyra and Arthur to cover their ears. The dragon took a few steps forward and breathed fire at the darkness.

The long stream that escaped its massive jaws lasted for a few seconds, when it disappeared, the trees and their branches were on fire, some crows had been cooked alive and had fallen on the ground, and the sudden clarity illuminated a being whose armor reflected perfectly the stun and horrified expressions of both Rhaenyra and Arthur.

"It can’t be…" The Northman murmured.

The creature looked humanoid but it was no man, it was tall and gaunt, with flesh pale as milk, and eyes as bright as blue stars. It was holding a long but thin sword that looked like crystal. When it took a step forward, a strong wind blew behind its back and stroke the group, extinguishing Arthur’s torch and forcing Syrax to back off.

Arthur snapped out of his stun state when the creature walked a third step. The Stark pointed Ice at the monster, it did not react, it kept moving forward.
As both Syrax and Rhaenyra had stepped back, Arthur did not move, when the being reached him, the northerner swung his blade against its crystal sword. The moment the two blades met, a high, thin sound, similar to an animal screaming in agony, resonated around them. The creature looked down at their weapons, something that resembled surprise appeared in its icy eyes. Arthur released the breath he did not know he was holding, he attacked once again.

That was when he was remembered that he was exhausted.
When the two blades met once again, the creature had put so much strength in its own blow it sent the Northman flying back, ricochetting off Syrax’s snout and landing in the snow. 

Arthur coughed violently, spitting out pearls of blood. Now his cracked ribs were broken, he writhed in pain on the ground.

As the creature kept on advancing, both Shadow and Giant threw themselves at it. But the monster back handed the black direwolf away, sending it flying on the side, and kicked the brown one in the face, sending it flying at Rhaenyra, who threw herself on the ground just in time to avoid being swept away.

Syrax kept screeching and roaring at the creature who had not stopped moving forward. The dragon backed away and breathed a long stream of fire that remained ineffective against the monster who had passed Rhaenyra without even looking at her.

Syrax roared at the creature and tried to flap her wings menacingly to force it to back off, but the thing remained unfazed, it rose its crystal sword… And screeched when Rhaenyra stabbed it in the back with her Valyrian steel dagger.
The monster spun on its heels to look at its attacker and screeched at her furiously, scaring her to the point of falling backwards. Its skin that had looked as pale as milk a second earlier slowly turned into ice, its bright blue eyes that had looked emotionless were shining in anger and incomprehension. It fell on its knees, right under the terrified gaze of the princess, and disintegrated into a million shards of ice that the wind carried away.

For a few seconds that seemed to last an hour, Rhaenyra looked horrified and stun at what was left of the monstrous creature that had seemed invincible just a moment ago. She carefully held out her shaking hand, and picked Aegon’s dagger from what remained of the pile of ice. She looked at it under a new light and slowly released the breath she had held for so long. Syrax rushed her, pressing her snout against her whole being in a thankful manner, tears of relief flew down Rhaenyra’s cheeks as she hugged her dragon’s face with everything she had.

"It’s okay… It’s over now… You’re safe… We’re safe… Gods… Oh… Gods…"
"How… the fuck… did you do that?"

Arthur’s voice startled her and she spun on her heels. The Northman was still on the ground, struggling to get back to his feet, he was looking at her as if she had accomplished a miracle.
Rhaenyra rushed to help him stand up, despite her small size compared to his, she managed to support him as he spat a bit of blood on the ground.

"Are you okay?"

"No." Was his honest answer. "My body feels like warm butter, I have broken ribs and I’m so tired I could hibernate in the nearest cave."

Rhaenyra burst out laughing, she did not care that it was not that funny, she needed to laugh, she gratefully took whatever relief there was to take.

Behind them, Shadow whined in pain as he emerged from the bushes. He had numerous wounds on his fur, which was sticky with blood, his tentative gait betrayed at least as many broken ribs as his friend.

Giant’s case was even worse, the brown direwolf looked like his left front paw was broken, he only stood on the three others.

"We need to get out of here." Arthur said. "As quickly as possible. More could come…"

"What was that thing?" Rhaenyra asked as she helped him walk.

Arthur gritted his teeth, he looked as if he did not want to be right.

"I believe… No… That was an Other. That is the only possible explanation…"

The Valyrian girl froze instantly. But Arthur forced her to get moving.

"How did you kill it?" He asked again.

She held out her dagger for the Northman to see.

"Valyrian steel…" 

Arthur grunted in agreement.

"It looked, somewhat surprised when we crossed blades." He grunted once more as he bent forward to pick up his sword. "Valyrian steel did not exist back during the Long Night, it did not expect us to be able to fight it, much less kill it."

He rose his head to look at the Wall. It was not very far, merely half a mile away, perhaps less, but so many things could happen along the way. And they were all too injured to fight giants, much less others. He sent a silence prayer to the Old Gods, they needed them now more than ever.

"We need to get back to the Wall, as fast as we can. If one of those things attacks us again, we’re fucked."

"Why?" Rhaenyra articulated, trying and failing to control her fear. "What does it want?"

As the direwolves and the dragon walked by their side towards the Wall, Arthur tried to remember what had happened when that demon from another age appeared out of nowhere, when he did, the answer seemed so obvious he almost spat it in anger.

"There have been direwolves in the Far North for as long as we can remember. There have been Starks that crossed the Wall for thousands of years. And when that thing attacked us, it did not give a damn about you. That only leaves Syrax. That’s what it wanted."

"Why?" The Princess’ tone was horrified.

"I don’t know, Rhaenyra. I don’t fucking know… But no one has spotted a bloody White Walker in over eight thousand years! And one just popped out of nowhere the day a dragon crossed the Wall for the first time in History. That can’t be a coincidence and we don’t have time to wonder about that anyway. We need to get the fuck out of here, because if another of those things is hiding somewhere, we won’t be able to pull the same trick twice."

Rhaenyra gulped in terror, and tried, no matter how insignificant it was, to accelerate her pace. Unfortunately, Arthur’s injured and exhausted body could not follow.

"You should have never come here…"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Arthur Stark!" She growled in anger, those were the last words she had wanted to hear. "Had I not come here, you’d be dead! So shut up!"

"That is a very good point." He admitted, struggling to put one step after another.

Crossing half a mile at their speed took them more than half an hour. As they walked slowly, out in the open ground that separated the Wall from the more than half burned forest, Arthur could not help himself but throwing nervous glances around them. Hoping there was not a wilding with an arrow pointed at them, a giant ready to rush them, or another Walker, observing them from the dark.

But for once in this terrible day, luck was on their side, as the gate of Castle Black opened to allow a hundred Northern riders, led by Rogar Umber, Geralt Forrester to gallop their way and form an escort around them. Both Arthur and Rhaenyra almost cried in relief.

"By the Old Gods, Stark, you look like shit!"

"Watch your tongue, Umber, there is a Princess among us."

"He’s right, though; you do look like shit."

All the Northerners that had heard her, burst out laughing as Arthur looked at her in dismay, Rhaenyra threw him a malicious gaze in return.

"Don’t worry, Princess, we’ll patch him up and clean it up, you won’t have to complain about his ugly mug ever again."

"Enough with the jokes, Umber." Arthur said, using his commanding voice. "The direwolves, the dragon and myself are injured. We need to get back to the other side of the Wall as soon as possible."

"What about the Head-Snatcher?"

"I chopped him to pieces, the battle is over but there are still enemies lingering in the dark. It’s too soon to celebrate."

"Then let’s move, your little cousin is worried sick."

The Northerners quickly organized themselves around Syrax, Giant and Shadow to protect them. Arthur was helped up on the back of Rogar Umber’s horse while Rhaenyra went to sit behind Geralt Forrester. With Syrax and the direwolves still injured, it took them fifteen more minutes to finally reach the gate. Fortunately, the White Walker had been the last being to lose his life that night. Once they finally reached the safety of Castle Black’s courtyard, both Rhaenyra and Arthur dismounted their horses to look at the gate closing. The moment it was fully closed, the Princess gently hugged the Northerner and hid her face in his worn doublet. Arthur closed his arms around her shoulders, and breathed a deep and long sigh of relief.
The fourth Wildling invasion in the history of the North was over, and like all the others, the North had won.

AN: In the Show, Jon Snow tells Ygritte that the wildlings have attacked the Wall six times before Mance, but that is not true in the books. Joramun never tried to invade the North, he actually formed an alliance with them to defeat the Night King. Plus, despite the fact that there were six kings before Mance, the brothers Gendel and Gorne had attacked together, so Mance is actually the Seventh King, the Sixth to wage war, and he is responsible for the Fifth invasion.