60 Whiteout

They marched single file down the gorge. Peeking slightly over the lip of the rock-face currently shielding him, Jon ducked back down after a split second. A walker led them from the van, likely explaining their seemingly organized nature - normally, wights had the characteristics of an insect swarm. That is none at all.

"How many?" mouthed Barristan, paired with him. At the first sight of the others, the group had dispersed into groups of two or three among the crags.

"Thirty," Jon mouthed in return. Looking at Robb to his left and Jorah to his right, he held up all his splayed fingers thrice over. The message was received.

There was simply no way to coordinate an attack upon them all, but Jon knew his men would charge when he did - a good commander led from example. He feared his death, any rational person would, but it was never about him. Looking at Barristan, the old knight nodded, hand tightening on his sword. Jon gripped Longclaw. "Now!" He leapt up, scrambling over the rock.

Stunning the enemy for a split second as the ranging party burst in one staggered swoop from all around, the walker's surprise didn't last long. Ice blue jaw opening in a primal scream, the undead drones under his command snarled and charged all around. Programmed by instinct and magic to kill anything that moved.

What the wights lacked in skill they made up for in ferocity. The rangers were outnumbered two to one, making for an even fight as pairs or clusters of wights were engaged with single fighters or pairs respectively. It soon became a melee of steel on steel.

Robb and Jon found themselves face to face with the walker - fitting, since both were the only ones armed with Valyrian steel. Furious lunges were parried by ice spear, the walker a skilled fighter operating on tactics rather than sheer instinct. Robb, the tip of Ice narrowly missing the walker's midsection, left his upper torso open. A punch to the chest sent him sprawling. Now it was the walker and Jon, one on one.

Shrieking, the haunting blue of its eyes dark with anger, thrust his spear forward at Jon with all its might. Jon was quicker, however. Swinging Longclaw left and down, he parried the blow and sent the tip of the spear into the snow - opening the monster's arm for Ice, Robb now scrambled to his feet, to slice off the appendage. Still gripping the spear, the hand shattered into countless ice crystals. The walker's eyes bulged open in stunned surprise before Grey Worm rammed his dragonglass spear into its torso. Soon the flecks of ice were joined by millions of others.

In one fell swoop, all the snarling wights disintegrated before everyone's eyes, falling upon the ground in heaps of bone and rotting flesh.

The group looked upon each other in confusion. "What the hell happened?" Robb exclaimed.

"They all just… fell apart," Jorah mused, puzzlement in his tone.

Jon glanced at the flecks of ice beginning to blow away in the wind. "It… this walker must have been the one that turned them."

Expression numb, Tyene collapsed onto the snow. "You're told about this… but you don't think it's real until… until… fuck me." To the Northerners, growing up close to the Wall with a sense of the ancient horrors close by, it wasn't a hard leap to believe in the dead. But for someone from the south - such was why Jon planned to capture one. To lay rest any and all doubts.

"Your Majesty!" Catching Barristan's voice, Jon raced over to find his Emperorsguard knelt over Pyp, a soft groaning leaving his mouth. Crimson stained his black cuirass from where a wight's sword has slashed across. Kneeling as well, Jon looked at the wound and into Barristan's eyes. The old knight wore a grave expression. "I've seen wounds like this, sire. He doesn't have long with us."

Gripping the hand of his friend, one of his oldest friends, Jon tried to comfort him as best he can. "Pyp, rest easy." A weary smile crossed his face. "You'll be safe soon, brother. Safe and warm." The afterlife was like that, from what he remembered.

Weak, Pyp nevertheless managed to squeeze Jon's hand. "Burn… my body. Don't let me be one of them, Jon." His voice wheezed, but was firm.

"I shall, Pyp."

"Good." A faraway look formed in his eyes. "I'll see my family again, Jon. We'll rest and play in the shade of the trees…" Smiling, his lids slid shut for the last time - yet another brother of the Night's Watch, passing into the great beyond.

Squeezing Pyp's hand once more, Jon stood, fighting back the grief. Robb stepped beside him, arm wrapping around his shoulder comfortingly. "Farewell, Pypar. Now your watch has ended." The others gathered around the body as Ser Jorah lit a torch and set the body ablaze, denying the Night King more meat for his army.

"Go!" Leaf yelled, tossing a dragonglass spear at a Walker. It slammed into its midsection, collapsing it into a million flecks of ice. Cries from afar marked the heralds for the second to last child of the forest, killed by the beings they had a hand in creating. Spotting Meera pulling Bran towards the exit, Leaf followed. "Summer! Summer come on!" But the direwolf only growled at the onrushing wights, leaping into the fray - sacrificing itself to save Bran and the others. Shedding a single tear for the beautiful creature, Leaf raced around the corner into the tunnel.

Tugging hard, arms burning from the inside out, Meera was so focused on dragging Bran to the rear exit that she didn't notice the dirt and rocks above her hollow out. Snarling finally catching her attention, she spotted the rotting corpse as it dropped down onto her. Meera was knocked on her back with the wind kicked out of her. She lost her grip on the dragonglass knife, just out of reach. Half rotted teeth and rusted Night's Watch sword raised high, the wight was about to hack her to bits before a spear ran through its head. It fell silent.

Eyes flickering to two figures, Meera's jaw dropped in shock. "Sire?" Standing above her, Grey Worm by his side - pulling his spear out from the wight's skull - was the Emperor Jon himself.

"Get up, Lady Reed!" he yelled, hacking at another wight - a walking skeleton trying to claw at Leaf's face. Tormund and Ser Barristan took Jon's place holding off the trickle of dead as he looked at Bran in panic. "Is he…?"

"He's greenseeing," Meera shot back. "Help me!"

Jon didn't hesitate, grabbing Bran's torso while Meera grabbed his legs. "Men! With me!"

The faint and distant snarls had turned into a cacophony of terror. "Your Majesty, no look!" Grey Worm hollered. Looking up despite the warning, Jon felt his heart smashing against his ribs. A pure funnell of wights carpeting the walls of the cave like a swarm of ants. Growing closer and closer.

"FUCKING RUN!" Tormund was booking it, as was Barristan.

At the exit, swirling clouds of the blizzard trying their best to drown the snarls of the wight swarm, Robb and Brienne were gesturing frantically. "Come on! Go! Go!" Behind, Leaf tossed the last of the explosives - enough to shred the van of the swarm, but dozens more filled their place. Breathing hard and heart pumping, Robb dashed in and took Meera's place, racing faster with Jon out into the icy blast.

Leaping across the threshold, Barristan had just cleared the cave when a wight leapt onto his back, rasping and teeth snapping shut. "Tie it up!" screamed Robb, Tormund and Grey Worm pulling the writhing beast off of Barristan while he dashed in with the rope. Brienne, Tyene, Jorah, and Gendry slammed the thick but brittle wood door closed.

A split second later, the snarling corpses slammed into it from the other side.

The door rattled and groaned on its hinges at the indefatigable force pounding against it. "This won't hold them for long," Tyene cautioned, only to be pulled out of the way by Grey Worm. Bellowing an archaic war cry in a language long dead, Wun Wun heaved a massive boulder onto the patch of snow adjacent to the door. Effectively sealing off the exit from the screeching swarm. "I guess that works."

"That won't hold them forever," growled Tormund, breathing heavily as he knotted the rope around the monster. A fresh one, flesh not rotting yet - probably felled at Hardhome. The writhing wight's motions lessoned as Grey Worm draped a burlap hood over his head. "Gotta get back to Castle Crow." It took several seconds for all but Jon to figure out he meant Castle Black.

The Emperor made the calculation in an instant. "We'd never make it. Not in this snow." Distant, faint growling belied the massive army charging towards them.

"Two miles north," pointed out Leaf. "There's a large lake with an island at the center. The waters would stop them."

Many looked at the Child of the Forest - the last remaining - as if she was mad. "Yeah, and we'd be fucking trapped," exclaimed Tyene.

Knowledge of the geography sent Jon's mind whirring. "Wun Wun." The giant turned to him, Jon peering up at one of his most faithful fighters. "Get Bran and Meera to Castle Black as fast as you can." He looked at Meera. "Tell Edd and Sansa to set Rhaegal over here with all haste."

"Your Majesty…"

"GO!" Barely able to open her mouth to speak further, Meera found her and Bran scooped up in Wun Wun's large hands, the giant almost immediately breaking out into a run. "Men, with me! To the lake!"

None among them even hesitated, legs pumping as fast as they could. It was a race against death itself.

Hot liquid flowing down her throat and warming her core, Sansa slowly set the cup of hot tea on the surface of the wooden table. Her hand was trembling out of sheer anxiety. Her other rested on the wood, fingers drumming the surface absentmindedly.

"Please, sister. Stop." Far away eyes drawn back to reality by the words of the Rose of Highgarden - though Highgarden was currently a royal grainery under the supervision of House Tarly - Sansa looked over at her brother's betrothed. What she found was something… disconcerting.

"Margaery, dear. You look unwell." Margaery was pale, far paler than the freezing temperatures could account for - the stewards of the Night's Watch kept the fire roaring, warming the hall. Dark circles covered her eyes, and her hand pressed against her stomach. The redhead reached out and comfortingly placed her hand over her sister's. "I'm sure Robb is alright." Inwardly, she was telling it both for Margaery and for herself.

Closing her eyes, Margaery looked like she was fighting tears. "I hope so." Taught by her grandmother to be cunning and manipulative using her beauty and sweet nature, it had surprised her how she had fallen for the once fallen now risen again Young Wolf. But she had, a political match rapidly becoming one of love as well. "At least your dashing knight is safe in Volantis."

Eyes widening, Sansa pursed her lips. "I don't know what you mean."

Through her churning stomach, Margaery chuckled. "Oh come now. Don't lie to your family. Jon's brand new commander in the New Valyria campaign… Podrick Payne."

Sansa's blush turned her cheeks a rosy crimson. With all that was going on, she nearly forgot the awkward young knight and his last letter to her. Nearly. He was a common thought during her restless nights - calming her. She narrowed her eyes at Margaery. "Arya?"

Her laugh brought a little color back to her face. "She is to be my sister as well. Had to chat about something." Suddenly the levity left her. Turning green, Margaery scrambled off her bench and towards an empty chamber pot in the corner. Out flung the meagre contents of her stomach, dry heaves wracking her even as her system emptied.

Kneeling by her side, Sansa rubbed her upper back like her mother had done to her so long ago. "What's going on, sister?" It couldn't be just worry for Robb. It almost seemed like… "Forgive me if this is off base, but when was your last moonblood?"

Margaery shook her head, tears falling from her pale face. "No need." She wiped the last bits of bile from her mouth. "I'm with child… Robb's child. Maester Aemon confirmed it before we left for here. I… I wanted to tell him, but…" Her face trembled, trying her best not to cry. To remain stoic as a highborn noblewoman should. Without words, Sansa hugged her. 'I'm going to be an aunt… again."

Booming across the landscape, even through the thickened stone of the Castle Black central mess, Sansa could hear the deep horn-blow. A relieved smile crossed her face, glancing down at Margaery. "They're back." Her soon to be sister smiled weakly in return. Both smiles fell as another blast resonated through the air around them. "No… dear Gods, no…" One blast was for returning Rangers, two blasts for Wildlings, three blasts…

"We're not ready," choked out Margaery. All the troops were in the Riverlands. The Night's Watch was far too small - even with the extra three hundred irredeemable prisoners sent after the Battle of Riverrun.

Sansa's rapid prayers were quickly answered, for the two blasts of the horn atop the wall were followed by nothing else. "Thank the gods," she sighed. The relief turned to confusion. "The last wildlings were Mag and Wun Wun bringing in the orphaned giant babes." All others were presumed to have either died or living in the free folk settlements in the gift.

The door opened and Lord Commander Eddison Tollett burst in. "My ladies. It's the giant! Wun Wun. He's carrying something."

Both of them looked at each other. Someone must have been wounded. Why else would Wun Wun be carrying them. And where were the rest. Without a word, they followed Edd out to the courtyard.

Gingerly holding something in his outstretched palms, Wun Wun had just ducked underneath the lip of the tunnel exit. The two ladies scrambled down the stairs as the giant set down a quiet Meera and an unconscious Bran - still trapped in whatever vision he had. "Meera!" Sansa knelt beside Bran, feeling for his pulse. Once she found one, he looked at her. "What happened? Where are the others?" She dreaded her answer. Hoping against all hope it wasn't what she dreaded.

"They…" she was shaking. "They saved us from the Others… but we were going to get overrun. Jon told Wun Wun to take us back here while they headed for someplace to hole up." Meera began to break out in frantic begging. "We need to get Edderon! Get the dragons to Jon!"

Suddenly, twin roars bellowed from the top of the Wall. All looked up, seeing Rhaegal and Edderon spread their massive wings and leap off the top. Far above, a winged black shape and several smaller shadows soared below the grey clouds. "Daenerys," Sansa murmured, watching the two others joining the convoy of dragons in their relief force. She bowed her head in silent prayer.

Chilling them to the bone, the polyglot ranging force pulled their furs tighter over their frames at the harsh northern wind. For some - Jon, Tormund, and the others from north of Moat Cailin - it was just a minor nuisance. For others - Grey Worm, Gendry, and those from the warmer southern regions - the gusts stabbed at them worse than any spear or sword. And the wind was the only sound of note at the present time, mournful howling piercing the din of discomforting silence.

"Seven fucking hells!" Tyene Martell, having never known the North outside the warmth of Winterfell - definitely not the icebox of the Land of Always Winter - was starting to go mad. Grabbing a rock from the ground, she threw it at the wall of dead men surrounding them on all sides. It hit the skull of a skeleton wight, causing the weakly attached head to fly off and the body to collapse into a pile of bones. The others around it just stood there in formation, tighter than any Bolton or Unsullied phalanx. After hundreds plunged through the weak ice into the frozen lake below, none had followed. Thus beginning the tense standoff.

Rolling his shoulders, Robb sat next to Jon and Gendry. "Think Wun Wun made it?"

Jon peered out, finding the Night King and a cluster of white walkers overlooking them. "Wun Wun is large enough to take down all but a large swarm. All are here, so I'm optimistic." He adjusted his black Night's Watch cloak. Despite his watch having ended, Jon kept it - a reminder of his humble origins so as not to let the power go to his head. "Edderon and Rhaegal… if they're coming, Rhaegal knows to be cautious. He barely survived the last time."

Robb nodded, remembering that terrifying moment. "Brother… if we make it out of this, I'm marrying Margaery. We agreed to wait until after Joffrey was defeated, but life is too short." His time with Talisa was far too short. Looking up, Robb was certain that wherever she was, his first love would want him to find happiness.

Clasping his hand, Jon smiled at his brother. "Tell you what, we'll do it at the Godswood in Winterfell. I'll even officiate as your Emperor. Fitting for my Warden of the North." Reminding himself that Gendry was there - the former smith sitting quietly - Jon turned to him. "And what about you, Gendry? You planning to do right by our sister?" Talking about marriage plans was quite out of place with death staring them in the face, but what else were they to do?

Blinking, Gendry's mouth opened and closed several times before he could speak. "Um… I would marry Arya tomorrow if we can free her from King's Landing. But I am just a simple Waters. Not fit for a highborn."

Frown on his face, Jon remembered the same thoughts between him and Daenerys. Well, it had taken years to rectify that for him - Jon could rectify this now. "Well, how would you like to be legitimized?" He and Robb shared a laugh at Gendry's wide eyes.

"Why not? Renly and Stannis are dead, and you have just as strong a claim to the Stormlands as Tommen." Robb couldn't think of a better choice.

Before Gendry could even respond, Jon finished it. "It's settled. You're now Gendry Baratheon, rightful Lord Paramount of the Stormlands." The new Lord Baratheon - in name for now - smiled sheepishly, not feeling much different now that he had a name and highborn title.

At that moment, Tyene reminded them of the present situation. "Damn it! Why can't this fucking end!" She spied a target. "Fucking cunts!" Arm pulled back, she let another rock fly. Despite her unassuming exterior, the throw was powerful. Her aim was true. It smacked the walking skeleton in the lower jaw, breaking it off. The bone clattered on the ice, the wight it belonged to standing as ramrod straight as before. "These things have no fucking brains."

"Don't do that," Tormund grumbled, sharpening one of his dragonglass axes with a whetstone. They were all on edge - straddling a fine line between utter boredom and sheer terror - but provoking the dead shits was simply not productive.

Too angry and frustrated, Tyene didn't even hear Tormund. Venting her tension out on the wights, the Dornish pretender chucked another rock at the same wight. Only in her rage the aim was off - was short. The rock hit the ice, skidding along the surface till it smacked into the rotting leather boot of the skeleton. The beast's sightless skull lowered, contemplating the situation before it.

Jon stood, sensing the shift in the tenor of the air. The others sensed it too. "Seven Hells," mumbled Robb, unsheathing Ice. Tyene, scrambling back, brought out her dual blades.

"I told you not to fucking do that!" Tormund drew his axes.

Drawing his weapon, Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the wight took its first steps onto the newly hardened ice.