POV - Steve (vii)

Rogers lay on the ground, thrown there by the dead and flames, but for the first time in his life he was paralyzed with fear. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He struggled to draw in each breath, but it was difficult with the air full of smoke. The dragon, an honest to God dragon, had seared the very earth black with its flames, setting alight tree and flesh caught in its path. His shield had protected him from a direct hit, but the incredible heat had washed across and partially cooked him inside his heavy armor. He was hot, washed in sweat, and dehydrated. Not ideal conditions for fighting.

Behind him an Other lay, its body no longer is ghostly beautiful self as its body had been impaled upon a broken tree trunk. It's body was spun around, twisted like a rag, and ruined under the incredible heat the flying beast had unleashed. It was screaming like a woman in childbirth and waving missing arms. The rest of the creature consumed in fire. Even amidst the thunderous crackling of a forest ablaze, the cry was stunningly loud and sent chills up his spine.

Forcing his lungs to work, willing a shaky, shallow breath and then a less ragged second, Rogers managed to get back on his feet. The hundreds of undead he had been fighting only a minute ago were gone, lost among the fires and ash, but the many thousands more and their masters were still here somewhere.

AAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The sound was deafening, like being thrown back to New York and forced to stand next to a speeding train but many times louder. He could feel the air blast past him, nearly knocking him back to the ground, but instead settling for causing his very bones to ache. Absently his overworked mind told him it was a horn call, but he refused to believe any horn could be that loud.

The pain in his bones was almost welcome, after the sound had stopped echoing in his skull. Rogers blinked his eyes clear, and his vision focused just in time to watch the Wall begin to crack. Loud pops, like ice melting but on a much grander scale, could be heard across the distance. Even from here, and obscured by the billowing pillars of thick smoke, he could see a massive scar form in the Wall.

It started roughly where Castle Black was, and slowly at first began to claw its way outward. But as it spread the scar grew more quickly. In moments it was hundreds of feet long, and a few more later it was almost a thousand. Smaller scars sprung up, heading in random directions until it almost looked like a spiders web in the ice. A few seconds more, and the scar ran the length of the Wall as far as the eye could see.

Then it fell.

It was eerily like watching a building being demolished. He had watched a few growing up. A massive cloud of white was thrown into the air as the solid, heavy mass of the Wall folded in on itself and toppled to the ground. Shock paralyzed him once more, knowing the Jon and thousands more had been there. Knowing that they were surly dead.

The flap of a grand wing snapped Steve back to his senses. The largest of the three, with a strange woman atop its back, flew low over the ground and was rewarded with a blast of ice swiftly rising to meet them in the air. The attack had to have been painful as the magnificent beast let out a pained roar and banked away from its would-be prey.

Steve grouped for his sword and leaned on his shield for a moment before coming to his feet. The clanking of his armor oddly comforting. Resolution firmed as he told himself, "I can't let those things get past the Wall." He could picture his wife, Dacey, with child, being cut down by the blue-white monsters. "Right," he said. "These things are coming to try and take away our homes and kill our families. I have to stop them."

With his enhanced strength came speed, and as Rogers put his feet to the ground and built up a run he kicked snow and dirt into the air. It didn't take long to see what he was looking for, he headed straight towards where he believed the horn had blown, and was rewarded by finding not just one White Walker but a dozen others. And standing there in the middle was the largest of the group, with a black grown atop his head and a horn in his hand. He looked older than the rest, but also more alive. Animated. He moved more smoothly than the rest. However they all held thin, icy blades that could rip right though steel.

Steve's blue armored figure closed the distance with what must have been shocking speed to his target, only a pair of angry eyes visible on either side of the helm's nasal bar and a star-covered shield held expertly sloped in front of his chest. But these things weren't men, high on testosterone or fighting for dreams of grandeur, they were creatures that ruled the dead and the cold. Steve needed to think different.

He lept into the air, his powerful legs propelling him higher into the air than any man had right to, bringing his shield down and aiming for his life.

CRACK!

He caught what could only be the leaders blade on his shield, barely. The force of it punched him back though the air, and the ground soon came up and hit him with surprising force. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. He persistently shook off the pain and came to his feet, seeing what he believed to be the Other's King a half-dozen yards away rising to his knees. The remaining Others started to close in on Steve, but the creature made a sound like ice scratching a chalkboard and they stopped.

Steve smiled, "Apparently they do have egos."

Rogers took a step forward, and hissed sharply at the sensation in right leg; it was like nerves being ripped out of his body and had been tossed in an ice bath. He forced himself to move nonetheless, Longclaw coming up as he advanced, the shield on his left forearm. He muttered to himself, "Let's do this, Soldier."

The King came to his feet, an icy sword in each hand and eyes fixed on Roger's limp that he couldn't quite hide from the walk.

"You. Die." The Other raggedly said, much to Rogers surprise, with quiet sincerity.

The creatures surrounding them seemed to share the King's thought; a quiet chorus of icy groans came from them.

"Why is it," Rogers said, smirking, "that evil bastards like you can't just live with the rest of us in pace?"

The Ice-sword flashed out and down. Crack and the curved edge of the vibraniam shield caught it, but the creature didn't overbalance and the smashing punch of the Soldier's sword caught on the his opponents blade. The Valyrian steel racked the Other's blade, steam rising from the contact but neither overcoming the other. The hilts locked and they strained against each other for an instant, Roger's surprised to be facing an opponent as strong as he.

"Jesus, he's strong!" Rogers thought as they disengaged. The King blocked a cut at the back of his knee, turning the blade from the wrist. "Maybe even stronger than I am."

He'd counted on having the speed and stamina advantage, but the wrench to his leg was slowing him and draining away his agility. The Other's lack of a shield would help, he couldn't just tuck a shoulder and run him over, so it equaled out.

Slowly they circled one another, the Other moving on a curve, Rogers rolling on the ball of his heel.

"Only the dragon can end the winter." The voice of the strange woman filled his mind, rising from nowhere and becoming everything.

Engage, a flurry of strikes, back. The Other was breathing hard, but Rogers was feeling the weight of his armor. He tried a steeping lunge for the neck, exposed by the lack of a shield or armor…

His leg betrayed him, and the Other's dagger knocked the point of his blade wide. He snarled and reversed the strike, slamming the pommel of his sword up at the King's elbow. The strike hit, hammering whatever these things use as a nervous system, and the Other's fingers flew open to send the dagger flying. But the free hand grabbed at Roger's shield, dragging it down and covering the surface in rapidly spreading ice. Their two blades met and locked once more.

They crashed to the ground, side-to-side. The Other wasted an instant trying to shorten the blade and stab, the edge crated over Roger's chest plate, and then he raised it high to hammer down.

CRACK!

Something gave in the left side of Roger's chest, and cold radiated out into his body like an explosion. But he pushed the pain away with his anger and thrust, the narrow point of Longclaw punching through the Other's armor and sank though.

The Other looked at him, and one strength-less hand fumbled at the dagger by his side. He tried to speak, or perhaps only to scream in rage. But before he could say anything a shadow enveloped them both. The King looked up for a moment, and Rogers thrust the tip of Longclaw into the Others neck.

"Dacey," he wheezed. "Bucky, Peggy…."

His eyes squinted against the sudden brilliance of a new sun.