Battle #42

Emerging from the shelter into the biting cold, Gale and Threya couldn't help but notice Tormund's uncharacteristic grin as he gazed out over the snow-covered expanse. Even the towering giant, typically lost in its own world, fixated its attention on the distant, eerie figures. These were no living beings but wights, grotesque, animated corpses, their rotted forms a terrifying sight.

Among the lifeless horde, a chilling figure rode atop a wight steed, a White Walker, distinguishable by its frosty blue eyes and ethereal aura. Those frigid eyes locked onto Gale, and a predatory grin curled on the young man's lips.

"It seems we've found our quarry," Gale declared with impatience, his footsteps quickening as he descended the snowy slope. "Keep the wights off my back, and I'll handle the walker," he instructed, a surge of excitement pushing him forward to confront the ancient menace. 

Threya and Tormund exchanged knowing glances, gripped their weapons, and followed behind their leader. The towering giant, unwilling to be left behind, lumbered along.

Meanwhile, Melorian, perched on the hill, found himself at a crossroads. Whether Gale and his group emerged victorious or perished, they would leave, or so he believed. However, curiosity tugged at him, compelling him to witness the imminent confrontation. 

Although he harbored doubts about the odds Gale's group faced against a White Walker, his intrigue overcame his reservations, and he remained on the hill to observe the impending clash.

...

In Moat Cailin, Ser Barristan sheathed his blade and surveyed the scene with mixed emotions. The sight of his fallen comrades on the ground weighed heavily on him, but as he turned his gaze towards the living members of his party, a sense of gratitude washed over him. 

There were still survivors among them, thanks to the unexpected saviors who had arrived in the nick of time.

Before him stood a group of short-statured men clad in ragged green and yellow camouflage attire, blending into the swampy surroundings of the Neck. 

Leading them was a man who, despite sharing their stature, appeared refined and dressed in finer clothing. He was Howland Reed, the head of House Reed and the lord of Greywatch, a vassal sworn to serve House Stark, the Wardens of the North.

Overwhelmed by relief and gratitude, Ser Barristan barely had a chance to speak before Lord Reed addressed him. "I didn't think we'd reach you in time when my scouts told me your party was under attack," Lord Reed confessed, a respectful nod accompanying his words. "You've shown great resilience, Ser Barristan. As expected of you, I should think."

Modest in his response, Ser Barristan acknowledged, "I can't take all the credit for this one." His attention shifted as he noticed Tyrion Lannister approaching from the corner of his vision. 

With a gesture, he introduced the diminutive noble. "Allow me to introduce Lord Tyrion Lannister. He played a significant role in our survival."

Tyrion felt a surge of satisfaction at finally receiving recognition, yet he maintained his composure, offering a gracious smile. "Well, I suppose being at this altitude grants a unique perspective," he quipped with a chuckle. "That's all there is to it."

Expressing his gratitude to Lord Reed, Tyrion continued, "In any case, it's an honor to meet you, Lord Reed. I owe you my life, and as a Lannister, I'm bound to uphold our house's motto – 'A Lannister always pays his debts.'" He extended his hand toward the lord.

Lord Reed was momentarily taken aback by Tyrion's apparent respect and politeness. As a Crannogman, he was accustomed to the condescending attitude of southern nobles who often looked down on his people as frog eaters and madmen. 

However, he quickly overcame his surprise and shook Tyrion's hand.

"I'm merely carrying out my duty by protecting Lord Stark's guests," Lord Reed humbly responded. "You owe me nothing."

Tyrion, displaying his characteristic determination, replied, "Regardless, you've saved my life, but we'll have more time to discuss this later." With a firm nod, he continued, "These were no ordinary bandits, and I fear that whoever is behind them might attempt something again. We need to find a safe place after we tend to the injured and give the fallen a proper burial."

...

Threya's eyes widened in amazement as she observed Gale's lightning-fast sprint through the snow, moving effortlessly as if gliding across its surface without leaving a trace. 

His speed surpassed anything she had ever witnessed, and his hands moved with astonishing agility, dispatching obsidian daggers with remarkable accuracy to eliminate any wight that crossed his path.

Yet, her focus was abruptly shattered by the thunderous roar of the giant charging from behind. She watched in awe as the massive creature seized the nearest wight, repeatedly slamming it into the ground until it was reduced to a pile of lifeless bones. The giant wasted no time and hurled the remains at the other approaching wights.

Shaking off her initial shock, Threya swiftly drew the dragon glass dagger that Gale had provided her and lunged at the first white walker in sight, with Tormund closely following her lead.

Meanwhile, Gale had already closed the distance between himself and the white walker. 

The white walker, seated atop its eerie wight steed, regarded Gale with confusion and shock etched across its otherworldly features. However, as Gale reached for one of his obsidian daggers and prepared to strike, the white walker reacted swiftly, raising its ice blade and spurring its wight steed to charge at the young man.

Standing his ground, Gale hurled his dagger at the white walker, but the undead creature swiftly deflected it with a deft wave of its ice blade. As the wight steed closed in on him, Gale had no choice but to dive aside to narrowly evade its oncoming charge. 

The white walker attempted to cleave him in two with its long, icy blade, but Gale rolled away just in the nick of time, making the undead creature's weapon cleave the snow instead.

Undaunted, the white walker compelled its wight steed to halt, pivoting it to charge Gale once more. Gale swiftly reached into his cloak, retrieving the last of his obsidian throwing daggers. 

With only five of these precious weapons in his possession, he understood the necessity of making every throw count as he braced for the oncoming charge of the wight steed.

Bolting towards his impending adversary, Gale expertly hurled the daggers, one after the other, at the charging foe. The white walker, proficient with its icy blade, deflected the first three projectiles with calculated precision. 

Yet, the speed and unexpected angles of Gale's throws rendered it unable to intercept the fourth and final dagger, which found its mark, burying itself into the wight steed's neck. 

The wight horse collapsed abruptly, taking the white walker down with it, both figures tumbling into the frigid snow.

Without hesitation, Gale leaped into the air, his obsidian dagger firmly grasped as he aimed to plunge it into the chest of the fallen white walker.

Gale's dagger had been on course to strike the white walker's heart, poised to end its life. Yet, the white walker astounded him by suddenly opening its frigid mouth, releasing a cacophony of chilling sounds that resembled the cracking of ice. 

Before Gale could fathom the situation, a wight lunged from the periphery, crashing into him with force, sending both tumbling through the snow for a brief, chaotic moment.

With a grunt of irritation, Gale fought to regain his footing and swiftly drove his obsidian dagger into the wight's skull as he clambered back to his feet.

"Damn it!" Gale couldn't help but curse as he turned his attention back to the white walker, who had already risen to its feet, resolute in its intent to continue the battle.

"I thought I told you fuckers to keep those damned things off my back!" Gale exclaimed, briefly diverting his gaze to Threya and Tormund, who were entangled in their own clashes with wights.

"Don't ask for the impossible, you southern cunt!" Threya retorted, her voice strained from the combat. "Just finish off the bloody thing!"

Gale clenched his jaw in irritation before shifting his focus to the looming white walker. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to collect himself.

Though frustrated by the situation, he still had other tricks up his sleeves to take the white walker by surprise and end the fight quickly. 

The wildlings duo, predictably unreliable allies forced upon Gale by the circumstances, were of little use, but he had never intended to rely on them in the first place.

...

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