Aftermath of The Battle

An hour earlier

The morning sun was just rising over Highgarden, casting a warm glow over the lush gardens and the vibrant, bustling keep. Ryan stirred from his sleep, feeling the soft embrace of the morning breeze through the window. His women and son still slept peacefully beside him, the tranquility of the moment only briefly lasting before a nagging thought crossed his mind.

Jon Snow's journey to the Free Folk camp had been on Ryan's mind for some time. He had trusted Jon to handle things, but something felt off. A growing unease began to build inside him. Tuning in to his Kryptonian senses, he closed his eyes, allowing his hearing to stretch across the lands, focusing on the distant camp north of the Wall.

The moment he concentrated, the sounds of battle struck him like a hammer. The distant cries of the Free Folk, the clash of weapons, and the unmistakable screech of wights chilled the air. His heart pounded. White Walkers. Jon and his people were in trouble.

Without hesitation, Ryan leapt from the bed. He quickly sent a mental order to his soldiers stationed at the Shield Islands, instructing them to send several ships to the Free Folk camp with soldiers as backup. The few large ships available could carry many of the Free Folk, including the giants.

"Prepare for transport. Jon and his people are under attack," Ryan commanded, urgency in his voice. His men immediately sprang into action, following his orders.

With that, Ryan shot into the sky, the wind whipping past him as he soared through the clouds, heading north. His spear was at his side, the familiar weight of it in his hand as he tightened his grip. The fire of battle burned within him, and as the miles between Highgarden and the Free Folk camp vanished beneath him, Ryan steeled himself for the fight ahead.

As he neared the camp, the scene unfolded in horrific clarity. Thousands of wights poured over the broken wooden walls, the White Walkers advancing with their icy weapons, cutting through the Free Folk with terrifying ease. Jon Snow, Tormund, and the other fighters were holding their ground, but it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

Ryan's blood boiled. He wasn't going to let them fall. Not today.

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After the battle, the air still crackled with residual heat from Ryan's fire-infused spear and the energy he'd unleashed. The bodies of wights lay strewn across the battlefield, still smoldering where Ryan's attacks had incinerated them. The surviving Free Folk, battered and exhausted, limped toward the safety of the boats. Women, children, and giants alike had taken refuge in the few vessels that remained, but it wasn't enough to transport them all.

Jon wiped the blood and grime from his face as he approached Ryan, still breathless from the intense combat. "We won't be able to get everyone out of here with these," he gestured to the few boats. "The rest will have to hold out and hope for more ships."

Ryan looked out over the sea, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "We won't have to wait long."

As if on cue, the sound of horns rang out over the water. From the horizon, a fleet of ships emerged, cutting through the waves with practiced precision. The sight was awe-inspiring. A naval armada, led by Ryan's Tempest's Wrath, with its enormous black sails billowing in the wind, followed by a line of smaller but equally formidable vessels.

Jon stared in disbelief. "You brought all this?"

"I figured we might need some help," Ryan said, his voice casual, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed the satisfaction he felt. "Not just for the fighters, but for everyone."

The ships sailed in swiftly, expertly navigating the treacherous waters near the camp. Ryan's naval army had arrived just in time. The ships were massive enough to hold not just the Free Folk, but the giants, too. Ramps were lowered, and the Free Folk began boarding under the careful watch of Ryan's men.

The scene was one of controlled chaos, with families being helped onto the ships, giants lumbering aboard with thudding steps, and warriors standing at the ready to guard against any last threats from the dead.

"Women and children first," Mance Rayder barked as he oversaw the boarding. His voice was steady, though the weight of the battle clearly pressed down on him. "Make room for the giants, too! We don't leave anyone behind."

As the last of the survivors boarded, Jon stood beside Ryan, his expression somber. "Thank you once again, Lord Ryan, from the bottom of my heart. I can't imagine what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Ryan, leaning on his spear, glanced at the last stragglers boarding the ships. "I couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" His attempt at humor didn't hide the seriousness in his tone.

Jon, tired but relieved, looked out toward the now-empty battlefield. "We'll have to go south of the Wall. There's no going back now."

Ryan nodded, watching the last of the Free Folk clamber aboard. The ships' decks were filled with people. "And we'll face worse down there, no doubt."

As the final ropes were pulled in and the anchors were lifted, the ships turned southward, the Wall looming in the distance. For now, the survivors were safe. But the true war had only just begun.

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I dropped off Jon, the Night's Watch men, Mance Rayder, Tormund, Giant Leader Mag Mar, and a few able-bodied Free Folk men near the Shadow Tower so they could head to Castle Black. His ships, equipped with icebreakers, moved swiftly through the frigid waters, carrying the survivors to the safety of the Shield Islands. The islands would provide refuge for the Free Folk, giving them time to regroup and recover while Ryan and Jon Snow formulated their next move.

Later, at the Shield Islands, the Free Folk were given shelter, food, and medical care. The mood was somber, with the weight of their losses heavy on everyone's minds, but there was also a quiet determination. The giants tended to their wounded, the children huddled around makeshift fires, and the warriors of the Free Folk watched the seas with guarded eyes.