2,766Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! It's time again for another installment of TDR! Thank you for reading and thank you for all the support you've given me over the course of this project. We're coming down to it and I'm so pleased to have you all with me as we near the end.
I really can't thank my beta readers enough for their commitment to this project either. They are one of a kind!
Discord: Invite in profile.
Twitter: GroovyPriestess
Facebook: The Dragon's Roar (fanfic)
Chapter 155
Daenerys XIV
She struggled to peer through the blinding snow and had to trust Drogon's instincts that he could find their way back to Winterfell. After years of planning and riding Drogon high in the air on a weekly basis, she thought she was prepared for the hardship the Long Night would introduce. The flight to see Maester Aemon before he passed had been a suitable test for the type of conditions they'd be made to face. Though her face had reddened from the biting cold, it was a small price to pay. Easily managed.
Aemon hadn't been keen on her flying her rounds alone, but she'd insisted. They compromised that she would only fly during the day and forgo nighttime flights. There was unspoken agreement that since he would be initially absent from the efforts against the Long Night, that she could expand to night flights at her discretion.
Daenerys had spent two months flying Drogon and Rhaellon back and forth across the expanse of the Wall, eying the ground below for signs of the Others. She'd occasionally veered off course to have Drogon spray the forest at times, hoping perhaps she'd catch some wights. She never strayed far, wheeling back after only a minute of fire. She was very conscious of the fact that the Night King was capable of spearing one of her dragons.
It concerned her that Rhaellon didn't have a rider of her own, often following Dany and Drogon in whatever they decided to do. They'd cover far more ground, but there were no others. At least none who were responsible enough. Dany sincerely hoped that Aemma or Daeron would eventually bond with her. She deserved companionship. She'd often felt guilty that she rode Drogon and not her. Once at King's Landing, Drogon had been fishing when Dany had attempted to get on Rhaellon's back and ride her. Rhaellon had simply looked at her in confusion and refused to move, though she knew the many ways Dany coaxed Drogon into the sky. Her attempt had ended with Drogon's return. He'd squared up as if to attack his sister, roaring and scraping his claws as if preparing to charge. Rhaellon had kept her head down and scooted away; Dany quickly put herself between the two—she'd gotten quite the earful from her bloodriders and Kingsguard about it. However, her presence was enough to soothe Drogon's anger. She didn't think Aemon would've ever let her hear the end of it if she hadn't sworn her guard to secrecy.
He may have insisted I not even be alone to manage by myself, Dany thought with a scowl. She knew it wasn't because he didn't think she was capable, but because of his need to protect her. At first, she'd been bitter thinking it had only to do with bearing his heirs, but after learning about his life before, she realized he was terrified that she might share the same fate as her other self. The night before they parted, Aemon had made her promise she wouldn't take any foolish risks.
That has come and gone, dear Aemon, she thought woefully. She flew through the night and she flew through blizzards because she was all that stood between the army and the Night King. Though they had the men, they were scattered. Lord Stark needed time to regroup and strategize. She and the dragons could give him that time.
The first time she'd broken the promise was when the maester at the Nightfort had rushed in after a raven had delivered the message that Castle Black was under attack by the Others. She was immediately alert and raced around dressing and packing her bag. She'd been forced to rouse Drogon and Rhaellon who slept on the south side of the Wall outside the castle. They'd been grumpier than usual given their dislike of the cold, but once they were in the air, they were cooperative.
Dany had been horrified when she arrived to find the Wall had been breached, collapsed all down the middle. Though there'd been a blizzard, she'd seen the multitude of shining blue eyes of the wights as they forced their way through. She aimed Drogon straight for the gap and had been pleased as the flames had washed over huge swathes of the Army of the Dead. Rhaellon had then circled and come from a different angle, stripping the land north of the Wall with a stripe cut straight through. She'd dared to turn Drogon around and leave one more streak of flame similar to Rhaellon. As much as it pained her, she'd then turned away. She couldn't risk the dragons. She'd done her best to hurry back to the Nightfort, though it'd been difficult to find her way in the dark.
When day had arrived, she was up at the crack of dawn to ride her dragons once more. The Army of the Dead had still been pouring through the Wall when she arrived once more and she had them showered with flame for good measure before turning to follow their path south of the Wall. The army had split and were going in opposite directions of one another. When she'd returned to the Nightfort, stragglers from Castle Black were staggering in. They'd been forced to make the decision to abandon the castle. They sent ravens to all of the other castles, ordering a retreat.
Satisfied with that, Dany had ridden the dragons, occasionally spitting fire at the forest and attempting to track the Night King's progress. She'd been able to warn the western castles, but when she struck out toward the eastern castles, she was gutted to find them already devastated, their doors broken through. No bodies to be seen because the Night King had raised them to join his army. She simply hadn't had enough time. It took three days to cross the span of the Wall. Given the urgency of the matter, she'd gone nearly two days without sleep and had been forced to stop at Last Hearth. The dragons had needed even longer, given that they found the cold especially taxing. When on patrol, there were few opportunities for the dragons to eat and their chosen food was becoming scarcer and scarcer as the Night King moved south and quickly killed anything that didn't flee his encroachment.
She was exhausted and lamented that Aemon and Rhaegal weren't there to share the burden of patrolling the lands. In due time, she told herself. In the meantime, she would simply have to push her and the dragons to their limit to keep the Night King as far north as she could.
She tilted her head to look at the sky. She was certain night was falling, but it was impossible to tell in the gloom of the clouds. They'd been out all day and the dragons still hadn't fed. Reluctantly, she nudged Drogon, "Let's go back to rest."
He turned at her bidding. With the sun out of sight and the snow blowing, Daenerys had long lost her sense of direction, but the dragons always seemed to know where they were. The first time she'd been flying and had gotten turned around in the sky, she'd started to panic. She could only see clouds or forest in every direction and she thought she'd sent Drogon around in a circle for sometime before he took the reins from her and flew himself. She'd nearly sobbed with joy when she'd caught sight of Winterfell and made for a landing. It had taken her extra time to muster up the courage to return to the saddle the next day, but she found she could relax now that she knew she could rely on the dragons to get her home. She bent over the saddle and allowed herself to rest after hours of sitting upright, attempting to scan the land. The flight back was an hour or more, so she found it difficult not to doze against Drogon's neck. Grand Maester Brunal and Maester Luwin had cautioned everyone about the dangers of the cold, that it could make you feel tired. Though she was certain she wasn't suffering from the cold—especially not after she fashioned herself a headscarf that protected the lower half of her face—she still fought to keep awake.
At some point, she was startled by Drogon's roar. She shot up, unsure how much time had passed and peered around his large neck. At first her eyes were trained to the ground, but then she heard an extra beating pair of wings and her eyes widened to see Rhaegal closing in.
Dany laughed in excitement. She reached out with her hand and waved fiercely as Rhaegal passed, crying out in delight to see Aemon waving back at her. He wheeled Rhaegal back and drew level with her. The wing spans of their dragons were too large for a long conversation.
"I'll take you in," Aemon shouted.
"How much further?" Daenerys screamed back, desperately wanting to throw her arms around him.
"It's not far!"
"I'm so glad you're here! You'll have to tell me about the Blackfyre!"
"In due time!"
Her spirits soared and she felt warmer than she'd been in the five months since she'd arrived in the North.
They landed the dragons just at the front of Winterfell. Daenerys unclipped herself from the saddle and rushed over to throw her arms around Aemon who met her in the middle.
"You've arrived not a moment too soon," she whispered.
"I heard," Aemon replied, giving her a weak smile. He reached over and got her saddle bags and carried them inside the Walls for her. She kept her hand in his as they walked inside. Aemon had clearly already visited Winterfell, as everyone there merely bowed as they passed and Lord Stark wasn't outside to greet him.
Lord Stark spent much of his time in a large room with its own map, poring over it as he attempted to pull together the remnants of their army. It was exactly where they found him. He'd turned and done a double take when he saw them both.
"Apologies, Aemon, I thought you'd left," Robb said.
"No apologies necessary, Robb. I did. I met Dany before I was ten minutes gone," Aemon explained and he squeezed her hand lovingly.
She finally pulled down her face covering and smiled at him adoringly. "I've missed you so."
"As have I. I never stopped worrying about you, to manage the dragons by yourself," Aemon tutted.
Dany scoffed, "I managed."
"Yes, she has, but we've needed Rhaegal more than ever. It would behoove us to have a dragon in the air around the clock. Her Grace has done wonders stalling the Night King, but he's still marching ever southward. Last Hearth was abandoned five days ago."
Aemon nodded glumly. "I've already told you the plan Jaime and I thought of before I headed north."
"It's a good one," Robb said. "It gives us our best chance of whittling down the Army of the Dead's numbers, if not stopping them entirely." It was the first time Dany had seen Robb smile with any kind of enthusiasm since she'd arrived. He'd done nothing but fret ever since he sent Lady Margaery and their three children south. Winterfell was, if it were possible, even gloomier and more unwelcoming without children's laughter and cries to fill the halls. The only women who yet remained were serving girls doing laundry, cleaning bed sheets, helping the maester with the wounded, and cooking. She found it lonely, not that she was there for a social occasion, but it made the circumstances seem all the more dire.
"What plan?" Dany asked.
"The plan is to use the dragons to force the Night King down a route we want to take," Aemon explained. "We intend to drive him and his army toward the mountains so that the only place they can funnel out is a valley of our choosing. The quarters will be close and it will keep the Night King's numbers from being overwhelming."
Dany leaned over the map herself, now making note of the mountains and smiled. "Yes, that should make things much easier. I've been keeping up the burning of the Gift, so the area may already be primed for it."
Aemon smirked. "No trouble with the dragons either?"
"No. I'm quick with the fire. There and gone again. They become testy if we're out a bit too long. Today was a long day, so I imagine they're filling their bellies and preparing for a good lie."
"I'm afraid I won't be lying in with you," Aemon replied with a sad smile. "I must go out. Robb's right. We need a dragon in the air at all times."
"But you've only just arrived. Surely Rhaegal is in need of rest too," Dany said.
"He'll manage."
Robb crossed his arms. "So, you mentioned you'd tell me about the happenings in the south when Dany arrived. Given how short the campaign was, my curiosity is quite piqued."
"Yes, what happened?" Dany asked.
"It was a troubling ordeal," Aemon began. "He started off by taking Hightower and the Citadel immediately, and then Honeyholt. We think he may have had inside help."
"That's concerning. So how was he uprooted so quickly?" Robb cocked his head curiously.
"It … it was a most odd set of circumstances," Aemon replied, shaking his in wonderment. "Jaime and I took our force to meet him. It was just a small one. We wanted to test how powerful Rhaegal would be. If the dragon was enough to drive them back, then the plan was to join up with Lord Blackmont and set to siege Honeyholt. I used Rhaegal. He was powerfully effective, obliterating the frontline. However, during our second pass, Rhaegal began struggling."
"What? How?" Dany asked, narrowing her eyes.
"David thinks there was something in the smoke," Aemon explained, "A poison of sorts. I turned Rhaegal away and we crashed about a mile from the burn sight. We're both fine now, of course."
Dany found her concern mirrored on Robb's face.
"I assure you. David tended to us and we've had nearly two months of recovery before even flying here. Jaime surrounded us with his small force to protect us, but we were stuck there until Rhaegal was well enough to fly. The Blackfyre attacked on the second day. I was strapped to Rhaegal and we were sent flying to escape.
"What happens after is everything that I heard from Jaime." Aemon hesitated and a dark shadow passed over his face. Dany frowned. Was it something Jaime had done?
"Jaime and the men were captured and marched to Honeyholt. And-and then Jaime says that David sacrificed himself to unleash a curse upon the Blackfyre and his men. All of the men he brought in Honeyholt were killed. Everyone else fled. It left Jaime and our own untouched."
Robb recoiled, his face twisted in rictus of disgust. "What sort of magic is that?!"
"Horrible magic," Aemon agreed.
Dany was having difficulty wrapping her mind around it. "But why?"
Aemon just shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. His words were unconvincing, but she felt there was a dark undercurrent to the truth. Something about it unnerved her. And given she had her own secret, she decided to let it slide.
"It's been long enough. I should head out there to patrol the area," Aemon said.
"But …. " Dany trailed after him.
"He's gone, isn't he?" They all turned to see Bran had walked in. Dany did her best to hide her discomfort. She found the boy more than a little odd, lacking all the warmth of either Robb or Jon.
"I think he suppressed most magics around him with the might of his influence. It's felt like he's been breathing down my neck. It's diminished, but he's still there," Bran said, drawing in a long, shuddering breath. Something flickered in his eyes and he muttered, "He is hardly in a position to judge, but he does so at our peril."
"You knew?" Aemon whispered.
"Impossible not to."
Aemon stared at Bran for a moment, attempting to extract the meaning there. He finally nodded and continued moving toward the doors.
"Wait," Dany called.
He turned and enveloped her into a hug and she clung to him.
"I've missed you," she whispered into his shoulder.
"And I you. I nearly had to fight all of your Unsullied once I heard the Wall had fallen and you were nearly all that stood in the Night King's way," he said, pulling back from. Then he dipped his head to capture her lips and she sank into them. "I wanted to come sooner, but Rhaegal was still not quite recovered; I wanted to make sure he had the best chance."
"I understand. Although you were needed here, we've managed. Not all hope is lost." She laid her head against his shoulder and felt the tension and fear drain away momentarily as she relaxed into his embrace. "Passing strange what David did to the Blackfyre and his army," Dany mumbled, pulling her head back to look into his eyes. Again, she saw that shadow. "Is there more to it than what you said?"
"I-I can't tell you," Aemon replied.
She didn't like the uneasiness in his expression. He was hardly old, only now approaching his mid-twenties and yet she could swear there were lines in his face that made him look twice his age. Though she was disappointed, she simply nodded. "Will it have dire consequences for our children?"
"I should think not. Perhaps only for me."
"A pity David had to die. A strange man and difficult at times, but I trusted him," Dany said, once more allowing herself to relax.
"I did too. More than even I think I knew," Aemon murmured.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Dany relished the warmth of having another body to cling to. She hadn't realized how comfortable she'd grown sleeping next to Aemon for so many years. It had felt alien to be without him and apart for so long.
He gently pulled her away. "I must go. The army of the dead waits for no one."
She nodded in acceptance. "Be careful."
"I will," he said and placed another kiss on her lips. He pulled himself away, his eyes lingering on her before he turned to stride back out into the cold.
Though she wasn't keen to revisit the cold, she followed him back out to the gates. He whistled sharply. With a disgruntled grumble, Rhaegal likely abandoned his meal and returned to his side. Aemon whispered words that Dany couldn't hear, patting the green dragon affectionately on the side, and then launched into the air. It took only a moment for the blizzard to swallow them in the night.
Dany turned and went back inside. It was time for a bath in the hot springs below. She hoped it would provide her with the warmth that was now so fervidly absent.
Robb I
There was a time in his life where he'd scoffed at the idea that it could get colder in the North. He'd lived there his whole life, seen the spring and summer snows. The North was in his blood after all; he was built for cold. He'd been pleased when he and Jaime had gone beyond the Wall and he had little trouble bearing with the chill compared to the golden southron, not that he dared let his judgment pass his lips.
But now he thought he might feel a measure of what Jaime had felt in the deep chill. Even with his beard and furs, the wind stung at any exposed skin. At first, it was entirely bearable, but when the scouring wind had left its burning touch for weeks on end, he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever be able to feel Margaery's kisses on his cheeks again. He'd never necessarily been one for delegation, but it became imperative that he help his men if only to keep his blood hot in his limbs. He dug through the snow with the best of them.
As Aemon promised, he and Queen Daenerys traded off their shifts so that there was always one dragon in the sky. Daenerys took the days and Aemon took the nights, but they reported successfully that the army of the dead was being herded as they planned. They could expect the army to appear at the valley's mouth any day now. Robb and his men had spent a week working day and night to prepare it. They drove stakes into the snow to line the sides of the lane to make the funnel even tighter. If enough corpses got caught on the wood, they'd then set it aflame, having doused it in oil so that the dragons wouldn't be necessary.
This is our chance, Robb thought, narrowing his eyes at the mouth of the valley, his heart thudding in anticipation.
"Don't be lax with those stakes. Keep them solid. We want them speared, not simply an obstacle to be climbed over," Ser Rodrik barked.
Winterfell's master-at-arms had finally returned two years ago to train the young men in the territory to fighting shape. It used to be that the old man's sideburns grew long and tied off into a braid, but he'd allowed the hair on his chin to finally grow in after the oppressive stint of cold at the wall. Robb was immensely grateful that he'd not been there when Castle Black had fallen to the Night King, but the losses there were still great. Lord Baratheon, Lord Commander Mormont, Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Daemon Sand, the Hound, and all of the rest of the lords, alchemists, and men at Castle Black remained unaccounted for and presumed dead.
The wall falling had left everyone numb and scrambling. Were it not for the dragons, the Night King would've walked over them already.
Although he'd grown up with the stories and the history of the Long Night baked into his lineage, he was still having difficulty fathoming that he was about to fight undead. It had been determined that as the Stark in Winterfell, he was needed in Winterfell to make plans and send out the ravens to orchestrate the plans. It chafed him. He was nearing his mid-twenties and he'd still yet to fight in a real battle apart from the single skirmish beyond the Wall. Lord Lannister promised me there'd be plenty of opportunities to fight, he thought bitterly. What did his lords think of him simply staying back in Winterfell by order of the king? He'd tried to argue with Aemon, but after the Wall had been attacked and the ravens had stopped coming, he'd been grateful that there was a second line of defense.
At first, he'd been terrified that the entire frontline had met a fate worse than death, but slowly, the ravens trickled in once more. By his estimate, forty thousand men had escaped the Wall, many of those from the western half. Only a few thousand men survived the slaughter that visited the eastern half, as far as he could tell. Those ravens were still trickling in. Bran also didn't have the time to track down stragglers as he used his warging to stay ahead of the Army of the Dead and the Night King. They quickly learned that the Army of the Dead wasn't necessarily where the Night King was located. He had a tendency to linger at a distance, sending his White Walkers forward to command his legions. And his White Walkers weren't all with him either. Bran had been forced to stretch himself thin trying to keep track of all of them as well.
Robb didn't envy his little brother for his gift. There had been times when Robb was sleeping and Grey Wind was awake that Robb saw through his own wolf's eyes. He knew now that it wasn't merely a dream. However, looking through Grey Wind's eyes here and there was enough for him.
His wolf was by his side now. Under normal circumstances, he was off prowling the forest in search of prey, but even he seemed to understand the events at work for he hovered around him, occasionally growling toward the mouth of the opening. Though the undead were still not visible, the direwolf had clearly caught their scent.
"They'll be here shortly," Robb called. "Find your positions!"
Ser Rodrik similarly boomed. "The army comes. Be at the ready! Remember your training!" He turned to Robb and in a much lower voice said, "I will be at your side the whole battle, my lord."
Robb grimaced. "Thank you, Ser Rodrik. But I'm hardly a boy."
"No amount of training can truly prepare you for a battle," the old knight rumbled. "I promised your father that I would always be at your side."
Robb turned away and swallowed. It'd been five years since his lord father had perished at the hands of Bolton. He'd done his best to tamp down his grief, but it nearly overwhelmed him at odd times. He often felt small and child-like, feeling as if he was merely playing at being lord. He straightened up and tipped his head. No matter what happened, he was going to make his father proud.
Men yelled and shouted at each other as they hustled, forming a column. Robb was at the front of it. He'd been waiting for this moment his whole life and he wasn't about to shy away from leading the charge against the undead.
One of their last duties in preparing the battlefield was shoveling out the feet and feet of snow that had fallen in all of the months previous. A fight would be impossible if they couldn't move for the snow that came up to their chests.
Robb hefted Ice and scowled at it. Jaime may have had a point, thinking back to the moment when Jaime had suggested that Ice be split in two. He'd been horrified and insulted by the idea. If Jaime had pushed the issue, Robb was certain he would've embarrassed himself by lobbing insults at him next. Margaery had soothed him. No one was quite able to calm him the way she was. He still felt it a sin to melt down the sword and wasn't certain he wouldn't have regrets about that, but he was currently regretting not commissioning one of the dragon steel swords that Lord Lannister had gotten.
It'd barely been two months since he'd sent her to Riverrun and he dearly missed Margaery and their children. Little Ned was a wiry boy, but despite his appearance, he was unruly and remarkably strong. Robb had started him early training the sword. Olenna was quite unlike her grandmother for the time being, which relieved Robb. She was sweet and bubbly, often giggling and squealing in the snow, or splashing in the hot springs. He wasn't sure if he could handle her sass otherwise. He was concerned as well that the older Lady Olenna would see fit to visit Margaery at Riverrun so that she could mold their children to her liking. Their third child, a son, Jon Stark, had been barely six months when Robb sent them away. While Ned had been a surprisingly somber baby, Jon was all smiles and laughter, rarely given to fits of crying. The castle was bereft without them.
An odd screeching sound broke Robb from his reverie and he shook his head. "They're here," he shouted. "Remember your training!" The men all dropped into fighting stances. Robb placed Ice onto his back and readied the dragonglass knife and shield. He'd had to do some training to familiarize himself with a knife. He liked the way the shield could be used to act as a barrier between him and the enemy.
They all saw the blue lights of the eyes first. Although they had deliberately filed them into the valley, Robb was still surprised by how thick the mass of bodies was walking toward them.
Wait, he thought. Just wait.
In another moment, the wights caught sight of them and raised their voices into another unholy screech and started sprinting toward them. As the throng surged, many of them impaled themselves upon the stakes as planned.
Robb braced himself as the first wight barreled toward him and then he deftly plunged his blade straight into his chest. He was almost surprised by how quickly the rib cage crumpled inward. But he had no time to marvel at it as another wight instantly took its place. He jabbed and slashed, pleased that he managed to fell a wight with every single swipe.
"Light the stakes!" Robb roared his order above the melee, hoping his voice would carry.
He heard a whooshing sound and cringed as he felt the blazing heat of the flames as they instantly caught. The wights caught on the stakes screamed and he thought he saw a few extra in the crowd catch due to proximity. He grinned, pleased.
His sense of accomplishment was short-lived as the man next to him cried out and was immediately silenced. Another man cried out as well. Then another. They hadn't been fighting for very long but the crush of undead simply kept coming. Despite Robb doing his best to hold his ground, he felt himself slipping as the weight on his shield pressed him. Ser Rodrik let out a shout as he cleaved two wights clean in two.
They'd brought a few catapults and carefully aimed and measured the trajectory to hit right near the mouth of the valley, far enough away from where the real fighting was taking place. Robb breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a flaming barrel pass over his head and burst open within the middle of the wights.
Though they'd whittled down the numbers quite well, Robb could feel his arms tiring. Aemon had warned him that this was essentially the Night King's strategy: wear down the enemy.
"Cover me," Robb ordered Ser Rodrik and he stepped back, fumbling with the horn slung around his chest. He raised it to his lips and blew. The sound was bright and Robb hoped that would be enough to carry over the wind. He blew in it again for good measure. He started as he heard Ser Rodrik make a pained cry and he turned his heart in his throat to see the old knight clutching at his side. Robb leaped forward, stabbing a wight through, but then he hissed as another tore open the layers of his clothes and he felt a sharp sting from both the blood and the wind as it hit his exposed skin.
He was beginning to wonder if the horn had worked when he heard a dragon roar above. Emerald green flames split the wights at the mouth of the valley in two, causing a great shriek to split the sky as they were burned alive.
Robb breathed after he cut down a wight and found the area lacking in enemies. He hurried over to down the remaining wights not caught in the fireblast and grinned. The fight had gone almost as perfectly as they'd planned. Their own losses were minimal while the Army of the Dead's were greater.
He returned to Ser Rodrik's side and grasped his arm. "You're wounded. We need to move you to the back."
"No, no, I can fight. I will fight," Ser Rodrik gasped.
"The best you can do now is to live to fight another day," Robb insisted. He lingered, looking toward the mouth of the valley. No matter how many undead they'd stopped, there'd always be more. He looked around him, seeing plenty of bodies with the familiar gray of Stark colors.
"No." Ser Rodrick stubbornly shook his head.
"Take any dragonglass you see. It can't help the fallen anymore!" Robb shouted, hurrying over to rifle through the snow, snatching up daggers where he found them. While dragonglass was plentiful, it had been decided that dragonglass arrowheads would be sparse. The more dragonglass, the more spear tips and arrowheads they'd be able to craft.
A roar from above caught his attention and he looked to the east to see black flame raining down on the side nearly behind them. But why … ? His eyes widened in realization. "They're coming! To the east. Look to the east!" he shouted, struggling to be heard over the whipping wind. Even with the blizzard, it was not able to mask the shining blue lights of the wights' eyes as they rushed out of the dark. Robb roared, his blood surging once more and he swiped again and again at the approaching wights. The dragon fire flared north; both roiling black and creamy grey smoke engulfed the area the army had just been standing. More screeching cries rent the night as the wights were consumed by the dragonfire. Robb appreciated the way the fire illuminated the snow and made the night more like day.
We're losing, Robb thought as he pushed back. We were never going to win. The effectiveness of their original plan had gotten the better of him and now he could see the bulk of the army were rushing through. Just as quickly as the flames were sprayed, they were dying under the onslaught of icy wind and lack of real fuel.
Robb made two quick jabs, taking down a wight with each one and then raised the horn to his lips and blew again. "Retreat!" he cried. "Retreat! Retreat! Fall back! Live to see another day!" He kept up the mantra as much as he could, walking backward and ending all the wights that came within arm's reach, even as it became painful to stab again and again.
"Lord Stark!" Robb turned to the voice and then felt something smash into his side. He crumpled to the ground and struggled against the wight that simply ran into him and was scrambling for his throat. With his knife hand pinned beneath him, he struggled to lift, but his muscles trembled from the exertion.
A mass passed over him. "Ser Rodrik," he called.
He scrambled to his feet. The master of arms had lost his own dragonglass knife and his hands scrambled for a purchase against the wight. Another wight fell upon.
Robb growled and scrambled over, stabbing almost indiscriminately.
"Ser Rodrik?" He turned his mentor over and found his eyes staring and lifeless.
Robb's insides clenched, but he forced himself to wrench away. There'd be time enough for mourning when the dead stayed dead.
He winced at the triple flames raining down from the dragons. They were doing their best to cover their retreat. The carpeting of flames was voluminous and Robb watched a pine tree nearby burst from the heat. He began to breathe easier again as the wights thinned out once more, halted by the veritable moat of fire that stood in their way on both sides.
"We march," Robb commanded, "back to Winterfell. We'll regroup there." It was a week-long march and with the wights marching both night and day, they were hard-pressed to keep a quick pace, even after a strenuous fight.
Though he ached from the loss of Ser Rodrik, Robb understood the importance of keeping up a strong front. He backslapped a young lad he recognized from training and said, "Well done! We've made a dent in the Army of the Dead. The Night King won't soon forget this." He gave a great guffaw of laughter, hoping it didn't sound as frail as he felt.
It was cut short as he heard an unearthly shriek. He turned his eyes to see one of the dragons blowing its flames into the air as it reeled back before it abruptly turned and flew off. Though the black dragon blended into the sky, they could still feel the rumble of its wings when it passed overhead in pursuit of the other dragon.
The men shied as the third dragon, flown by Aemon, landed nearby. "Robb!" Aemon shouted, hurriedly jumping from Rhaegal's back. Robb pushed through the crowd to reach him.
"Rhaellon was struck by something. Likely the Night King. I'll do my best to cover your retreat, but we can't let the Night King have a dragon," Aemon whispered urgently to him.
"Be safe … brother," Robb said.
Despite the situation, he felt warm at the way Aemon's eyes softened. "You too, brother," he replied, and then rushed back to Rhaegal. He once more took flight and after circling a few times to once more get a lay of the land, the dragon roared and swooped, emerald green flames spilling from its mouth as it weaved its fire into a barrier. Aemon then had the dragon deliberately uproot some trees and lay them across the road, creating an impassable, flaming barrier. He had Rhaegal once more spew green flame across the length of the ground, away from the battle and disappeared into the night.