Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 139: The Wight Hunt (Part 3)

―Beyond the Wall―

Jon, Jaehaegon, Jorah, Olyvar, Mya, Mance and Tormund were still stranded on the large stone island in the middle of a frozen lake fighting for their very lives. The massive Army of the Dead had still surrounded them on all sides, each one taking precautionary steps due to the ice cracking beneath their undead feet. Nearly every wight snarled, screeched and stared at their primary targets; high upon a nearby slope, the Night King and three of his White Walker lieutenants dismounted their undead horses—looking at the expedition team with curiosity and interest in their glowing icy blue eyes.

"We need to take that thing back with us," Jaehaegon referred to their captive wight.

"How?! In case you hadn't noticed, there's a big fucking undead army blocking our path!" Olyvar hollered, still roiling in fear at the sight of the enemy.

Jon noticed the slight dysfunction. Not good. Olyvar's got it really bad, he's in a panicked state. They've never seen what Mance, Tormund and I have seen before. No one has. We have to find a way out of here and fast before we freeze to death if the dead don't kill us first... Gripping Longclaw in his hands, the White Wolf recognized the Night King staring directly at him.

"Is that...?" Jorah motioned.

Mance and Tormund nodded. "Aye. It's the Night King himself," they confirmed.

"And he leads them all?" asked Mya.

"Aye."

"He made them all. They follow his command. If one White Walker made a dozen of them," Mance points to the wights, "then the Night King—"

"—If we take him out, the rest will follow. Getting to him may be our best chance to prevent another Long Night from coming back," Jon finished.

"*SNARLS!*"

"Here they come!" Jaehaegon exclaimed, longsword at the ready.

On que, one-by-one the wights began rushing their way forward through the cracking ice; but with each undead that fell through, more piled over the other to steadily close the gap. The expedition team immediately encircled each other defensively as more undead soldiers got closer and closer.

"Ah fuck it!" Tormund grunted.

"Yah!"

Longswords and dragonglass daggers unsheathed, the party slashed and hacked their way at their attackers with every ounce of adrenaline they have. Jaehaegon swung his blade around and chopped a wight in half; Jon thrusted Longclaw into the chest cavity of another while Jorah stabbed one in its eye socket; Mya used her twin ice picks to swish and slash at more wights that encroached on her position, her left flank guarded by Tormund who swung his two-handed battle axe to cleave more in half by the collarbone and Mance shoved off a few before pummeling them with the back of his handle. Olyvar, despite his fears, fought like a madman in a desperate fight for survival.

One of the wights Jaehaegon knocked down got back up to its feet and charged once more. The Velaryon noticed several cracks forming on the ice beneath them, picked up a stone and slammed it hard onto the surface that it caused the upper layer to shatter—causing the charging wight to fall into the icy water. Still, it did not matter; panning a 360-degree angle, the Army of the Dead was still converging on all sides. The captive wight still squirmed, snarling and hissing at its bindings. Olyvar and Jaehaegon repelled more wights, but they were slowly becoming exhausted.

"They just keep coming!" Jaehaegon shouted with exasperation, decapitating an undead soldier.

Olyvar slashed another wight before it got too close. "I know! There's too many of them!" he yelled.