Nothing Burns Like The Cold (Game of Thrones fanfiction)

Jon IV

Chapter Seven - Jon IV

It was cold, beyond cold. An endless sea of brilliant blue eyes stared back at Jon from the dim twilight of the long night. Scanning his companions, Jon could see the same look he once wore at Hardhome; a bitter duality of disbelief and truth. This was his waking nightmare, the Night King's sorcery keeping them all in a clouded, deep chill that wouldn't subside as he sat on his high horse watching them from a cliff. They were gratefully stranded for the moment, their refuge was a rocky outcropping in the middle of a once frozen lake, now a broken and cracked moat keeping the undead at bay. Soon the lake will freeze over... He looked at his men again, knowing that he had doomed their fates over this mission, again. I am no leader if I keep putting the people who trust me in harm's way. Jon painfully sighed in defeat.

Every strained breath was capped with the knifing side pain of bruised, maybe cracked ribs. The wight polar bear's heavy swipe sent Jon soaring through mid-air, landing hard enough to almost knock him unconscious. He felt the pain in his chest immediately, but there was no time for that. After Jorah's dragonglass dagger took the beast down, they mourned the loss of 3 men with Thoros being badly injured. As the bear died its final death, the swirl of snow and ice around them had begun to die down as well, submitting in languished defeat. Just like Hardhome, the magic within the storm, Jon thought as they had tended to Thoros' wounds and set fire to their fallen companions. They set off in the path of the bear, closer to death and the white walkers he had feared to see again.

No one could have anticipated that the Army of the Dead were within a day's journey from the Wall. Panicked, Jon had sent Gendry running back to warn the Night's Watch with the hope that Daenerys would come to their rescue, a decision he sorely regretted. As much as he wanted this mission to succeed for the survival of the North, he couldn't fathom putting Daenerys in harm's way, no matter how much of a fierce conqueror she is. Deep down, Jon knew that she was their last hope for survival. So damn conflicted at every turn. Without her, we die and the North falls. With her, she might die trying to save us and the mission fails. Jon angrily shook his head to himself, this constant confusion tainting his sense of reason, nothing felt safe anymore - decisions, feelings, or otherwise. I guess it's best to embrace the chaos of it all as if his current vantage point of the world didn't show Jon the exacting face of chaos and death itself. Despite their current predicament, while standing here on this frozen rock, Jon had plenty of time to assess the threat in ways he never before considered.

Jon knew their strengths; It had to be magic or maybe was it the power of the old gods? If Old Nan was to be believed, it has been 8000 years since the Long Night, a time when the First Men were still carving runes on stones. How can anyone know the truth of it? If anyone could find out, it would be Sam. He had access to the biggest library in the world at the Citadel, knowledge as far back as recorded history itself. Let's hope he's reading night and day, Jon prayed. He wasn't sure how his ancestors had won the War for the Dawn against such overwhelming odds. Maybe they didn't win, he feared, the cold air punctuating his wounds with each shaky breath. Jon knew there was much more to these vicious, ice beings than meets the eye.

Intelligent, vicious beings, truth be told. Despite the chaos, the army of the dead controlled by the Night King, weren't mindless creatures. They tactically surrounded the lake immediately after Jon and his crew reached the island rock, keeping watch ever since. He remembered Hardhome, the cloud of magic and ice that suffocated the encampment, leaving those behind the fortress wall untouched, why? Why didn't the Night King use that same magic again on them now, kill them and end this waiting game? Waiting...maybe they're waiting for something. Jon shivered fiercely, fear and uncertainty gripping him tightly. These beings were calculating, knowledgeable, and strategic. They weren't the mindless killing machines he initially thought they were, there was a purpose behind their actions. That's the truth we need to find out, Jon surmised.