The war is upon you now. In your life. Your home. Your people dying out there. Of course it's not the main war, just one of the many battles that will lead to it. The clashing of metal and high pitched screams of dying men reach your ears, taunting you. The same fate awaits you. Awaits. You hate that word. Await. It makes it sound like you're just patiently sitting for death to reach you.
You were told to wait here by Sandor.
He means so much to you, but you should be with him.
You should be there. You take one look out the window to see hords of white walkers disintegrating as they come into contact with dragon glass. The screech of a dragon echoes in the distance as you see fire catch a crowd of the dead men.
You must be there.
You quickly grab your bag of dragon glass tipped arrows along with your fur. The onyx tipped weapon gleams in the fire-lit view, and you break into a sprint to line outside. You have about fifty arrows, Jon knew how good of a shot you are, and wanted you on front lines; however, Sandor had different ideas.
-
"Stay here!" He yelled earlier, voice rising in anger and dominance as he turns his back to you.
"No I'm going with you!" You pleaded, grabbing on to his fur vest as he whipped around to face you.
"No! Stay here or I'll kill you when I come back!"
You are momentarily stunned which allows the soft fur to slip from your fingers.
"And what if you don't come back?!?" You angrily scream as you hold him close to you.
"I'm coming back, ya stubborn wench." He expertly soothes as he places a kiss on your forehead before turning around to leave. He quickly shut the door to avoid more of your pleading- after all, he had a job to do.
But so do you.
-
You open the wooden door of the tower to feel a rush of freezing wind bite your exposed cheeks. You close your eyes quickly as they water, adjusting to the new weather.
You feel the initial iciness of their presence, and run to the back of the lines as you grab your bow and nock an arrow into place. Your boots make a crunch sound as they collide with the frozen earth. You sprint upwards until you can see remnants of bones and ice from fallen dead soldiers. As the snow begins to show dark red patches, you know you've found a perfect place to locate a target.
You look into the distance and see one of the leaders of the dead army. He is sitting atop a white horse, horrifically donning a broken skull of a face along with patches of bone showing on his body.
You need to get closer if you want a better shot.
Just as you grab your quiver and begin to run forward, you see podrick slash a white walker with his sword, effectively killing it. Bronn is right behind him, obviously helping to keep him alive.
"Pod! Bronn!" You call out, grabbing their attention as they look to you in confusion.
"What are you doing here?" Podrick yells, concerned as he runs to grab your shoulders and shake them aggressively.
Bronn soon follows and tries to bring you to your senses.
"You can't be here! The Hound will k-"
"No time to explain. Cover me! I need to get closer!" You cry out as you run forward.
They both break out running to follow.
"Closer to where?" Bronn asks curiously, panting beside you. He quickly draws his sword and kills a white walker that ran from the right as you continue running full speed towards the line.
You can begin to see the outlines of three very tall figures in the distance, and you immediately know they are Tormund, Brienne, and Sandor.
You look over to Bronn and nod upwards to the leader fighting the front line.
"Closer to him." You exhale quickly, your breath now a mist. By now the figures are identifiable individually, and you can see they are is some trouble.
You notice a white walker beginning to sneak up on Tormund and you immediately load an arrow. You release it to watch it hit its target as the dead disintegrates, releasing a high pitched wail as it crumples. The arrow sits only a few yards from you now.
As you run and lean down to retrieve it, you feel a heavy weight knock you down as you hear a screech above you. You turn your face to see a skeleton, clawing at your skin. It has no weapon, but you can feel your skin tearing open and the blood running down your arms, chest, and neck. It violently opens and closes its mouth with high pitched noises, and you release a terrified yell.
You can hear your name being yelled, riddled with confusion in the distance, but you have little time to think about that as you grab the arrow lying on the ground and jab it into the heart of it. It immediately crumbles and you roll to your side, blood running aggressively around you as you grab intuitively at your neck. There is a gaping wound, but no arteries have been severed.
You're alive. You're fine.
You feel Podrick and Bronn approach you concerned before you can even register what has happened.
"I'm ok! I'm ok! Sorry, I went too far ahead!" You manage to get out before being helped back up. You begin stumbling in the snow until you trip and fall once again into the the icy fluff.
You feel a pair of hands grab you and assume it's either podrick or Bronn.
"I'm ok! I told you! Just get me closer I can do it!" You shout, looking at the ground to gather your bearings before you look up.
What you see is not what you expected.
Sandor stands above you, arms protectively grabbing you, blood splattered all over his face making him nearly unrecognizable. You feel yourself being lifted into the air by your fur, and you're off the ground before you can even blink. He's holding you just above ground, the fur meanly rubbing your wound causing it to bleed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?!? I told you to stay back?" He angrily yells.
You desperately hit his hand with all your fury, telling him to let you down and he does. Your hands immediately grab your throbbing neck, where the red liquid is spewing. He automatically notices your futile attempts to hide your injury, and your blood laced fingers claw desperately to stop the rush of liquid.
"What the fuck did you do?" He barks, hair flying every which way as he looks at you with anger.
"White walker. Wanted to help." You gently speak as you hold your throat tight.
"You need to get back. You don't k-"
"Need to help. I can kill him." You cry out.
"Kill who?"
Your bloodied hand points to the leader on horseback and he sighs to himself.
You bring yourself to your feet as you look over to see the leader distracted.
"Sandor, I can do this." You confidently state as you look into his eyes.
He looks to the leader as he swallows a lump in his throat, before sighing deeply.
"I thought the white walkers were going to kill me..." he begins sadly.
"You're alright though! We're alright!" You explain happily.
"But I think you're going to finish me off." He smirks with a hint of sarcasm as you gently hit his shoulder.
"Come on, I need to get him." You look to him with genuine hope and faith in yourself; as he recognizes it, you can see him visibly exhale as he shakes his head, eyes cast downward.
"You better fucking aim it right." He motions for you to follow him as he begins cutting down the line of dead men for you.
You follow closely as you hear the squealing of the white walkers in whatever agony they can feel. Your breath hitches as you hear Sandor release a grunt of pain. You look to see his shoulder bleeding as he bites his bottom lip to keep from crying out.
As you look to see the night leader, you notice he is only a few hundred feet away: perfect.
You try to find the perfect aim from behind Sandor, and see nothing except obstacles.
You must somehow get better aim.
Before you can process what you're doing, you're climbing into his back, and reaching to his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his neck, and sit down so that you can see exactly what he can see.
"The fuck are you doing?!?" He loudly shouts to try to dissuade you from what you are going to do.
You struggle to keep your balance as you can feel him fighting the dead. Every swing and counter will affect your shot, so you must use expert care.
You bring your bow behind your back as you nock an arrow into place. You squint your eye desperately, trying to get the most accurate shot possible. You inhale deeply as you align the arrow with his heart, string pulled far back to lodge it deeply.
"Just hold... still." You whisper to yourself more than Sandor, trying to drown out everything around you. No screaming, no cries, nothing.
Before you know it, a flash of silver crosses your line of sight and you can feel a sharp pain on your cheek. A rush of liquid caresses your left cheekbone, and you immediately loosen the grip on your weapon for your hand to assess your face. Lifting back your palm, you see a puddle of maroon stickiness in your hand. It drips from your fingertips down below onto Sandor, who is momentarily not fighting anything. He flinched from the sudden contact and places his own hand to his face, looking confused at the droplets of blood; however, he soon looks up at you in a look of fear and concern.
"What ha-"
Before he can finish his sentence, you feel a stabbing pain in your left shoulder as you feel yourself knocked backwards. The force is strong enough to push you off Sandor's shoulders, sending you careening backwards with a whimper. You feel yourself held by your legs as rivulets if blood run up your face, now following the odd pattern of being upside down. He quickly lays you down and you notice some of the others have moved to his spot and are holding off walkers for him to assess you.
"Are you alright? Fuck, I'm going to kill these cunts. I swear to the gods I'm going to fucking kill all of them!" He shouts as he brings his hand to your face.
You smirk and exhale sharply, trying to focus on his concern, and not the intense pain permeating through your whole body. You look to your shoulder to see a small knife sticking from it. It's wooden handle is visible along with about an inch of blade.
It must have been the leader's guards, the men standing beside him.
You have to pull it out to continue.
You bring your right hand over and grit your teeth as you grip the knife tightly in your sweating palms. Releasing a scream, you pull backwards with the knife and free it from your muscles. With a cry of relief and tears running from your face, you grab the knife and put it on your belt.
"I can use that later..." you state with a pain glazed laugh.
He looks at you with a sense of amazement and he strokes your hair.
"Now, I need you to get back up so I can aim again. I was so close before one of those fu-"
"You really think I'm gonna fucking let you back up there again?"
"They didn't get my pulling arm, I'm ok! I need to do this!"
"You need to go back to th-"
"I need this, Sandor, please." You look at him with a desperation he has not seen before, and he knows the severity of your words.
That's all it takes.
He looks into your eyes and sees the same determination that made him fall for you from the start.
He nods, not liking the idea whatsoever, but he knows you'll find a way regardless; at least he'll be included in the plan you have so he has some control over your protection.
You look to see the leader has moved slightly closer to you.
Wincing as you climb his back again, he helps hoist you up as you grunt, taking your place. You grab the bow in your left hand, gripping and releasing the handle for a second before bringing it towards you. You once again nick an arrow, but take in everything around you this time. Friends and loved ones are crying out all around you. The screaming of dying men fills your ears and heart with dread. For a soft moment there is only the whistle of the harsh, unrelenting wind in your ears. You feel the blood on your cheek clotting and freezing on your face, and you hear your heart drumming in your chest as you bring the arrow to it. The breeze bites your already bleeding lips, chapped from winter. A single tear falls from your dry eyes.
You aim directly for the leader's heart and close your eyes, gathering your concentration. Just as you open them, you release your arrow, sending it flying in the breeze. You can hear your exhale piercing the wind, and look into the eyes of the leader. You must have now just caught his attention, he probably thought you were dead. You are certainly taller than most of the soldiers, but probably less threatening to most of them. His blue eyes catch yours and you smile as you see your arrow soar. He looks at your expression in confusion until he feels the dragonglass enter his heart. He grasps desperately at his chest before turning into ice and breaking into small pieces, disintegrating into the breeze on his horse.
Suddenly, the army of dead pauses. They hold whatever pose they had once been in, and then disintegrate. Every last one of them completely pulverized and helpless, they float away in the wind.
Your own men freeze in confusion.
You look around you to see Tormund looking towards you with an expression you cannot fathom. Brienne is running to check on a winded Podrick, while Bronn looks towards the rest of the men. They are all panting heavily in their armor, looking directly at you.
You didn't notice how heavily you breathe until Sandor asks if you are alright. Breaking you from your trance, he gently taps your foot as you immediately grab your shoulder. You didn't notice the pain until now. You didn't know how dizzy you felt until now, actually.
You feel yourself begin to sway as you hear the order to burn the dead. Before Sandor can speak another word, your vision blurs and you feel nothing.
-
You wake to find yourself feeling overwhelmed, not only mentally but physically. You have a large weight on your chest and you feel like you cannot breathe. You release a desperate gasp for air as you fumble for whatever is on you.
"Whoa there, it's just blankets!" You hear a familiar voice warm as your erratic heart beat begins to relax at the sound of the voice.
Sandor enters your field of vision as he gently moves a blankets away from your face. He folds it over as he readjusts your sheets as well.
"See? They won't kill ya now will they?" He smirks as he looks to you in affirmation and play.
"What happened?" You question groggily, rubbing your eyes with your sweaty, balled up fists.
"Ya fuckin did it. Ya killed the bastard." He nonchalantly explains with a grin.
You smile silently to yourself as you think back to the battle. You did it. Although you fired the shot, you know there is more work to do.
"We still have more to kill." You apathetically state before he nods his head in agreement.
"Yeah, more, but less thanks to you almost getting yourself fucking killed." He replies with a smirk.
"I would have died if he got past you anyways, I might as well help." You shrug your shoulders.
He exhales deeply as he takes a seat on the bed next to you, raising his hand to stroke your hair, small strands sticking to your forehead.
"I can't lose you." He confesses. You look to see sadness in his eyes.
"And you won't." You assure, raising your hand to caress his arm.
"Where we you go, I go."
"I know, that's why I fucking followed you out there."
At this, he releases a hearty laugh and wraps his arm around you protectively.
This may not be the last battle. You know there will be hard times ahead. Loved ones will be lost, but you know you can carry on with him at your side.
