Ursa Major | Tormund Giantsbane

Chapter 18

Thyrsa wasn't sure how long they were there.

A storm descended over them hours after they were trapped, huddled together and trying to stay warm. Tormund had Thyrsa sitting between his legs, arms wrapped around her. Thyrsa was massaging Jon's stiff hands to keep her own from freezing over. Thoros was quiet, very quiet, while Beric and the Hound shivered and tried to pretend they were as unbothered as Jorah, who seemed to be the only one who could really meditate and pretend all was well when it certainly wasn't.

When the storm cleared, the army was still there. Thyrsa had slept only in intervals, so exhausted but unable to fully relax. As the sun rose again, they stood to stretch their legs. Thoros did not join them.

"Thoros?" said Beric, tapping him. He was frozen on the ground, eyes wide open. "Thoros..."

Thyrsa sighed sadly as Beric pulled Thoros's cloak over his head. The Hound knelt beside him, "They say it's one of the better ways to go."

Beric smiled grimly. The Hound removed the flask from Thoros's hip, taking a swig and passing it around as Beric called, "Lord of Light, show us the way. Come to us in our darkness and lead Your servant into the light."

"We have to burn his body," said Jon, stopping the drinking chain. He poured the rest of the alcohol over Thoros's body.

Tormund hummed. "We'll all be close behind him unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire."

Beric unsheathed Thoros's sword, lighting it on fire by sliding his hand from the hilt to the point. It made no sense why it worked, but it chilled Thyrsa as much as when Melisandre had managed to resurrect Jon.

Why did some things happen? She supposed they might never know.

He lowered the sword, "Lord of Light, come to us in our darkness, for the night is dark and full of terrors." He set Thoros on fire, letting his body burn and stepping off to the side to be alone.

"We'll all freeze soon," said Jorah. "And so will the water." Jon nodded, knowing what that would mean. "When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?"

"Maybe he was the one who turned them," said Jon.

"We can go for the Walkers," said Jorah.

"If we can make it past the wights," said Thyrsa. "When the war comes, we will target the Walkers."

"If we ever get out of here," muttered Jorah.

"We will," said Jon, nodding to the captured wight flopping around like a worm. "We need to take that thing back with us. There's a raven flying to Dragonstone by now–" (they didn't know if it was true but they had to believe it), "Daenerys is our only chance."

"No, there's another," said Beric, pointing up at the ridge, where the Night King was now visible, surrounded by his White Walkers. "Kill him. He turned them all."

"You don't understand," said Jon.

"The Lord brought you back," said Beric. "He brought me back. No one else, just us. Did He do it to watch us freeze to death?"

"Careful Beric," said the Hound. "You lost your priest. This is your last life."

"I've been waiting for the end for a long time," said Beric. "Maybe the Lord brought me here to find it."

The Hound snorted. "Every lord I've ever met's been a cunt. Don't see why the Lord of Light should be any different." He grabbed a stone off the snowy ground and tossed it angrily at the ice.

"Stop that," said Thyrsa. "You'll drive us mad."

He listened the first time. When nightfall came, he started picking at the boulder behind them with his axe. The scraping was so horrid that Thyrsa covered her ears and made faces. As the sun, barely visible, rose again, they saw the wights were still there. Watching. Waiting.