Ursa Major | Tormund Giantsbane

Chapter 18

The Hound threw another rock. He threw it so far, it hit one of the wights in the face.

"Dumb cunt," he muttered.

"Stop it," said Thyrsa, frustrated.

He ignored her and threw another. This one didn't make it far enough. It landed on the ice, skidding across it without making a single dent.

The ice didn't break.

They all tensed when they realized what this meant. "Oh, fuck," said the Hound as one of the wights bean to walk bravely over the ice, its sword scraping over it and making a high-pitched scratching sound that altered the other wights that the ice was thick enough for them to walk on without worrying that they'd fall into the icy water below.

"If they don't kill you for this, I will, you idiot," said Thyrsa angrily as they unsheathed their swords, preparing for the next attack.

They were starved and tired and in no condition to fight. Still, they had no choice. They tried their best to stay on the small island in case the ice began to break, but there was only so much that could help when the wights were swarming over to them from every direction.

The Hound resorted to breaking holes in the ice to drown some, Thyrsa and Jon tried to slash madly to incapacitate as many as possible. Beric's flaming sword was the only thing keeping Jorah and Tormund from losing their regular weapons to the wights.

"We're gonna die here," said Thyrsa angrily to Jorah as the swarm grew so large that the ice wasn't even visible anymore. "Gods– we're gonna die here! Here of all places! And we're going to turn into ugly, useless fucking wights–"

She froze when she heard Tormund's agonized scream. "Tormund?!" she shrieked, not seeing him anywhere. "Tormund– TORMUND!"

"GET THEM OFF OF ME!" he yelled, his body being dragged off of the little island and toward the ice. No matter how he kicked and punched, he couldn't get them off.

"TORMUND!" She started to run, cutting and clearing a path for herself. She sliced the heads off of every wight she saw that was clinging to him, forming an awful pile meant to suffocate him. "Get off of him– for fuck's sake, get off!"

As soon as she saw his hand, she pulled him off, shielding him with her body and kicking the wights off of the island so they could pile on top of each other instead.

"Are you alright?" she asked frantically when she saw he was bleeding.

"I'm alive," he promised, pulling her away from the edge. His arms were shaking and so were hers; they were starved. The work she had put in to build up her strength didn't matter in this moment. Thyrsa's arms were weak without food and water. Surely she'd collapse. Surely a wight would drag her into the pile and–

A column of fire exploded over their heads. Tormund and Thyrsa barely managed to pull Jon down to keep it from burning his cloak. Three distinct roars sounded, a sound so powerful that Thyrsa felt vibrations throughout her entire body. She stared up in awe as dragons began to circle overhead, incinerating every wight that had been trying to grab them with ease. On top of the largest, a winged shadow that resembled the drawings she saw of Balerion the Black Dread, was a woman with white-blonde hair.

"Dracarys!" she heard Daenerys Targaryen screaming before she landed, the ice having broken open from the sheer force of the fire and drowning whatever wight didn't outright burn.

"She came," said Jon in disbelief. "She... she came."

Daenerys had her dragon flatten himself to the ground, offering her hand to Jon. "Get on, quick!" she yelled.