Jon had arrived.
They saw a ship dock one morning and opened the gates to find that Jon was perfectly alive and well. Thyrsa had never seen Ser Jorah Mormont for obvious reasons, and was stunned to find his hair just as golden as her sisters' and mother's had been. She wondered how much he remembered about Saga. If he could tell her more stories.
"Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?" Tormund asked Ser Davos once Jon confirmed that he had not changed his mind about the raid beyond-the-Wall.
"I've been failing at that job of late," said Ser Davos.
Jon smiled, shaking his head as Thyrsa asked, "So, there are two Queens now and you are currently somewhat convincing one to help by going on this raid with the purpose of finding a way to convince the other one to help, too?"
He nodded. "Aye, sounds about right."
"Which is which?" said Tormund. "The one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?"
Gendry chuckled awkwardly. "The first is the Dragon Queen," said Jon, gesturing to Ser Jorah Mormont. "The second is Queen Cersei."
"The brother-fucker," reiterated Thyrsa.
"How many men did you bring?" said Tormund.
Jon looked around the table. "Not enough."
"We were hoping some of your men could help," said Ser Jorah.
"I'll be staying behind," said Ser Davos. "I'm a liability out there, as you well know."
"You are," said Tormund honestly. He leaned over to look Jon in the eyes, "You really want to go out there? Again?"
Jon remained serious. "Yes."
Tormund sighed. "Well, you're not the only ones. Come, I'll show you the prisoners."
As he led them down, he explained, "My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here."
The prisoners stirred, recognized by Jon. "You're the Hound," he told the man with the scarred face. "I saw you once at Winterfell."
The man sat up but only glared. "They want to go beyond-the-Wall, too," said Tormund.
"We don't want to go beyond-the-Wall, we have to," said Beric Dondarrion. "Our Lord told us the Great War is coming–"
"Don't trust him," said Gendry sharply. "Don't trust any of them." He leaned close to the bars. "The Brotherhood... the last thing their lord told them to do was sell me to a red witch to be murdered."
"Thoros?" said Jorah, noticing one of the men who leaned against the wall. "I hardly recognized you."
He tilted his head up. "Ser Jorah Mormont. They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself."
"Here we all are," muttered Beric, "at the edge of the world, at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason."
"Our reasons aren't your reasons," said Ser Davos bitterly, still upset with the followers of the Lord of Light for what'd happened to Shireen.
Beric snorted, "It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are." He got to his feet, "There's a greater purpose at work. And we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light–"
"For fuck's sake," interrupted the Hound, "will you shut your hole?" He looked at Jon, "Are we coming with you or not?"
"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" said Jorah.
"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell, waiting to die?" asked Thoros of Myr.
"He's right," said Jon. "We're all on the same side."
Gendry didn't seem to agree with this. "How can we be?"
Jon's jaw twitched. "We're all breathing." He took the keys from Tormund, unlocking the cell. "We go together. All of us."
They got one good night of sleep before they were roused early to go back into the wilderness, where the snowstorms raged and it was so white, they couldn't see anything in front of them.
"You all right?" Jon asked Gendry once they reached a hill where the winds subsided and the sun shone over them.
Gendry hummed in agreement. "Ever been north before?" asked Tormund.
"Never seen snow before," said Gendry.
Thyrsa laughed, surprised how marveled he was by it. "I suppose it is magical to someone who's never seen it. Those of us who were surrounded by it constantly... well, I suppose sand would have that effect on us."
Tormund made a face, as if the idea of sand was disgusting. "Down south, the air smells like pig shit. Sandy air..." he pretended to gag. "I can breathe again here."
"You've never been down south," said Jon.
"I've been to Winterfell!"
"That's the North..."
Tormund blew a raspberry. "How do you live up here?" asked Gendry. "How do you keep your balls from freezing off?"
"You got to keep moving," said Tormund. "That's the secret. Walking's good, fighting's better, fucking's best." He wiggled his eyebrows at Thyrsa.
"You are sorely mistaken if you think I'm dropping my trousers for you out here," said Thyrsa, nudging his ribs. "I'd have to watch you sit naked in the snow for a whole day without shivering to even consider it."
Gendry let out a snort, which Tormund didn't seem to appreciate. "Oi," he said, "she's being serious. I would do anything to please her, as any man should with a woman. Only reason I won't is because I don't want you fuckers interfering." He fake-whispered to Jon as if Gendry wasn't perfectly capable of hearing him, "This one's maybe not so smart."
Jon smirked as Gendry slowed down to complain to the Brotherhood Without Banners. "Davos says he's a strong fighter."
"Good," said Tormund. "That's more important than being smart. Smart people don't come up here looking for the dead."
"Jon must be the dullest man alive," said Thyrsa teasingly, ruffling Jon's hair. "But you must have been clever to some extent to survive the Dragon Queen."
"She'll only fight beside us if I bend the knee," said Jon honestly.
"You spent too much time with the Free Folk," said Tormund. "Now you don't like kneeling. Mance Rayder was a brave man. A proud man. The King-Beyond-the-Wall never bent the knee. How many of his people died for his pride?"
Thyrsa slowed down when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Jorah cleared his throat, "Lady Thyrsa. It is good to meet you."
"It is good to meet you, too," she said. "I heard some talk that you'd been infected with greyscale."
"I was," he said. "Samwell Tarly saved my life."
She smiled. "He's a good man. I admire Samwell very much."
"As do I. As I admired your mother for many years. Saga was a brilliant woman, an even better fighter. I traveled to Last Hearth and met each of you when she gave birth to you. I was fourteen when she had Smalljon, three-and-twenty when she had you. I fought beside her at the Trident."
"You did?" she asked. "Did you see what happened to her? No one knows. It's believed she fought Rhaegar himself. And in the end her body was beaten bloody, practically in pieces."
"She was trampled after her death, I believe," said Jorah. "I do know she led a group of men to the Prince. She wanted to be the one to deliver his head to Ned Stark. Whenever it is that she fell... she must have been stepped over by those who weren't done fighting. Perhaps Robert and Rhaegar, even as they fought. I didn't want to believe she was dead. She told me that she planned to carry the banner of victory back to Last Hearth and present it to all her children. She had such plans for all of you. The gods are taking care of her now, they've given her peace in the Eternal Forest. I was sad to hear that your father and siblings were killed in the Red Wedding. Such violent deaths."
"Yes," agreed Thyrsa. "My condolences for your father. Jon knew him well, he told me many stories about him."
Hearing his name, Jon looked over. "The first time I went north of the Wall was with your father," he told Jorah.
"He was a good man," said Jorah. "He deserved a better son. Were you with him at the end?"
"I was a prisoner of the wildlings. But we avenged him. I want you to know that. Every mutineer found justice."
"Can't think of a worse way for him to go," said Jorah sadly. "The Night's Watch was his life. He would have died to protect every one of these men. And they butchered him."
"I hate that he died that way," said Jon. "My father was the most honorable man I ever met. He was good all the way through. And he died on the executioner's block."
"Your father wanted to execute me, you know?"
Jon winced. "I heard."
"He was in the right, of course. Didn't make me hate him any less."
"I'm glad he didn't catch you," said Jon.
"Me, too," said Jorah.
Jon stopped, unclipping his sword from his belt. "Your father gave me this sword. Changed the pommel from a bear to a wolf... but it's still Longclaw." He offered it to Jorah. "Lord Commander Mormont thought you'd never come back to Westeros. But you are back, and it's been in your family for centuries. It's not right for me to have it."
Jorah's eyes watered. "He gave it to you."
"I'm not his son," said Jon softly.
Jorah unsheathed it. "I brought shame onto my house. I broke my father's heart. I forfeited the right to claim this sword." He placed it back in Jon's hands. "It's yours. May it serve you well, and your children after you."
They didn't stop to rest. They ate the food they brought while walking, switching who they were partnered up with and trying to maintain conversation. Tormund got to talking with the Hound while Thyrsa asked Gendry about what it'd been like to grow up in King's Landing.
All the men seemed eager to talk to her, the Brotherhood especially aware of who her parents had been and now, it seemed, aware of who she'd become. She was known throughout Westeros as the advisor of King Robb Stark and now advisor to King Jon Snow.
She was feared and revered by many, the only well-known survivor of the Red Wedding now that the Blackfish had been killed. Stories had been told about how she went beyond-the-Wall, how loyal she was to Jon Snow, how she killed Roose Bolton and avenged her family.
Se Rōvala Gryves. The Giant Bear. A fearsome combination from two unnaturally strong parents.
"Can you imagine it yet?" asked Tormund, reappearing beside her as he left the Hound behind, a sour expression permanently plastered on his face. "The war over, a settlement in the Gift. And our children, great big monsters that would conquer the world."
"You have quite an imagination," said Thyrsa playfully. "They'd be mighty but I don't know if I'd call them monsters."
"Aye, monsters. But not because they are cruel, rather, because they are massive. A load of giant's blood, a splash of bear. The Northerners and wildlings seem taller than all the Southern fuckers I've been seeing. The Vale men and this Brotherhood is unimpressive. Now, our children..." he put an arm around her. "I can see them already. Fierce and perfect. Your dark eyes and my ginger locks. Kissed by fire."
She giggled, "You've no way of knowing that they'll have your red hair."
"Maja and Munda have my hair. My sons had my hair. Our children will, too." He paused. "Do you want children with me?"
"I haven't given it all that much thought," she admitted. "As long as it is safe after the war... I want to have everything the world can offer. If I am able to have children, I will enjoy it. And if I can't, it's alright. I have two girls I will protect with my life. That is enough for me."
Tormund smiled, turning on his heel to end up in front of her and dipping down to kiss her. "All that matters is that you and my girls are safe. I will be happy with you three and only you three."
"If you've finished sucking each other's fucking faces off," said the Hound, pointing toward a distant mountain. "That's what I saw in the fire. A mountain like an arrowhead."
"Are you sure?" asked Thoros. The Hound nodded. "We're getting close."
Another storm came as the sun set. They held a rope to keep them all connected, one of Tormund's men up ahead trying to mark a path. Thyrsa could feel snow building over her eyelashes, face becoming painfully cold. Something about this wind wasn't right, wasn't normal. It wasn't like the wild winds she grew up with, no, this was magic, this was evil.
It reminded her of Hardhome.
"Look!" said Tormund, squinting and pointing.
"A bear," said Beric. "Big fucker."
"It saw us," said Thyrsa as it turned its massive head toward it.
Gendry grabbed onto Jon. "Do bears have blue eyes?"
The bear landed on top of the wildling ahead of them before they could react. He screeched in pain, ripped to shreds instantly, the bear's eyes indeed glowing blue and part of its flesh melted off.
It was a dead bear.
"Jon, no!" snapped Thyrsa when he tried to run up alone. She held him back, gripping the hilt of Oathkeeper. "Swords up– back to back!"
They unsheathed their swords, standing together and waiting for the bear to reemerge.
When it did, it launched itself at one of the men in the Brotherhood. Up close, the bear was terrifying. She'd never seen a bear, but she'd been told about how big they were. This was no normal bear. It wasn't the kind her mother had killed on Bear Island. It must have been three times the size her father had described to her, and it was filled with unbridled rage, with every intention of killing them.
They jumped away from it, Beric and Thoros's swords igniting mysteriously as they tried to surround the bear. Thyrsa made Jon back away as much as possible as Beric managed a strike after Tormund roared and beat his sword into the back of the bear's skull, disorienting it long enough for Beric to set the bear on fire.
But it didn't collapse immediately. It roared, rounding toward the Hound, who was paralyzed in fear. Thoros threw himself in front of him, leaving himself vulnerable. The bear bit down on the flaming sword, clawing and mauling at Thoros.
"Protect the King!" yelled Thyrsa before Gendry and Jorah could launch their own attacks. She leapt onto the bear's back, wrapping her swords under its neck and slitting its throat by pressing down as hard as she could. It recoiled, and would have thrown her off if she didn't let go of her other sword, reaching around to grab the blade of Oathkeeper and pulling it the rest of the way, until the bear collapsed, trapping her beneath it.
"Get her out of there!" snapped Tormund, unable to shove the bear off alone. Jon and Jorah helped him push until Thyrsa was able to be dragged out, the snow cushioning her fall but having made it hard to breathe.
"Is he alright?" she panted, looking down at Thoros. "Gods– oh gods." He didn't look okay. As the bear burned behind them, they dragged Thoros to where he could be examined.
"We have to get him back to Eastwatch," said Jorah immediately.
Thoros shook his head. "Flask." Beric opened it and pressed it to his lips, letting him drink as much as he wanted. Thoros relaxed, sighing, "Go on."
Beric lowered his flaming sword to cauterize the wounds, Thoros's screams so loud that the Hound turned away.
"You alright?" asked Beric.
"I just got bit by a dead bear," rasped Thoros.
"Aye, you did," said Beric.
Thoros chuckled. "Funny old life." He motioned for Gendry and Beric to help him up. "Right, then, we're off."
They limped on, hoping that they were still headed in the right direction. They judged it based off the bear's paw prints and the blood that'd been left behind by the murdered wildling.
"Now you've killed a bear too," said Tormund, using his sleeve to clean a splatter of blood off of Thyrsa's face. "Each time I believe I can't be more attracted to you, you prove me wrong."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "You flatter me too much."
"It isn't a fucking lie, trust me. Gets a man riled up in ways that the gods wouldn't even approve of."
"Do the gods even approve of lust?" teased Thyrsa. "Because you seem to be full of it. I'm surprised you didn't pounce on me when we were at Eastwatch."
He blushed. "For all the jokes, it's a bit harder to make it happen when it isn't just a quick fuck."
"I understand that. I've only done it once in the past and it wasn't difficult to get it done... because it meant nothing. Two friends exploring each other and nurturing their curiosities. But this... well, you don't intimidate me but I feel more motivated to please you."
"I'll be pleased no matter what," said Tormund. "I want to show you the wildling way. Where the woman's pleasure matters more than anything."
She wiggled her eyebrows. "Slick as a baby seal, aye?"
"Aye. But no more of that talk. Words are powerful. They elicit feelings."
"As if you could make me feel that way with words while we walk– like idiots– toward the dead."
He smirked. "I could respond to this challenge, but I don't want you weak at the knees here of all places. In front of these men."
"Alright..." she winked. "I look forward to our first moment alone after this war, then."
"As do I. That'll be a glorious day. I'll marry you when this war is over, Thyrsa Umber. Mark my words."
They didn't stop to sleep; it was too much of a risk. Tormund and Thyrsa led while the others hung onto the rope, not letting go until it was morning once more and light began to shine through the clouds, just enough to let them see the path in front of them. The winds slowed, but remained brittle and suspicious. Thyrsa knew the Army of the Dead wasn't far off.
Tormund held up his hand suddenly, motioning for them to stop. He and Thyrsa tiptoed up to the rocks, kneeling down and peering at the canyon below. There was a path being walked, a single file line of wights following a White Walker.
"That's such a small group," muttered Thyrsa.
"Where's the rest of them?" asked Jon.
"If we wait long enough, we'll find out," said Tormund.
They stood, creeping down the mountain toward the lake that the White Walker was most likely leading the wights to. What that meant, they didn't know. Once ahead, they hid behind the rocks, keeping themselves out of view until it was time to strike.
When the White Walker stopped at the edge of the water, they burst out, catching them by surprise. There were so few wights, it wouldn't be too hard to best them all. Thyrsa leapt with both swords, Oathkeeper serving her well and cutting the wights without a problem. At Hardhome, every wight she killed popped back up, but not these. Not this time.
She rushed to aid Jorah when she saw one of the wights had caught him by the throat. She cut its legs out from under it, then stabbed it in the chest as soon as it let Jorah go. "Duck!" she called, pulling him down and swiping at one that scrambled toward them, reducing it to pieces at her feet.
Jon was locked in combat with the White Walker, and with a mighty yell, cut him in half with Longclaw. Suddenly, almost all of the living wights burst into dust along with him, a strange chain reaction.
There was only wight remaining, perhaps not magically linked to this White Walker. They crowded over him, subduing him and covering his mouth to try and keep him from screaming. Thyrsa removed her gloves, shoving them into its mouth. Jorah then used his knapsack to cover its head, making sure it could no longer see them.
"Do you hear that?" said Jon quietly.
They looked up at the path the wights had come down, a strange thundering echoing toward them. In the distance, they could see movement, dark mangled shapes making their way toward them.
"Oh, fuck," said Tormund.
"Run back to Eastwatch," said Jon to Gendry. "Get a raven to Daenerys, tell her what's happened."
"I'm not leaving you!" said Gendry.
"You're the fastest! Go, now!"
"You're faster without the hammer!" said Tormund, eager to use Gendry's weapon. "Give it– give it!"
Gendry relented, letting go and starting to run. He might make it before nightfall, if they could survive that long. They had traveled slowly because of the constant storms and had reached the army much sooner than they expected. Eastwatch shouldn't be too far.
But the raven would take time to reach Dragonstone. It would take time for Daenerys to send help.
Fuck. They should have told Gendry to send a raven to Winterfell, too. Hopefully he'd think to do it.
They started to run away from the flood of wights, the canyon widening onto a frozen lake. "STOP!" roared Jorah when he heard the ice cracking under them.
"One at a time, go!" said Thyrsa, pointing at a small island ahead. "Fast, wide steps! Light on your toes. Beric, go. Now Jon–"
The wights were getting there too fast. There was no point in going one at a time; they had to sprint all at once. The last of the Brotherhood men that had come with them was caught by a wight, the flood of them overwhelming him.
The ice broke beneath their feet, the wights unable to approach further. Jon stood at the center of the island, the others around him. If they could survive here without the wights getting closer... maybe they stood a chance.
"No movement," muttered Thyrsa as the Hound threw down the captured wight he'd been carrying on his back. "Gendry will bring help. We're going to be just fine."
"I never should have asked you to come," said Jon as she sat at his feet. "If you die out here..."
"I go where you go," she said firmly. "I am not losing another brother. I am not losing another King. If we die, we all die together, do you hear me?"
He smiled weakly. "I must seem very stupid now."
"Aye," said Tormund; no sense in sugar-coating it. "You do. But so are we."