The journey back was thick with dread.
Every soldier's nerves stretched taut. Weapons drawn, ready.
They knew they'd provoked an unimaginable enemy.
They'd destroyed the altar. Stolen the "relic."
The dead won't let this go.
And the dragon egg was too important to lose.
They had to be twice as careful.
Lynn rode with the egg clutched tight in thick furs.
He felt it clearly—a cold, malicious gaze trailing them.
From the north. From the endless dark.
The Night King is watching.
Waiting for an opening.
"Lord, scouts found traces."
Jason rode up beside Lynn, voice low.
"Something's following us."
"What?"
"Don't know."
Jason shook his head, uneasy.
"It's cautious. Never gets close."
"When we approach, it retreats immediately."
"And the tracks in the snow are strange. Like... weightless. Intermittent."
Lynn's heart sank. But he wasn't afraid.
"Pass the order."
His voice—terrifyingly calm.
"Everyone, pick up the pace."
"Before nightfall, find defensible ground to camp."
"And gather wood. The bigger the fires, the better."
"Yes, Lord!"
The column surged forward.
Hooves kicked up snow.
The oppressive atmosphere suffocated them.
Like sheep fleeing wolves—desperate to reach a pen that seemed impossibly far.
Night fell.
The expedition made camp in a narrow ravine backed by cliffs.
Three sides surrounded by rock. One exit. Perfect defensive terrain.
The Night King's army is far to the north. They can't reach us. Whatever dead things we face won't be many.
Dozens of bonfires blazed, lighting the ravine like daylight.
The soldiers didn't rest.
Under Lynn's command, they erected barricades and spike traps at the only exit.
Piled dry wood on both sides.
Lit it with flint.
Everything proceeded with precision.
Lynn stood at the center of camp, egg still in his arms.
He felt it—the pulse inside stronger than before.
It's absorbing my body heat. The heat from the fires.
It's growing.
But hatching this little thing would be a nightmare.
Blood of wisdom—easy. Grab any maester from the Citadel. If a common one won't work, pick one with prestige.
Blood of power—harder. Jon and Aemon are allies. That leaves Robert or Joffrey.
As for dragonblood...
Bloodline strength is key. Not every Targaryen qualifies.
Especially Jon—diluted blood. And Aemon's an ally. I can't touch him.
That leaves Viserys.
To hatch this dragon, I'll have to cross the Narrow Sea and find the Beggar King.
Maybe I'll need what Daenerys carries...
Either way, I'm going to find them both. And while I'm at it, steal Dany from Viserys.
That way I can work with the three eggs Illyrio gives her too. Efficient.
And if I can't control the dragon—Dany can help.
But if Dany doesn't marry the Khal, Illyrio won't give her the eggs. Tricky...
Lynn calculated silently.
"Lord, we're ready."
Torren's voice broke his thoughts.
He approached, tense.
Lynn nodded.
He stared into the deep darkness beyond the ravine.
"They're coming."
The moment he spoke—
The darkness thickened.
The wind stopped.
The snow stopped.
A suffocating silence blanketed the world.
Dozens of roaring bonfires flickered unnaturally. Their light dimmed.
The temperature plummeted at an unnatural speed.
The soldiers' breath froze to frost instantly.
"They're here..."
Jason's teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold.
Everyone gripped their weapons. Hearts pounding. Eyes locked on the ravine's only entrance.
No roar of thousands of wights.
Only silence.
Then—a figure emerged from the darkness.
Tall. Elegant. Like a sculpture carved from ice crystal.
Skin pale as eternal ice, glowing faint blue.
Its armor—ancient in design—shimmered strangely in the dim firelight, as if breathing.
Most striking—its eyes.
Eyes burning with blue flame.
No emotion. Only contempt and hatred for all life.
A White Walker.
Not the slow, rotting wights. Not skeletal husks.
But a true master of the Long Night.
Transformed by the Night King himself.
"Gods..."
A young ranger groaned in despair.
Fear spread like plague.
What stood before them exceeded comprehension.
But despite their terror, every man gripped his weapon. No one retreated.
The White Walker ignored their panic.
Ice spear in hand, it walked forward with elegant, unhurried steps.
"Loose!"
Torren reacted first, roaring hoarsely.
Flaming arrows streaked through the night toward the intruder.
Then—something strange happened.
The flames extinguished before the arrows reached the Walker.
The arrows struck its body—and left no mark.
It's immune to ordinary weapons.
Its magic extinguishes normal fire.
The Walker didn't stop.
It reached the traps.
Raised both hands casually.
A visible wave of cold swept out.
The barricades and iron spikes froze solid.
Then—CRACK—shattered into glittering ice shards.
The defenses were paper before it.
"For the Lord!!"
"For the North!!"
A bearded guard roared like a beast, raised his axe, and charged.
Courage overcame fear.
The Walker's face twisted into something like mockery.
It raised its ice spear slowly.
CLANG!
The guard's axe met the ice spear.
No sparks.
The steel axe—forged from fine metal—spread with ice-blue veins the instant it touched the spear.
CRACK!
The entire axe—and half the guard's arm—exploded into ice crystals.
"AAHHH!"
A piercing scream shattered the silence.
The Walker reversed its spear. The guard's body was impaled.
Utterly brutal. Humans had no chance against a White Walker. One strike—run through.
Despair.
Their weapons. Their courage. Worthless.
Lynn frowned.
Watching the show, I never grasped how strong they were. A seasoned Northern guard can't even last one move?
More men prepared to charge.
Lynn stopped them.
"You can't fight it."
"I will."
Lynn knew—against wights, his men might stand a chance.
Against a White Walker? Suicide.
I'm the strongest here. I have to fight.
Lynn stepped to the front.
The Walker stopped. Watched him approach.
Lynn handed the fur-wrapped egg to Arya, who trembled beside him.
"Guard it."
His voice—soft, but absolute—miraculously calmed her fear.
Arya nodded hard.
She clutched the warm egg to her chest like the world's most precious treasure.
Then Lynn turned.
Alone.
Facing the Walker like death incarnate.
The Walker's gaze shifted from the egg to Lynn.
"Lord!"
Torren tried to stop him.
"You can't go!"
"Yes, Lord! We'll cover your retreat!"
Jason shouted too.
He'd rather die than watch his commander fall.
Lynn didn't look back.
Alone, he faced the Walker.
No fear. No tension.
CLANG.
Longclaw slid from its sheath.
The Valyrian steel blade glowed dark red in the cold air.
A scorching, ancient presence radiated outward.
The Walker stopped for the first time.
Its blue-flame eyes fell on Longclaw.
Emotion flickered in them.
Revulsion.
Lynn angled Longclaw toward the ground.
And beckoned the Walker forward.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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