Falling Like || Jon Snow ✔

55| 𝔟𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔟𝔞𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

north of the wall

— AS THEY PRESSED ON TOWARDS THE ROCKY SPIRE, THEY WERE HIT WITH ANOTHER STORM. Through the wind-whipped snow, a large figure became visible in the distance, forcing them to stop to ensure they were in no immediate danger.

"A bear." The Hound realised. "Big fucker."

Nymeria frowned, a feeling of discomfort crawling up her spine. Then it turned towards them, and ice set into the pit of her stomach.

"Do bears have blue eyes??" Gendry asked. It was a rhetorical question. They all knew that blue eyes meant just one thing: we're fucked.

It began charging towards them, and their guide, who was a fair distance ahead, began running back to the group. Not fast enough, though. Another bear hurtled out of seemingly nowhere from the left suddenly, snatching the man in his jaws, and then they were both just gone, the screams subsiding frighteningly quickly. The group followed after them as quickly as they could, but there was nothing to be found but an abandoned spear and a couple pools of blood that darkened quickly as they began to freeze.

They formed a defensive circle, drawing weapons, but Nymeria knew it wouldn't do them much good. She and Wren had broken the Boltons' infantry line of many more men than they had here, and that was just one, not even fully-grown grizzly bear. Snow bears were even larger, with a reputation for being especially nasty and vicious, even when they weren't part of the Army of the Dead. The snow, too, made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of them, as if it were actively working against them.

With a sudden and deafening roar, one of the bears appeared from the blizzard, tearing into one of the wildlings, who screamed. Jon rushed at it with Longclaw, but the blade barely nicked a creature this size, and he was quickly thrown away. Nymeria ran to his side, grateful to find that despite being a bit dazed, he was alright. Grabbing his hand, she hauled him back to his feet.

A short distance away, Beric and Thoros came at the monster with flaming swords, but they only seemed to irritate it, even as the bulk of its body caught flame. Soon enough, two more wildling scouts were dead on the ground while the bear turned its eyes on the Hound, who seemed paralysed by the sigh of the flames. When Thoros attempted to aid, large teeth dug deep into his torso, eliciting an agonised cry before he was tossed to the side like a rag doll.

With a shout, Nymeria snatched an abandoned dragonglass spear and leapt forward, twisting in midair to crack the dull end over the creature's head, gaining its attention and spinning swiftly away. She remained in the snow on one knee as it turned to her, muscles tense, spearpoint levelled. "Come and get me." She ground out. Massive paws charged over soft snow and she waited, unmoving... then at the last minute, she rushed forward two steps with a roar, pushing with all her strength. Everyone was silent as death as she stood there before the beast, obsidian jutting violently up through the roof of its mouth and the top of its skull. As it crumpled, the blue light leaving its eyes, she took a step back, spear sliding from the frozen flesh as it lowered.

The group was silent as Jon approached her. As he reached towards her, she took hold of his arm, neither of them really sure who was reassuring who.

It didn't take long for their attention to turn to where Beric knelt by his fire priest, Thoros. When they moved closer, the unfortunate truth was obvious; he was dead. "We'll have to burn him." Beric's voice was not necessarily sad, more resigned and regretful, as though he knew this day would not be forever postponed, but he'd hoped it might not come just yet. While he used the last of the priest's drink to do the job, Jon, Nymeria and Tormund returned to the bear's prints, silently coming to the conclusion that they would have to follow them back to the source if they wanted what they came for.