Chapter 25: The True North (2) part 3

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Gripping the hilt of Ice tightly, Ned watched carefully as small gaps started forming between the wooden logs that made up the walls of Hardhome as the wildling's outside used whatever means they could to try and create a breach. "Shields forward!" Ned yelled, as the trained men of the North got into position, forming a makeshift shield wall between the wall and the rest of them. "Archers! Nock arrows! Loose as soon as you have a shot! Make your arrows count!"

He knew that this was not going to be an easy battle, not that any battle ever was. Even with half of the attacking force being decimated by the avalanche, they were still outnumbered at least two or perhaps three to one at best. And on top of being outnumbered, two of their three Force users were currently out of the fight for the time being. Nox was too busy controlling the storm he'd created outside the walls. And his son Robb had to be forcibly taken to the rear after nearly passing out due to blowing on the Horn of Winter. They still had Jon, and granted his son was indeed proving to be a great warrior and a man that would make any father proud, but he was still just one man.

Bow strings started snapping as arrows flew, almost all managing to find their way through the small gaps being created and spearing into whoever was unfortunate to be directly on the other side of the opening. 'Even with using mostly stone arrowheads and poorly crafted arrows, the skill of the wil – free folk is indeed impressive.'

But no matter how good their aim, arrows alone couldn't hold back the approaching army as entire sections of the wall began falling inwards, providing a path for the attacking wildlings. "Shields advance!" Ned shouted as the shield line locked their shields tightly together and braced for the first few wildlings that managed to get through the wall. "Spears and sword at the ready! Cut these bastards down!"

The first line of wildlings reached them and collided with the shield wall. But fortunately for them, the wildlings were more brawlers and raiders and had little experience in modern warfare. Instead of trying to find holes in the shield wall or trying to simply circumvent it, they charged head long into it hoping their brute strength and numbers would carry the day. They quickly learned their error though as the first charge bounced off the shields and fell to the ground. Those carrying spears and swords that were behind the shields immediately set upon them, using quick openings in the shield wall to make the kill before pulling back so that the wall could reform.

But while the shield wall was a powerful defensive formation, it wasn't infallible. It could be overwhelmed if the enemy had the numbers to do so. And that was exactly what was happening as more and more of the wildlings poured through the openings being created in the wall. Beside him, Winter growled as he watched the men that made up the shield wall break formation as the pure chaos of battle settled over Hardhome. 'This is the part of battle I hate the most,' Ned thought with a growl as he brought Ice down on the nearest wildling, the valyrian steel cutting through the man's fur and flesh easily. 'You can set your formations and plan your strategies. But quickly enough, all battles will descend into this chaos where strategy and tactics mean nothing, and the tide of battle relies on strength and skill alone.'

Sensing something wrong, Ned tilted his body backwards just in time to avoid a spear thrust. His left hand snapping out, Ned grabbed hold of the shaft of the spear to hold the attacker in place before bringing Ice up, severing the spear shaft in two. Tossing the stone tipped end of the spear away, Ned gave his attacker, a woman, a pitying glance before bringing Ice down onto her neck, removing her head from her shoulders. The fact that he'd just killed a woman did not necessarily sit well with him, but in this case, he agreed with Nox. During the thick of battle mercy and even honor to a degree usually served to get one killed.

Taking his eyes off the now headless woman, Ned quickly passed a critical eye over the chaos. Their line was holding on by a thread. And the only reason why it was even holding at all was because of the clearly superior skill of those that they were fighting alongside. The clan leaders Mance had introduced were all proving why they'd been chosen to lead their clans as they fought with a veracity of seasoned warriors. And Mance was proving why he'd earned the title of King-Beyond-the-Wall as he cut a bloody path through the attacking wildlings without hesitation. Even the women clan chiefs, Val and Karsi, were fighting with a skill that could make any Master-at-arms proud. The Lords of the North were cutting down the attacking wildlings left and right. The men of the Reach were also holding their own, their shining armor making them stand out almost like lighthouse amongst all the fur and leather around them. Further down he spotted those from Dorne being led by Prince Oberyn, and while Ned might still not entirely agree with the character of the eccentric Prince of Dorne, there was no doubting his skill with a weapon, especially when one saw the dead piling up around him. But perhaps the largest, both figuratively and literally, reason their line was holding was the single giant, Mag, that was fighting alongside them. Even the tallest of men only came up to his knee. And with each swipe of his club, which was the size of a tree trunk, the giant was able to incapacitate or kill at least five at a time.

Sensing another disturbance, Ned turned without looking and raised Ice so that it was shoulder height and perfectly perpendicular to the rest of his body. His arm jolted, and he knew without even having to look back that a wildling had impaled himself on the end of Ice. Wrenching his family's sword free, Ned kicked back like a horse to send the dying man to the ground and putting him permanently out of the fight.

Hearing the tell-tale sound of quenched steel and humming, Ned turned his head just enough to spot Jon in the thick of the fighting. If it were up to him, he would never have his sons having to experience the field of battle. But he knew that was simply not a possibility. Not in the world they lived in. But despite his misgivings about having his son on the field, Jon was more than proving his worth as he fought with a skill that could even give the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne pause. And when combined with his lightsaber, a weapon that literally did not belong on this world, Jon was a force of nature near on par with Nox.

Snapping Ice off to the side to flick the blood off the blade, Ned recentered himself as he forced his attention off his son and back onto the chaos before him. 'Jon can handle himself. Robb is safe at the rear for now. And the best way to keep both my sons safe is to end this battle quickly. So, come, Winter… Let us end this. For our sons' sakes.' Beside him, Winter let out a howl, one that was echoed by Grey Wind further back before the two of them rushed back into the thick of the fighting, steel and fangs cutting down everyone that dared get in their way.

GreatJon Umber was a man who, like all true Northmen, loved a good fight. He'd been making corpses of men since the time his balls had dropped. Most of his fights were spent hunting down random wildling raiders who dared to trespass on his lands. A challenge to be sure, but there was little fun to be had in just hunting down small pacts of raiders. Then the rapist dragon fuck and his mad father stole away the She-Wolf of Winterfell and brutally executed Lord Rickard Stark and his future liege Lord Brandon Stark. Needless to say, by the time the raven had reached him that Eddard Stark had claimed the title of Lord of Winterfell and was calling the banners to war, Umber had already had his men marching south.

The exhilaration of a pitched battle was nothing like just hunting down raiders. Fighting side by side with his fellow Northmen to get revenge on the rapist dragon who dared insult the old Kings of Winter…there were no words to describe the feeling. But once the dragons were dead or fleeing, the war was ended, and he was back to hunting the odd raider, bandit, or deserter from the Night's Watch. But then the Greyjoys decided to be utter idiots and declared war on the Seven Kingdoms, and he was once again called to fight. A call he answered eagerly. But the war was practically over before it could even begin as Nox made the squids look like complete jokes as the man singlehandedly laid siege to Pyke and captured the three Greyjoy brothers with hardly even breaking a sweat.

But right now, all those battles paled in comparison to the sheer pleasure he was feeling in finally facing these wildling cunts in a true battle. To him, there was nothing better than gutting these wildlings. Especially after what they did to his lady cousin by the way of his Uncle Mors, abducting her at night, subjecting her to gods only knew what, and leaving her final fate unknown to his family.

When Ned had first revealed his plan to speak with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Jon had just about been ready to break faith with his liege and storm out of his hall. But Eddard, and the Sorcerer, had earned Jon's respect. Ned may have been raised mostly in the Vale and fuck only knows where the Sorcerer hailed from. But neither fact matter to Jon. Both men had proven themselves true men of the North through blood and deed. He still didn't know if he fully believed Ned's and Nox's tale about the White Walkers returning, and gods knew that part of him didn't want it to be true. How did one fight against death itself? But if—if!—Ned and Nox were telling the truth… Then he supposed that it would be for the best if the fucking wildlings were on their side instead of dead and fighting against them. But to achieve that, they first needed to kill the wildlings who'd broken from their King-Beyond-the-Wall. An act that he was all too eager to comply with.

Swinging his greatsword around him in a wide arc, Jon smiled as he felt the blade sink into the flesh of a wildling who'd tried to charge right at him. The idiot's warm blood hitting his face was almost as welcome as a warm cup of mead after being out in the cold. "Come on! You fucking cunts!" Jon yelled, swinging his sword, breaking clean through the spear shaft of another wildling and taking the man's head off in a single stroke. "I! AM! JON UMBER!" he screamed, cutting down yet another wildling. "AND I DARE ANY OF YOU FUCKERS TO CROSS BLADES WITH ME!"

"UMBER! FACE ME!"

Jerking his sword free of a wildling's gut, Umber whipped around and glared, trying to find the one who challenged him. It didn't take him long. Standing just within the breech in the wooden wall was a small wildling, at least small next to Jon, wearing bones as if they were some sort of armor and a large skull as a helmet. The sword in his hand was old and rusting from improper care, but he could tell the jagged edge had recently been sharpened to an almost adequate level. Umber didn't need to be the most intelligent man to know exactly who this wildling was. He'd kept abreast of the wildlings of note ever since the disappearance of his cousin. "Lord of Bones," Jon grinned, his hold on his greatsword tightening as his heart began beating like thunder in his chest. "Perfect!"

Pushing his way through the chaos of the battle, Jon raised his sword and swiped down at the infamous wildling chieftain. But the little shit proved more capable then the few he'd slaughtered so far. Before Jon could render his flesh, the wildling quickly sidestepped and counterattacked, forcing Jon to abandon his own attack and sidestep lest the wildling catch his sword arm. Gritting his teeth, Jon held his sword in his two meaty hands and squared off against the wildling, who seemed content to just stand and wait. 'Fucker fights by using his speed to counter his opponents. I hate these kinds of fighters…so annoying!' Jon growled, realizing the Lord of Bones endgame as the two stared at one another while the battle raged around them. 'Fuck it! Never was one for waiting.'

Roaring, Jon swung his sword in an overhead strike, aiming to cleave the man in half. But Bones dodge the attack and quickly slashed at his face. The strike was fast, but Jon had fought faster during the wars and was able lean his head back enough to dodge the blow. 'Gotcha.' Jon grinned, kicking out with his foot and catching the wildlings chief in the chest, which sent the bastard stumbling backwards and onto his ass. 'Dead now, fucker!'

But the little shit proved nimbler than Jon had anticipated, as he managed to quickly roll out of Jon's killing thrust and quickly getting to his feet, making it so that Jon buried his sword into the ground rather than his chest. The bastard then grabbed one of his own men and threw him towards Jon. Letting go of his sword, Jon simply grabbed the new screaming wildling by the throat with both hands and squeezed until he felt the man's neck snap beneath his fingers.

Dropping the freshly made corpse, Jon quickly looked around, trying to find his prey. He hadn't made it far, less than halfway back towards the breach in the wall. But he was currently locking blades with another wildling. This one he recognized as perhaps the only individual he had ever met who could match him in terms of sheer size outside of his son or that son of a bitch Mountain. "Giantsbane!" Jon roared, yanking his sword free and charging at the two. "He's mine!"

Not wanting to lose the chance to gut the son of a bitch himself, Jon charged head long through the crowd, uncaring of whether he was knocking over those who were standing with him or against him. Reaching the two, he swung his greatsword down between the two, forcing them apart before putting himself in front of Giantsbane.

"Back the fuck off Giantsbane," Jon growled, holding his sword up in a mid-guard as he squared off against the Lord of Bones once again.

"No," Giantsbane growled, shouldering his way next to him. "You back the fuck off! This fucker has had this coming for a long time!"

Gritting his teeth, and forcibly reminding himself that he was not to kill the wildlings who were siding with them on his liege's orders, Jon risked at glance at Giantsbane out of the corner of his eye. "Then you better kill the fucker before I do."

Lunging forward, Jon brought his sword around just as Giantsbane brought his own blade down from the opposite direction. The Lord of Bones, clearly realizing he had no chance against the two of them, started scrambling backwards as he tried to put anything or anyone between himself and them. "No, you don't!" Jon growled just as the infamous wilding reached the breach.

While the Lord of Bones was distracted with Giantsbane, Jon cut low, catching Bones on the back of the leg and hamstringing him. The wildling let out a cry of pain as his leg gave out. Giantsbane quickly capitalized on the opening and stabbed his sword through the man's chest, the edge easily slipping through the bones covering the wildling's chest. Not to be outdone by a wildling, Jon brought his sword back around and with one clean stroke removed the Lord of Bones' head from his shoulders. Breathing heavily, Jon looked from the severed head to Giantsbane. "That one counts as my kill!"

Giantsbane didn't answer immediately as he instead spat on the corpse. "If ya need the kill to up yer numbers…he's yours."

Growling, Jon pivoted and cut down another wildling who'd been trying to sneak up behind him to run him through the back. "I've killed one-and-ten of your friends so far, Giantsbane."

"Not my friends," the large wildling shot back as he cut down a woman by the sound she made. "And yer behind. That's four-and-ten for me."

"What?" Jon roared, feeling a new surge of anger flow through him as he cut down two more in one stroke. "I'm not about to be outdone by a fucking wildling! Twelve! Come on, you savage fucks! Come and meet the gods at the edge of my blade!"

Pulling his sword free from the gut of a wildling, Garlan used his shield to bash the dying man away from his person as he readied himself for whoever charged him next. He'd been expecting something to go wrong this day, he'd felt it in his gut when he'd woke this morning. And unfortunately, he'd been proven correct as his brother returned to the Northern dreadnaught with literal boatloads of children and elderly. The fact that his brother was returning to the ship with apparent wildling children and elderly instead of any of the other Lords or Ladies that went ashore caused no small amount of confusion. But once his brother was pulled aboard, he quickly explained the situation.

The talks with the wildings—er, free folk—was going well. However, during their talks a runner had appeared and brought news that a group of wildings that'd splintered off from the supposed 'King-Beyond-the-Wall' were marching on Hardhome with the intent on killing everyone there. Lord Stark, along with his sons, bannermen as well as the few from Dorne and the Westerlands, despite being outnumber perhaps ten to one, had all decided to stay behind and fight alongside their soon to be allies. He could tell his brother was hesitant to ask him to join with those that'd stayed behind, but he didn't have to. His brother hadn't even been able to finish his explanation of what was going on before he'd already ordered Dickon to fetch their armor and swords.

"Die, kneeler cunt!"

Acting on reflex, Garlan just barely managed to tilt his head back far enough to avoid the club that'd been aimed at his head. While he would never even think about entering a battle without his helmet, he could admit that the damn visor over his face was obscuring his vision more than a little. If it hadn't been for the wildling crying out their intent, he would've never even seen the attack until he'd been hit upside the head.

Slashing across his body, Garlan just barely missed the wildling that'd tried to take his head off. But as he readied his shield and sword to face this new adversary, he found himself hesitating. Standing before him wasn't some oversized hairy barbarian wielding a stone club. No. Standing before him was a squat thick boned woman. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to lower his shield. A woman on the field of battle just… It wasn't supposed to happen. To be sure, there were a few women here and there that would take up arms during wartime, but this one looked to be some sort of leader amongst the wildlings given her better state of dress. And from the way she held her club in one hand and a dagger in the other, he could tell that she was no stranger to the weapons. As much as he wanted to take it easy on her because she was a woman, he knew that he couldn't. The rather painful lesson he'd learned from the woman Osha in Winterfell demanded that he keep his guard up no matter whether his opponent is a man or a woman.

Crying out, the woman started lashing out wildly at him, her strikes seemingly without reason other than trying to overwhelm him in a flurry of movement. And if she were going against a less skilled opponent, her technique would probably work. But against himself, while he was wielding a shield and sword, her attacks were next to ineffective. He was able to easily either evade or block her dagger with his sword, and his shield was more than thick enough to take the brunt of her club strikes without issue.

The woman, while skilled, was clearly not used to fighting opponents more skilled than herself as desperation and anger started showing in her strikes as she became wilder and wilder with each hit, he was able to block or evade. Her anger soon got the better of her, and she overextended with her club, giving him the perfect opportunity to catch the underside of her right arm with his sword, cutting clean through fur and muscle but not deep enough to sever the arm completely. Her right arm, now useless, dropped the club and fell uselessly to her side. And before she could recover, he pivoted and brought his shield around with as much strength as he could muster, catching her full in the chest with the edge of the shield, knocking her to the ground.

Rushing forward, he placed the point of his sword at her throat. There was fear in her eyes as she stared up at him. Fear that made him hesitate to finish her. 'Gods damnit!' he cursed, his arm unwilling to move just a few inches to end her life. "You're beaten, woman… For your sake, stay down."

Removing his sword from her throat, he made to find a new enemy when he felt something hard hit him in the back of the knee. The weight of his armor betrayed him as his leg folded in on itself and brought him down to his back. Dirt and darkness clouded his vision for a moment before his visor was roughly pulled away from his face. Sitting on his chest was the same woman he'd just knocked down, a feral grin on her face as her bloodied right hand was holding onto his helmet while her left had a dagger raised and pointed towards his face.

"Dumb, kneeler cunt," the woman smirked.

'Shit…This…This can't be how I meet the gods!' he wailed in his head as he reflexively tried to bring his hands up to defend himself. But given her position upon his body, they were pinned to the ground.

Her arm moved, but never reached him. Instead of lurching forward, the woman lurched backwards, her head snapping back. Blinking, he saw another wildling woman standing behind the one that'd downed him, her fist full of his adversary's hair. Without a word spoken, the new wildling woman brought what looked like a small hand scythe across the first wildling woman's neck. The woman's blood flowed freely, spraying everything in front of her, which unfortunately included Garlan who suddenly found himself having to close his eyes and turn his head lest he get the woman's blood in his eyes and mouth.

Hearing the woman's lifeless body hit the ground next to him, Garlan turned back to the one who'd saved him. She had moved her hand scythe to her left hand and was holding out her right to help him up. 'I fucked up,' he realized, taking the offered hand and getting back to his feet while quickly collecting his sword and shield.

"That was Harma, kneeler," the wildling woman said once he was back on his feet, a dagger and scythe in each of her hands as she calmly slit the throat of another wildling. "Why the fuck didn't ya kill her when you had her on the ground? Hopin to steal her or something?"

He didn't really understand what she meant about 'stealing her', he vaguely remembered the woman Osha saying something similar, but he hadn't bothered to inquire what she'd meant when saying it. "Because I was a fool." he replied honestly, immediately settling into the rhythm of battle once more as he caught a wildling in the chest with his shield before bringing his sword down into the man's neck.

Finding himself back-to-back with the wildling that saved him, Garlan looked around, his visibility much increased now that he was without his helmet. "Ya didn't hesitate to kill any of the others, but ya did with her. Why? Cause she had a cunt? I heard you southern kneelers often have trouble fightin a woman."

Gritting his teeth, Garlan forced the woman to move as he blocked a club with his shield that'd been heading towards her. The wildling woman didn't miss a beat as she daftly maneuvered around his shield and managed to get her dagger into the attacking wildling's heart. "Women don't fight in the Reach."

The woman scoffed. "We ain't in your fancy Reach kneeler. This be the True North. We women are just as strong as our men."

"I've notice that," he shot back, as the two went back-to-back once more. "And my name is Garlan Tyrell. Not kneeler."

"Karsi." The woman responded. "Ya got a woman of your own, Garlan?"

Blinking, Garlan had to fight the urge to baulk at the question. "This doesn't seem like the time to ask that!"

"Just asking, Garlan," Karsi responded. "Take it by yer tone ya don't. Good. You're not bad lookin and you're skilled with a blade. Might just be lookin to steal ya when this is all over and give my son and daughter a new sibling."

This time he couldn't help but freezing slightly. "Did you just…proposition me?"

"Not sure what that means, Garlan," Karsi shrugged as they protected each other's backs. "Just sayin, don't be makin yerself unavailable once the fightin be done. Nothing better than a good fuck after a fight after all."

'By the gods...' Garlan sighed, feeling more than a little mystified, stupefied, and shamefully interested. 'Just what sort of people are these wildlings?'

Grinning, Oberyn quickly thrust his spear forward, impaling a wildling through the heart before retracting as quickly as his viper namesake and moving on to his next opponent. While he knew that his love would not agree with him, this was by far the most fun he'd had since arriving in the North. Conquering a new woman or man, be they a whore or not, was an enjoyable past time. But to Oberyn, nothing beat the thrill of a good fight. And this was indeed a fight unlike any he'd experienced since he last sided with Nox in Valyria. 'Perhaps I need to increase my efforts to entice Nox and Nyra into moving to Dorne on a permanent basis,' Oberyn thought with a smirk as he parried a sloppy thrust of a spear before retaliating with a killing strike to his attacker's neck. 'Or perhaps see if I can extend my stay here in the North past whenever Arianne succeeds in her goal. Exploring and fighting in Valyria had been an exhilarating experience. And now a small war… Fun certainly does seem to follow Nox around. And I'm confident that with enough gentle prodding, Ellaria and I will eventually get Nox and Nyra into bed with us. I may never get to personally experience either…but just having them in the same room and participating in the fun would be more than enough.'

Hearing an all too familiar feminine scream, Oberyn turned on a coin, his eyes searching almost frantically for the source of the scream as a new, unfamiliar fear settled into his chest. Laying on her back just a short distance from himself was his daughter Obara, her sword-spear out of her reach and standing above her with a large scythe raised to the sky was a thickly built balding man with blond locks of hair running down the length of this back.

Feet digging into the mud and blood, Oberyn raced as fast as his legs could carry him, his spear reaching as far as possible to try and get between his daughter and the descending scythe. Wood knocked against wood as Oberyn just barely managed to get his spear in the path of the scythe, the tip of the blade less than a hands width from his daughter's face. Using his momentum, Oberyn turned his spear downwards, digging the tip into the ground and using it to vault himself forward. While in the air, his hands still on the shaft of his spear, he kicked out and caught the confused wildling in the face with the bottom of his foot. The moment his feet touched the ground, Oberyn spun in place, his spear kicking up a wave of bloody mud up into the face of the now dazed and confused wildling.

"Are you alright, daughter?" he asked, his spear and eyes trained on the quickly recovering wildling.

"I'm fine, father," Obara grunted from behind him as she scrambled to retrieve her weapon and regain her footing. "He caught me by surprise, that's all."

"He's mine, Obara. Go find another prey to play with." Not waiting to hear his daughter's response, Oberyn slowly twirled his valyrian spear around as he approached the now fully recovered wildling. "Do you know who I am, wildling?"

The wildling spat out a wad of blood and mud as he readied his scythe. "Some dead man."

The wildling was quick, and strong, but he lacked finesse. Which was why it was almost comically easy for Oberyn to predict exactly where the man would strike. He didn't even really need to use his spear, just his footwork was more than enough to avoid the wildling's initial onslaught of attacks. Quickly growing bored of just evading, Oberyn waited until he saw an opening and quickly thrust the tip of his spear into the man's leg on his inner thigh. It was barely a flesh wound and nowhere near any vital veins, but it would still give the man a painful limp and slow him down.

"My name," Oberyn said, drawing back and lazily smiling at the wildling while all around them the fighting had come to something of a standstill as both sides began watching the spectacle. "Is Oberyn Martell. And that woman you almost killed is my daughter, Obara. Now, as is only polite, I would know the name of the wildling I'm about to kill."

Clutching at his leg, the wildling glared at him. "I be the Weeper, kneeler. And that bitch there is yer daughter, eh? A fine set of tits and good hips… After I kill you, I'm gonna claim her over your rotting corpse. After I've gotten a few whelps out of her, I'll cut her good and leave her to bleed as a snack for the creatures of the forest."

Oberyn's hand stilled. A rage unlike any he'd ever experience save for the day he learned of his sister's demise came over him and nearly made him shake in place. Rotating his spear, Oberyn drove the point into the ground and reached for one of the finger sized glass vials he kept hidden on his back attached to his belt.

"Foolish, Weeper," he said through gritted teeth as he touched upon the vial he was looking for. "I was planning on making your end quick…but now I won't. I'm going to hurt you now. More than you ever thought possible. And soon, you will be begging me to end your life. And do you know what I'll do? Nothing. I'm just going to stay here and watch you slowly suffer to death."

"You have to kill me first, kneeler!" Weeper shouted, raising his scythe, and charging headlong at him. "I'm going to eat your fucking heart out of your chest!"

Letting go of his spear, Oberyn waited patiently as the oversized brute screamed and charged him. At the last moment, Oberyn stepped forward, avoiding the scythe, and putting him almost chest to chest with the wildling. Before the man could reposition himself, Oberyn lashed out with his fist towards his open mouth, shoving the glass vial into the open orifice. "Eat this, you fuck," he commented dryly before catching the Weepers chin with his left hand, breaking the glass vial open in the man's mouth.

The effect was almost immediate as the wildling's head cocked to the side as blood and spit flew from his mouth. Or at least tried too. What came out was a small splattering as the man's jaw remained shut while his body went completely rigid and fell to the ground. "It's a rather interesting concoction that I made myself," Oberyn explained, uncaring of the battle raging around him as he retrieved his spear. "The primary poison within is obtained from a fish known as a puffer fish. It's quite the nasty poison as it completely paralyzes the body yet makes it so that you still feel pain." Lowering the tip of his spear towards the man's inner thigh, Oberyn only had to exert the smallest amount of pressure of the valyrian steel to slice clean through the fur and leather and into the man's sensitive parts. "I also added some manticore venom and the venom from an adder snake which, while not lethal by itself, is incredibly painful as I'm sure you're realizing now. Truthfully, I haven't truly tested this as I intended this concoction to be a surprise for one far larger than yourself…but I suppose that you are working as a good test subject for now."

On the ground, the wildling's eyes were watering, his pupils wide as his body shook ever so slightly from the undoubtedly insurmountable pain he was suffering. His gurgled moans of agony being muffled by his blood and forcibly closed jaw was almost music to his ears. "I could end this now," Oberyn remarked, withdrawing his spear from the man's thigh, and placing it over his heart. "But…you threatened to rape my daughter, use her as a prize broodmare then leave her for animal feed once she'd served the purpose you had planned for her. So, I'm not going to end this right now. Instead, I'm just going to let you die from the pain racing through your body as you choke to death on your own blood."

Turning his back on the soon to be dead man, Oberyn passed a critical eye over all of those who'd been watching. The wildlings, on both sides of the battle, had ceased their fighting in the immediate area and instead were all staring at him. Some with respect, others in fear as they watched one of the leaders slowly die on the ground next to him.

"Well," Oberyn smirked, twirling his spear around and readying himself. "Who's next?"

No one approached him as the wildlings began casting looks between each other. Then one of the attacking wildlings, a woman that could be pretty if she'd properly bathe and taken care of the rat's nest atop her head, stepped forward and raised her spear. But instead of attacking him, she opened her hand at let the spear drop to the ground. Her action was quickly followed by the other attacking wildlings as one by one they began throwing down their weapons.

"Wise choice," Oberyn smirked as he raised his own spear, blade pointing towards the sky. "A boring choice, but a wise choice nonetheless."

Pivoting on his right foot, Jon evaded a spear lunge as he brought his lightsaber around, ending the life of the attacker that'd tried to run him through. Breathing hard and trying not to stare too long at the now headless wildling, Jon brought his attention back around to where he knew his father was fighting. His father was standing just a few short paces away from him, Ice and Winter moving around his person so quickly they were almost a blur as his father and the direwolf brought down one wildling after another seemingly without ever breaking stride.

Outside of the small skirmish between Winterfell and White Harbor, which he was almost too late to even participate in, Jon had never truly seen his father fight in a battle. And now that he had, he understood just why his father had earned his moniker, the 'Quiet Wolf'. His father didn't boast or yell or taunt. He just…fought. He was methodical. Each move made with purpose and with little to no 'flare', as Prince Oberyn like to describe his fanciful movements he performed while he fought. A small whine by his left brought attention to the fact that Ghost was watching the duo fight as well.

"I know, boy," Jon said, admiring the way his father and Winter fought in almost perfect harmony with each other. "We'll be at their level soon enough."

Feeling a pull from the Force almost powerful enough to knock him off his feet, Jon whipped around and tried to find where the sensation came from. The feeling was urgent. He wasn't in danger, but…he needed to do something. Fast. Rushing through the chaos of the battle with Ghost on his heels, he used his lightsaber to clear a path as he tried to find where the feeling had originated from. Hearing a scream, accompanied by another pull from the Force, Jon tore away from the thick of the battle and went towards one of the ruined huts. On the opposite side of the hut, away from the thick of the battle, he found a pair of wildlings, one on her back, a bow held between her hands. And the second standing above her, his axe pressing against her bow as the edge slowly lowered towards her face.

Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, Jon sheathed his lightsaber and reached out through the Force and grabbed hold of the woman before roughly pulling her to the side, away from the man and towards himself. The attacking man lurched forward, and the woman let out a cry of surprise as she was suddenly flying directly towards him. In his haste to get her away from the man, he hadn't really thought of just how to stop her. Within a breath, she'd flown across the distance separating them, and Jon was left with no other option than to open his arms and catch her.

The impact knocked the air out of his lungs slightly as the two collided, her momentum carrying the two of them around in a circle as if they were in a dance rather than amid a life-or-death battle. Finally catching himself enough to stop them from falling, Jon got a look at the woman he'd saved. The first thing he saw was an unruly mop of flame-red hair and underneath was a set of blue-grey eyes that were staring up at him in shock. With a start, he realized that he recognized this woman as the free folk girl that'd brought news of the impending attack on Hardhome.

But before he could ask if she was alright, her eyes went wide. Feeling a warning from the Force, Jon turned while still holding onto her midsection with his left arm, his right grabbing hold of his lightsaber and bringing the blade to life. The tip of blade cut easily through the chest of the wildling with an axe, the same that'd been trying to end the free folk woman in his arm's life. The man blinked confusedly, the axe dropping from his hand as he fell to the ground dead.

Feeling the free folk woman shift in his arms, Jon loosened his grip to let her free, and found her with a bow in hand, an arrow pointing right at his face. The strange thing was, even though he was staring at the stone tipped arrow less than a hand from his face, he didn't feel any danger from the Force. The woman's lips quirked up as she shifted, the arrow moving out of his face before being let loose and flying past his ear. A grunt came from directly behind him, and as Jon turned his head to see what she'd hit, he found a second wildling man standing a pace or two behind him. Her arrow sticking out from his eye.

Grabbing her by her shoulder, Jon pushed himself past her, his lightsaber moving without thought as he cut down yet another wildling that he hadn't even realized was sneaking up behind her. Behind him, he could feel the wildling woman notch another arrow and let it loose. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew without a doubt that her arrow had found its mark.

Jon had no idea just how long the two of them stood back-to-back, circling around each other. Anyone that got close to them quickly met their end by Jon's blade, while the girl let loose arrow after arrow, each one taking down a wildling that was outside of his reach. It was…the strangest fight Jon had ever been in. He didn't know how, but somehow, he just…knew how the girl was going to move, where she was going to aim and where she would be. And for her part, she seemed to know just as much about him as she was able to perfectly stay out of his way, allowing him complete freedom of movement even though they were practically touching one another the entire time.

Cutting down one more wildling, Jon pressed his back up against the girl and waited for the next. Only to find to his surprise that they were alone between the buildings, surrounded by numerous dead bodies that'd either met their end at his blade or from her arrows.

Sheathing his blade with a hiss, Jon turned to the girl. She was staring up at him, her blue-grey eyes narrow and filled with something that he couldn't place. But what he sensed from her was…pure fire. That was the only thing he could think to call it. And it seemed to match perfectly with the look in her eyes.

"Well?" she said, knocking him out of his trance. "They're all dead…and we got a warm room just over there. Ye gonna finish what ye started? Or do I need to show ya the way?"

He was going to ask her what she meant, but a shift in the Force killed the question before he could ask it. Looking to the sky, Jon's brow furrowed as he noticed the Force-storm his Master had created slowing down until it started to dissipate before disappearing completely. 'Is…Is it over?' was the only thought that went through his mind as Jon pushed past the free folk girl and ran back towards where he'd been.

Arriving back at the wall, Jon was greeted with the sight of dozens of wildlings throwing down their weapons. And it wasn't a great mystery as to just why they were doing so. The wooden wall, despite being mostly destroyed by this point, was covered in the blood of the wildlings that'd attacked them. The ground was soaked and the once white snow that'd gently covered the ground now stained red with blood. And standing at the forefront of it all, with his mask in place and his lightsaber drawn, was Jon's Master, Lord Nox. And flanking him on either side were Jon's father and Mance Rayder. The wildling's that just a few moments ago been out for their blood, were now dropping their weapons as if they were on fire and backing away in a show of submission.

"Sorcerer! Stand and face me!" All eyes turned towards the one who'd yelled. A lone wildling, who'd yet to drop his spear, was making his way through those who'd surrounded them, his eyes fixated on Lord Nox as he walked.

"I am Alfyn Crowkiller!" the wildling named himself, drawing a number of surprised shouts from the Northmen who knew of the infamous wildling who'd made a name for himself by hunting down Brothers of the Night's Watch. "And I challenge you, sorcerer! Stand and fight! Or be known as the coward yer are!"

Lord Nox's mask made it impossible to see any facial expression, but Jon could feel annoyance seeping from his Master. "It's been too long of a day to trade insults with a pathetic worm like yourself." his voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the battlefield as if he'd been shouting at the top of his lungs. "You have a death wish…? Then so be it. Come at me, and I will send you to whatever gods you wish."

Lowering his spear and grabbing it with both hands, the infamous wildling raced forward, clearly intent on running Lord Nox through before he could move. Jon didn't need to watch to know what was about to happen, as he'd seen more than a few make the same mistake when facing off against his Master. And, true to form, his Master didn't even bother using his lightsaber. He just raised his hand as small arcs of lightning danced between his fingers. Then there was a flash, and the lightning flew from his fingers and struck Crowkiller in the chest. The infamous wildling took two more steps before coming to a stop. His head tilted downwards towards his chest. In the center of his chest, right over where his heart should've been, there was now a smoldering hole the size of a man's fist that went clean through. Crowkiller managed to lift his head one more time and give Master Nox one last glare before he crumbled to the ground.

The battle of Hardhome was officially over. And they had carried the day against seemingly insurmountable odds.