Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

A good king led by example, and while Mance Rayder didn't fit any southerner's expectation of a king he also didn't ask anything of his people he wouldn't do himself.

The King-Beyond-The-Wall strode towards the contingent waiting at the northern base of the Wall. Snow was falling heavily, the sky so dark despite it being midday that he carried a torch. Two women came with him, one clutching a heavily-furred bundle to her body, the other easily recognizable as Val. Jaehaerys awaited them a few feet from the great door in the Wall, a retinue of twenty knights supplementing his normal advisors. His uncle Eddard Stark had arrived from the Nightfort only hours earlier, Jaehaerys wishing the presence of the current Warden of the North for this unprecedented move.

His uncle Ned had given nothing away in Jaehaerys informed him of his intent to allow the wildlings to pass through the Wall. The Quiet Wolf's face had remained blank, Stark features as cold as ice. He didn't complain, didn't curse Jaehaerys; he simply accepted it for what it was.

While happy he hadn't, Jaehaerys almost wished he would have exploded in anger, though he had never seen Ned Stark show any sort of emotion aside from love for his family. The men of the Night's Watch certainly had, as had most of the northern lords stationed at the Wall. Jaehaerys imagined he was the most hated man in the north with Stark blood since the rebellious House Greystark. Even Lord Commander Mormont, who had been by Jaehaerys' side through all of the negotiations, had expressed his serious misgivings when it became clear that it would actually happen. Jaehaerys had had to defend his point over and over, and if not for his uncle's silent acceptance—which had been all that had stayed the other northern lords—Jaehaerys was fairly certain he would have had an all-out rebellion on his hands

But Jaehaerys was willing to accept that hatred if it meant saving all of those women and children from the true enemy, an enemy Jaehaerys was growing more and more certain was real. He hadn't seen it himself, nor did he wish to, but the stories were too many and the evidence too much for him to maintain doubt. If the stories of terror were false, he would look like the most gullible man this side of the Narrow Sea, but if those stories were true as he believed…Whatever their difference in culture, the people north of the Wall were still people, and something else was killing and reanimating them. There were innocents, children and babes, who could be saved.

It was an odd parallel and deviation to his uncle Aelor; Jaehaerys was doing all he could to save an enemy because of the innocents among them, while Aelor would slaughter them all if it meant the destruction of his foe. Yet both men, honorable nephew and ruthless uncle, would accept the hatred of an entire world in order to do what they deemed best for their family.

He was pulled from his musings by Mance Rayder coming to a stop in front of him, face clearly unhappy with the ramifications he was to suffer but left with no other choice. The woman to his left, clutching an infant to her c.h.e.s.t, looked much like Val on his other side, and Jaehaerys knew at once they were sisters. I knew the wildlings considered Val a Princess, but I always assumed she was Mance's sister. It appears I was wrong.

Mance gave nom pleasantries. "My wife, Dalla, and my son. If a hair on their head is harmed—"

"I wouldn't invite thousands of wildlings to my side of the Wall if I intended to incite them to violence," Jaehaerys cut in. He peered at the big, clearly healthy child in Dalla's arms. "What is your son's name?"

Val spoke in answer, her tone sharp and commanding. "It is considered bad luck in the true north to name a child before two namedays." She took a few steps closer to Jaehaerys, prompting Ser Borran to move to intercept. The Prince of the Iron Throne raised a hand to stop him, raising an eyebrow at the blonde wildling. "I am going with my sister, wherever she and my nephew go. If you try to do as you threatened, you will find wildling women don't go as quietly as southern ones."

Jaehaerys felt a touch of shame at the mention of it. While his entire intent in all of this was to save the innocents on that side of the Wall, he had had to threaten the opposite to ensure wildling cooperation; Jaehaerys had funneled Aelor. Each of the clans would give fifteen of their young over to the Targaryen cause before any a.d.u.l.ts were allowed to cross through the gates, including at least one of the chieftain's children. Jaehaerys had told Mance in no uncertain terms that if the wildling force stepped out of line those children would be executed on the spot.

It was an act reminiscent of his uncle that Jaehaerys couldn't go through with even if it meant his life and the life of everyone at the Wall, but Mance Rayder didn't know that. Jaehaerys had cultivated an unforgiving and unyielding personae when dealing with the wildling leaders, one augmented by the fact that even those north of the wall had heard of Aelor Targaryen's willingness to commit such an act. For all any of them knew, this Targaryen was just like that one, and the men who knew Jaehaerys wouldn't go through with it—Ned Stark, Aemon, Lord Commander Mormont—certainly weren't going to tip the Prince's hand.

As it was, Jaehaerys met Val's devastating green gaze coolly. "If your people follow my orders, it won't come to that. I pray it doesn't, but even the Seven won't stop me." They won't have to, because the Seven already know I couldn't do it. Jaehaerys looked to Rayder. "The horn?"

Mance's eyes were alight with rage, but he knew he was in the position of inferiority. "It will remain in my camp until the last of my people are through. I won't give you all of the leverage, Targaryen."

Jaehaerys dipped his head. "Fair enough. How many of your people didn't agree?"

The-King-Beyond-The-Wall's gritted his teeth. "More than I care to tell you, though I expect you'll be seeing them before all of this is over. I've got my own people—the ones I have left—keeping a sharp eye out for when they undoubtedly try and attack. More of them would have rebelled if it wasn't for the dead beginning to hit us every night." He raised a chin. "None of them take well to being threatened; your threats won't be forgotten."

Jaehaerys rose to his full height. "Excellent. If they aren't, we should get on swimmingly." He waved a hand, and the tunnel behind creaked as the great ironwood doors were opened. "If the dead are as close as you say, I see no need to hesitate."

Slowly, sometimes by themselves and sometimes in groups, the hostages came forth. Aemon—his cousin, not his ancient uncle—and Samwell Tarly kept a brisk record, writing the names and tribes of each of them as they came forward. Mance stayed beside Jaehaerys through it all, saying nothing to the Prince who had out-bluffed him. The Prince of the Iron Throne didn't attempt to break it, letting the King-Beyond-the-Wall stew. Jaehaerys knew he had made no friends of the wildlings by his actions, but he hoped he had at least saved some of their lives. He would accept that over friendship.

It took hours in the driving snow before each of the hostages, over four hundred of them, had been escorted through the wall and into the Grey Keep, which had been provisioned and refitted for their stay. Already, nearly five hundred of Jaehaerys' men stood guard, both as protection and potential executors. No brothers of the Night's Watch were permitted near the holding cells; Jaehaerys was no man's fool, and that many men with grudges against the wildlings as a whole would be a disaster.

By the time the procession of children had been marched through and the long line of elders and non-warriors had begun, several of the chieftains had joined Mance and Jaehaerys, among them Tormund Giantsbane and Harma Dogshead. Still no words were spoken, Mance clearly intending to be the last of his people to pass through the Wall. Jaehaerys refused to leave for the warmth of the camps on the other side until Mance did the same, even after his uncle had gone to help organize the other side of the Wall, so true nightfall found him still standing on the northern side of the seven-hundred feet of ice.

The commotion didn't reach them for a while. It started as a low rumble, barely noticeable over the constant stomp of feet as the processions continued through the tunnel. It grew in cacophony steadily, however, and Jaehaerys felt the first true tendril of concern when Ghost rose from a lying position, his hackles on edge, growling deeply.

Mance Rayder spoke first, his voice cracking from a lack of use that day. "Something isn't right."

"The Thenns or Sixskins?" Rumbled Tormund, staring into the flow of wildling people as it went. "I'm surprised they haven't made their move yet."

Mance shook his head slowly. "No. Something else." His eyes suddenly shot wide open, and without preamble he started at a full sprint back towards the wildling camps. He shouted over his shoulder, already drawing his weapons. "Protect my son, Tormund!"

The shouts of alarm reached their ears then, growing in racket until it was overwhelming, the orderly procession of wildlings suddenly a stampede. Jaehaerys barely registered Ser Borran and several of his knights forming a ring around him and the scribes before they were roughly crushed against him, the lot of them swarmed with desperate people trying to squeeze through a tunnel.

"The dead!" "Walkers!" "The demons are upon us!" "Through the gate, now!" Jaehaerys fought against the crowd, the white of Ser Borran's cloak crushed against his c.h.e.s.t, the silver of Aemon's hair contrasting against the black of Samwell Tarly's. He heard the screams of dying as the slow were trampled by the quick, heard the sound of butchery as the more ruthless drew their weapons and set upon their kin, trying to chop their way through the logjam of the tunnel. It was sudden and complete chaos, and Jaehaerys could only focus on keeping his feet under him as he was helplessly jostled by the crowd.

A hand appeared out of the crowd, reaching between Ser Borran and one of the knights to clutch Jaehaerys by the collar of his cloak, jerking him forward with impressive strength. Tormund Giantsbane's face was suddenly in the Prince's, eyes as wild as his beard. "The boy," roared Tormund Giantsbane. "Where on the other side is the boy and Dalla? Where are my daughters?"

Ser Borran was trying to pry Tormund's hand loose, but the press of the crowd—growing heavier and heavier as hundreds and thousands rushed towards their only hope of salvation—prevented him from utilizing any leverage, and the wilding chief's grip remained firm. Jaehaerys saw no option but to answer. "The Grey Keep, on the left." Tormund released him, but Jaehaerys wiggled a hand free enough to grab his thick wrist. "I'm the only one who can get them free."

Tormund glared for a moment, then pulled his hands free, clutched another man's shoulders, and bulled him out of the way.

He didn't know how long it took or how it was even possible, but Jaehaerys, Aemon and Samwell tucked themselves in behind the big Free Folk, and inch by inch they fought their way through. Jaehaerys stepped over more than a dozen corpses, most of them unrecognizable as anything human, the tunnel stinking of blood and piss and shit. The three sets of great iron gates on the insides were the roughest, but through strength of will the wildling chief fought his way through him, Jaehaerys assisting more than once. There was no honor in it, but Jaehaerys knew he would do no one any good trampled into the snow, and there was positively no chance of going back the way they had come. Forward was his only choice, so forward he went.

They all nearly fell out of the logjam of the final gate, Jaehaerys pulling in great lungful's of air. He staggered forward, out of the tunnel and into the hard snow of the other side. This side of the Wall was as chaotic as the other, barring the mass of panicked wildlings climbing over the bodies of their dead. The sound of steel meeting steel was prevalent; southerners and black brothers fought against the sudden onslaught of wildlings, nearly stampeded with the number of Free Folk. Only a few of the wildlings even bothered to fight back; many were sprinting south as fast as their legs could carry them, bringing nothing but their weapons and the furs on their backs.

Jaehaerys whirled, placing a hand on Aemon's arm to assure himself his gentle cousin was still there. Samwell Tarly was quivering but alive not far behind, face green. He had no idea where Lord Commander Mormont, Ser Borran or even Ghost was. It was all going so bloody well…

The Prince of the Iron Throne began to shout, though part of him knew it would be hopeless. "Recapture the tunnel! Man the—"

A reverberating bellow filled the sky, loud and clear over the din of battle and screams of terrified Free Folk running south, despite it clearly originating from the other side of the Wall. Jaehaerys froze, knowing instantly exactly what was making the sound. So did nearly everyone present, judging by how the courtyard—moments ago a beehive of activity—became still as stone, every set of eyes jumping to the Wall.

Jaehaerys held his breath, too afraid to move anything but his eyes. Those roved over the immense height of the Wall, looking for any sign of a fault. Long seconds passed, Castle Black as still as the tunnel had been frantic.

Nothing happened.

Jaehaerys let out the held breath in a gust of steam into the dark night, the flakes falling thick and fast. He spoke into the sudden silence, voice raised loud. "Fighting one another gets us nothing. Organize a defensive lin—"

A great crack filled the air.

With a growing horror, Jaehaerys watched as an obvious, undeniable fissure spread through the once-though impassable seven-hundred feet of ice. With an erratic, jerky motion it grew, the Wall that had stood for thousands of years giving out a great groan.

Jaehaerys' body took over for a stunned mind. He shoved Aemon and Samwell, screaming at the top of his lungs. "South! South! Away from the Wall! Run!" He sprinted towards the Grey Keep, voice constantly shouting. "Run, run! Away, away!"

He reached the Grey Keep as the Wall truly began to shatter, small chunks beginning to fall as the network of fissures spread. As he had ordered, the great doors had been locked from the outside, Jaehaerys possessing the only key. The men he had ordered to stand guard were already gone, in a dead sprint south to try and escape the colossal amount of ice that would soon fall, leaving trails of armor and weapons as they shed anything that might slow them down.

His fingers found a dexterity they didn't normally possess, the key working the tumblers of the lock, the Prince throwing it to the side as the sound of the Wall cracking became unbearably loud. He struggled with the massive board serving as a crossbar. It was meant for two men, and Jaehaerys struggled for a long moment before a big pair of hands wretched it out of the way. Tormund Giantsbane and Jaehaerys were thrown back as the doors flung open from the inside, a scattering of children who had been pressed against it stumbling out into the heavy snowfall and terror.

"Run! South!" Jaehaerys screamed again, gaining his feet. They flew by him like an unleashed arrow, a flood of young kids and teenagers sprinting with the vitality of youth. Some were older than him, some much too young to be in the position he had put them in. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tormund step into the crowd, deftly sweeping two red-haired girls into his arms before he, too, started the sprint away from the Wall. A boom filled the air, then another accompanied by the shriek of splintering wood, and Jaehaerys knew chunks were starting to come down. Yet still he waited, looking for one face.

Dalla was towards the back, her son clutched to her b.r.e.a.s.t. Val was beside them, holding the hands of two very small children, their faces terrified. Without a word Jaehaerys swooped in, pulling a young boy who couldn't have been more than five namedays old into his arms, Val taking the other.

"Run!"

The five of them sprinted, Jaehaerys acting completely on instinct as they joined the river of terrified people. Black brothers ran alongside knights alongside Free Folk, all thought of war lost. The booms grew louder as the Wall truly began to crumble, some landing so close as to throw great mists of snow over the running figures. Some portion of the Prince of the Iron Throne's brain made sure he kept pace with Dalla, the wildling Queen holding her bawling infant in a death grip, her blonde hair billowing behind them.

He felt when the last of the Wall crumbled, and he instinctually threw an arm around Dalla and pushed her to the ground. He shielded the woman, her infant and the young boy with his body, though the Seven knew there was nothing his frame could do if they hadn't gotten far enough away. He felt Val press in close on the other side, all of them pressing their heads together as they waited.

The crashes went on forever, more and more snow tossed atop them as Mance Rayder's child bawled and the two young children sobbed. Jaehaerys thought nothing, said nothing, did nothing; he only huddled with a passel of Free Folk and waited his death.

His ears rang so loudly that for a long moment he wasn't aware that the world was silent. Hesitantly the Targaryen heir began to uncurl his body from shielding the others, having to shrug off a large amount of the snow and debris that had been thrown over them. He rose fully to his feet in a daze, the wildling boy still clutched to his c.h.e.s.t, staggering as he turned to look back the direction he had just sprinted.

All Jaehaerys saw was a high mountain of rubble, chunks of ice spread for hundreds of yards in all direction. The other side was likely the same, for Jaehaerys saw no portion of the Wall standing in any direction. Large chunks of what had once been a defense lay close to them, some bigger than Balerion the Black Dread had been, several landing mere yards away from where he had just been crouching. Jaehaerys knew without a doubt that thousands had been crushed, many of his friends and perhaps family among them. It was a miracle of the Seven that he and those he had sprinted with weren't among them.

But what had just been unleashed on the south was no miracle, nor could it be of the Seven. Jaehaerys Targaryen's heart sank into his heels.

The Wall had fallen.