Breaker, Broken | Jorah Mormont

Chapter 17

The expedition had gone wrong.

"I don't have enough room for all of them on Viserion," said Saera, stressed, as she dressed and gathered her weapons. "The fastest way out is on dragonback but Jorah and I barely fit on the way here. How many of them are left? How many men do I need to carry out?"

Bran hummed, eyes going completely white for a moment. "Six," he replied. "Stuck on a small island and surrounded by the army."

"I need a large basket," said Saera, tying up her hair. "Or some sort of net that they can climb into quickly so I can fly them out. Bloody fucking hell now is the time I wish I had the other dragons!"

"We may have a net large enough to hold them," said Ser Davos from behind her. "They'll be packed tight but it's the fastest way to get them all out of there."

"Bring it to me," said Saera. "I will attach it to either side of the saddle and hope Viserion can hold them just long enough to get to the Wall."

"He's a mighty beast," said Ser Davos. "Surely–?"

"He's not as large as Drogon," murmured Saera. "I've never tested how much he can carry. I'll have to hope he's strong enough. Fuck. Fuck."

Viserion was not pleased to have dozens of Northmen surrounding him and trying to fasten the net. Saera had climbed onto the saddle, accepting the ends of each rope and securing them to either side, two long ropes letting the net dangle far enough down that it wasn't in Viserion's way and kept them from actually having to land on the icy island; Viserion's weight might break the ice.

"Sōves!" called Saera once the net was secured. (T: Fly.) Viserion kicked off the ground, the net dangling below his belly as they flew northwest, past Bear Island and into the frostfangs.

They flew low enough that they might manage to see a gigantic horde of corpses lingering around. At first the winds were too thick with snow, making it near impossible to see what lay below them. Then, a large mass came up ahead. As they neared, it became evident the mass was made up of small dots, bodies surrounding a circle where six even smaller dots remained.

"Drakarys," said Saera, pointing Viserion to the Army of the Dead, now converging on the island.

The fire blew out, incinerating the wights nearest the island as they circled, fire bursting out continuously until the net finally brushed against the ground. "Umbās," she commanded. "Kelīs." (T: Wait. Halt.) She yelled at the men below. "Into the net, quickly!"

They didn't waste any time. Jon guarded them as Viserion continued to blow fire at the wights. One by one their bodies filled the net until at last, Jon leapt in. Saera guided Viserion up and away, speeding back the way they came, their captured wight snarling as it felt itself being taken away from the others.

She was startled suddenly as an icy spear sailed past her head; a second earlier and it would have impaled both her and Viserion.

"It's the Night King!" yelled Jon from below. "Do not follow a straight path!"

Anxious, she guided Viserion in a zig-zagging pattern, as fast as he could with the extra load beneath them. Finally the snow became too thick, and no other spears came for them. Saera's heart felt like it might burst out of her chest.

I almost lost him, I almost lost my own life.

How she wished she and Daenerys could be here together.

Viserion seemed to be doing alright despite the weight of six men and Saera. She had him fly their group all the way back to Winterfell, where he hovered long enough for them to scramble out, then landed and roared, turning his head back to look at Saera.