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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 96: The Frozen Abyss
The wind howled across the frozen shore of Hardhome, carrying with it the screams of the dying and the shrieks of the dead.
Joffrey stood upon his flying carpet, his green eyes sweeping across the battlefield below. The scene that greeted him was one of utter carnage...a slaughter that would be remembered for generations to come, if any survived to tell the story.
Bodies lay scattered across the frozen ground like broken dolls, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their eyes staring blankly at the grey sky.
The snow was no longer white but red and black, stained with the blood of the living and the ash of the dead.
The wildlings had fought well, Joffrey would give them that. They had stood against the tide of the dead with nothing but steel and courage, had held their ground even as their leaders fell around them. But bravery was not enough against the Others. It never had been.
He could see the remnants of their army now...perhaps a few hundred survivors, huddled in small pockets of resistance. They were being systematically hunted down by the wights, their numbers dwindling by the moment.
The creatures moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, their limbs twisting in ways that would have been impossible for the living. They carried rusted weapons and broken tools, and moved as if they had a single mind.
But Joffrey did not come here to become the savior of the wildlings.
He looked down and glanced at Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, standing defiantly before a wall of wights. He also recognized the white direwolf at Ned's side...Ghost, Jon Snow's companion.
Though during his first visit to Winterfell, it had been nothing but a pup.
Now it was a full-grown beast, its red eyes gleaming with intelligence and fury.
Lord Stark's group was surrounded by the army of the dead.
A wall of wights pressed in on all sides, their blue eyes shining in the twilight of the northern lands.
And a short distance away, he spotted the ones in charge of this army.
The Others. The White Walkers. He did not pay much attention to the one he had just destroyed, but looking at the rest, he could see the similarities they had with that Corpse Queen that had rested beneath the crypts of Winterfell.
They all seemed to have a similar origin and likely similar abilities, given that they commanded an army of dead men.
Joffrey observed all of this in the span of a heartbeat, his mind already calculating the best course of action.
The situation in Hardhome was dire...the undead were dominating the battle, and by now there were only a few living people left.
The wildlings had been scattered, their army broken, their leaders dead. The Others were methodically hunting down the survivors with cold efficiency.
But things were about to take a turn.
He raised his metal hand, and wild flames erupted from his palm. "Incendio Maxima!" The spell shot across the land like a comet, striking the mass of wights surrounding the house and reducing them to ash in an instant.
The flames exploded outward, incinerating dozens of wights in a single blast. The undead creatures shrieked as they burned, their bodies crumbling to ash in the span of a heartbeat.
The heat from the flames was so intense that even the snow around the building melted instantly, revealing the frozen ground beneath.
The air itself seemed to shimmer, and the sudden warmth washed over the survivors like a wave.
Ned Stark stared in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had heard much about the so-called Sorcerer Prince's abilities, but this was the first time he was witness to such a display.
This was not the kind of power that men should have, and yet... here it was, somehow.
Joffrey descended on his carpet, landing in the clearing he had created.
He raised his hand, pointing his finger at the carpet beneath his feet, and spoke a single word. "Engorgio!" The carpet expanded, growing to several times its original size.
It was large enough now to hold a dozen people. Its surface was worn and faded from years of use. It was made of coarse wool, the kind that might have adorned the floor of a lord's chamber or the private quarters of a commander.
Its edges were frayed, its surface stained with marks of age and use. For what he was told, it came from the Lord Commander's office, but since the Old Bear was dead, he would not miss it. And it had been enough to serve Joffrey's purpose.
"Get on," he said in a commanding tone. "Now."
Ned Stark stared at him, his face depicting his shock and confusion. He had obviously not been expecting to see him appear here, in the frozen wastes of the North, riding on a flying carpet.
The sight was so incongruous that for a moment, he could not even comprehend what he was looking at. "Joffrey?" Ned spoke in a soft tone, almost a whisper that got progressively louder. "How did you... what is this? What are you doing here?!"
Joffrey's lips curled into a thin smile. "I promised Robb I would find you, Lord Stark. I keep my promises." He gestured to the carpet. "Now, why don't we leave the rest of the questions for later? Because if you would like to survive this night, I suggest you get on. We don't have much time... more are coming."
Ned hesitated for a second, his eyes darting between Joffrey and the approaching horde of wights. He could see them closing in from all sides.
The moment of respite that Joffrey's spell had bought them was already fading. The wights were reforming their lines and pressing forward once more.
"Get on the carpet already!" Joffrey commanded with a sharp tone.
Val moved first, her spear still in hand. She climbed onto the carpet with a grace that belied her exhaustion, her eyes never leaving Joffrey's face.
Even this far north, she had heard some tales of the sorcerer prince and the destruction he left behind. But she had also seen him save them, had watched him incinerate the dead with a single gesture. For her, that was enough.
Gilly followed, clutching her baby to her chest, her body trembling with fear. She was a simple girl, a wildling who had never expected to see the wonders of the world beyond her village.
The flying carpet was beyond her comprehension, but she understood that it was their only hope of survival.
Ghost padded onto the carpet beside her, his red eyes fixed on Joffrey.
"Alright..." Ned was the last to board. He climbed onto the carpet while clutching the Valyrian sword he had recovered from the icy remains of the Other.
Joffrey glanced at the two women. He had no idea who these were, but they seemed to be accompanying Lord Stark. "And... you two are?"
"I thought we were in a hurry," Val said.
"Just because I don't like wasting my time. But these things..." He pointed at the approaching wights. "Are no threat to me." As he said that, his metallic hand produced another wave of flames that proceeded to incinerate dozens of the undead creatures and created a wall of fire that prevented the rest from crossing through.
"Wait, Joffrey. We can't leave yet," Ned said with a tight voice. "Bran was with me... we were separated during the battle. I won't leave him behind."
"Bran?... oh, right." Joffrey had almost forgotten about the small boy. He had said he would bring them both. It would not look good if he left one here.
But as he looked around the remnants of Hardhome, past the flames and the undead, he could not see him anywhere.
And when he reached out with his magic, searching for Bran's presence, he found nothing. The boy was either dead or too far away for his senses to detect.
A frown formed on his face. "That's not good."
Before Ned could ask, several figures crossed Joffrey's flames.
It was the Others.
Joffrey had killed one, but eleven remained, and now their attention was completely focused on the sorcerer who could conjure flames.
"Oh? These must be the summoners." Joffrey noticed the difference immediately.
These entities felt like the one he had just killed using the Valyrian sword, and now that he could see them closer, he could feel the similarities they had with the Corpse Queen.
Simple fire was not enough to stop them.
Joffrey reached over with his hand. "Lord Stark, hand me the sw-"
"Your magic is not strong enough to kill the Others. We must leave immediately," Val pointed at the powerful undead beings.
Joffrey stopped what he was doing to look at her and raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Are you saying that my magic is weak?"
"Can you make this fly?" Gilly asked. "They are getting close..." She was staring at the Others.
There were three, mounted on black spiders, who had started to move quickly towards them.
"I'm only speaking of what I see," Val pointed ahead. "Your flames did not affect them. They are ancient creatures of legend. You need more than just fire to destroy them. If it was that easy... Mance would never..."
"I'll have you know that I can do much more than that. I only used a simple spell against those wights, but-"
"Joffrey, perhaps you should use this..." Ned was now handing him the sword. "The Valyrian steel seems to be effective."
"Ahh!" Gilly screamed when the three giant spiders jumped at them.
"Oh, for fuc-" Joffrey turned around and aimed his right hand. "Fulguras!" A beam of pure heat formed before his hand and blasted the three creatures in front of him, reducing them to ash in a matter of seconds. The spell had also left a path of destruction in its pass, as a show of its power.
Joffrey glared at Val. "What do you think now?"
Val frowned. "I think you are too arrogant, Sorcerer. You could have done that before?"
"...there is no pleasing you, is there?"
"More are coming!" Gilly screamed.
"It's okay," Joffrey said calmly. "I'll just take care of them. And then we can-"
Suddenly, a presence invaded his mind without warning. It was an ancient presence that dwarfed his own magic like a mountain compared to a simple pebble.
It broke through his mental defenses as if they were not even there, its power so immense that Joffrey could do nothing but stare into the abyss that had opened before him.
In his mind's eye, he saw a shadow...a vast, formless darkness that stretched across the horizon.
It had countless eyes, each one burning with a cold blue fire, and they were all fixed on him. The creature's gaze felt heavy. It pressed down on his soul with a weight beyond measure.
This presence was as ancient as it was overwhelming.
'It must be that thing...the Primordial Ice creature.' Joffrey realized who this was.
He had already met its counterpart in Stygai. He had known of its existence. He had learned of it from the fire one, and had also learned it was still resting somewhere in these vast frozen lands, beyond the reach of human eyes.
It had been sleeping for millennia, dormant beneath the ice, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
Joffrey had believed that it was still far from awakening completely, that it would take centuries before it could influence the real world in any
significant manner.
He had been wrong on that assessment...very wrong.
Joffrey tore his gaze away from the vision, having to use all his willpower to do so.
He had faced many enemies in his long life, had battled dark wizards, dragons, and even some who believed themselves gods. But this... this was something else entirely.
This was a power beyond his comprehension, a force that could crush entire worlds without trying.
He could feel the creature's presence growing stronger, could feel its gaze boring into the back of his skull like a drill.
It was following him like a moth to a flame...it was attracted by his magic.
The White Walkers and their wights were mere puppets, tools for a greater will.
The true enemy was the shadow in the north, the ancient horror that had awakened to claim this world.
And it had noticed him.
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