"Dracarys!" Daenerys commanded.
Red flames burned the frigid cold night, giving it a brief warmth. A long, sustained barrage of flame engulfed the Night King, his form completely disappearing under Drogon's merciless flames.
And yet, as the flames disappeared, Daenerys' victorious smirk disappeared, as the Night King stood there, completely unaffected. Now, it was his turn to smirk.
He summoned a spear, manifesting it into his hand. A spear about three metres long with a pointy tip, brought his arm back, and threw it forward with all his might.
Daenerys saw it, the spear coming at a blinding speed and gave a tight jerk on Drogon's back. Right, she desperately pleaded.
Skin tearing, a sharp yelp of pain, and the sudden crash of a mighty dragon just metres away from Death.
Daenerys looked up, dazed as the Night King approached, flanked by two of his lieutenants. Her breathing quickened, feeling the aura of death, pain and winter approaching her. She nudged Drogon to wake. But all he gave as an answer was a weak groan of pain.
She looked down the side of her eldest child and saw that his body had been completely decapitated in half. The force and power of the spear had cut through hide, muscles, tendons and bone.
Tears welled in her eyes as the mighty dragon took its final, shuddering breath. The light leaving his eyes. It stilled in perpetuity.
The Night King stopped just before her. A cool expression donning his expressionless face. Daenerys looked around her, and all she saw was death. Death, death in the flesh, death in the air, and death in the manifestation of winter. She met his eyes, a smirk, and the raising of hands.
Below her, Drogon suddenly twitched. Stronger and stronger movements, until finally, he began to rise, using the claws on his wings to hoist himself up.
She fell off her resurrected child's back, and onto the snow below, a small yelp and a thud of impact, the frosty material cushioning her fall.
Now, Drogon turned back to face her, his eyes icy blue. The wound still bleeding red blood. He remained unfazed by the wound, his every thought and action controlled by the Night King. He used his arms to drag his decapitated body forward, steadily and steadily, on the behest of the King behind him.
Now, they were face to face once more. Where once, they shared many memories: Born from fire, raised with fire, learning, burning, and conquest. They had been through so much, most together, some separate. But now, there was nothing left.
And yet, through her tear-filled eyes, she saw movement behind Winter, a figure with a longsword, held proudly in both his hands. It was…Jon?
Jon
Jon cut through one of the White Walker guarding their King like falling glass. Its body shattering like glass after a fall. Shards of ice everywhere. The second turned and drew its blade, parrying a downward slash and going on its back foot as Jon pressed the advantage.
It countered soon, parrying the Valyrian steel blade with its icy counterpart. It let out a screech, a horrifying sound in the dead of night, and thrust straight to Jon's chest. He dodged it, and got under the Walker's guard, pulling it off balance, drawing his Dragon glass dagger, and shoving it deep within the side of its chest. It too, crumbled like dust.
Yet from the disappearing dust, the Night King pounced like a predator, drawing its blade from his back while sending a gale of snowy wind at Jon. He covered his eyes with his hand, squinting them against the snow and lift his blade to meet the Night King's own sword.
A spar, of unlike any other magnitude Jon had been in started. Most of Jon's opponents were either irrational or dangerously incompetent, and even with the occasionally good fighter, Jon had always prevailed through luck, sheer will, or a combination of both.
And yet, fighting Winter gave Jon a sense of dread. He couldn't quite place where it came from. Whether it was the fact that an undead dragon was staring down at her lover, eager to consume her, or if it was that the Night King assessed him coolly, looking for weak points to exploit.
I've got to get to her. Jon thought. He unleashed a fury of strikes, parries and thrusts, and side-stepping the Night King's counterattacks. He forced him back and knocked the blade out of the King's hand.
He quickly flicked his hand, and Drogon turned, let out a deafening-high pitched screech and blue flames shot out from his mouth, melting the snow in a straight line. Jon rolled out of the way, dodging the stream of death. The Night King came at him now, summoning a spear of ice, flicking it against the ground to send a stream of ice up into Jon's eyes.
On one knee, Jon parried the blade, still partially blinded by the snow and numbed by the cold and the heat.
Danaerys
Drogon turned back to face her. Her eyes turned remained unblinking. Hoping, praying that Drogon's eyes might turn back to the red that it used to be. It was not to be, and Drogon opened his mouth, revealing a large set of teeth.
Blue fire spawned in the back of his throat, visible to Danaerys, and he let it out. Basking Danaerys in blue flame. Her life instantly snuffed out, for even a Targaryen cannot survive Winter's flame.
Jon
Seeing Daenerys engulfed in flames brought Jon's heart to a standstill. And when the flames were gone…
Nothing
Just some melted snow and charred, blackened bones. No sign of his queen. Angry tears in his eyes, he turned back to face his opponent. He stared for a second longer, before turning back and returning to a fighting stance. Sword held in both hands, tip facing towards him, his face showing no emotion other than a playful gaze in his blue eyes.
Jon let out a roar of anguish, raising his sword and charged, sword held up high at his side, looking to bring it down in a deathly arc over his head. The Night King shot forward, slashing his sword in a downward arc with frightening ferocity, clanging off the metal of Jon's breastplate.
He staggered back, the force of the strike knocking him off balance. The Night King advanced, twirling his blade once, holding it in a grip to stab downwards.
A small breath of air, a soft Shink as the blade pierced armour, skin and flesh. Shock, and momentary confusion.
The Night King stood over him, pulling the blade, slowly, mockingly out of his torso. The blade escaped his mid-section, and with it, blood followed.
Warmth spread, the red blood seeping through his tunic and armour, giving it a dark, wet red. Jon brought his hand up, and his gloved hand came away wet and red.
And with one brutal kick to his chest, Jon fell. His eyes open for a few minutes longer. Blood exited from his mouth with a cough.
The sky was dark, the dragons seen no longer, except for Viserion and Drogon's blue flame. He tilted his head to the side and let out a sigh with the knowledge that Daenerys had died quickly. And with one finally breath of air, Jon's heart stilled for the second time in his life.