Arya stepped down from the wooden stairs as quietly as possible. Behind her, the horde of undead continued to try and find a weakness into the crypts. There was none. When her feet touched the snow she ran. She ran as fast as she could. Snow fell all around her, sticking into her hair and face. She ignored it, a feeling of absolute dread overcoming her. Above her head Rhaegal flew, his screams making her bones shutter.

Arya looked up for only a moment and noticed several wounds upon the dragon's body. She had no time to worry as the large gate at the back of Winterfell came into view. A long spear lay before her in her path. She scooped down and grabbed it, not slowing her run. Good thing she did, for a large ice spider stood between her and the door.

It's beady blue eyes assessed her as she slowed, its mouth opening and closing in quick succession. She could see long sharp fangs each time the creature's mouth opened. It came for her, leaping into the air and crashing down in front of her. Arya swing the spear, but the creature ducked its head. She twisted out of reach as one of its legs came for her chest. With it off balance, trying to right it's heavy body, Arya swung the spear over her head and smashed it down upon the spider's head.

The creature let out a horrible screech, it's blazing blue eyes turning towards her. This time, when it swung for her it hit her arm. Arya went sprawling to the cold ground, the spear knocked from her hands. She could hear the spider charging towards her and she rolled out of its reach as its fanged mouth came down. Another screech.

Arya grabbed the spear and rolled onto her back just as the spider leapt into the air. She thrust the spear forward as the spider came down on top of her. The dragonglass point slid into its belly. Her arms shook at the weight of the spider, but she watched the light go out of its eyes, saw it grow still at the end of her spear.

She pushed the dead creature to the side and got to her feet. Her shirt was covered in black blood from the wound to the spider's belly. The stench made her gag into the snow, her eyes watering. She allowed herself only a moment to compose herself before she was back on her feet. With a mighty pull she released the spear from the spider's stomach and ran towards the gate.

Arya pulled the large door open and sprinted out into the open field. She did not get far before coming to an abrupt stop. Before her, between her and the Night King, was a large army of undead. Not all of them had made it into the castle. Many stood at attention, their eyes towards the sky. When Arya looked up at what they were watching she felt the air leave her body in a loud gasp.

War, it seemed, had made it to the heavens. The three dragons, and their riders, danced a deadly dance of survival. The Night King was outnumbered, but he seemed to have the upper hand. His dragon was quick, and it dodged several blows from the mighty Drogon. All three dragons were bleeding, their blood falling to the ground like rain.

Arya looked back down at her impossible task, getting through the army of undead. She watched as one of the riders, the Night King's man, slowly turned his head towards her. When he did, some of the undead followed him. She now had an audience and nowhere to go. Was this part of her sacrifice? Was she supposed to allow them to take her? Or would they kill her where she stood?

Hundreds of them moved towards her, their weapons raised to attack. Arya lowered the spear at her side, her eyes closing. She prayed this was the right decision. She prayed this wasn't a mistake. With her eyes closed, she could hear them approach, but she could hear something else as well.

The ground began to shake. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, and she turned to look behind her. A large black mass was heading towards them from the south. This made the undead stop, their blue eyes staring at what she was staring at. Seconds rolled by before she finally saw what was coming. Arya gasped, not believing it was real.

Thousands of wolves ran towards her at speeds so fast some of them were just fur. She turned her full attention to them, bracing herself for the impact. Would they attack her? She got her answer as the first line of the wolf army ran straight past her. She followed their blurry movements as they crashed straight into the undead army tearing them from head to toe.

Something came up behind her and she slowly turned to see what it was. She recognized those eyes instantly. "Nymeria," she whispered. As if to answer, Nymeria dropped her head, her large body dipping as low as she could go. Arya's eyes grew wide at her direwolf. Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Had the gods brought Nymeria to her to take her to her destination? All around her screams and pain could be heard. Some came from the wolves themselves, but most came from the mouths of the dead.

Arya scrambled up Nymeria's back, grabbing a large amount of the direwollf's long fur. They were together again, reunited as one. She had come when Arya had needed her the most. Her and her army of wolves. Arya held on for dear life as Nymeria bolted ahead. The wind ripped at her face, at her hair, as she flew past many of the undead. If one stepped into their path, Nymeria ran them over without stopping. Arya marveled at her strength, at the wondrous thing she had become. Nymeria had become a fighter, a queen warrior!

Her teeth bit into flesh and bones as her head jerked the undead from her path. She growled, her teeth bared at anything who dared come at her. She made quick work of the undead wolves. She made quick work of the undead men, women and children. All Arya had to do was to hold on, and hold on she did.

Nymeria's army cut a path from the open field, their mouths dining on flesh and bone. Arya and Nymeria did not slow, but kept going farther and farther away from Winterfell. Above her, she heard a shriek and looked up just in time to see Viserion and Rhaegal collide in a thunderous clap. Drogon breathed fire down upon its dead brother, but he moved out of the way taking Rhaegal with him.

Arya was almost right underneath them now. Just a little bit further. How she was going to reach the Night King, she did not know, but it would come to her when the chance arose. Suddenly, Viserion opened its large mouth and shot towards Rhaegal. It's black teeth sunk deep into its brother's neck causing him to scream an ear shattering scream. He clamped down hard. Rhaegal struggled to free himself, but Arya heard a loud grinding and then a pop. Rhaegal's eyes rolled into the back of its head and he went limp in Viserion mouth.

Arya screamed as Viserion released Rhaegal and the dragon fell towards the ground. Jon came into view, his body pressed tightly to his dragon. There was nowhere for him to go, no escape to be made. He had no choice but to ride the dead dragon to its final fall. Arya's eyes were solely on Jon. She did not see Drogon take advantage of Viserion's distraction. Drogon made the same move his dead brother had done only moments ago. His teeth sunk into the dragon's exposed neck and with one blow Viserion's head came clean off. The Night King fell towards the ground.

Rhaegal hit the hard snow with a resounding crash that shook the ground and caused Nymeria to slow. She desperately searched for Jon, but the snow was too thick where the dead dragon had landed. It threw the snow into the air like a thick fog.

"Go!" Arya screamed at Nymeria.

The direwolf bolted towards Rhaegal's body. Just then, another shake of the ground signaled Viserion's fate. The two dragons had fallen very close to one another. The Night King came from around the large dragon's body. In his hands he held a long spear like the one Arya had, yet this one was made of ice. He walked with a purpose, his eyes staring at something Arya could not see.

Arya willed Nymeria to run faster, a sudden dread filling her chest making it hard to breathe. She could now see past Rhaegal's dead body. A lone figure leaned against the dragon, his arm and leg twisted in an inhuman way. Blood poured from the side of his head. She could see a deep gash. Jon was in trouble.

Nymeria growled as she got closer, bringing the Night King's attention on them. Arya had only a moment to think, only a moment to prepare. The ice spear left the Night King's hand and straight towards them. Nymeria tried to dodge the weapon, but it embedded itself into her side. Arya felt as if the spear had gone through her own body, felt its icy tendrils climb up her spine.

Nymeria jerked forward, a howl of pain escaping her mouth. Even as death wrapped its fingers around the direwolf's throat it thought only of its rider, of its soulmate. Nymeria shielded Arya from getting hurt as she went down hard. Arya screamed, her wide-eyes searching Nymeria's as she climbed off the direwolf's back. Her eyes locked with Arya's for a moment, as if to say it was okay. It was as if she were saying that she had fulfilled her destiny to get Arya where she needed to be.

Arya fell against her direwolf, wrapping her arms around her large neck. She watched Nymeria's eyes slowly close for the last time. Arya had no time to mourn before she felt a cold hand grab her arm and throw her away from her dead direwolf.

Her shoulder smashed into the snow and she cried out in pain. When she looked up the Night King was standing before her. He stared down at her, unmoving. Minutes, maybe even hours, passed by them as they stared. She saw something pass in his blue eyes, something that looked a lot like fear. Yes, it was definitely fear.

Suddenly, his hand shot above his head, the ice spear shining in the moonlight. She could see Nymeria's blood dripping from the end. Arya held her breath, waiting for the final blow to drop upon her. She watched the tip come forward, as if in slow motion. The tip never made it to her. Something gleamed right in front of her face and the spear made a clashing impact. A sword.

Jon stood above her, his face a mask of rage. Blood poured down the side of his face hitting the snow beside Arya's head. The Night King jerked his spear back, aiming for Jon this time. Again, there was a clash of impact, ice meeting Valyrian steel. The impact drove Jon back in his weakened state, his body threatening to topple, but he righted himself just as another blow came.

On and on the Night King came at Jon, pushing him away from Arya. She jumped to her feet, grabbing the dragonglass spear in the snow. She ran towards them, aiming for the Night King's back, but he felt her coming. He dodged her attack. Jon struck from the front, but the Night King was ready. They found themselves in a dance of three. Arya would attack from the back. Jon would attack from the front, his battered body weakening with each swing. Above them, Daenerys could do nothing but watch. If Drogon attacked with fire, Arya and Jon would perish as well.

"The castle!" Jon screamed, his eyes never leaving the Night King.

Daenerys hesitated, not wanting to leave them just in case a moment presented itself, but she finally turned Drogon for Winterfell to rescue the others trapped inside the crypts. Arya and Jon were left alone with the Night King.

Jon was by far the weakest of the three, but he fought with all that he had left. Arya let her spear fly one blow after another, but the Night King was faster. Arya was tiring. Sweat poured from her face, her arms screaming in pain. Jon was not faring much better. He had fallen to his knees several times, his head shaking as if to wake himself from a dream.

The Night King's blow knocked Arya backwards and she fell. He turned his attention solely on Jon. Arya slowly sat up, her entire body screaming at her to stay down. She felt pain everywhere. Her vision blurred as she looked ahead of her and watched the Night King stalk towards Jon. He was on his knees as well, his chest heaving. Too much blood. He had lost so much blood. It pooled around him as he tried to force himself to stand.

Suddenly, his eyes raised to hers. They stared at one another as everything around them melted away. For that one moment in time it was just Arya and her Jon. His eyes pleaded with her to understand, to keep fighting. Arya felt a coldness descend upon her, felt her lungs tighten and her heart jump in her swollen throat.

"Jon!" Arya screamed, as he lowered his sword.

The Night King shoved the spear into Jon's stomach. The scream that tore from Arya's mouth would haunt her long into the night, long into her years.

Jon's body jerked, his eyes never leaving hers. They held so much love, so much comfort, as he began to stand to his feet. He moved his dark eyes to the Night King, his teeth bared. One. Two. Three steps. Jon moved towards the Night King, embedding the ice spear deeper into his stomach until the end came out of the other side of him. His arms wrapped around the Night King, holding him as tightly as he could.

"N—now," he whispered.

A large group of ravens flew from the sky encasing them within their feathers. The Night King was momentarily blind as he struggled to get free.

Arya, it's time, a voice said somewhere in the darkness.

Something picked her up from the ground, placing the spear in her hand. She could barely see from the unshed tears in her way, but she could see the ravens move and expose the back of the Night King. Arya felt a rage so strong it almost choked her, and she ran towards his back. She shoved the dragonglass spear into his back, a furious scream erupting from the Night King's mouth.

Over and over Arya stabbed him. She unleashed her fury upon his back as many times as she could. When she did not feel satisfied, she threw the spear to the ground and grabbed her dagger. She twisted around his neck and began to cut away. As she did, she screamed. As she felt his head being removed by the dragonglass she cried with such fury she became hoarse.

The Night King's head came completely off and she dropped it at her feet. His body fell to the ground, and she watched as it burned blue before becoming nothing but bone. Lying in the middle of the bones was the dragonglass that had made him what he was. Jon fell to the ground, the spear pulled out of his stomach by the Night King's fall.

Arya rushed to his side, her hand grabbing for his wound. His skin already grew cold. His mouth hung open slightly. She could hear the rush of his breaths coming fast. His eyes slid onto her face and he calmed.

"Jon," Arya cried, his head cradled in her lap.

What had happened? This was not the way it was supposed to go. Bran had said Jon would sit the Iron Throne. He had said he would live. Why was he dying in her lap? Had she hit her head and was stuck in some horrible nightmare?

"Look at me," Jon whispered.

Arya had not realized she closed her eyes. She opened them and met his stare. Slowly, he reached his hand up to her cheek, his fingers as cold as ice. They touched her skin as softly as if she were made of glass… as softly as a kiss.

"T—this was the w—way it had to b—be," he said.

No! No, this was not the way. "Tell me what to do," she begged. "Tell me how to save you!"

His hands left her cheek and reached for something at his side. She felt something cold and solid touch her hand. When she looked down, she began to shake. Her head moved from side to side, her eyes bulging from their sockets.

"No!" She yelled at him.

He had laid the dragonglass in her hand.

"I—it's my d—destiny. I can e—end this now," he whispered.

"I can't," she cried, hoarsely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing. "You can. It was a—always meant to be y—you. I can l—lead them h—home."

"Don't leave me," Arya begged, laying forehead on top of the dragonglass.

"I—I'll always… always be with y—you. There—there's not m—much time."

"Somebody help me!" She screamed, looking up and around at the carnage.

Something was happening to the undead army. It had been thought that if they killed the Night King it would kill the ones he made. It had happened when they killed a Wright. Instead, the undead seemed more out of control. They screamed and clawed at the ground, at anything that came close to them, including their own. She could hear screams from the castle, even as Drogon fired from above them.

"L—look at me, Arya," Jon said, grabbing her attention. Her hand was saturated in his blood. With every breath he took his blood pooled out. He had only moments. His shaking hand opened her palm and laid the dragonglass against her skin.

"O—only you, m—my Arya. Please…". His face crumbled. Tears streamed down his face mixing into his blood. "I—it's the only way. H—help me, my l—love."

Arya knew it was the only way, although she fought against the idea with all her strength. If she plunged the dragonglass into Jon's heart it would sentence him to something much worse than death. His face looked at her with so much trust, with so much love.

"I—I need you," he whispered, his lips trembling.

Her hand tightened around the dragonglass. She wanted to take that look from his face, for it murdered her very soul.

Will it hurt?

Yes. It will be the most painful choice you have ever had to make. But, you'll make it for him. To save him.

Arya raised the dragonglass above her head, her body shaking as she sobbed. She hesitated, her eyes meeting his again. She heard something running for them, knew it was the undead.

"I—I love you," he whispered.

With a loud sob of pain breaking through her lips she thrusted the dragonglass as hard as she could into Jon's chest. She heard him gasp over her wails, but she could not stop. She forced the dragonglass through flesh and bone, until it pierced his very heart.

Jon's body jerked, his eyes growing wide as his mouth hung open in a silent scream. Arya looked down at his chest. The hole where the dragonglass went in slid closed. His skin began to change, growing white and solid like ice. She followed it up towards his face and watched as his dark eyes turned blue. His dark hair disappeared and in its place he wore a crown of ice.

The undead, which had almost reached them, came to a sudden stop. Their bodies frozen to the very place at which they stood. The screams stopped, giving way to an even louder silence.

Those blue eyes looked straight at Arya, and for the first time in her life she feared Jon Snow. A thought crossed her mind in that moment. He was no longer Jon. He was no longer hers. She had sentenced him to a fate worse than death. She slowly backed away from him on her knees, her sobs ringing louder.

He slowly sat up, his eyes never leaving hers. She reached for him, begging every god she could think of to let Jon still be in there. Somehow, she hoped beyond hope that he would recognize her. Her hand shook as she begged him to take it. Instead, he stood to his feet.

Her eyes grew wide, her shaking growing worse. She thrust her hand out further, her tearfilled eyes begging him to take it. He stared at her with a stranger's eyes, not one single emotion within his icy face. He looked upon her as if she were a mere face passing him in the night.

"Please," she whispered, begging.

He slowly turned from her, walking away. Her sobs grew louder, for she was helpless to stop him. Jon Snow had died, and in his place the Night King was born. He knew her no more.

All around her the undead moved as one. They walked passed her not paying her any attention. It was if she were a stone. Some walked around her, but they never laid one hand upon her head. A large direwolf passed her, the wound at her side still visible.

"Nymeria," she cried.

The direwolf kept walking as if she had not said a word. She watched her walk towards Jon. He climbed atop her, his army at his back. At the sight of Jon and Nymeria leaving her, Arya scrambled to her feet to chase after them. She pushed the undead from her path, her fears rising with every second.

"Jon," she screamed.

He stopped, his head turning slightly towards her. She watched him, holding her breathe. He gave her one motion, so short she would have missed it if she had not been so attuned to him. A slow, small shake of his head was the final nail in Arya's soul. He turned back, with his army at his back, the new Night King led them away from Winterfell.

Arya fell to her knees, the cold snow not even becoming a dot in her mind. She sobbed openly, harder than she had ever sobbed for her father. Harder than she had ever sobbed for her mother, Robb or Rickon. She sobbed against the quiet night as the dead walked past her. Arya ceased to exist in that moment. She cease to feel anything but the pain and the anguish. Her very soul shattered under the watchful eye of the moon.

It felt like years that she kneeled in the snow looking at an empty space, looking into the darkness. Jon was gone, never to hold her again.

Even as the darkening minutes rolled passed she believed he would come back for her. She believed he would not leave her to this life without him in it. He would not be so cruel. She begged the gods to bring him back. She would even let him go for good, would let him go with Daenerys and their unborn child never to utter another word to him if only they would bring him back. But, as the moon slowly gave way to the sun it became clear to Arya that he was gone… that she had been betrayed.

Arya slowly turned her swollen eyes towards Winterfell, it's walls still burning. She felt a burning within her as well. It grew like a large flame from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Rage replaced her anguish. Furious anger licked at her ravaged mind. She turned completely in the snow, her hands squeezing the dragonglass dagger so tightly she felt it cut her hand.

She stood to her freet, walking slowly, until she broke into a run. There was only one person she wanted to see… and he better had hoped the undead had reached him first.

Her crazed mind whispered a name over and over.

Bran. Bran. Bran.