A shout out to my reviewer from Seville who leaves me reviews en Espanol. :P My Spanish is limited so while I get the gist of them, I usually have to take them to Google translate to get the full commentary. Thank you, thank you, so flattered! And to Magnus, thank you for always reviewing, and yes you're right, Beric did give his last life for Lady Stoneheart, but when I read up about it, in both instances (Priest or Beric) it's just called R'hllor's kiss or something and it appears to be the same thing happening either way, I guess just with Beric he'd done it too many times? I dunno, lol, but I figured it'd work in this case for my purposes.
Chapter 25
Bran's unanimated body lay in the snow behind Jaime, allowing the maimed knight to fight unburdened. They'd been caught in the middle of the courtyard, unable to ward off the dead any longer as Tyrion's explosive weapons had already been utilized, buying them a few extra seconds. Now both Lannister men guarded the boy, Tyrion with a dragonglass knife he carried and Jaime with his Valyrian steel sword. The wights continued advancing, not allowing a break long enough to get the boy safely to the crypts.
Tyrion shouted for help from the Northmen fighting nearby, hoping someone would hear the urgency in his voice to get the three-eyed-raven to safety. He moved sideways quickly as a wight lunged at him, nearly losing his balance, but managing to swing his knife around and stab the creature in the leg, collapsing it instantly. In the moment's reprieve he saw a man running toward them, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the Gods! The soldier reached them in a moment and dispatched one of the wights quickly, even as more continued coming.
"No!" Tyrion shouted at him and pointed behind him at the boy sprawled in the snow. "Get Bran to the crypts!"
The man eyed the oncoming dead uncertainly for a moment before heeding Tyrion's command, running to Bran's side, grasping one arm, and jerking him up over his shoulder. Jaime was fighting furiously, three dead men attacking him all at once. "Go!" he shouted at Tyrion, who was gaping at the approaching onslaught of wights, far too many to fight at once. Jaime slashed frantically, just barely keeping the dead creatures off of him. "Go now, save the boy!"
The dread washed over Tyrion as he realized what was happening. He knew there was no other way; there was no more time. "Brother…" his voice broke and Jaime locked eyes with him for a split second, understanding passing between them. Sorrow overcame Tyrion as he turned and ran after the man carrying Bran, a painful lump rising in his throat.
He swallowed hard, steeling himself momentarily as a wight moved to attack Bran. Tyrion slashed at the monster just as its hands had closed around Bran's limp arms, killing it instantly. He jumped over the body and ran as fast as his short legs could go to the Northman who was now fighting again—awkwardly with his burden—as another foe attacked them. Tyrion approached from behind and buried his blade in the wight's back, the dragonglass instantly zapping the false life out of it. He looked beyond where the creature had fallen and saw the doors to the crypts just ahead of them. They were running again, and in the next moment he barreled into heavy wood and began pounding hard, shouting for those inside to open for Bran. Seconds crept by slowly, agonizingly, as the men pressed against the doors, watching all sides for enemies.
Finally the sounds of latches and bolts could be heard from the other side, and the doors were pushed open just as lady Sansa and Clegane rounded the corner. Tyrion wondered briefly why she had come back out of the crypts, but at the moment he could not bring himself to care. He glanced in the direction of where he'd left his brother, unable to see what had become of him. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat as his eyes misted over. He was grateful for the darkness of the cavern that greeted him.
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Brienne had been fighting almost non-stop since the dead had arrived and she was beginning to feel the exhaustion overwhelming her. She needed reprieve, if just for a single moment. She fought her way back from their current point of engagement until she was eventually able to edge into a corner, momentarily out of sight. She leaned against the wall and began to catch her breath, grateful for the moment to rest her sword arm.
When she opened her eyes again they settled on the other side of the castle where she saw a man fighting single handedly—rather awkwardly with his left hand. She gasped when she recognized him. Ser Jaime! Gods, he is overwhelmed!
Brienne shoved away from the wall and began running to him, yet even as she went she knew she could not hold back the numbers he fought. She looked about her frantically as she sprinted, hoping to find soldiers who could help her. Her eyes fell on Arya's great direwolf who was tossing her head side to side as she shredded a corpse in her jaws. Please let her understand. "Nymeria!" she shouted, and she saw the beast's head whip up at the sound of her name. Jaime was no longer standing, the creatures swarming over him.
No! Brienne choked, "NYMERIA!" she screamed again without looking back, praying to all the gods that the beast would help. She raised her great longsword when she was within range of the horde of dead, and swiped through several in one powerful blow. "Ahhhhh!" Brienne fought with rage and emotion, her blade swinging heavily, the sound of bone crunching under the edge of her sword. She could see Jaime still fighting from his position on the ground, his golden hand holding a wight away from his face, his sword swiping at another as he lay on his back in the reddened snow.
A flash of grey fur rushed past Brienne and the beast collided with the mass of dead men, taking out three in one bound. More wolves from her pack followed, and Brienne was able to fight her way through to Jaime.
She gasped when she saw him, covered in wounds, with blood leaking from a gash on his face and out of one nostril. Brienne had been a soldier most of her life, and she knew what his wounds meant. "Ser Jaime!" Her voice broke with emotion as she fell to her knees, lifting his upper body gently to a sitting position. "No, how did this happen?" She knew there was no use trying to hide the tears which had risen to her eyes unbidden.
"Brienne," he choked. The pain was clear in his voice, but he was Jaime Lannister so he still wore a weak grin. "I had to—get the Stark boy—to safety." His hand touched a gaping wound on his chest, blood gushing up from it. He looked at it and grimaced, then met her gaze again, his breath coming in strange gasps. "I have kept—my oath. To Lady Catelyn."
The tears flowed freely from Brienne's eyes as she searched his face, pain etched deeply in all of her features. "You didn't have to do this, Ser Jaime." She ripped off her gauntlet and began wiping at the blood that was running into his eyes.
Jaime reached up and gently touched her hand to still her movements. "Just Jaime—will do, Brienne." His voice was hoarse, thick with pain, but the grin persisted. He closed his eyes briefly, before looking into hers once more. "I had to redeem myself—so many mistakes." His eyes were unfocused for a long moment before he continued. "I pray the gods will—forgive me." He sucked in a ragged breath and winced, drawing a sob from Brienne. He tilted his head and contracted his brow, looking up at her, "I meant to tell you…your eyes are beautiful—Brienne. Like the sapphires—of Tarth." He smiled and traced his thumb across her temple weakly.
Brienne laughed through her sob, remembering how Jaime had saved her from rape with the lie about the sapphires on her home island—sapphires which could provide a hefty ransom from her lord father in exchange for her virtue. She stroked his cheek tentatively, before leaning in and placing a kiss on his forehead, her body shaking with emotion. She closed her eyes as her lips touched the warm skin, spilling her tears on his head. When she pulled away, Jaime reached up behind her head and pulled her into his lips.
It was a soft, gentle kiss—both hearts wrenching, both stomachs flipping in the moment. When Jaime pulled away he searched her eyes. "Thank you, Brienne—you reminded me—that I had not lost all of my honor." He squeezed her hand and his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I believe—you managed to make me—a better man." He chuckled weakly, his skin paler than she'd ever seen it. "I'll leave you—for—for that red-haired bastard but—don't let him—forget I—I would have had you first."
Brienne gathered him into her arms as the life left his body, weeping into the soft, golden hair of the man she loved.
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Sandor watched the doors close behind Sansa before he turned and prepared to head toward the great hall with Lightbringer, determined to get the sword to Jon. After Drogon had brought her cold and blue body back with him, Jon had carried the dragon queen numbly to the hall. He'd ignored Sandor after that, acting dazed and single-minded as he carried the lifeless woman away. When Sandor had pressed further about retrieving the sword he'd just stopped walking for a moment and said, "Right. Get the sword," before he'd disappeared behind the doors of the hall. After cursing the man, Sandor had begun heading for the crypts again, Drogon taking flight as he did so, yet he'd been prevented again from reaching them by a fresh onslaught of dead men. He'd been fighting his way slowly back toward them when Sansa had found him.
Now he suddenly remembered the sack of weapons she'd shown him and he reached down for the bag. He cautiously opened it and peered inside, slowly pulling out one of the small orbs. Sandor shrugged, Might as well test them out before leaving them with these fools. He turned to where the mass of corpses was greatest, where they'd been falling down off of the battlements into a heap before rushing at the living men in the castle. He looked at the sphere briefly before hurling it directly into their midst. The pile of corpses exploded, flames and body parts flying in all directions. Sandor raised his eyebrows and looked back down at the bag of weapons, chuckling a bit to himself, as shouts of surprise rose up from the fighting men. He fingered another sphere, rotating it briefly in his huge hand before tossing it in roughly the same location as the first. Fuck if these aren't actually kind of fun. The heap exploded again, the mass of flailing corpses left temporarily disabled and aflame.
He handed the sack off to a Northman who had watched him throw the second round. "Keep blowing those fuckers up," he growled, then continued in the direction of the hall, hacking at the dead who crossed his path.
Jon was emerging from the heavy doors just as Sandor approached. He seemed to have gathered his senses again; at least the determined, stubborn look had returned to his face. His eyes fell on the sword and he quickly looked up at Sandor. "Is that it? Lightbringer?" He asked, astonished. "How did you get it so quickly? It takes ages to get down there, even at a run." Out of all the supernatural occurrences which were happening around him, this seemed to surprise him.
Sandor grinned. "My wife is an intelligent woman." He shrugged and handed Jon the sword. "It doesn't look much like a 'Lightbringer' to me. Don't know why they've fucking called it that."
Jon lifted the sword, studying the strange metal and running his finger down the edge. "Still sharp. But you're right, it hardly seems out of the ordinary." He looked at Sandor, his brow furrowed. "Behind you."
Sandor drew his own weapon and dispatched the wight which had reached them, then turned back to Jon, who was speaking again.
"Isn't it supposed to be a flaming sword?"
Sandor grunted. "I don't know that it matters if it's a fucking dancing sword if we can't get it into the Night King's heart."
Jon looked at the fighting in the courtyard, the stream of corpses temporarily slowed by the exploding weapons of the Children which were still going off every few seconds. It appeared that there'd still been no sign of the Walkers or the Night King. He clenched his jaw, "I know. What about Bran?"
Sandor shook his head. "He made it into the crypts, but he's lost to the world. Must be inside one of the dragons."
Jon glanced up at the battlements, at the few men left there fighting back the onslaught of dead. He could only imagine what the field beyond the walls looked like. In the courtyard, corpses were everywhere, both from his own fallen men, and the defeated or undefeated reanimated corpses. The wolves still fought, though their numbers had been greatly diminished and Jon felt sure that the largest form he saw lying amongst the dead was Nymeria, her life given in defense of the home she'd once called her own. He clenched his fist around the new sword he carried, Longclaw still sheathed at his side. He looked into Sandor's eyes, determination and a justified anger lighting a fire behind his own. "We have to end this," he fairly growled.
The north facing wall of Winterfell suddenly exploded, and the two men fell to the ground, covering their heads instinctively. Men, stone and debris crashed all around them as the monstrous form of a dragon skidded through the break in the walls made by his own body. The beast finally came to a rest in the courtyard among the wreckage, a long, icy shaft nestled under his great wing. Drogon raised his head weakly, and thrashed his tail, roaring in pain. Jon and Sandor pushed the bits of rubble off of them, as they got to their feet and surveyed the destruction.
The main force of wights at the fore of the battle had been crushed by Drogon's fall, many with his body and others with the stone of the fallen part of the castle. Men had been killed instantly on the impact or buried under the crumbled stone, and others were crawling now out of the ruins, helping one another to their feet. An icy fog blew through the yawning gap in the walls, and the hairs rose on the back of Jon's neck. Drogon shrieked again, raising his head just enough to shoot a blast of flame toward the opening in the wall, exacting one last effort of vengeance before dropping his head back to the earth. A low growl issued weakly from his throat before his eyes closed and he moved no more.
Despite the blast of flame, the cold fog was overwhelming and Jon quickly unsheathed Longclaw and gave it to Sandor. "You'll need this." Sandor took it without argument, certain that at least the metal of Lightbringer, if not currently aflame, must have the magic to withstand the Walker's blades.
The flames seemed to cower away from the forbidding presence of the Night King as he stepped through them, walking steadily and sure-footed through the wreckage of Winterfell's northern wall, his cold blue eyes trained ahead in unwavering focus. The Walkers came with him, parting the flames as well, flanking him on both sides. It seemed as if everything else in the battle stopped momentarily as the White Walkers entered the castle. There were at least twenty, though Jon did not attempt to count as he quickly stepped out into the courtyard with Lightbringer, his hands clenched around the hilt tightly, his jaw set.
The Night King turned to face Jon, and their eyes met briefly with a fierce intensity before he broke the stare and looked beyond Sandor to the doors of the great hall. Everyone's eyes followed, the temporary silence in the courtyard creating an eerie sense of foreboding. It was as if time had stopped.
Sandor turned and saw Daenerys, naked and breathtaking, with her skin still the color of ice, her long white hair whipping about her shoulders. But it was her eyes that caused his stomach to jolt, a sickening sense of dread taking hold of him as she stared out into the frozen castle grounds with an icy blue glare. All eyes were on her and they were awestruck, both by the change which had come over her, and by the otherworldly beauty which was even more striking because of her nakedness. Jon looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
Daenerys moved slowly toward Jon, and Sandor noticed that even the dead men had stopped the advance temporarily, swaying mindlessly in one place as they had when they'd surrounded the island months ago beyond the wall. The Night King, the Walkers, all the men and the dead were silent and motionless as they watched her.
She reached Jon and he almost flinched when she stretched her arm toward his face, touching his cheek gently as she held his gaze with her fierce blue eyes. He jolted at the cold touch and gasped, closing his eyes tightly for a moment as he seemed to fight with himself inside of his mind. Finally he opened his eyes again—wide and incredulous—and they searched Daenerys' face with an expression that showed equal wonder and sorrow. She nodded almost imperceptibly, then moved past him to where Drogon lay.
Jon closed his eyes briefly again before shouting in rage, making the first sound in the courtyard since the dragon had died, and he rushed at the Night King, blade held high. The battle resumed instantaneously.
Men shouted, the dead screeched, and steel shattered under the weapons of the Walkers by those unlucky enough to not possess a sword of Valyrian steel or dragonglass. Sandor charged the nearest Walker and engaged him. Nearby, Brienne was screaming, swinging violently with two Valyrian steel swords. She sliced through the Walker, turning him into shards of ice before chucking one of her swords at Tormund who had just worked his way out from the rubble.
Jon slashed at the Night King, attacking, parrying, thrusting, yet not causing any damage with his sword. The men were overwhelmed, and though new warriors were rushing in every moment from the gap in the wall along with the dead, Jon knew it was not enough. He shouted in frustration, knowing what he must do yet dreading it with every fiber of his being.
Daenerys had reached Drogon and began stroking him in the chaos, her blue hands running gently along his scaled face, a single tear falling from her changed eyes. She turned around slowly and faced Jon, who'd run from his fight toward her. She stood still, her arms at her sides, her chin high. Her face was at peace and her eyes were closed.
Jon grimaced, but did not hesitate. He plunged Lightbringer through her heart in one swift stroke. He choked, emotion twisting his face as she fell to her knees. Her blue eyes opened, piercing his with the intensity of her gaze, and she smiled sadly before collapsing backward onto the snow.
Jon clenched his jaw, fighting the tears as he withdrew Lightbringer from her breast. The sword seemed to sing as it left her body, her blood igniting it in an intense flame that scintillated in alternating azure and golden tones. Its song was the song of ice and fire.
Jon spun about and the battle seemed to come into focus again. Sandor was engaged with the Night King, offering Jon protection while he'd been momentarily distracted. Beric was collapsing, an icy spear buried in his chest by the thrust of a Walker, one of two he'd been fighting. An arrow tipped with dragonglass was loosed from somewhere atop the battlements and it found its mark in one of the Walkers, shattering him into a million pieces, and some of the wights fell with him. Jorah had flown to Daenerys' side, and was holding her body in his arms, shaking, the battle temporarily forgotten. Men all around him were fighting for life, whether with the dead men or the Walkers.
All of this Jon took in in an instant, hardly registering any of it, for his attention was trained solely on the Night King. He charged toward him, shouting in rage with Lightbringer stretched out across his right shoulder. Sandor turned aside and saw the shock registering in the eyes of his opponent as Jon's sword fell heavily onto the Night King's weapon, the strange, high-pitched, harmonious sound heightening with the blow. Sandor turned and sliced through a corpse as he headed to engage the Walker who had taken Jorah from behind, burying his crystalized sword between the knight's shoulders.
Jon saw a flicker of fear registering in the Night King's eyes as they fought and he guessed that the creature did not originally believe that he'd had the true sword. He closed his unnatural blue eyes for a split second, seeming to focus on something else, and the hairs on Jon's neck began to rise. All at once the dead were standing, all of the newly dead Northmen, Unsullied, and the Dothraki, Jorah and Beric—all with piercing blue eyes.
A great shuffling sounded from behind him as he continued to rain blows on the Night King, and he knew what it was. He glanced quickly and saw Drogon rising to his feet, his great leathered wings jamming into the frozen earth as he shook his head and roared.
Jon had seconds to react. He knew this was a last ditch attempt by his enemy, he had seen the fear in his eyes—the fear of losing his war to the Prince with the one weapon that he knew could defeat him. An incredible surge of strength rushed through Jon, fueled by the just rage of all that had happened in his life that had brought him to this moment. He shouted with it, a loud, powerful, furious roar as he bore down on his enemy, knocking the crystallized weapon from his hands.
Before the panic had fully registered in the Night King's eyes, Jon plunged Lightbringer into his chest, a fierce grimace upon his face as he stared into the cold blue eyes. The flames of the sword grew brighter and the Night King grabbed the hilt in shock, the color draining from his face and eyes. In a matter of moments he was no longer an ice demon—the flame of Lightbringer slowly died until all that was left was a man with a sword in his chest. His eyes glossed over and he ceased to move, yet Jon always thought for the rest of his life that he'd seen a flicker of relief in the man's eyes before he finally died.
Everything was silent around him. Jon was heaving, breathless from the fight, and it was only then that he looked up to see no one standing but men. All of the wights had collapsed lifelessly as the magic drained from their master. The Walkers had shattered where they stood, their icy remains blown across the blood soaked courtyard of Winterfell.
Jon fell to his knees as a cry of victory rose from the living.
This chapter was so hard to write, and I fear I didn't do it justice. Good news is we'll be able to get back to our favorite couple soon. And I'm sorry so many had to die, but it wouldn't be a believable GOT story if we didn't realistically lose people we care about. Don't hate me, I cried like a baby for Jaime and Brienne. This is just my ending, who knows if the story will go this way (if you think Dany is making it out of GOT alive then you're kidding yourself, hahahah that's all I'll say on that). You guys are the best, leave me some reviews, just so I know what you're thinking!