Chapter 52 – Jon – Prince

The sky was clear, and the sun was shining, which meant that the Army of the Dead had retreated further into the peninsula.

Jon had ordered the remaining troops into battle formation and had told them: "We need to go forward until we see the snowstorm. That's where they are."

The troops had nodded in agreement and he was glad that they hadn't lost their fighting spirit overnight. Even Dany looked ready for the next round of the fight although she still was a bit pale in the face, well paler than usual.

They had marched on directly after dawn and now the sun had already peaked. Where are they? Jon kept on wondering. Had they used the darkness of the night and had marched south? Was the Army of the Living walking in the wrong direction?

The worst of all was that they had to walk over the field of the last days battle, which meant dead rotten corpses and blood everywhere. Some parts were scorched by the dragons' fire but that meant burned bodies and grotesque pictures. It stank horribly and it was difficult to focus on the task ahead when all you saw, was death and destruction.

"There they finally are," the Hound grumbled after a while and pointed towards the horizon where dark clouds chased the sun's warmth away.

Jon nodded at his fight's companion. The Hound had offered to cover his back during the battle. "You just concentrate on that Night King," he had stated, "I'll handle the rest."

They were also accompanied by a timid looking Podrick and Jon knew what the boy was trying (keeping to the best swordsmen for survival) but he let him. Without Brienne, this boy had absolutely no chance of survival.

Dany and Tyrion flew on Drogon and Rhaegal over their heads. It was planned that while Drogon would scorch out as many enemies as possible (with caution in the vicinity of the White Walkers and their icy spears), Tyrion would continue his mission from the last day and try to rescue as many men and women as possible.

The snowstorm came closer and Jon stopped, his hand high as a signal for the troops who then stopped as well. "Archers," he shouted, "nock."

He heard the rustling noises of hundreds of bows and arrows.

"Wait," he told them and waited till the first lines of wights ran their way. When he thought they were near enough, he ordered loudly: "Draw. Lose!" Hundreds of arrows flew over their heads, all with a dragonglass arrowhead, and when they hit into the block of the Dead, you could hear their screams and see them fall to the ground. It worked! "Continue!" Jon commanded. "But don't hurt the dragons!"

The archers nocked, drew and loosened on their own estimation now and it was impossible for intelligent people to evade these arrows, let alone stupid zombies.

Meanwhile, Jon and the rest of the fighters readied themselves for another day of battle, with grip hands on their dragonglass or Valyrian steel swords, axes, and daggers.

The first lines of the wights hit them like a wave of winter, bringing nothing but coldness and destruction with them.

Without completely realising it, Jon was engaged in the battle, swinging his sword around and trying to kill as many wights as possible. It was their luck that you simply had to touch them anywhere for them to disappear or else it would have been harder and more tiresome to actually kill them.

Next to him, the Hound and Podrick tried the same.

The wights all looked the same: men and women in different states of rotting flesh, some nothing more than a skeleton, with distorted faces and missing pieces of flesh in their faces. Not one of them made them recoil and consider their actions until a large woman with a Valyrian sword suddenly stood in front of them, her eyes dead and blue (though an unnatural colour now) but her face full of hatred and determination.

"Brienne?" Podrick asked confused and let his dragonglass sword down.

Jon looked at the woman's face and knew that Brienne was gone. "Look out!" he shouted when the wight lifted her sword and swung it at Podrick.

It was at the last moment that the squire could lift his sword and parried his lady's stroke. "Brienne, it's me, Podrick," the boy tried but Jon knew it was in vain.

He hurried to reach them, so he could help the squire (he doubted the boy would be able to strike against his former 'knight'), but other wights hindered his way. He saw Brienne trying one blow after another and Podrick stumbling backwards, falling on the ground with fearful eyes.

Finally, she yelled with all her force and lifted the sword over her head.

Jon couldn't look away although he supposed that this would be the end of the loyal squire when he saw a sword cutting Brienne of Tarth's head into two. There was no blood since the body wasn't human anymore and all the inner liquids were frozen in the momentum of time.

The Hound stood behind her and panted heavily, looking at the finally dead wight in front of him.

Podrick quickly stood up and apparently oblivious to the danger around them shouted at the Hound in fury: "What did you do?! That was Brienne!"

"No!" the Hound replied angrily while trying to fight another three wights at the same time. "That thing wasn't Brienne. She's been dead since yesterday, boy!"

Podrick still looked dazzled between the Hound and the former glorious warrior on the ground.

"Snap out of it!" the Hound yelled at him and shook his shoulders with his left hand while killing another wight with the sword in his right hand. "And fight like she would have wanted you to fight!"

Podrick shook his head as if to clear it and lifted his sword once more, facing the wight that stood next to him.

Jon already wanted to concentrate back on the real fight because he thought that the boy had found his spirit again, but he was wrong: it seemed as if the squire was still too irritated by the events that his head was somewhere else, and sure enough the next wight managed to snatch the sword out of his hand and together with five other wights they fell over the poor boy who screamed in agony.

Jon and the Hound exchanged glances, both shocked at what had happened and that they hadn't been able to prevent it. But they knew that there was no time for any sorrow or self-pity now, there would be a time to mourn the dead, but later, when the fight was over, so they nodded curtly at each other before turning around and fighting off the wights, knowing that their backs were protected.

Over him, he saw Drogon flying who tried to eliminate as many wights as possible without hurting one of their own. A quite difficult situation, especially, when the troops were mingled with the enemies on the field and the dragon's fire beam could hurt anyone in a radius of twenty metres. The plan was to push the Army of the Dead towards the sea, where Yara Greyjoy would be waiting to attack from that side; they had just received a letter from her that morning – it seemed that Theon had reached his sister in time.

Further and further, they fought against the Others, and it seemed as if the masses of the Dead would never stop.

Suddenly Jon saw a fireball raining from the sky. "Watch out!" he yelled over the field, but who knew who could hear him in this snow storm? More fireballs fell from the sky illuminating the grey ceiling for a while before crashing down and taking many wights with it. The fireballs were easy enough for humans to spot so they could run out of their ranges – but for a mindless monster, it was impossible.

Jon gazed at the horizon and saw that they were nearer to the shore than he had estimated and that the Ironfleet was ready, shooting one fireball after another towards the battle.

He heard an afraid voice and saw the Hound staring at the flames around him in absolute fear. "Why the fuck is there so much fire!" he demanded to know. Everyone knew that the Hound had difficulties with fire, but Jon would have never guessed that it would make him useless in a fight.

But before he could move towards the huge warrior who let his sword down in fear, another man made his way through the crowd of wights, a flaming sword in his hand.

"Don't worry, Clegane," Beric told his friend. "As long as you stay with me, no fire can harm you."

"You have a fucking sword with fucking flames!" the Hound yelled and recoiled from the weapon although it didn't even swing in his direction.

"And that means that the Lord of Light is with me," Beric smirked. "And when you are with me, he is with you, and will protect you from the fire."

Slowly, the Hound grasped this concept and a moment later he had found back his fighting vigour and was piercing his sword through wights, Beric at his side.

Jon, continuously fighting, looked around and realised that even the addition of the fireballs of the Ironfleet would not be enough to destroy the White Walkers once and for all. So, he made a decision. "DANY!" he shouted as loudly as he could when Drogon was flying over him. "DANY!"

Finally, she must have heard him, for the dragon started his landing until he reached the ground, keeping the wights at bay with his fire.

"What?" Dany asked him concerned but stayed seated in her saddle.

He ran towards her. "This won't work," he told her. "Even with the Greyjoy's help, there are too many!"

"So what do you suggest?"

"Killing the Night King," he announced determinedly. "I believe it is the only way."

"And you want me to take you there?" she guessed and looked over the field. Could she see the Night King from her heightened position?

"Yes," he nodded.

She looked at him concerned. "I don't know."

He climbed carefully onto Drogon's leg until he could take Dany's hand into his. "I know you're afraid about what happened to Viserion, that it will repeat itself." He could see the affirmation in her fearful eyes. "But I promise you," he told her firmly while patting her hand, "that this will not happen. This time we are prepared. Your dragons have another layer of protection under their bellies, not even an ice spear can pierce through it."

She still looked tied, biting her lip in worry.

"Please, Dany," he continued. "You must have seen it from above. There is no other way."

Another moment of indecision passed before she finally nodded.

Sighing in relief, Jon climbed behind her on the saddle, and together they started their way upwards. He looked around but all he could see was chaos. "Do you see him?" he asked Dany after a while.

She strained her neck to all sides until she pointed towards a little hill. "Over there!" She told Drogon to fly towards the hill, and the dragon obliged at once.

Jon looked out for a spear, but the Night King – the only real White Walker left, apparently – sat on his horse and watched them as if he already expected them. "Be careful," he advised Dany who nodded.

When Drogon landed, he breathed fire in all directions and the wights that had the Night King surrounded were burnt in an instance. Then the dragon focused his fire beam onto the Night King himself, but after a few seconds of the inferno, the Night King still stood, not even a scorch on his vestment while his horse was mere ashes now.

Jon's eyes widened. This creature was immune to fire?! "Stay here," he ordered Dany while climbing off the dragon's saddle. "Make sure no one distracts us."

Dany nodded and told Drogon to make a ring of fire around them.

The wights tried to aid their leader but whenever they touched the flames, they were gone in a moment and their painful screeches echoed through the night.

Jon then faced the Night King, his loyal sword Longclaw firmly in his hand, and crept closer to the final enemy.

The White Walker looked at him for a while, and it seemed as if he was amused. Finally, he unsheathed his ice sword and stepped forward.

Jon was hesitant about how to proceed. Should he wait for the White Walker's first move? Or attack at once? This was definitely the final confrontation, but it was also the first between them. He had never seen the Night King fight before, so he didn't know his strategy, his strengths and weaknesses, and dared not to act too rashly.

To his utter surprise, however, the first White Walker lowered his sword and opened his arms. "Welcome, Lord Snow," he spoke, "to my domain."

Jon made a step backwards in shock. The Night King could talk?! His voice was deep and reminded Jon of cold wind in a winter's night; he shuddered.

"I believe you are here to slay me," the monster continued, ignoring Jon's confusion. "Might I ask why that is the case?"

Jon looked back towards Dany, but she was too far away to hear them; not to mention that Drogon's fire muffled any sound.

She frowned at him, but he couldn't answer her. Instead, he focused on the Night King again.

"What is the matter, Jon Snow?" the creature laughed. "As the so-called King in the North you should be able to speak, I presume. Or did the Northerners make a mute their king?"

"How do you know my name?" Jon suddenly asked. He didn't want to talk with the enemy, but an enemy that could talk, at least deserved a chance at defending themselves, especially when the enemy is more human than you thought. That was what Ned Stark had taught him over the years.

The Night King smirked at him. "Your dragons and direwolves are not the only magical beings in this world."

Jon didn't know what to do, what to say. Yet to his relief the enemy continued to talk, still his sword hanging loosely in his hand, as if he didn't intend on using it.

"There is nothing you can do to change what is about to happen. Your Red Priestess was wrong all along. Not Stannis was the prince that was promised. You aren't either." He made a dramatic pause before he announced proudly: "I am the prince that was promised."

Jon stared at the Other in shock until he remembered something which confused him. "How can you be?" he wanted to know and raised Longclaw even a tad higher. "The prince that was promised, was promised to save from the Long Night. You are the Long Night!"

Here, the Night King started to laugh, and it sounded as if he was speaking to a child when he explained: "That is a simple translation error, I'm afraid. You see, the phrase can also mean: the prince that was promised to lead through the Long Night. And that is what I am doing." His face and voice grew serious again. "I am going to change the world, Lord Snow. This world is so corrupt, so wrong, that it is better to destroy everything and begin anew. The Targaryens don't matter, the Lannisters don't matter, and the Starks don't matter. Only the legend of the Long Night has always mattered. When the First Men built that Wall, it was their biggest mistake. They wasted so much energy for something that no one can stop."

He gave Jon a moment to think about his words, but it wasn't enough before he continued by looking over to Dany.

"You know, I want the same thing as her. I want to break the wheel once and for all to make the world a better place." His placid smile turned into pity. "This Daenerys of yours, she is only pretending. Her real goal, her only goal that has ever driven her is the Iron Throne. She wants it and believes it belongs to her and she will stop at nothing to succeed in her wish." The Night King slowly stepped closer towards Jon who stood his ground and held Longclaw firmly in hand. "She originally wanted to destroy all of King's Landing, letting her dragons burn the whole city and all its inhabitants. It's in her nature to be ruthless. You know it deep down although you are afraid to admit it. She is like her father: she wants to destroy everything. I, on the other hand, was sent by the Old Gods to end her mission and fulfil mine. I've tried 8,000 years ago and now I will finally succeed."

Jon was irritated, to say the least. He had heard of Dany's original plans to burn cities to the ground and that it was only Tyrion's advice that had stopped her. Was she really only pretending? Automatically he turned his head around to look at her. Would she really stop at nothing to finally sit on the Iron Throne? What would she do with him, the true heir of the Targaryens? Without noticing it, Longclaw sank to the floor.

It was in that moment that his peripherical vision registered a white spark and before he knew it, his instincts had taken over and he had raised his sword just in time to meet the icy blade of the Night King. His enemy's triumphant smile fell, and the fight began.

Jon never had time to think while he fought and maybe that was why he was so good. He simply charged or retreated, meeting the other's blade before it could hurt his body. They whirled around, thrusted blows at each other that would have destroyed any other weapon, but one was Valyrian steel and the other magical ice.

The Night King was excellent and didn't seem to tire at all, but Jon started to feel every blow, every thrust, and his arms began to hurt just holding his sword. It was after all his second day of fighting non-stop against sleepless zombies. Slowly, he began to fear that he might lose and he tried to get imaginative where his strikes could hit the enemy but it was as if the Night King could read his thoughts: every strange move Jon tried, was blocked by the ice blade.

Suddenly a large figure shot from the sky and landed right behind the White Walker. He turned around immediately when he heard the loud rumble of a dragon – and it was this moment that Jon chose to strike through the middle of the Night King with all his force.

The first and the last of the White Walkers shattered into a million ice pieces without even being able to scream in agony.

And so, all at once, it was over. The rest of the Night King was lying on the floor in the mud where snow had laid before the fight had begun; the wights lost all their lively behaviours and fell together, as if a puppet master had cut the strings of his puppets; Drogon ended his ring of fire and an eerie silence suddenly fell over the whole field.

Jon panted and looked around. First, his gaze fell on Rhaegal who had come to his aid, and Tyrion on his back, then he stared at Dany who seemed to be as shocked as him that it was suddenly all over.

They had won but the victory felt bitter and deafening silence like a bad omen.

Slowly, however, reality started to hit them, and it was only when Dany came to him and hugged him fiercely that Jon allowed himself to breathe in relief.