"They've taken to calling you the Lone Wolf now." Jon looked up from the poor excuse for a campfire to see Jamie Lannister's grizzled features coming towards him through the snowfall.
"A better title than ser Goldenhand." Jon said.
Jamie held up the prosthetic for him to see, "Does this look golden to you?" He asked pointedly. The metal hand was rusty, dented, worn, and scratched with the pinkie finger missing. If it had once been gold, its glimmer had long faded. The last Lannister sat down across from him and sent him one of his smirks, even though they seemed hollow nowadays, "Ser Goldenhand and the Lone Wolf; the last of Houses Lannister and Stark. Has the making of quite the ballad."
Jon shook his head, "Bran is the last of House Stark."
Jamie scoffed, "Oh, please. We both know that boy is no Stark. If I have to hear him call himself the Three Eyed Raven one more time…" The Last Lion sighed and looked at him pointedly, "Remind me, who was declared King in the North after Robb? Who rallied the North in Stark's name? Who took back Winterfell? Which one of us cast out the Dragon Queen?" Jon shot a fierce glare at Jamie, who held up his remaining hand in apology, "It is the truth. Ask anyone who will tell you; those who know him do not see Brandon as a Stark. They only speak your name."
"We both know why I cannot be a Stark." Jon growled.
"Speaking of dragons, where's yours?" Jamie asked, "Since it hasn't gone off on a rampage, I assume it's under control?"
"Bran is controlling Drogon at the moment. The Red Priests don't know the full extent of his powers. Bran will lead us right into the heart of their camp."
"Rescuing a sorcerer from fire-worshipping madmen." Jamie said with a tiny chuckle, "Now that would make another fine song if it wasn't the end of the bloody world."
"It's not the end!" Jon snapped before he calmed himself and spoke in lower tones, "It's not the end. Not yet. Once we rescue Bran, we can keep fighting."
"Unless they kill him first."
"They won't kill him. Not yet. They want me there before they burn anyone."
"That red woman is still after you, isn't she?" Jamie asked, his tone completely serious.
Jon felt his lips curl into a snarl at the mention of Melisandre, "Yes." He growled, "And I'm going to kill every single one of her followers after this. Bran told me he might have found a way to turn the tide on all sides. It must be why they worked so hard to capture him in the first place."
"You still trust him?" Jamie asked skeptically.
"Of course I do!"
"I don't." Jamie said, still dead serious, "I don't even think he's human anymore."
"He's my brother, Jamie! I'll carry him out of that damn place on my back if I have to! Tell me you wouldn't have done the same for Tyrion!"
Jamie was silent for a long time, "…The things we do for love." The last Lannister said the words like they pained him.
"The things we do for family." Jon corrected and shook his head, "Love is the death of duty."
"Duty." Jamie spat the word like it was poison, "Let me tell you about duty, Aegon Targaryen." Jamie hissed the name Jon loathed since the moment it had first been spoken, "Duty is a trap! Duty is a shackle that binds people to another man's ideals and responsibility, and the second you strain against that chain even for the right reasons, the whole world turns on you! I see on your face that you disagree. Let me tell you what I've done for the sake of duty, hm? Let's start with my joining of the Kingsguard and how I had to stand and listen to Queen Rhella being raped by her mad husband over and over and over again! Do you know what I was told when I asked why we did not save her? That we were sworn to protect the queen, but not from him! Shall I tell you how I watched your uncle and grandfather, innocent men, tortured and burned to death before my very eyes and not be able to lift a finger to help because of my duty to the king? Or shall I tell you the story everyone knows? Of how I was branded a Kingslayer because I slew Aerys out of duty to an entire city? I should have let it all burn!" Jamie snarled before he forced himself to calm down and say, "Well…everyone knows the truth, now. King's Landing isn't there anymore; just a smoking crater, curtesy of Euron Greyjoy, the Crispy Kraken!" Jamie said that and aimed another one of his broken smirks right at Jon, "I hate the word duty, Jon. I hate it more than this wretched world has hated me. Tell me something, Jon Snow…what do you know of hatred?"
Jon sat there staring at the man he called an ally as a thousand different emotions boiled inside his heart. Jamie stared back with an expression of bitter cynicism while searching Jon's face. After a moment, he stood with a tired sigh, "I'm going to see to the men." He said, "What little we have at least. If we're to storm the Red Priests camp tomorrow, I wish them to be rested." Then, the Last Lion of House Lannister, ser Goldenhand the Just, the Kingslayer turned and walked away and left Jon alone in the dark with only his thoughts and the howling cold to keep him company.
"I know enough." Jon whispered into the Long Night.
XXXX
Hatred had consumed him for so long. Blinded him, even. Funny how it only took him practically dying to see how much of a fool he'd been.
The Night King was his first hatred; a burning rage that howled through his blood and poisoned his heart. Nothing mattered but the demon's destruction. His hatred had caused him to betray Daenerys, neglect Winterfell's security, ignore council to pursue the source of his hatred unto the ends of the earth. The Night King was R'hllor's enemy, and the Red God had chosen Jon as his champion. His fire had given Jon life, the same fire that the Night King took so that he could be sent through time, but on the day he rose from the dead, a seed of malice had been planted in Jon's heart; one that made him want to destroy the dead at any cost. When Ice replaced R'hllor's fire, the hatred changed to a contempt of all living things. It was subtle and paled in comparison to what a real Other probably felt, but it whispered to him of how destructive these creatures with hot blood in their veins are, how pathetic their petty squabbles and problems were in the grand scheme of things. Everything from the smallest gnat to the largest mammoth, all they ever did was take, take, take from the world and gave little back. Especially humans. Everything should just die and let the world freeze over.
The whims of gods and demons had driven him mad…or had they?
Had it been his own rage and hatred of the world that put him where he now was? Life had never been kind to him. Life had never been fair. Born a prince, raised a bastard, hailed as a hero, and then murdered for doing the right thing. And after that? He'd been raised from the dead, led an army, crowned a king, and when he'd given up his crown for the good of the world he was viewed with disdain. And then, he betrayed his aunt to focus on his vengeance and hate.
Why is it, that in this shit world, no good deed go unpunished?
Jon was old. He'd been fighting battle after battle for years, now. He had to be nearly at an age with his uncle, perhaps even older. The world weighed heavy on his shoulders and he bore it's given scars. Under the hate, under the rage, under the thirst for vengeance…Jon was tired. Tired and bitter to the world. For him, there was no honor, no duty, no love, only mindless existence and a vague sense of purpose. Violence and war was all he knew. Part of him longed for death; to be done with the world. When he returned to the past, Jon truly thought he could murder all of his problems away. Cersei, Euron, Baelish, the Freys, the Boltons, the Night King? Hells, even Daenerys; he wanted to just kill them all and ease the demons in his mind. What did he have to do to find peace? Was his watch truly endless?
Jon poured more frigid magic into the water around him, dousing the destructive flames of R'hllor's vessel still thrashing in his arms.
"MINE!" The Red God screamed inside his mind, "YOU ARE MINE!"
Jon looked at the dismembered corpse still glowing with red light as the ice hardened around them. For a moment, Jon felt pity on a god obsessed; a god with no purpose other than to oppose the Others.
"I WILL NEVER LOSE YOU! EVEN IF YOU DIE, I WILL BRING YOU BACK! AGAIN AND AGAIN! YOU WILL FUFILL YOUR DESTINY!"
"Then I will never live!" Jon thought back, "I will spend the rest of my existence holding you here. You will be my prisoner, R'hllor. You can never have me, Red God. Find another champion!"
The Red God howled and struggled, but Jon was dipping into the full power of the Other's magic. The ice that formed around them was hard as iron and cold as the Night King's heart. Jon closed his eyes as the ice hardened around his face and the struggling beneath him slowed, "Valar Morghulis." He thought with a morbid smile, and he was consumed by blackness once again…
XXXX
But of course, for him, it was never that easy. No, he couldn't even try to sacrifice himself without outside interference.
"Wake up, Jon Snow!"Bloodraven's voice echoed in his ears, "Wake up and fight!"
"What do you want." Jon hissed tiredly. He hadn't even bothered opening his eyes because he knew that if he opened them, he would not be in the frozen pool. Part of him wanted to stay in his now knelt position and not open his eyes for the rest of time.
It was Viserion's twisted roar that made his eyes snap open. The rush of wind overhead followed by the rumble of incoming dragonfire had him rolling to the side just as blue flames annihilated where he'd been kneeling. The heat from the blaze…was not as intense as it should have been. Jon shot to his feet and looked up into the snowy sky. His eyes picked out the dragonwight easily; it glowed with a pale blue light while its rider blazed like a beacon as they climbed higher and higher.
Jon took that moment to stare at his surroundings. He was in an absolutely massive clearing that stretched large and wide enough to fit Winterfell and the surrounding town inside it. What was more was that he could see the outline of a forest off in the distance; a forest filled with the tallest and thickest trees he'd ever seen. Their thick trunks and long boughs were so close together that not even the smallest bird could squeeze between the branches. The sky was overcast and a dreary grey with little light poking through the clouds. Jon shifted, and found that the ground under his feet was solid ice.
Where the hells was he?
Dark wings flapped close and Jon turned to see a raven flutter to the snow in front of him. Both its eyes were scorched shut and badly burned, but the third eye in the center of its forehead was wide open and the color of weirwood sap.
"Bloodraven?" He asked, "What happened to you?"
"The Red God's power if stronger than I anticipated, but I can still see."
"Where are we?" Was Jon's next question.
"That is a question with a complicated answer."
"Uncomplicate it!"
"We are in the mind of another. A mind that is old and ancient, and has slumbered within Winterfell since the Long Night ended."
…Why did he even bother asking sometimes?
"Your connection to the Others has been severed, at least for now. It is the work of the Green!"
Jon stared out into the distance at the many trees encircling them. He could see it now if he stared hard enough; the faint green glow of Garth Greenhand's power.
"Listen to me, Jon Snow! As long as you allow him to control you, you will remain his slave!"
"I am no one's slave!" Jon snapped harshly.
"Then fight! Here in this place, he is cut off from the power his forces grant him!"
"What do you call that, then!?" Jon shouted as the dragonwight wheeled about and came screaming towards him.
"He possesses only what you've allowed him to take!"
"For fuck's sake!" Jon spat at the Raven's riddlespeak. Then, he was running as Viserion doused where he'd been standing in another wave of blue fire.
His powers were back. Jon figured this out after he created a couple dozen yards away from his initial spot in just a few seconds. Then, he stared down at his hands in shock when he saw that they were made of flesh rather than ice. His cloak swept around his form, the fabric in perfect condition and patterned with frost. Then, there was the armor. It was almost ceremonial in design and rather light; greaves, boots, breastplate, bracers, but no helmet, gauntlets, pauldrons, or chainmail, but it lacked any significant weight and did not restrict his movements in the slightest. The material was black like dragonglass and reflective like a pool of still water. Jon saw his face reflected in the bracer and stared in shock. For one thing, he looked at least a decade younger, and not just because his hair was black once more. He looked the way he had when he'd been crowned King in the North. He lacked an unkempt beard and his hair was no longer a matted mess. His features were completely devoid of the ravages of time and the harsh lines the war of Ice and Fire had marked him with. He looked human, not a single trace of ice or frost, other than his eyes; those blazed Other blue.
"What…what is this?" Jon whispered, "What's happened to me?"
"As he has taken from you, you have taken from him." The Three-Eyed-Raven alighted on his shoulder and stared into him with his lone eye, "Listen to me for there is much I need to tell you! There is more to the Other's magic than cold and death; it is ancient and old as the world itself. They were not the first to wield it!"
"What the seven hells are you talking about!?" Jon shouted at him. Huge wings beat above them, and Jon turned to stare up into the crooked maw of Viserion hovering above them. The Night King glared balefully down at them from his place on the dragon's back. He looked positively furious. His eyes suddenly locked with Jon's, and Jon fell to his knees as the crushing weight of the Other's collective power slammed into him like a battering ram.
The mantra came, the endless mantra demanding that he obey…
Cold.
Ice.
Frost-
…Yet somehow, he found the strength to resist.
"NO!" Jon screamed in defiance. The ice under his feet audibly shuddered and CRACKED. He channeled the power, shunting it into his hands where it coalesced into the shape he wanted in a flash of blue light and frigid mist. Jon cocked back his arm and hurled it with a yell. The ice javelin screamed through the space the dragonwight had occupied if the Night King hadn't wheeled his mount to the side and took to the sky once more. Jon tracked him through the snow and sky; the glow of their magic making it impossible for them to hide.
"I have little time here." Bloodraven whispered into his ear, "In this place, my connection grows weaker. If what you said remains true, that all you have is revenge, then take it! Become the Night Prince! Stand against the Night King! Usurp him! Break your chains and cast off your shackles! Red fire gathers in the world, Night Prince. Wake the beast beneath the ice; it is the only thing Others cannot kill. Let magic fill the world again."
Jon barely kept his ear open to the words and stood his ground as Viserion tucked his wings and dived. The undead dragon screamed towards him with blue fire flaring in his gullet as its master leaned forward with blue eyes wide and a furious scowl on his face.
"Bring about a new Age of Heroes." Was the last thing whispered into his ear before the Three-Eyed-Raven vanished in a puff of darkness. Then, Viserion was upon him. The dragonwight pulled up from its dive to hover and unleash a torrent of blue fire directly onto Jon. He let the fire overtake him. Beneath him, the ice billowed up in great clouds of steam beneath his feet, melting and cracking, while Jon stood unmoving and unharmed. Not even his cloak was so much as singed. He felt the Others magic flowing through him; wild and vast, yet completely under his control in a way he had never felt before. When the fire stopped, Jon looked up directly at the Night King. The hated face of his enemy stared down at him with something akin to shock, and Jon bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.
The Night King didn't so much as blink.
Viserion, however, ceased his flapping, and over a thousand pounds of undead dragon dropped on top of Jon.
He hadn't nearly enough time to move before Viserion snapped him up in his broken jaws. The dragon's teeth dug into his armor and flesh but could not pierce either. The armor was tougher than steel, and his skin was equally so. Like the Others, the only thing that could hurt him now was dragonglass and Valyrian steel, and neither seemed to be present. Still, it was not a pleasant thing being trapped in the wight's jaws. Viserion's neck whipped this way and that, slamming him into the ice over and over. Jon roared in frustration and flailed his one arm that was not trapped, trying to form a weapon, but more fire erupted from Viserion's throat and evaporated his freezing mist. The dragonwight slammed him down again and dragged him across the ice. Then, it let go. Disorientated and rattled, Jon tried to move, but huge talons crushed him in their grip and squeezed with enough force to crack stone. Huge wingbeats sent snowflakes and chips of ice flying, and the next thing Jon knew, the ground was growing further and further away. Viserion carried him higher and higher into the air, and Jon struggled and thrashed with all his might, but not even his strength could break the grip of the undead monstrosity. All around them, a vast expanse of trees stretched off into the horizon as far as even his Other eyes could see. There was nothing but snowswept sky and green trees. There was no end to them; nothing but the trees and the circular clearing of solid ice on the ground below. All glowed with the Green's vibrant magic, and Jon suddenly understood.
It was a cage. A cage for him and the Night King. Jon did not know how the god-king of the Reach had done it, but if he made it out of this alive…well, perhaps he owed the man a story after all.
"What have you done?!"
The Night King's voice howled into his mind like a gale force wind. Jon looked up and stared into the identical eyes of his nemesis that were wide with rage. His mouth barely moved, but the Night King's words were loud enough to hear over the howling air.
"Release me!"
A laugh burbled out of Jon's throat as wind and sky whipped past him, "You're afraid!" He cried out in surprise and savage glee, "You have my memories! You've seen what happened! But this? This was never supposed to happen! And it terrifies you! I have your memories, Night King! I know you as you know me!"
Viserion finally flapped to a stop. They were surrounded by a swirling vortex of stormy clouds that billowed and changed shape like waves on the sea. The sight was oddly beautiful, Jon thought, as he stared up into the eyes of his enemy. The Night King peered down at him, seemingly searching for something. After a moment, he spoke, "You know nothing, Jon Snow."
Jon smiled; grim as death and twice as cold.
Freezing mist coalesced into the shape of a short-handled axe with a wide blade that Jon hacked into the talons holding him. It cut clean through the dragon's undead flesh and bit into the black bone underneath. Jon grabbed the weakened bone and pulled with all his might, and he was rewarded with the wet snap of the digit coming free. Viserion roared and vomited up another stream of flames, but it was too late. Jon got his other hand free and used all the strength in his body to chop into the next claw. Flesh and bone split like chopped wood, and Jon had enough room to wiggle free as the fire poured down on top of him. Then, he let go and allowed gravity to take him.
"I know war! I know hatred!" He whispered into the howling wind, "And I know you!"
Jon slammed back-first into the ice and spread huge cracks from the point of impact. Jon felt nothing. If anything, he felt more alive than he had in decades. The cold energized him, the ice under him was the surest ground he'd ever stood upon, and the frigid winds merely added to his power. He looked up into the swirling clouds, past them, and stared directly into the Night King's eyes as he urged Viserion into another dive. The axe still held in Jon's hand was overtaken by white mist. Its shape grew in length, straightening and sharpening into yet another javelin. Jon watched the winged form descend towards him and readied his throw. All the while, he kept his eyes locked with the Night King's as the dragonwight grew from the size of a sparrow, to a dog, to a horse, and then a house.
Jon threw with all his might.
The javelin flew through the air, but not towards the Night King, no. The projectile struck Viserion's left wing, right in the joint where the dragon's limb became a claw. It shattered bone, pierced tendon and muscle, and cut into the leathery membrane. Gravity did the rest. The dragon's downward momentum tore the opening in its wing wider and wider until it was nearly severed from its body. It tried to pull itself out of the dive, but it was too late; the ruined wing sent it tumbling out of the sky and corkscrewing to the ground with a resounding BOOM that sent a cloud of snow into the air and more fissures running through the ice. Jon was moving before the monster even landed; blurring across the ground like a loosed arrow with a cloud of freezing mist gathering around him and a length of ice forming in his swordhand. The dragonwight was still struggling to rise on its damaged foot and ruined wing when Jon reached it. His strong legs propelled him into a flying leap and his sword buried into the wights shoulder. Jon used it to haul himself up onto the dragon's thrashing body and leap for the Night King with a snarl of rage.
The point of a spear stabbed into his breastplate and knocked him off. The Night King, now armed with an icy weapon of his own, glared balefully down at Jon as he fell. The dragonwight's tail swept around and smashed into Jon a second later, sending him skipping and sliding across the ice like a stone.
Jon finally slid to a stop with a groan. That…had actually hurt. Jon looked down at his breastplate to see a spiderweb of cracks where the Night King had stabbed, and his chest ached something fierce underneath. While falling from the sky, dragonfire, and getting knocked around could not hurt him, it seemed that the Night King could. Jon shook off the pain and got to his feet. The dragonwight was clumsily limping towards him, dragging its belly across the ground with its good wing and spitting errant streams of fire. The Night King sat proudly on its back with his spear growing in length until it was a proper lance with the tip a needlepoint of ice. As they moved, the wind was sucked into a vortex around the King and his mount until a small snowstorm surrounded them. Suddenly, Jon felt the Other magic being wrestled away and he saw more than felt how the Night King was trying to funnel all of it into himself until there was none left. Jon grabbed onto the magic and pulled with all his might in a metaphysical tug of war. Sheets of ice bloomed beneath his feet and crackled outward from his body as a cloud of white mist surrounded him. It took all his focus to keep a hold on the magic, and Jon had to open every facet of himself to the power and allowed his spirit to be filled by the raw might of sheer winter. The battlefield was soon transformed into a blizzard; wind and ice billowed and swirled in gale force wind, snow blanketed the ground in seconds, and the world was turned white. The only other color was the blue fire of the dragonwight and the glow of the King and Prince's eyes.
As Jon pulled more and more of the Other's magic into himself, he felt every snowflake, every shard of ice, every droplet of frozen water, and every ounce of cold that was under his control. There were no dead here to raise, and the only wight here was under the Night King's control, so Jon focused on the aspect of winter. He buried himself in that power and pulled all of it into the glowing blue star that had become his heart. Let the Night King hold power over the dead, Jon thought, he would rule over winter itself! The deeper he dove, the more that was revealed. Symbols passed through his mind, symbols he'd seen the Others form with dismembered corpses, and through the Night King's memories, Jon understood what they were.
Runes; ancient runes of power.
He saw the Spiral and understood what it meant; Storm. There was another, a circle with a line through it that had three forks at the bottom. Jon instantly knew that it stood for Wight. The knowledge filled his mind and was translated by the Night King's memories. These runes, these symbols, had been created for the Others to let them control Cold and Death. It was their language and written word.
Skroth.
Winterspeak.
But there was more, for the language of Skroth was not theirs alone. As Jon's heart filled with more power and the Night King's memories unfolded, he saw…
…Saw when the Night King had met her.
She was tall and regal; thin, angular face, high cheekbones, pointed ears, pert nose, full and lush lips, but her beauty was alien in a way no mortal could achieve. She was dressed in a pure white gossamer gown spun from pale silks. Both her long hair and fair skin were whiter than snow. Her lips were the color of winter roses, as were her sharp nails. A jagged crown of tall icicles adorned her head, as did the jewel hanging from a headchain that rested in the center of her brow. The jewel and her eyes were exactly the same; oval shaped, solid blue, and glowing with wintery power. She leaned in and whispered in a voice softer than falling snow, the language of Skroth, and all the magic that came with it.
She was the unseen queen of the White Waste, the demon mother of Ice Giants, and the cause of the Shimmering Lights over the Shivering Sea. He knew not her name, but he knew her only by the title the Children had given her.
Night's Queen.
XXXX
Something shifted under the ice.
Something that had long slumbered in the sleep of death for many a millennia.
Something that was awakened by the cold and magic swirling above it.
Something that was drawn to the conflict.
Deep beneath the ice, pale blue eyes snapped open.
XXXX
Jon and the Night King's battle for control of the Other's magic had finally come to a head. The two of them were surrounded by cyclones of wind and snow and ice. Jon poured all his rage, all his hatred, his grief, his despair, his determination, and his power into his storm and held it tight, and with a cry, he unleashed it. The Night King did the same, and the two storms slammed into each other with a resounding BOOM of artic wind and air.
Jon was lifted off his feet by the shockwave and slammed down hard on the ice. When he looked up, he saw that the horned king of the Others had not moved and was sitting tall and proud on his mount's back with his lance held ready. Viserion, however, was looking worse for wear. The dragonwight was covered in snow and barely holding itself upright. Sheets of ice clung to its scales and its deceased flesh was frozen solid. The fire flashing from its open throat was not as bright as it usually was, and when it turned to face Jon, frozen chunks of scale and flesh cracked off and shattered against the ice. Viserion let out a garbled scream and began lurching towards him with fire flaring from the open hole in his neck as he began to pick up speed. The Night King lowered his lance to point directly at Jon's heart with blue eyes boring into his.
Jon stood to his feet and took a moment to stare across the frozen battlefield at the incoming threat.
Then, slowly, he began to raise his arms.
Jon watched as the Night King's eyes narrowed as he did so, saw them widen when the snowbanks surrounding him began to shift and the first chitinous legs broke through the snow. A cold smirk played on Jon's lips as they shook themselves free and surrounded him, their mandibles clicking and clacking, their eight beady eyes the color of winter roses locking onto the Night King, and their hairy bodies blending in with the surrounding snow.
The tales spoke of how the Others hunted men with ice spiders as big as hounds.
The tales were true.
There was more to them, however. The ice spiders had been a gift to the Others. A gift from her; the Night's Queen, whatever she was. In his mind, Jon saw a massive cavern filled with luminescent sacs of webbing, and in the center lay their mother; a massive arachnid covered in white hairs like a polar bear. Eventually, the mother spider had died after birthing thousands of children for the Others to use.
Now, they were here again, brought to life by the Night King's memories and Jon's newfound understanding of his magic.
The ice spiders were unlike any spider he'd seen, not that there were many in the North to begin with. He had created over a dozen of them; their bodies robust and large, covered in wooly hairs that blended perfectly into the snow. Their legs were thick and strong, their fangs white as milk and long as a man's finger, dripping with clear venom. They were also indeed the size of hounds; larger, in fact.
"Bring it down."
Jon spoke the command in the crackling language of Skroth, for it was the only language they would understand.
They were also very, very fast.
They moved all at once. Their eight legs propelled them across the ice towards the approaching dragonwight, the tiny claws on the ends of their feet giving them excellent grip. The dragonwight brought itself to a clumsy stop as the furry bodies scuttled closer and unleashed a jet of fire. The ones caught in the blue flames were melted into ash, but the others veered off to hit the dragon from the left and right in a pincer. The first one got in range and leapt from the ice with limbs splayed and mandibles dripping poison, and the Night King's lance skewered the arachnid just as quickly. Blue ichor ran down the length of his lance as he glared at the creature twitching upon his weapon before turning just in time to be tackled by the one that had crawled up his wights tail. Dozens of them were crawling along Viserion's bulky body out of range of the dragon's fiery breath. The dragonwight spun this way and that, crushing some under his weight and scorching them with his breath, but the ice spiders were relentless. They swarmed along his back, tail, belly, remaining wing, and legs. In their wake, sticky strands of webbing were strung across the wights body. Meanwhile, the Night King had hit the ground with the ice spider scrambling to bite his face. He held it back with a single arm and used his other hand to punch clean through its abdomen. The creature went limp, and he threw it off him. He stood with glacial slowness and turned to watch his wight struggle with the dozens of many-legged beasts covering its body. The ice spiders worked together, binding his dragon's legs to make it loose balance and stumble onto the ice with a boom where it flopped to rise with one good wing and tangled feet.
They would not hold it forever.
The Night King picked up his weapon and marched forward with the intent to help free his wight, but a bellow of rage and howling wind made him turn in time to catch Jon's ice blade on the shaft of his lance. Jon pushed forward, shoving the Night King along the ice with sheer strength alone and broke off to stab at his belly. The Night King backed up from the stab, sidestepped the follow-up swing, and swung the length of his lance into Jon's legs. Jon buckled with a cry of anger and swung his sword to bat away the point that jabbed for his face. He righted himself and moved as fast as he could, smacking away another thrust and moving to flank his enemy, but the Night King tracked his every move and backed away to create distance.
Behind them, Viserion unleashed a frustrated jet of fire into the air as the spiders began working to pin him to the ice with their incredibly sticky webs, starting from his tail and sides. The dragonwight struggled and thrashed, but his damaged foot and mangled wing made it hard to gain the traction the spiders were working to deny.
Jon lunged, but it was a feint, and he leaned away from the lance long enough to reach out and grab it with his other hand and yank with all his strength. The Night King instantly let go to not be pulled off his feet, and Jon moved into his guard with his sword swinging for his neck, but the king of the Others ducked under the blow and shoved his shoulder into Jon's chest. Jon's steady footwork kept him from stumbling, but the Night King copied his move by reaching up to grab Jon's wrists to hold his sword still. Then, he twisted and hurled Jon to the ground. After that, he went for his lance again, but was forced to dodge the arc of Jon's hurled sword.
Then, Jon followed suit, tackling the Night King and slamming him onto the ice.
It soon became clear that the Night King had no experience with grappling, and Jon was soon on top of him. With a yell that contained all the suffering he'd carried over the years, Jon brought his fist down on the Night King's right cheek. He didn't care if it wouldn't hurt, he just wanted to hit him. To both his and the King's surprise, chips of ice flew from where Jon struck, and the Other's horned head bounced off the ice with an audible thunk. The surprise didn't last long. That horned head spun back to glare at him, and the blow that caught Jon's jaw knocked him off. The Night King made to rise, but Jon lashed out and kicked his legs from under him. He slammed down onto his rear while Jon rolled back onto his feet. The Night King gracefully rose as well and turned to face Jon, who glared right back at him with blue eyes shining with wintery light and his sword once again clutched in his grip. The Night King didn't even bother looking down when he slipped his boot under the shaft of his lance and kicked it up into his hand.
Viserion chomped down on an ice spider that got too close and let out a screech before breathing fire directly into the ground. The heat made the silk catch fire and melt while the frozen ground steamed and cracked, and a single line split the ice and stretched out between where the Night King and Prince stood.
With a roar, Jon charged while the Night King readied his lance and thrust at Jon's face. The Prince leaned out of the way and ducked when the King swung the polearm to clip his head. The King pulled back his lance while Jon pushed forward, making him backpedal to keep Jon from getting inside his guard. A series of rapid-fire thrusts and jabs kept Jon at bay as the Night King continued to back up, and Jon realized that he was walking backwards towards Viserion, who was finally freeing himself from the webs and roasting what ice spiders remained.
"No you don't!" Jon hissed.
He smacked away the lance's tip and lunged. The Night King tried to scoop Jon's legs from under him, but he dropped to the ground in time to catch the lance's shaft. With all his strength, he shoved back this time, smacking the Night King in the chest with the haft and catching him off-guard. Jon ripped the lance from the Night King's hands and stood back up while dropping his sword. With both hands he swung the lance into the King's side and sent him sprawling onto his hands and knees, then, adjusting his grip, he stabbed at the Night King's face with a cry. The King's frozen hand came up to block, and the point went straight through his open palm. His fingers closed around it, and a moment later, the entire lance shattered into pieces. Jon started when the weapon broke apart in his hands while the Night King rose back to his feet. He held his blue hand in front of his face to examine, and Jon watched as the hole slowly began to close. Ice crept in around the hole until it was never there, and the Night King made his hand into a fist. The mist formed around that fist and quickly formed into the massive, square-headed glaive he had wielded against Jon in the battle for Winterfell. Now it was Jon walking backwards, at least until he was able to bend down to grab his sword and face the Night King once more. He strode towards him without hesitation and Jon met him with sword held high. The curved glaive cut an arc through the air that would have landed on Jon's collar if he didn't dodge. In turn, Jon swung for the Night King's fingers, but the Night King lifted his hands away before stepping back. For a brief moment, they circled each other like a pair of wolves. When Jon pressed the attack, the glaive swung to chop him in half, and he parried with a growl. It came for his head next, and he leaned out of the way of the strike. The Night King kept backing up with Jon pursuing him with rage in his eyes and sword swinging, much like how it had been when he'd been the White Wolf dueling the king of the Others outside of Winterfell. Only this time, Jon had something the Night King did not; speed. He blurred to the side, cloak billowing in the wind, and reappeared directly on the Night King's right and well outside the length of his glaive. For a moment, they locked eyes as Jon swung his sword in a forward slash that would have taken the Night King's head if not for the jet of fire that caught him from behind and threw him off his feet. Viserion, now free of the webs let out a triumphant screech. The blue smears along the snow and roasted husks were what remained of Jon's ice spiders. No surprise there, they were always meant to hunt men, not undead dragons. It mattered not. Jon rose to his feet and stared at the dragonwight barely managing to pull itself across the ice on its remaining wing, then turned to stare down its master.
"You know how long I've waited for this?" Jon hissed in Skroth. He pointed his sword at the Night King and began walking forward, "Ever since I saw you at Hardhome, I wanted to kill you! You won't escape me this time. Not here!"
"You're Wall means nothing. YOU mean nothing. You are merely a usurper. All who embrace the cold belong to me!"
The Night King's voice was low with malice and hatred. Viserion loomed over his master's shoulder and spat a jet of fire that swallowed Jon whole. Jon walked through the fire, powering through the blue flames until he stood a stone's throw away from both of them.
"You gave me your power!" Jon yelled, "You knew the only way to win was to undo the Red God's work! You had to make me like you!" A thought struck him then and he barked a laugh, "In the lines of succession, that's called legitimization!"
"That power is mine!"
Jon kept talking, "Bloodraven AND Garth Greenhand called me the Night Prince! They knew it before me! How am I a usurper, then, if you gave me your name?"
Viserion went to breathe fire again, but Jon acted first. He transformed his sword into a throwing spear and hurled it with all his might at the dragon's face. The force of the blow rocked the dragonwight's head to the side and cut off the stream of flames, and Viserion swung his head back to scream at Jon with the spear buried deep in his eye.
"First, I'm gonna end you here." Jon declared as a fresh sword formed in his hand, "Then, I'm gonna go Beyond the Wall, and kill you."
Viserion roared, fire flashing from his open throat while the Night King glared at him. Jon glared right back, "Let's finish this!" He hissed.
The standoff was interrupted when the ground began to shake.
A loud rumbling filled the air as huge fissures began opening up in the ice all around them, and large chunks were pushed upward as something forced its way to the surface. The ground Jon was standing on buckled and shifted, and he jumped just as it broke apart beneath his boots. Something utterly enormous exploded free of the ice in a shower of razor shards and hunks of frozen water the size of boulders. The force of the eruption blasted Jon and the Night King off their feet and onto their backs as the shadow of what had just broken free cast their world in darkness. Jon shifted with a groan and turned from his place on a sideways chunk of ground, and his jaw dropped.
His first thought was that it was larger than Drogon. Much, much larger. Vast, translucent wings stretched wide over the treetops as the creature rose to its full height on two powerful legs. Great talons the size of scorpion bolts gripped the edge of the hole it was pulling itself out of and crushed ice into powder as it rose. Its body was a pale, whitish blue, and its hide was completely crystalline and smooth like it was made of living ice. Curtains of rime cascaded from its body in sheets. Rows of spines and spikes ran from its head, down it's long neck, across its back, and to the tip of its tail in an armor of icicles. It also looked nothing like Deanery's dragons, either. It was more avian than reptilian; standing on two legs like an eagle or a great heron rather than crawling like a bat, and its face was slim and narrow while its snout curved like a hooked beak. Clouds of mist billowed forth from its nostrils as it breathed, and when it opened its eyes, they were like pale blue crystals that shone with an inner light. The Ice Dragon, for it could not be anything else, shook itself before it let out a deep, sonorous roar that shook the very earth and sky.
At the moment, Jon could not focus on such things and only stare in awe at the beast from Old Nan's legends. It towered higher than the Great Keep in Winterfell and blazed with pale light to his Other eyes; a creature of pure magic. It seemed so massive that it could rival even Balerion the Black Dread in terms of size. Jon remembered Old Nan's tales, that Ice Dragons were rumored to be larger than Valyrian Dragons and that they glided over the Shimmering Sea, the place where Jon now knew the Night Queen ruled. Was this dragon and the Queen connected somehow? Were there more Ice Dragons? The Ice Dragon folded its massive wings and sent a fresh rain of hail down upon them. Jon didn't even bother trying to dodge as the fist sized chunks bounced harmlessly off his skin and armor.
This had to br the beast beneath the ice Bloodraven had spoken of. He had also said they were in the mind of another…
Were…were they in this Ice Dragon's mind?
But how?!
Why?!
What else was out there?
The Ice Dragon blinked its gigantic, crystal eyes. Once, twice, then its great head snapped in the direction of the Night King and Viserion.
All of the dragon's spines bristled and stood on end like a row of spears and produced a loud rattle that filled the air. The dragon turned its whole body to face the Night King and his wight, and Jon had to duck its gigantic tail as it swung over his head. Viserion unleashed his distorted roar, and the Ice Dragon responded with its deep, booming cry. Blue fire splashed against the Ice Dragon's chest and made it roar in surprise and pain, but mostly anger. A single flap of its gargantuan, clear wings dispelled the blue flames, and the Ice Dragon's head reared back with its narrow jaws wide open to reveal rows of short, needlelike teeth. A loud hiss filled the air as it inhaled, and then its head shot forward with jaws open wide. Old Nan's stories said that an Ice Dragon's breath was very cold, and Jon had imagined that, if an Ice Dragon did exist, it's breath would just be a blast of winter wind. What came out of that dragon's throat was not air.
A jet of condensed liquid that boiled with freezing mist exited the dragon's throat. When It struck Viserion, the dragonwight screamed and tried to move, but the Ice Dragon's attack froze its flesh solid. The dragonwight's head crumbled into a pile of frozen chunks as the freezing liquid blasted through the rest of its body. Blue fire flared for a moment and was gone just as quickly. When the Ice Dragon's jaws closed, all that remained of the dragonwight was a twisted clump of discolored ice that was so cold it steamed. The Ice Dragon turned to the Night King next with spines rattling in agitation. The Night King took a single step back with his eyes locked on the dragon's. His hand raised up, almost as if to touch the dragon from his position from the ground.
"Urrax!"
Was what the Night King said before the Ice Dragon inhaled and blasted him with its freezing breath.
The dragon didn't stop and kept up the stream for at least a full minute, tail thrashing and wings splayed in aggression. When it was finally over, Jon stared in shock. The glowing blue outline of the Night King was trapped in a small spire of solid ice with his blue eyes open in surprise and hand still outstretched. Then the dragon's foot stomped down and crushed both the ice and King into powder. Nothing remained of the Night King when it lifted its foot, and not a single speck of his magic was seen by Jon, either.
The dragon snarled and lifted its head to scream at the sky in victory, and Jon stumbled from the soundwave. When the dragon quieted, it stood there, heaving great breaths and staring around at the trees. Jon shifted ever so slightly, and a small cascade of ice chunks were knocked about by his feet. The Ice Dragon's head whipped around and spotted him instantly. He wasn't hard to miss; a black speck against the white snow. For a moment, they stared at each other, blue staring into blue. It sniffed the air before it snarled and reared back while inhaling another hissing breath.
"Oh fuck!" Jon cursed. The Ice Dragon's head swept forward like a striking snake, and Jon ran. The jet of liquid rime splashed over the ground behind him and hardened into a twisted formation of ice. Meanwhile, Jon was hopping over deep cracks, hopping off upended chunks of ice, and skidding to a halt a dozen yards away. The Ice Dragon's footsteps shook the ground as it walked over to scrap at the ice Jon would have been encased in with its talons. It spotted him again out of the corner of its eye and whipped around to face him with spines rattling and a roar filling the air. Another blast of rime came, and Jon sped out of the way just as quickly. When it saw this, the Ice Dragon reared back in surprise and peered at him with intelligence glittering in its glowing eyes.
Urrax, the Night King had called it. Was that its name? What connection did they share?
Jon turned to the Night Kings memories.
He saw the Night Queen, clad in nothing but her gossamer gown riding atop the Ice Dragon. He felt the greed, then, the Night King's greed. He WANTED that dragon, more than anything, but was denied at every turn.
"Why would I trust you?" She had told him, "When you have betrayed your creators? Now they work with the ones they created you to destroy. I helped create you as well. You shall betray me, too."
He tried to convince her, but she still refused and flew off into the Northeast.
The scene changed, and numerous White Walkers were chanting in Skroth, all calling out the dragon's name. At last, the creature came. It was young by its standards, and prone to the curiosity of youth. It knew them not as enemies, but as allies of its mother. They brought the horn forth, next; a creation of their magic made of ice and carved with Skroth runes. When they blew, Urrax began screaming in pain. They could not kill him; not even their weapons could pierce his hide, so they used their magic to bind him to their will.
The horn did not work.
The Ice Dragon's will was too strong, and as Urrax shook himself free of their magic and cried out, light split the sky. Shimmering streamers of green, blue, red, and yellow carried with them the rage and command of the Queen. Urrax let out a roar before he took off into the sky and flew south to assist the Realms of Men and the Children.
It was through his help, that the Wall was created.
Jon stared at the Ice Dragon with new understanding. The Others had tried to enslave it, and it had defied them. Now, it despised them. He still had no idea where the creature had come from, where it had gone, or how he had been transported into its mind, but right now, he needed to convince the dragon that he was not its enemy. Easier said than done. Still, he had to try! He knew dragons were intelligent, knew that they were more than mere beasts. He knew for a fact that Drogon had resented him every moment he was not under Bran's control; he knew Jon was the one to blame for why his mother was dead.
"My name is Jon Snow!" He called in Skroth.
The dragon tilted its head and snarled at him. Its great talons dug into the ice and it began plodding towards him while another jet of rime flew from its maw. Jon's speed carried him out of the way of the blast.
"I am not one of them, Urrax!" He called the dragon's name when he came to another stop, "I am not one of them!"
For a moment, Urrax stilled and regarded Jon with his sharp eyes, and he thought he had gotten through to the Ice Dragon. Then, great wings cracked open and buffeted Jon with wind and snow. Urrax's knees bent, and a single leap and flap of his wings sent him airborne. Once again, Jon was treated to the sight of a dragon falling from the sky towards him. He tried to run again, he really did, but the ice Urrax had been sleeping beneath was so utterly shattered, and not even Jon's speed could carry him out of the shockwave the Ice Dragon created when it landed. Urrax struck the ground like a falling star and upended what little even ground remained. Jon was blasted off his feet and flung into the air with a cry of surprise. He bounced once, twice, thrice, and came to a jarring stop when he slammed against a block of solid ice so large it could be considered a glacier. Jon flipped himself over with a loud curse and a groan. While he was unharmed, being thrown about like a child's doll wasn't fun either, and neither were the great talons that suddenly encompassed his vision and descended towards his face.
Urrax's massive claws stabbed into the ice and held him there like an eagle with a mouse. Jon stared up and up into the snarling visage of the Ice Dragon pinning him to the ground. Rime billowed from the dragon's panting maw as it glared down at him with all the fury of winter itself. Jon gulped, and steadied his heart.
"I have died twice, now, Urrax." He whispered the dragons name, "I am not afraid of death." The two spiny, fin-like protrusions on the side of the dragon's head Jon guessed were ears flexed and tightened at his words, "I'm afraid of the Others." He continued, "I fear them, and I hate them." His mouth was suddenly dry, and he wet his lips, "I know you can understand me. I know you hear my words!"
Urrax's lips curled to reveal his short but sharp teeth.
"I have their powers, but I'm not one of them." Jon told the dragon, "I'm not one of them! I have blood in my veins and breath in my lungs! "I fight for the living, Urrax." Jon hissed the words and stared into the dragon's eyes, "What do you fight for?"
Jon found it rather eerie how such a massive creature could be so motionless. The dragon was as still as a statue and hadn't so much as blinked. Even it's breathing seemed to have paused as it loomed over him; tall, cold, and as vast as the Wall.
Suddenly, the talons tightened around him, shredding through the ice and crushing him in their grip. Jon's cries were drowned out by Urrax's roar as the Ice Dragon spread its gigantic wings and leapt into the air with him still in its grasp. The wings beat once, twice, thrice, and they were flying up, up into the air, higher than even Viserion and the Night King had flown-
-Away from the forest, away from the ice, and into the sky.
XXXX
Back in the waking world, Eddard Stark was praying at the foot of the scorched Heart Tree. The white wood was scorched black and ash fell from the face carved into the trunk as if all the sap inside had been burned up. He was praying. Praying for the world to make sense again, praying for guidance, praying for anything to-
A loud crack sounded through the clearing, and Eddard spun to stare at the frozen pool where a single crack was spreading out from the center. He hefted Ice, readied himself, and cautiously approached the pool. A small ball of red fire zipped from the crack, making him flinch at the sight, but he could only watch in confusion as it shot straight up into the air and vanished among the falling snow. With a loud CRACK, the rest of the ice exploded outward, and the burnt and mangled form of his nephew crawled his way out, gasping for air.
"Jon!" He shouted as Jon crawled to the lip of the pool and collapsed in a shaking heap, still panting heavily.
His hair was black once more. He looked younger, less haggard, and his body was not made up of blue ice and frost. When he looked his way, Ned could have wept in relief when he saw that Jon's eyes were the flinty dark he'd been born with. When he reached his nephew's side, he helped him roll onto his back to sit up. Ned swallowed when he saw the angry red burn scar in the shape of a hand emblazoned across Jon's scarred chest. He looked towards the pool, searching for the headless corpse, but saw nothing.
"I'm sorry…" Jon was gasping, over and over, "I'm so sorry…I-"
The godswood began to shake. Snow and leaves shook from the trees, ash danced on the ground, and it felt like the earth was being wrenched apart.
Jon's hand seized his shoulder in a vice and used it to haul himself up, "We need to go!" He hissed, "Right now!"
"Jon-"
Another even stronger tremor rocked the ground and forced Eddard to use Jon as support now.
"I'll explain everything, but right now, we need to run!" Jon gripped Eddard's shoulders, and stared into his face with pleading eyes, "Please…Father. Trust me."
Eddard gave a slow, single nod.
Jon nodded and grabbed him, "Hold on tight!" He hissed as his eyes burned blue.
"Wait, wha-!" Was all Eddard got out before they sped out of the godswood in a blur of black and grey. Behind them, the godswood exploded. Great chunks of earth were thrown into the air and trees were uprooted and knocked aside as a pale shape rose out of the ground. Vast, translucent wings stretched forth to feel the air for the first time in many, many centuries and a booming roar echoed across the North.
The Ice Dragon spread its wings and flapped into the air, flying North.
Towards the Wall.
Towards home.
The reasons why Urrax was under the godswood in the first place will be answered next chapter, but to hopefully lessen the confusion, Ice Dragons melt when they die. That little pool in the godswood beneath the Heart Tree? In this story, that was him. Also throughout the years his melted remains would have been absorbed into the ground so…yeah. Spontaneous resurrection of a dragon that is bigger than Drogon=one destroyed godswood. Also, yes, the Night Queen exists as well, although my concept of her is going to be different from the norm, as you can see. Any questions, review or PM me. I'll be happy to answer any you have! Hope you enjoyed the chapter and see you next time! The next chapter is probably going to take a while to write.