HAPPY NEW YEAR AND MERRY CHRISTMAS (if I am quite a bit late admittedly)
Well everyone I am here officially hoping that the wait wasn't as long or painful as last time, But ANYWAY, I Promised a few of you another rant…this one more up to date. A lot of stuff has happened in the wait for the last chapter, many things relating to GoT, Season 8, the cast and crew and those two walking (Somewhat) sentient Turds that wrote that garbage fire of a last season.
I suppose you guys want to know my opinions on said matters and find entertainment in the unbridled rage that is Dakkaman777 eh?
Well first off, I can honestly say that on the positives that ally my hate filled comments on D&D turned out to be totally justifiable and not just the words of someone mad at a pair of shit writers; apparently those two were blatant about not caring about the fans or even caring about the source material (fuckers admitted they have zero idea why GRRM had any faith in them) fine with guilt tripping Emilia into her nude scenes and fine with making a baby suffer just to get a camera shot of its junk…Wow They are absolute cunts!
So I hope you all share the sentiment with me that they deserved to lose that Disney Star Wars deal (only fucking idiots would believe that those retards chose not to continue with it; even those two aren't that fucking braindead) and that soon Netflix will smarten up and sever all ties with them and that hopefully they end up jobless, in jail or…my favourite…stark bollock naked and being chased by hungry bears in the middle of the woods during a hail storm.
On another note, that Season 8 blu-ray and all its deleted scenes can go rot in a fucking ditch, Sorry HBO but you killed every piece of my excitement for the franchise after what you let D&D do. What…you expect me to care after 'Bran the Broken'? You expect me to give two fucks about the garbage you DIDN'T keep in the series? FUCK OFF, I'm not even going to watch House of Dragons when it comes out…you know why? Because it doesn't fucking matter anymore, the series, the franchise is forever tainted…like D&D injected it with every known STD to man and every one known to every other species on the planet.
With every bit of seriousness, Fuck Benioff, Fuck Weiss, fuck them both and fuck anyone that ever genuinely stood up for them or said yes to one of their braindead ideas.
As for people that shouldn't fuck off, I must show my support for people that continually give me great support whilst writing great stories themselves. As always, my good friend Longclaw 1_6 check out his ongoing story 'My Father's Son' and his Collab with Bruh4 'Heart of the Blessed'. ALSO, two new guys who have surprised me, check out WhiteWolf04 and his story 'The Kingdom of Ice and Fire' and of course Elphaba818's 'Howl of the Dragonwolves' all of them are great reads and be sure to show them your support!
Now…Onto the chapter XD
The Night Begins Part 4
Panic.
That's the name one would give to the key state of mind of very much everyone in defence of the Winterfell walls. Men were falling back in hundreds; those able bodied enough doing all they could to help the retreat, Unsullied shields creating a rock-hard wall of steel for those fast and agile enough to not get sliced down.
Gendry swung his war maul; knocking a skeletal wight's head clean off its shoulders as he slowly made his way back.
The young Smith thanked the gods that the gates were still holding; then again by the sounds of heavy thudding and the way the wood was beginning to splinter and break, that wouldn't be very much longer.
"ARYA! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?" Gendry screamed as loud as he could.
Before the young Baratheon bastard had time to call again, he was tackled to the ground by a huge Wight with a balding head and face littered with scars. But before the creature had the time to even try and gut him.
*TWIP!*
A flaming arrow sunk into its head; giving Gendry the opportunity to kick it off him and swing his maul again; this time knocking its head square off of its rotting shoulders. Looking up to the secondary gates to meet eyes with his saviour he saw none other than the young woman he was calling to in the first place.
"COME ON YOU DUMB CUNT! FALL BACK!" Arya growled like angry she-wolf as she nocked another arrow and let it loose. Sandor Clegane would have been proud of her tone and choice of words.
"FALL BACK! FALL BACK!" Edd shouted at the top of his lungs as he cut down a screeching wight. What remained of the Night's Watch where in full retreat; abandoning the war machines that were keeping the Giants and Mammoths at bay.
The Ballistae didn't last long; for as soon as the Watchmen retreated, they were engulfed in ice as the Walkers tore them to pieces with their bare hands. Three brave souls clad in Black tried to fight off the Walkers as they destroyed the war machines; but they were promptly beheaded in one swing by a Walker that stood well over 7 feet, head to toe in armour made of blackened ice.
"SKREEEEEEEEEEEE!" the Walker let out a piercing howl as it raised its bloodstained ice sword.
One Walker in light black armour observed the retreating forces of the living through its black face mask. The Walker raised its hand and a javelin of ice materialized in its palm; raising the weapon back and closing one eye, using its thumb as a makeshift iron sight it aimed carefully.
"FALL BACK LADS! FALL BACK!" Edd shouted at the top of his lungs as what remained of the Night's Watch retreated as fast as they could.
Ser Lyle cleaved a Wight wolf with Tusk, the blade splitting the creature's head down the middle. The StrongBoar of Crakehall was beginning to feel the aches of battle take their toll as blood trickled down his face; threatening to obscure his vision.
"FALL BACK TO THE SECONDARY GATES!" he shouted as he wiped the blood out of his face; a smear of crimson acting like warpaint across his grimace.
The walls were lost; as gigantic pale spiders and wights began swarming the perimeter. The arrival of the Walkers had turned the tide for the worst; when the icy devils began cutting down men on the walls as if they were made of paper, it was hard to muster the men to stand their ground.
Many of the Walkers simply stood on the walls; their ethereal blue eyes glaring into the souls of anyone that looked their way. The Wights were made for the front lines; the Walkers simply cleaned up the scraps at their own leisure.
The lines of Unsullied continued to fall back; the Freefolk, Northern forces, Westerlanders and assorted forces of the living using the shield line to cover their retreat. The Wights began to lessen in their assault; now pulling back as the gates splintered and shook; human wights tearing at the primary gates from within as gods knows what attacked them from the outside.
Grey Worm urged his forces to back up whilst keeping their footing; the shield wall could not fail; they had lost enough men already and none of them knew for how much longer this battle would last.
"Mizadá vi zdaguno!" Grey Worm shouted to his fellow Unsullied. The black clad troops slowly falling back as men retreated behind them. The secondary gates began to shut; the sight of Human wights ripping down trebuchets and catapults in full view as well as the sight of monstrous shapes emerging from behind the primary gates.
A few dozen wights managed to squeeze in through the closing gates before they slammed shut. A mere moment before the gates closed a flash of white rushed through the gap and made contact with the retreating forces of the living; the living whom were so panicked in closing the gates that they didn't look to see where the flash ended up. The few dozen being quickly cut down when trapped between the forces of the living and the thick secondary gates.
"GET THE TIMBERS! BRACE THE GATES! MAN THE WALLS!" Jamie ordered before he began wheezing for breath; the utter panic of the situation sinking in.
"Lord commander!" a voice snapped Jaime out of his wheezing.
All eyes turned to see the Last lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Dolorus Edd; standing there with a javelin of ice protruding from his mid-section. The young commander had a look of utter shock on his face as blood leaked from his mouth. Edd let out a pained grunt as he dropped his sword and failed to fall to his knees when he realized that the javelin practically nailed him to the floor as it had been thrown at a downward angle.
One of the Night's Watchmen tried to pull the javelin from Edd; but as soon as they touched the weapon their hands began to freeze; pulling their hands away to see their gloves overcome with frost and ice.
"AAAAGH!" one of the men shouted as he took off his gloves to see his hands turning black and his fingers begin to unnaturally curl and shrivel.
"DON'T TOUCH IT!" Benjen yelled as he pushed a few Watchmen out of the way.
Grabbing the Javelin with his already frostbitten hands; Benjen managed to release Edd so he could fall to the ground. Unlike the Watchman before, Benjen's hands had already felt the unnatural cold of a Walker's blade, the magic of the old gods that flowed through him now made him somewhat immune to the effects of their ice. The Lone Wolf broke the javelin over his knee; the weapon shattering into a thousand pieces like freshly fallen snow.
Edd's hands went to his abdomen; blood slowly flowing from the wound as a few men tried to help him right himself.
"Edd…are you alright?" Benjen knelt beside him.
"I have…a fucking hold in my chest…what do you think?" Edd spluttered as red stained his lips. Benjen shook his head before inspecting the wound; to say it looked bad would have been an understatement; the wounds itself was grizzly and had shredded a good few feet of intestines both small and large; but the area around the wound was going black and frostbitten.
"Get Maester Wolkan!" one of the Northmen shouted.
"Don't waste your time" Benjen replied regretfully.
"…there's no stitching this up is there?" Edd asked.
"…I'm afraid not Edd…and you won't die fast, I know from experience" Benjen replied.
"Can you do anything?" Edd asked between pained grimaces.
"All I can offer is to finish it quick…and make sure you don't come back with blue eyes" Benjen replied.
"…Tell Jon and Sam…I'm sorry" Edd pleaded.
"I will" Benjen drew Dark Sister and held it above the last Lord Commander's heart.
"…do it" Edd squeezed his eyes shut.
With a quick plunge it was done; a spurt of crimson staining the snow red as the First Ranger ended the suffering of the last Lord Commander. For the reign of 999 Lord Commanders the Night's Watch had defended the lands of the living against the White Walkers; and here on the eve of the first battle for the dawn south of the wall, the 999th Lord Commander perished in the walls of Winterfell.
"…And now his watch has ended" Benjen said as he reached up to close Edd's eyes.
"And now his watch has ended" the remaining Night's Watchmen said in unison.
"Arya!" Gendry ran up the stairs to the She-Wolf with a bow in her hands.
Arya spared a moment to smile and pull Gendry into her arms; or rather her into his arms. Ghost whined as he tilted his head to the side; the two pulled away and Gendry began inspecting her for any damage.
No cuts or grazes and the blood stains weren't her own, all was good.
Arya rolled her eyes as she realized Gendry was covered in grazes; bruises and a particularly nasty gash on his forehead, yet here he was worrying about her state. Arya then turned to look over the edge of the wall at the swarms of wights; hell bent on destroying the war machines they had spent so long building and setting up.
"Get everyone up here, this night is far from over" Arya spoke to Gendry, her eyes fixed on the Walkers stood on the primary walls; their eyes locked with hers.
Down below the gates were already under assault; the gathered forces of the living held their bodies against the gates as best they could. Snow shifting underneath armoured feet as westerlander knights and heavy Infantrymen used their weight to act in the same way as living barricades. Free Folk, Ice River clansmen, Thenn warriors, Cave people, Hornfoots and Nightrunners and what else remained of the collected people of the true north huddling behind the westerlanders at the gates.
The Unsullied, Dothraki on foot, Northern houses like the Umbers, Karstarks and Glovers and even newly revived Stark bannermen, all working in tandem to keep the gates shut. The sight of these men from all corners of the globe working together would have been an inspiring one if not for the hordes of the dead just outside the gates.
"Those gates won't hold for long; they are thinner than the primary gates and we have less defensible positions!" Jorah yelled out; speaking quietly or at room volume now impossible at this point. The sounds of the dead drowning out every spoken word that wasn't yelled.
"Hold the gates for as long as possible; this is our last stand and we cannot afford to falter!" Brienne yelled back.
"It won't take long for those cunts to find a way around the gates; it's only a matter of time" Bronn swore as he sat down on a nearby barrel.
"Arya!" Benjen called for his niece, the young Wolf running down to her uncle; closely followed by Gendry and Ghost.
"Go to Bran; he'll be needing you soon" Benjen said.
"No, you need me here!" Arya replied.
"We have fighters; but Bran needs another Stark by his side, now go" Benjen's gaze was brought to the walls where fresh wights were engaging the defenders stationed on the top.
"You can't expect me to just leave the battlefield, Uncle Benjen. I'm not a coward or some high lady that could break a nail" Arya growled back; but the growl she gave was cut short when Benjen sharply grabbed her arm and pulled her in close.
"You are a killer Arya; a killer that can hide in the shadows and strike with silence, you need to be where you can be of most use, not here in the midst of combat!" Benjen snarled like a wolf, his patience wearing thin.
"Gendry and Ghost come with me" Arya whispered back with a glare of her own. But the next words to leave Benjen's mouth and the implication of their meaning sent chills of fear up her spine.
"They will be safer here…trust me"
*SCREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH!*
A loud and piercing screech filled the air; unlike the screeches that the Walkers made; deeper and with a throatier bass to it. Benjen knew what that sound was; and it was a sign that Arya had to get to Bran now!
Suddenly; a jet of blue flame lit up the sky; reigning down on the gates themselves and freezing the fighters on the parapets. The blue flames seemed to both burn and freeze, scorching flesh black with frostbite and causing men to fall to their knees screaming before they faces and limbs fell off.
He was here!
"Arya! Get to Bran! Now!" Benjen let go of Arya and pointed to the Godswood.
Gendry grabbed Arya's arm before she had a chance to run for it "You aren't leaving without me" he said with desperation in his eyes. The way the battle had been going she hadn't had a chance to see that look of dread and fear in his eyes. It was the look of a man who was afraid of losing the only thing of meaning to him.
Arya reached out and cupped his cheek "You have to stay here…my brother needs me. I can count on my strong Stag, right?" she smiled with the same fear in her eyes before pulling his lips to hers. Their eyes closed as they shut out the chaos around them; neither knowing if they would see each other again after they broke apart.
After their lips separated; Arya kept Gendry's face close; her right hand cupping his face whilst his arms encircled her waist; their breath misting between them as they gasped.
"You stay alive, you hear me?" she whispered.
"…as you wish…milady" Gendry replied.
Their eyes opened and not a hateful glance was even directed at the Young Blacksmith; with regret like none other Arya forced their separation "Ghost, you protect him!" she called over her shoulder before making a mad dash to the gates of the Godswood.
The white Direwolf gave a low whimper before looking up at Gendry.
"…Fuck" Gendry cursed as he hefted his war maul and turned to the gates.
"What in seven hells is going on out there?" one of the Ironborn asked.
"The end of the fucking world…like in the old stories" another replied.
"I say we run; we don't have to die here, so far from the sea" another Ironborn chipped in. A surprisingly strong hand grabbed this Ironborn by the scruff of the neck and yanked him backwards.
"We stand our ground dam you…we are Ironborn; we don't flee like fucking cowards. Your queen would be fucking ashamed of you, here I thought I was the one with nought between his legs" Theon didn't growl; but the weight of his words spoke for themselves.
The Ironborn shook himself off and tried not to concentrate on the scowls some of his fellow reavers were giving him. Theon had earned quite a fair bit of respect from the men in his rescue of Yara; he was more than just the Eunuch son of Balon Greyjoy.
Theon sat back down at his vigil as the men began to return to their posts. Running a finger over the blade of his dragonglass axe; Theon couldn't begin to blame them. These, things that had even Jon spooked, he wasn't looking forward to facing them in the slightest; hells he was beginning to think a run-in with his uncle was preferable to this situation.
Funny how it took the end times to make him soften up to his murderous uncle.
"Theon" came a soft and familiar voice.
"Sansa" he replied as the redhead sat down next to him.
"How are you holding up?" she asked with concern.
"Could be better" he smiled back; but Sansa could tell the smile was forced to hide the inner fear and trepidation in his voice. She could relate, hiding fear was something had become an expert at; in a way those months in the 'care' of Ramsay Bolton had prepared her for this.
Strange how things turned out in their own sinister and painful ways.
"When I was a little girl, I always thought that I never wanted to die in these walls. That I would die down south, in a beautiful castle with a king for a husband and all the stupid little things I dreamed about…" Sansa said.
"And now?" Theon asked.
"Dying here…in my home…I never should have taken that honour for granted" Sansa reached out and took Theon's hand "And to be fair, I could have had worse company at the end" she smiled.
"You won't die here…not if I have anything to say about it" Theon replied.
"Thank you, Theon. But right now; with those things clawing at the gates outside…I can't help but think about the end…how did you imagine dying?" Sansa asked; the conversation going morbid.
They had reached that point, where they were talking for the sake of talking, the hushed words that the Kraken and the Wolf shared were for their ears only and gods know they had spoke about worse to each other. At the end of all things came a strange comfort in simply talking to someone you were close to.
Even if the subject was based around death.
"I always used to say that an Ironborn should die in combat, and have their body buried at sea; it's certainly what my father and sister thought…but here and now…just dying for a reason would do for me" Theon replied.
"…When I was…not Theon, Ramsay had me scared every moment of every day; that he would just get tired and choose to end it…sometimes I wished for it to end the pain and the suffering. But every time I wanted him to end it, I would remember who would be waiting on the other side; Lady Stark, Sir Roderick, Maester Luwin, Robb…Lord Stark…Rickon…" Theon began; a slight tremble in his voice.
"But you didn't die then, Ramsay didn't break me, and he failed to break you. Ramsay is roasting in the seven hells and we are both alive…for now. If we die tonight, my mother, father, Robb and Rickon they'll be proud of us…proud to see us come so far. No longer the stupid little girl playing at Queen and the…ego driven Greyjoy ward" Sansa smirked as she finished; her smirk turning to a smile when it coaxed a chuckle out of Theon.
"I'm glad you came back" Sansa smiled at Theon.
"…me too" Theon couldn't help but smile back.
*THUD!*
Theon instantly grabbed Sansa's hand as the sound rung through their ears; the sound came from above as if something had hit the roof above them. That was a worrying thought as the battle raged on outside. Looking out to the windows that lead to the exterior of the great hall; they could see the blue glare given off on the secondary walls.
The Great Hall was safe.
But for how much longer?
Jon's head with full of raw emotion; fear being the predominant one, even as Rhaegal beat his mighty wings to return to the gates of Winterfell. The Dragon would be there in a matter of seconds; but each second away from his ancestral home may as well have been a century, the images racing through his minds threatening to drive him mad.
Images of his bannermen, the people of Winterfell being slaughtered like pigs.
The people that trusted him; walking amongst the dead with glowing blue eyes.
Arya and Sansa, torn to pieces by wights.
His brother Bran; nailed to the Heart tree like a warning.
And somehow worse, Daenerys; struggling in the icy grasp of the Night King.
These emotions flowed through Jon and Into Rheagal like water through a river; the speckles of anger and rage overpowered by the fear created by that single solitary smirk. The first sign of human emotion the Night King had ever shown to him; and it shook him to his core. Both Jon and Daenerys with Rheagal and Drogon could not bring down Viserion and his unearthly rider.
The chances of victory were dwindling with each passing second.
After all, it took mere minutes for things to go downhill at Hardhome; within minutes tens of thousands of Freefolk were slaughtered like pigs and turned to the army of the dead. Jon dreaded thinking of what fresh hell awaited him at the gates of Winterfell; that he would return to the sights of a slaughterhouse; his home turned into an abattoir.
Just as Rhaegal crested; both he and his rider could see that the primary gates of Winterfell had been breached; Wights in their hundred swarming over the main courtyard like ants; tearing the war machines to pieces as a group of three full grown Giants hammered away at the secondary gates.
Suddenly; a jet of blue flames came down from the skies above and drenched the gates in freezing blue. The gates themselves turning to ice and many of the defenders on the walls turned to screaming husks as they fell over the parapets to their deaths.
How in the seven hells had that bastard beat him to the gates? That's when Jon realized that the storm clouds above them would have played to the Night King's advantage, he commanded the storm like a master commands a hound and broken wing or not; in those clouds Viserion was faster than both his living brothers.
Jon was a second away from commanding Rhaegal to rain fire down upon the wights that had invaded the grounds of his family's home, to take some pressure away from the defenders and hopefully draw the Night King away from his family. But before he had even had the chance to give the command; a sound, a very familiar sound pierced the air.
"RHEAGAL! BANK LEFT!" Jon screamed in panic.
The Emerald son of Daenerys banked left as best he could; but all in the span of an instant the sound of whizzing was replaced by two other sounds:
The sound of flesh being sliced.
And the screech of pain that Rhaegal emitted.
Rhaegal went into an absolute panic as an Ice Spear sliced across his right eye; a gout of blood gushing outwards as the spear darted past. Jon grabbed Rhaegal's spikes as best he could to hold onto his dragon, the emotions of panic and fear were mixed with an immense pain. The memories of Viserion's death ringing through both their minds; images of Rhaegal's brother plummeting to his icy death after the Night King let his spear loose.
'Rhaegal! Stay Calm! Stay Calm!' Jon tried to communicate through their shared link; but the screeches of pain filled the air; louder than the mightiest thunderclap.
One of the Walkers on the walls of Winterfell only stared with the rest of its brothers as one of the dragons wailed in pain. The Walkers all stared in unison; silent and simply watching as if they were observing a work of art or a piece of theatre made just for them.
The only discernible thoughts that Jon could make out were 'Pain' and 'Danger' this much was obvious as Rhaegal began to ascend; the higher up he was the safer he was from those Ice Spears. Jon was doing all he could to hold onto Rhaegal's spikes; at this point he had no clue if Rhaegal had lost his right eye or not, but if Dragons could feel pain like humans could then Jon could attest that gaining a scar across the eye was not something you simply blink away.
And an Ice Spear thrown by a Walker was a much different matter to a Warg possessed Hawk.
But as Rhaegal ascended into the clouds above; Jon was struck by the sudden realization of what the fuck was waiting up there. In his utter panic and fear of what waited below; Rhaegal had forgotten what was waiting in the clouds.
"RHAEGAL!" Jon screamed in panic when the black shape emerged from the clouds; like a shark in waiting the hulking form of Viserion came downwards; his jaws wrapping around Rhaegal's neck. With a loud Squawk, Rheagal's panic intensified as blood began to flow from his new wounds, Viserion's maw now stained red with the blood of his brother.
'Dany! Dany, we need help!' Jon tried to reach Daenerys, but his cries were cut short when he looked up to see the image of his dread; standing on Viserion's back.
Jon couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the Night King stand there; calm and balanced as if Viserion's back was solid ground. The dread began to build more and more as the King of Endless Winter began walking down Viserion's neck as if he were crossing a bridge.
Time moved slowly as the Night King approached; the harsh winds and thrashing of Rhaegal doing nothing to impede his movement as he walked to Jon. The White Wolf still had to cling onto Rhaegal's spikes as hard as he could; if he relinquished his grip for a second there was a chance he would fly off.
No Red priest could bring him back if he was just a smear on the floor.
Within seconds; stood there on Rhaegal's back; glowing blue eyes from the depth of the coldest of the seven hells piercing into Jon's soul; was the object of Jon's hatred, the Night King. As much as Jon despised the icy lord of death; in that moment all the hatred and anger took a backseat to soul sucking fear and dread. The way the Night King glared at him; like he was scum not fit to grace the heel of his boot.
But as always; Jon had the luck of a fucking angel. The angel in question being the silver haired beauty on the back of the Black fire breathing instrument of death known as Drogon. The Dragon erupted from the clouds with a vengeful fury as the largest of the sons of Daenerys came to his brother's rescue.
The Night King simply turned to the right to see the gargantuan black shape that emerged from the clouds; teeth bared, and claws outstretched.
The only reaction the Night King gave was a slight tilt of the head.
Jon saw his chance; this one second he had a moment of clarity. There he was, within arm's reach; Jon had Longclaw sheathed at his side. A few seconds was all he would need to finish this; he couldn't count on a fall killing this monster, this thing that could raise the dead and shatter steel like glass with a touch of his hand.
Jon had to end it.
This was his chance.
Jon took the risk as his hand latched to Longclaw's hilt; with a growl befitting a Direwolf, Jon unsheathed his Valyrian steel blade and aimed for the centre mass of the King of the White Walkers. The Valyrian Steel of Longclaw would end it; it had tasted the icy flesh of two White Walkers whilst wielded by Jon; no, Jaehaerys Targaryen.
With all the fury and fire of a Dragon, Jon thrusted Longclaw at the Night King and…
*Clang*
Jon's eyes shot wide open.
The bastard had caught it.
Stood there with a slight grin on his face; the Night had halted the blade of Longclaw by catching it within his left hand.
The look of horror on Jon's face and the look of what could only be described as amusement on the visage of the Night King, were interrupted as Viserion and Rhaegal were thrown out of their struggle when the hulking mass of Drogon collided with them. The Black Dragon's claws finding Viserion's already damaged wing and his fangs finding his brother's face.
Viserion relinquished his grip on Rhaegal with a screech; the green dragon's neck gushing blood from all the bite wounds riddling it. The struggle sent the Night King over the edge of Rhaegal's neck as the Lord of Winter released his grip on Longclaw and accepted his descent without any sign of mortal worry.
'GO! I have to do this myself!' Daenerys voice filled his mind.
Jon would have argued that Daenerys needed help; but by the way Rhaegal was groaning and panting like a wounded dog; there was no way that the emerald scaled dragon could take much more abuse. If Rhaegal took another bad hit; he wouldn't be in the air for very long.
With a grunt; Jon willed Rhaegal to descend; he had to get the green dragon on the ground to rest and recuperate. Any longer in the air and the damage that Rhaegal had sustained may only be made worse.
Daenerys would have breathed a sigh of relief if not for the screeching husk of her fallen son; flailing as much as it could to escape the iron grip of Drogon. The black Dragon was not a beast like many thought he was; the Valyrian Dragon was smart and emotional, and he loved his brother. All three of the dragons loved each other; from the moment they hatched to the moment they would close their eyes.
Drogon felt a myriad of emotions that flowed through both him and his mother. Both Dany and Drogon shared their sorrow for the loss of their son and brother, they shared anger at the Night King for taking him from them; and they felt the responsibility to make sure he didn't suffer for much longer.
The Mighty black Dragon wrapped his claws around Viserion's already damaged wing and twisted it; the audible snapping and cracking followed by an audible screech from the living corpse. Drogon sank his fangs deeper into Viserion's face; bones cracking and one of the wight dragon's blue eyes popping under pressure before Drogon with all the fury a grieving brother could muster; tore Viserion's face in half.
Blue flames spewed from the damaged maw and opened throat of the felled Viserion; but Daeneyrs and Drogon's job was not over yet.
'forgive me my child…forgive me' Daenerys had to fight back the tears as she was forced to put down her sweet child like some rabid dog.
Drogon snarled as he ripped Viserion's wing off; bones cracking and tendons splitting; black ichor in place of blood as the former son of Daenerys was rent asunder. Drogon's snarls and roars would have sounded like the snarls of a rabid animal to those ignorant of a Dragon's nature.
Those roars of snarls were the only way the Black Dragon could vent the pain as he brought his jaws down on Viserion's neck once again; his fangs tearing and rending flesh and tendons in a sorrowful attempt to end his brother's suffering.
Tears fell free from Daenerys' face as she roared alongside Drogon; their pain and sorrow melding into fury as the descendant of the Black Dread tore out Viserion's throat. Blue flame now poured free from the hole Drogon made; not one blue cinder managing to make its way out of Viserion's mouth.
The sorry state the namesake of Daenerys' brother was in was painful to witness; especially as Daenerys gave that final order.
'Please Drogon…end it, please end it' Dany cried as she buried her face in Drogon's back.
And with all the savagery and fury of his namesake; Drogon's jaws clamped around what was left of the skull of Viserion, and with enough pressure to crush solid steel, Drogon twisted and snapped his brother's neck, a loud and audible snap echoing the air.
Daenerys cried like a child as Viserion's corpse drifted to the floor soundless like feather; the weight of his body would crush the wights beneath him but that brought no comfort. Daenerys' tears fell upon Drogon's back as she wept, for the second time she had lost her dear son. Viserion had been taken from her by the Night King and now she was the one with his blood on her hands.
Daenerys' eyes shot open; no longer filled with the sadness of a grieving mother but filled with the fiery fury of a Targaryen Dragon Queen, no, not even a Dragon Queen. A Dragon.
'Dracarys!' Daenerys growled in the mind of Drogon; the Black Dread sharing his mother's unbridled rage and anger. Targaryen fire was one thing; but this was pure Dragon's fire, as Drogon descended like the incarnation of death, he and his rider's anger becoming one.
Fire and Blood; if Dany couldn't get the second from the army of the dead, then she would give them the first in bulk.
Jon could hear the laboured and heavy breathing from Rhaegal as the green dragon descended from the air. The steam emitting from Rhaegal's mouth was a clear sign that he was exhausted; and his wounds certainly were not helping. Landing inside of the gates was not an option; Rhaegal needed space and a safe area to recuperate.
Jon made sure that Rhaegal landed away from the fighting; somewhere the wights wouldn't notice him, and a clearing just near a snow hill south of Winterfell was the perfect place.
Rhaegal landed with a thud and snow was flung into the air around him from the impact, luckily the wights were too preoccupied with laying siege to Winterfell to notice the Dragon landing behind the hills.
Jon leapt off Rhaegal; gaining his footing much better than he did in his previous dismounts. Jon inspected the wound around Rhaegal's eye and was glad to find that he had not sustained damage to the eye itself; but the wound itself had sliced through his right brow and left a nasty cut on his eyelid.
That would certainly leave a scar; as would the several bite wounds littering Rhaegal's neck. Jon wasn't an expert on Dragon anatomy; but he could tell that the bleeding wasn't severe enough to lead to Rhaegal's death. A Dragon of Rhaegal's size was sure to have many gallons of blood running through him; the wounds inflicted by Viserion would scar him…but not kill.
'It's alright boy' It's alright, rest' Jon patted Rhaegal as the immense dragon collapsed; steam emitting from his mouth and nostrils as he lay down on the snow.
Rhaegal would have responded if he weren't so drained; instead he simply closed his eyes and tried to rest as best he could. Jon drew Longclaw and ascended the hill; satisfied that Rhaegal would be safe here, any stray wights that came this way wouldn't stand a chance against even a wounded Rhaegal.
Once Jon crested the hill, he scanned the battlefield; he could see Drogon reigning fire upon the hordes of wights; he could see the giants and mammoths breaking through walls and tearing down gates, the very walls of his childhood home reduced to rubble.
Then he saw him.
Standing there; watching it all transpire with a sword of ice strapped to his back.
The Night King.
That bastard had survived, of course he did.
The Gods really weren't smiling on Jon in that regard.
The Night King began to advance; marching with a purpose towards the breech in the walls, the breech was still alight with blue flames and corpses created in the melee that had taken place after the wights began spilling over the walls.
His window of opportunity was closing fast.
Jon gripped Longclaw tightly and reached up to take off his cloak. The heavy furs would simply weigh him down and make him slow; he needed to move and move fast for that matter. Jon needed every single advantage he could get against an enemy like this.
Taking a deep breath; Jon steeled his resolve, he could make it, he could close that distance in time and end this nightmare; he could end the Long Night before it had even begun. He had to do this, he had to end this war before it could claim the lives of those he loved dearest.
His People.
His Friends.
His Uncle; come back from the dead twice.
His Brother, Bran.
His sisters, fearless Arya and cunning Sansa.
And the love of his life; his fiery dragon queen, his other half, the woman that he would gladly give his life for, Daenerys.
Jon let out a low growl as he leapt over the hill and went into a run; keeping himself low as he could to the ground to avoid being seen by any inquisitive wights.
With Longclaw in hand and the snow crunching under his boots; in that moment all that mattered was thrusting his sword deep into the chest of the Night King.
Wood splintered as the howling, screeching, snarling and roaring got louder; there was more than simple human wights bashing down the gates. That much was certain when a fist the size of a man's torso broke through the doors and tore a chunk of the gate with it.
"STAND FAST!" Brienne yelled as she bared Oathkeeper; Jaime stood at her side with Widow's wail in hand, the twin pieces of Ice reunited in Winterfell after so long.
"Come on you cunts! We don't have all fucking night!" Tormund snarled; adrenaline coursing through his system as flashbacks of Hardhome filled his head.
Benjen walked past lines of trembling men; one black hand grasping Dark Sister whilst the other drew his chain flail. Beric stood beside his fellow dead man and ignited his sword; both deceased warriors sharing an understanding glance before looking at the splintering gates.
"Don't let them flank you; if they get you on your back its over…fight in groups and attack their centre mass…and pray the gods are favouring us" Benjen instructing before igniting his chain flail.
Sandor flinched noticeably as he noticed he was standing right beside the dead man with the flaming sword and the other dead man with a fiery flail. It was not his luck; but as much as he detested fire, he hated the idea of being gutted and brought back as some undead slave much more.
"Lord of Light protect us; watch us in the depths of darkness and death and light the way…" Beric began to pray as more splintered and chunks flew from the gates.
"Your god isn't fucking listening Beric" Sandor growled as he gripped his axe tightly.
"DOVOAGEDYS!" Grey Worm shouted his fellow Unsullied to attention as they locked their shields in place; creating an airtight shield wall.
"MEN! STAND TO!" Lyle shouted as his heaviest infantry men stood to attention behind the Unsullied shield wall; baring their warhammers, maces, mauls, halberds and other blunt weapons made for caving in skulls and breaking bones.
Everyone stood with bared breath.
Northmen.
Free Folk.
Night's Watch.
Unsullied.
Westerlanders.
Crannogmen.
Dothraki.
And all the misfits in between.
With every thud the barrier became weaker and weaker; until the snarls and growls began to die down. For a few blessed seconds; the defenders of Winterfell thought that the wights were relenting. But those hopes were dashed as ice began to crawl up the wooden gates; brown oak and timber turning white.
…
…
Silence but the howling wind and the low growling of Ghost as he stuck right by Gendry's side.
The Gates shattered.
and Hell was unleashed.
OK, took a little longer than I first expected, and I hope all of you enjoyed this second to last instalment of the Battle of Winterfell. Now admittedly, a lot of stuff in this chapter and the last few follows the same basic skeleton of the Long Night in season 8….However you will like to hear that NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE THE CONCLUSION OF THE BATTLE OF WINTERFELL AND FROM THERE ON….ORIGINAL CONTENT, FUCK SEASON 8 IN ITS ENTIERETY!
Next chapter I will be dropping some Bombs! People will fucking die! The Night King will do his thing, secrets will be revealed! Got some CRAZAY SHIT COMING UP EVERYBODY AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT.
As always, please leave varied and lengthy reviews; give me things to talk about, let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, your opinions, views and suggestions or even just some good old fashioned D&D hate (its very much welcome here)
Love all of you guys, and here is to a productive 2020! MERRY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!
TRANSLATIONS:
Mizadá vi zdaguno! – Protect the Retreat!