CHAPTER 35 - THE ATRONACH
Bella sat next to the little hearth of the maester's chamber, her head resting in her palms while a gentle hand ran the length of her back, and the last glow of sunlight shimmered off the long strands of golden hair belonging to the girl next to her as they waited for him to finish with the task in his hands of mixing a philter. The past few days were dismal. Floods of emotions had her crying or screaming, and a sudden onslaught of nausea and dizziness brought her here; whether from anxiety or memories was hard to tell. Each time she thought of him, she heard those heart-breaking words… I won't ask you to wait for me… Like he wasn't coming back…
"Why? Why did he say that?" she sobbed softly as Stephanie continued to try and soothe her. It was the most haunting thing. Maester Gerdwyle glanced up, sympathy etched across his features. Then he sighed.
"People are strange creatures, my lady. Men are strange, women are strange. Strange as death, as the stars, as a dream… Strange as fate, all for reasons good and bad, different reasons, and the same. But, strange they remain." He breathed. For his youth, he had a wisdom much the same as his predecessor, and sometimes was thought that he understood people better than he did his medicines.
"But, to say that? He's never been like that before. He's never been cold, or hard…" she whimpered, and then wiped a tear from her cheek, feeling it burn against her skin.
"He has endured multiple heartaches in such a short span of time, my lady." He reminded, very gently, and then sat back, his hands pausing for a moment.
"When a bone breaks, it grows back stronger. But, sometimes... crooked and malformed..." he explained, and she recalled her father's sword hand. They'd heard it was injured during the Greyjoy Rebellion, long ago. Even with that, he remained one of the lord's strongest.
"The same could be said of a heart, sadly..." he finished, and it was almost like hers stopped. So much pain, so much anger, so much resentment, so much sorrow. And she could feel all of it… She wanted to cry.
"Don't worry, Bell. They'll all come back." Stephanie assured her, and the maester leaned forward presenting the small vial to her.
"Do try to get some rest. But should the symptoms continue, please come see me again in a few days, my lady. Perhaps I might find something else." He advised, and she took the bottle from him. He couldn't determine anything now, apart from a slight fever; and so she dismissed the sensations to fatigue and anxiety. Then the maester came to his feet, and bowed his head to them before returning to his desk, while they sat a moment longer.
"Maester Gerdwyle…" Bella asked, and he quickly looked back.
"Has anything been heard from the north?" he paused for a moment, trying to recall. Their forces had been gone for little over a week…
"Nothing yet, my lady." He told, and her eyes lowered to the floor.
"Oh, al right." She'd thought that someone might inform them of any occurrences, or movements.
"You will have me informed as soon as there is?" she reminded him, and he smiled.
"Of course I will, my lady." He promised, as he often did. Then they stood, and took the winding stairs down the tower back towards the common room where the others waited. But all this time, she couldn't stop herself from wondering about them. Where were they now? What were they doing? Were they al right? Her nights were sleepless, lying under the silks while tossing and turning every which way and fearing for their safety, praying for the dawn to come so she could endure another long and uncertain day. Knowing that with each sunrise, they could receive dismal news. Even all their daily routines and habits, wasn't enough to keep her mind in control, and now her uneasy emotions added so much more to the unsettling wait for them to come home. A thought came to ask that they go for a ride with the horses, but the tightness in her stomach would not agree to that.
"Bell, do you want to go lie down?" Stephanie asked softly from her side, and she smiled weakly.
"No, I won't be able to sleep, and just end up soaking the pillows anyway." Bella declined, receiving a clearly concerned look from her friend.
"You'll wear yourself out like this." She cautioned, but all Bella could do was sigh. She had to agree to that, but had no idea of how she could make things any better. For herself, or anyone else.
"I'll be fine. As soon as everyone is back home, things will return to normal." She tried to reassure, but it was a miserable attempt. When would they be back? Would they be back at all?
"But you have to take care of yourself. We can't have Lord Rychon return to a withered little thing." She tried, and to her gratitude it made her smile, for the memories. Aunt Claira was small for her height, but proud and powerful all the same.
"I'll try eating a bit more, tonight." She promised, although for a while she'd not been keen to eat much at all. And, regardless of all the suggestions and intentions, she didn't want any aid to help her sleep. Everything was just, so wrong… A drop of sunlight spilled through the window separating the arches to the maester's tower and the sun tower, it was the only thing that seemed right as Bella stared at the golden light on the stones for a long moment. The only true light in their lives at this moment. The only light there was, any more.
"Bell…" her attention went back to Stephanie, still regarding her carefully.
"I'm worried about you. Truly, I am." She insisted, and Bella again smiled as she took her hands; the delicate fingers soft and warm in hers. She'd undergone quite a change herself, over the past few months. Once timid, reserved and closed off to others; now with a heart open to so much more.
"I'll be fine, sweet Stephanie." Then she breathed in, trying to calm her emotions.
"We should get back to the others, try to pass the time." She suggested, and they continued up the long halls to the common room where family and friends shared their days.
Rychon looked up at the great stone, shimmering in the late noon sky while dark clouds started to drift by, having sought out solitude here away from the constant attendance of his lords and order to find and manage his own thoughts. The pelted cloak hanging from his shoulders once again felt heavy on him along with the fine breastplate that would protect his heart as he recalled the journey back down, it had been nothing short of gruelling; and while the soldiers remained smaller groups of women, children and those unfit to stand a siege continued down to the city of Ramshorn, where for the time being, lady Sansa Stark and her brother Brandon will be honoured guests. Tents and other manner of temporary shelters quickly sprouted up in the fields like mushrooms after a storm, and a long wall of barricades and siege equipment were erected on either side of the titan stretching as far as one could see. The dragons had settled in a clearing to the south, a safe distance from the hordes of arms. There were the expected protests of course, but most did as they were told. To his gratitude, the Dragon Queen had mostly avoided him, and words were exchanged by messengers were there need for it. Winterfell would have fallen, but he couldn't allow himself to feel any guilt for it. Those who stayed, chose to do so, despite the urges to abandon the keep entirely. And, to a small degree of annoyance, Vaellion had been insistent to stay behind with his father and brother, while the remainder of his group saw the ladies safely to the city. But there was nothing to be done of that now. After another three-day haul, they were here. Waiting for the enemy to appear. Moat Cailin with its marshy lands might provide a delay, but not much more. It too, stood vacant now. He raised his hand, running his fingers along the smooth stone, unnaturally warm to his touch and felt the same heat rushing up his back, over his shoulders and arms, like comforting hands. What am I doing? But this was the one thing he knew, a certainty without any proof. This was where they were meant to be. Their stand will be here, behind a stone called the Atronach. A creation that was meant to be, a living shield for their people. A protection for their world, that his family suffered and sacrificed for. It will be dark soon, and another night will decide whether they would endure the wait, or endure the foe, although much indicated that it would be the latter as dark clouds started rolling in from the north. An obviously unnatural direction, for clouds...
"Your grace." A voice behind drew his attention, and after another silent moment he turned to meet his visitor.
"I apologise for disturbing you." He quickly pardoned, but Rychon smiled.
"It's al right, Vaellion." He calmed, and the slight nervousness left his eyes. He couldn't say he was pleased at his insistence to stay, but allowed him his choice. The party escorting his family was well trusted though, and would reach Ramshorn early the day following, if all went well.
"I just wanted to tell you, that I'm doing this because I want to. And… if anything happens, I want you to know that I gave my best." The youngster softly told, and Rychon sighed. It wasn't his resolve that he doubted, only his experience. Nearly two years his junior, this would be his first real fight, and it was the greatest one they would face.
"I know. But, I would have preferred that you continued down to Ramshorn with the others." He mentioned once again, but Vaellion revealed a stubborn smile as he glanced down.
"You're my king, and my brother. I want to show that I can stand behind you, just as much as anyone else here." He insisted, and after a silent moment Rychon chuckled. A Trentin indeed.
"Well, as you have so respectfully declined the last task I've given you, it seems I will have to give you another." He teased, watching the eyes light up for an instant.
"You will carry my standard. And stay out of the fights." Rychon issued, receiving a momentary shocked look.
"But…" the boy started, suddenly anew registering the ardent eyes looking at him and recalling his father's reprove the last time he attempted to protest their king before bowing his head.
"Yes, your grace. Thank you for this honour." He accepted, and Rychon had to bite back another smirk. It was the only other thing he could think of. Vaellion would be an active part of their forces, but limited to any direct danger at least. Then the motion of another figure approaching caught the king's attention, and he noticed Berterin making his way to them, quite hurriedly; and he let out a sigh. His time for reflection had become less and less, he had to make decisions quite spontaneously and trust it was the best one, while more and more came seeking of his guidance or approval. The young sentinel reached them and bowed formally.
"Your grace." He presented himself before straightening, but before announcing his reason for coming Rychon scanned the span of their encampment.
"How fares our people, ser?" he asked, and for an instant his friend grinned sheepishly.
"Favourable as far as can be expected, your grace. The men seem to be in high spirits." He reported, and Rychon nodded, feeling relieved. Then gathered himself for the imminent assignment.
"You came looking for me with something?" he asked.
"My pardon for that. A guest has come to beg an audience with you. She has said that it's important." He informed.
"Who is it?" Rychon asked, suddenly having to admit to himself that he was curious.
"I've never seen her before. Apparently, she's a priestess." He told. He stood wondering, why in all the seven hells a priestess would want to see him. What could she possibly have to share?
"Very well…" he glanced up at the stone one last time before following back to the shelter that he and the Trentins temporarily shared. Entering its shadow he paused, finding himself surprised. His guest stood in soft discussion with Berin while they'd waited, she was almost as tall as he was. Then she turned to face him, removing the hood of her deep red robes and bowing her head low. She was beautiful, her hair the colour of burnished copper framing a heart shaped face with flawless pale skin. Around her throat was a circlet of gold with a glistening ruby.
"Your grace." She greeted him, her voice deeper than he'd expected with a distinct eastern accent. Then she looked up at him again, where their eyes met in a moment of uneasiness. Even her eyes were red. Not as brilliant as the Stone King's that he'd seen before, but vivid still.
"I apologise that I cannot offer you better lodging, my lady. Our circumstances have left many wanting, I'm afraid." He replied, and she gave him a soft smile that reminded him of his love.
"Then I hope to unburden you, I did not come for your hospitality, your grace. I am called Melisandre, and as a priestess of R'hllor I came to offer you my aid." She eased him, and he glanced away. He'd heard of that deity. The lord of light, the Brotherhood had called him. The red god, some others. A creed that came from the heart of the east… One with little or no place here.
"I appreciate that, but forgive me if I cannot envision a sword in your hand." He quipped, and Berin shot Vaellion a subtly irritated look when he hid his eyes, trying desperately to strangle a laugh. Yet, the red woman did not seem offended, or amused, aside from the soft smile she'd displayed since moments before.
"I need no sword, your grace. Only my faith." She assured, bringing a soft smirk from the king.
"Well then, be it fortunate that you may have one better than many of the people here. And pious as many of my men are, I've not heard of a battle that has been won by prayer alone." He sighed as he came forward to pass her, her reflective amber eyes following him attentively while his company continued to watch her.
"The lord of light has shown me, that this war will not end in darkness." She told, and for just a moment his thoughts went to the amulet hanging from his neck. What it had shown him. It was still in his thoughts. All of it…
"Very inspiring." He agreed, perhaps a bit more apathetically than he'd intended, but it couldn't be helped. He was tired, and homesick, and irked with the circumstances. But honour outweighed all of that, after all. A man's worth is as good as his word…
"You said you had important business with me, what is it?" he asked as he turned back to face her again, and she glanced down at the ground. Perhaps searching for her words before looking up.
"You are a son of fire." She told, and Berin scoffed.
"I recall that lord Stannis Baratheon was named the same thing." He quipped, and she glanced at him.
"Nonetheless, this much is true. And further, there is a prophecy that will be made true here." She told as she looked back at Rychon.
"What prophecy?" he asked, feeling cautious. Did she know?
"The Prince that was Promised, will Bring the Dawn. He who was born amidst salt and smoke, will fulfil this." He breathed out, feeling rather relieved.
"Interesting, but you might be mistaken to have come to me. I'm not a prince." He corrected, but her soft smile remained.
"No, you are a king. But still you will have your part to play, when The Atronach Stands in Flame and Snow." She assured, and a sudden wave of heat tore through his chest. Behind her, he noticed Berin's hand clenching around the hilt of his sword, suddenly uneasy while his sons continued to stare at the priestess, one in shock, the other in confusion. No one knew, how did she? But, he remained calm, as a king should. Then she approached him.
"And in that terrible darkness, you will help the prince bring the dawn. A blue dawn." She predicted, standing so close that he could feel her breath on the skin of his cheek, and in her eyes he could see the flickering of lights. Was it from the candles?
"Thank you for your insight, my lady. But I believe it best that you leave. Night is drawing, and the battlefield might not befit you." He suddenly suggested, and with a hint of surprise she stepped back. A moment later, another face appeared at the entrance to their pavilion, accompanied by the whiff or lavender.
"Please do pardon my intrusion, your grace. My lords." He announced himself, and they acknowledged him as the priestess slowly moved away, whom the queen's master of whisperers gave a momentarily awkward glance.
"I won't have your head, lord Varys." Rychon smirked. Strangely, he'd been asked for a pardon quite frequently of late.
"Such a relief, your grace." Varys breathed as he stepped closer politely, his hands tucked away in the sleeves of his dark coat.
"What word do you bring?" Rychon enquired, that was the only reason he would come all this way.
"Our respective forces have combined every effort. The siege equipment has been set, and the Dothraki along with ser Jorah Mormont will join lord Rames and his mounts, while Grey Worm and the Unsullied hold the front lines with the Brienne of Tarth, the Northmen and your own. Her grace, queen Daenerys will join the battle herself from the air with Warden Jon on the dragons." He informed, and all seemed sound.
"Good to know." He agreed. If he was right about the shield, the dead would not be able to move far beyond the Atronach, and might attempt to destroy it, and so provisions were made to defend the stone as well. They'll be here soon, in all likelihood…
"I have been asked, your grace. To enquire about the sentries?" Varys pointed out, and Rychon nodded.
"They have not reported back yet, but should before dusk." He told. He'd sent three runners to keep an eye on Moat Cailin from the heights, and Varys again looked at the woman in red.
"Very well, your grace." He said before bowing his head.
"Might I beg your leave to go, your grace?" he then asked, and Rychon looked at Berterin.
"Of course. Ser Berterin, would you be so kind as to escort both of our guests outside?" he instructed, and the youngster bowed.
"Yes, your grace." He waited as they left the shelter, lord Varys followed by the priestess, and then he tailed behind, accompanying them through the lively camp site, listening.
"So, you have returned. Yet I had advised you not to." The eunuch breathed, and he heard the priestess flout.
"I have. As I've told you then, I am to die in this strange country." She replied calmly.
"And to the side of a fourth ruler, one might question your loyalty." He teased.
"I serve the lord of light, no other. I go where he tells me to. And he has told me to seek out the son of fire." She replied, and Varys looked at her.
"To offer your 'service' to him?" he asked, and her eyes met his.
"To offer my aid." She stopped for a moment, turning towards him.
"We all have our parts to play. From the smallest spider to the greatest dragon, we are all a part of this. And when the sons of fire release the blue dawn, I have prayed to see that." She said, and then continued forward.
"And you have your own part to play I'm sure, my lady. But, how much do you have to offer? You're no great warrior, no prestigious strategist, no fierce leader. How much can faith do in our current circumstances?" Varys proceeded.
"We will have to see…" she sighed. They made their way through the masses, to where the northerners had set up their base, where the master of whisperers parted from them, and the priestess turned to the young sentinel.
"There is no further need to accompany me, I will be staying here." She assured, meeting his eyes. There was a light around her, bright as a crimson sunset, and in the depths of her eyes, flame and shadows danced.
"Are you certain of that, my lady?" he asked, and she smiled at him.
"I am certain. I have my part to play, as do we all, come the dawn." She told. There's that word again… dawn…
"As you wish, my lady. If you'd please pardon me, then." He excused himself before turning, and starting his way back. Dawn…
"Young sentinel…" he glanced back, where the red woman still regarded him.
"Stay close to your king." She advised, as if she knew something foreboding.
"I will." He promised, and then continued on his way back to the pavilion. While walking, he could hear the soldiers around him, speaking of home and family. Telling each other of their wives and daughters, and young sons. Even mothers, or ailing fathers; and he couldn't keep his thoughts away from his own. Of his mother, and sister, and his lady. He smiled for a moment, imagining them together, sitting on the stone bench in their garden next to the fountain, surrounded by sweet blossoms, smiling happily at him as sunlight cascaded off their glistening hair and bright eyes. How they glowed… Then he glanced up, watching a massive dragon glide through the sky on its way to the other side of the encampment. The black and crimson creature roared as it passed over, its wings casting gusts of wind on the ground as it went. And as its shadow grew smaller in the distance of the east, he noticed the waning light around him. Nightfall was nearing. Dawn… He hurried back to their shelter to find his family as he'd left them, evidently discussing what the priestess had said.
"It makes sense, I suppose." Berin breathed as he entered into the shadow.
"What now?" he asked, finding himself curious and the bright blue eyes of their king met his.
"This prophecy, about the prince. It could be incorrect." He mentioned, and Berterin came closer.
"How?" he asked, wanting to know more about something he'd never heard.
"Years ago, lord Stannis Baratheon was quite the topic. Proclaimed as the true king, a son of fire, and this supposed promised prince." Berin explained.
"Her reference to salt and smoke. Lord Stannis was born on Storm's End. And while it's next to the sea where one might find salt, there's no link to anything close to smoke as far as I can think of." Rychon continued, glancing at the head of their Order.
"Queen Daenerys was born on Dragonstone. It's an island in the sea, and long associated with dragons of course. Dragons breathe fire. Where there's fire, there's smoke." Berterin could see the sense in that.
"But, why a prince then?" he asked.
"Prophecies are strange things, as you've realized. But, like I've said before, it could have been interpreted wrongly. The Prince might actually be the Princess." He finished, which was exactly what the silver haired woman was born as, given her heritage.
"Al right, but where do you fit into all of that? You're to help her bring the dawn? A blue dawn?" Berterin questioned, still pondering on that word. Dawn…
"I haven't the slightest idea, my friend. Other that we have to win this war, no matter the cost." Rychon sighed, watching the copper shadows of sunset creeping closer through the opening of the shelter. No matter the cost… Just then, the sound of horses from outside roused him as several flashes broke the flow from the light, followed by the sudden thud of boots striking the ground. A moment later, three soldiers entered and bowed to him, the sentries he'd sent returned.
"Your grace." The first presented himself before rising again.
"What word?" the king asked, and the scout prepared himself.
"They're filtering through, quicker than we'd hoped, your grace. The enemy force will be upon us tonight." He reported.
"How long?" Berin asked, and the soldier allowed him a nervous glance.
"It's hard to say, my lord. A few hours at most." He tried to calculate, and then Rychon moved forward.
"Go through the encampment, deliver this information to everyone including the Warden of the North and Queen Daenerys. We must be ready." He instructed, and with a quick bow the runners headed off into the mass of the camp as the Ardent King emerged into the last light with his sentinels at his sides, watching the scarlet light disappear over the edge of the world. Is this the last sunset we'll see..? He felt hopeful and defeated at the same time, under his composure desperately trying to overpower the fear that clawed at the back of his mind. Again, a gentle nudge broke his thoughts, and he glanced back at Berin behind him, softly smiling.
"We'll be al right." He reassured him, and the youngster could claim a deep, free breath before nodding. With sentries posted, darkness enveloped the world then, almost too abruptly as torches were lit and scattered throughout the site for light, while in the heart of the camp an enormous beacon was set ablaze where the men of the Corridor gathered for what could be their final night in this world. Soldiers, lords, sentinels and the Ardent King himself in one another's company, no man less than the one next to him, one last time as they continued to share their hopes and stories. Rychon sat watching the flames of the fire, the way they licked and bit at the darkness that surrounded them, brilliant cascades of gold, copper and crimson with the shadows as he thought of his past, everything that had led him to this point. The many days and lessons and bruises. The hopes they gained, and the lives they lost. The happiness and hardships all shared. Then he felt a soft pressure against his thigh.
"What are you doing?" Berterin whispered from next to him, and he paused suddenly, realising he'd been humming to himself. It was an old song, very old. In all likelihood, so old he couldn't say that anyone else here, would recognise it. He'd heard it once but couldn't even recall where, and yet now it was so clear in his mind. Like it was meant for this night.
"An ode to the brave…" he clarified, and yet his friend remained staring at him, like he was waiting for him to continue. And he did. Deep, slow, steady rhythms. After a few verses of the same tones, his friend joined in, another voice to his ode. Moments later, he found yet another voice among his friend, and his own. It was young Vaellion, having decided to follow his brothers. He could feel the others around them staring at him, whether with confusion, contempt, curiosity or simply wonder he couldn't determine; but nor did he care. One couldn't explain, what couldn't be understood. It simply was… Then, more voices. Louder. More defined. A definite melody, measured pounding of boots on the ground and an additional verse. The Order had added their voices, still. And from the shadows, then came words, ancient but not forgotten as lords Rames, Violet and Haslinger emerged to join their own voices, and this ancient warsong was given new life with dozens, hundreds, thousands of voices enveloping them, and overtaking the world, emphasized with profound, mighty battle cries. As the song progressed, some even rose to their feet, drawing swords, rising them into the air to reflect the light of the great fire off their blades as they stood gathered around the flames. It was something powerful, which made him think of the Stoneholders. That night, when their people celebrated the Silver Eclipse, and their civilization was destroyed… But this, felt different. It was an invitation to their foe to come and face their wroth, if they dared. No. Not an invitation. A challenge. Come and meet us! It said, and he felt it. Come and face us! It declared, loud into the night. And he felt it. As the echoes faded into the distance, he turned back to see a small figure standing in the light of the fire, regarding them with eyes wide with awe.
"Never in my life, have I ever heard anything like that." He finally breathed, and Rychon smiled. It brought his people together; they would fight until their very last.
"I suppose you wouldn't have. It hasn't been heard in aeons…" the young king sighed, glancing up at his lords, all seeming more riled than what they were before.
"But not forgotten." He added, feeling grateful for them. All of them. Then he turned back to lord Tyrion, who'd come to investigate.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, rather curious for his sudden appearance.
"I'm a part of this, of course." He told, and again Rychon smirked.
"Forgive me for saying so, lord Tyrion. But a battlefield might befit you ill." He mentioned, and the hand of the queen gave him a strange look.
"I have fought before. At the Battle of the Green Fork, and the Battle of Blackwater Bay." He informed.
"I know. But, you serve your queen for your mind. Not your battle prowess, lord Tyrion." Rychon indicated. The small man opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could escape his lips, the deep cry of a warhorn tore through the world, so intense that it seemed to seep through the earth itself. So, it is time…
"Mount up! Take your positions!" came the orders, and it was turmoil as steeds were seized and soldiers rushed to their formations. Moments later the mass was gathered, lengths spanning as far as the horizons with Rychon next to the great stone, still glimmering its tiny lights in the waning moonlight, the Trentins at his side with young Vaellion bearing the Taugere standard proudly and the dragons with their riders mere feet behind them. Berterin glanced up at the Atronach, to his eyes it glowed against the night sky, the churn of flames swirling on its surface as Rychon watched the black horizon, a dark mass creeping slowly closer. Then he looked back at those behind him, his heart going out to each of them. Those who abandoned their homes for this cause… Words rising in his throat.
"I see your faces. All of them. So much like my own." He started, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Then he glanced at Berin, watching him intently.
"The faces of fathers, of sons and of brothers. Of mothers, of sisters, and daughters." Then the sentinel smiled at him, his deep green eyes glinting with approval before his again went to those watching him eagerly.
"And I invite you all, to take the promise of my house. Not because you are Taugere's, but because we are human. Because we are alive, and will continue to live. Centuries have left our world broken, but now we have a new chance." He told as his destrier started down the line in a paced canter.
"A new chance to stand, and show even death itself that has come for us that we will not run! We will not surrender! We will not submit! We will not yield! We will face the darkness! We will stand! Whatever comes at us, we will hold our ground!" He drew Quill from its sheath, rising it above him, the flawless steel flashing in the light.
"From the Ashes, We Rise!" he called over them, answered by the voices of his countrymen.
"Stronger We Rise!" it echoed off the field around them as his destrier circled back.
"From the Ashes, We Rise!" he called again, his voice alone demanding to be answered.
"Stronger We Rise!" more voices, louder, reverberating through the air like hidden wings. The northerners perhaps, their close allies. But once more, the voice of the Ardent King tore through the world, clear and daunting.
"FROM THE ASHES, WE RISE!" it cracked over them like thunder, and a final time they answered. All of them. Those who knew his house words, while those who didn't added their voices in equally powerful battle cries.
"STRONGER WE RISE!" it shuddered, through the earth and over, rippling into the distance as even the dragons roared with fervour, their fiery breath releasing gusts of smoke into the cool, quivering winter air. They were one. One force, one nation, one entity come to face that which came to devour them. Then Rychon returned to his place, sheathing his great sword as Berin nodded his head.
"Very inspiring, your grace." He approved, watching as the young king looked over his people, ready and eager for their enemy.
"This isn't a fight for riches or glory, lord Berin. But for our lives, our world, our future. We have to give it everything we have…" he sighed.
"Mounts!" came a strong voice from the soldiers, and they watched as the horses quickly rushed forward to create a shield wall before them, their own people along the Dothraki horde under lord Rames and ser Jorah Mormont, followed by a great wolf almost as big as a horse, its fur pale white. Rychon glanced up at the great stone a final time. The gods be good, I hope this works… They waited for yet another little while, watching the distant clouds rolling closer when voices from the front drew their attention. The deep voice of the red woman who'd met him before, rather distinct in the chill night. What is she doing..? A command was called out, and swords were drawn and raised to the sky. Moments later, the world was illuminated as the swords of both foreigners and countrymen took light. It was an amazing sight, to be sure. Then came the faint screeching and wailing from the distance, and Rychon forced a breath into his chest to cool the blaze that tore at him there. He wanted to move forward, to assume his position at their front where he should have been, like his father would have been, but by all his lords and order was extremely fervently advised, although he sooner would have called it a command, to remain back as he was the only Taugere in name. But he was told that his presence alone would keep their courage…
"Take heart men! The dead cannot pass beyond the Atronach! We will seize our victory here!" came the voice of lord Rames from the wall, confident and bold as he always was. More a lion than a ram, but somewhere there was Lannister blood in his family over the centuries.
"Forward!" the earth shook as the horses took flight with their riders, storming into the unknown with shouts and battlecries and shrieks, guided by blazes of fire released from the trebuchets under clouds as their shadows vanished into the night. Another command was called out from the back, and the siege was dormant, in the distance only the glint of flaming blades could be seen in the black, slowly vanishing along with the cries and screams, overwhelmed by the screeches of the damned, and all fell suddenly silent. Several riderless horses came rushing back, flailing their heads and hooves, eyes white in utter panic. Fuck… The breath escaping his lips was warm and white, thick with emotion. Fuck… Then came the shadows of the survivors rushing back, lord Rames followed by ser Jorah and several others, dishevelled and bleeding.
"We can't see a fucking thing out there, we're being swamped." The elder man reported, a dark smear running the length of his gaunt face from his cheek. Fuck…
"Reform the wall!" Rychon called out, and those who could joined into the ranks, awaiting another onslaught. They cannot pass… They cannot pass here… Amidst them was light, although it meagre. What little they were granted would have to make do. It was all they had. A sudden gust of wind made the air swirl with flakes and dust as the black dragon took to the sky, roaring as he soared effortlessly higher, then followed the green dragon quickly trying to pursue its sibling. They cannot pass, here… In the distance, the silence turned to wails and snarls. They had to hold them here. They had to defeat them, here where the rush of death came inevitably closer.
"Hold the line!" came the call as the Trentins unsheathed their swords, and Rychon retook his, waiting for the black flood.
"Stand your ground!" was the voice of the woman who'd taken up command of much the northern forces, then came the wave, flooding the world in dark chaos. Screeches, wails, snarls and cries was the world's song, and blades, spears, axes and arrows its dance. Rychon sent his blade through a wight leaving shattered ashes behind before circling around and swiftly scanning the turmoil, finding to his relief that the dead did not seem to move more than several feet beyond the great stone before turning back; but more were coming, drawn to the titan and it seemed endless, soon they would be swarmed. More fell, more stood, but more and more they came while the siege raged on. Sudden golden light filled the world as the dragons reigned from above, releasing their terrible breath on the world, and bodies turned to embers. If hope had brought them this far, he could dare to hope that they could win this. But, it was not long lived when the daze of mist and snow closed over them from the north. When there was limited sight, light was worth less. The battle forged forth, and time was something meaningless. All that was left was the struggle as they fought, countrymen and foreigners alike against that which had come to claim them; and the golden glow in the sky was joined by a sapphire shine where the Night King had come, mounted his greatest prize. A dragon dark and decaying, its wings torn and ragged, its rancid jaws spewing its contrasting flames at those down below. It was terrible, in this darkness. And maybe, no light would save them. That dawn would not come… He reeled his horse around, sending the great blade through a wight, reducing the bones to nothing more than flakes in the breeze. Move forward! Always forward! Then another, and another, and another. Only forward! The shadows above him didn't matter. The blaze of the ground around him didn't matter. He cut down all who came at him, watching as those glowing eyes vanished before the force of his great sword, the Trentins remaining ever close to him as they battled this foe on the ground, while up above the dragons spoke in their furious tongue. But the dead kept coming, starting to focus their attention on the stone that was the world's shield. To his left, a great sword cut through a skull with glistening eyes.
"Lord Berin, circle west. Make sure we're not hemmed." Rychon ordered, and the deep green eyes met his. There was hesitation, perhaps even the thought to argue. But then he nodded, acknowledging his command, and wheeled his courser around before vanishing through the throng around them, several of their soldiers following. More came, focused on them, pressing to reach the titan just behind; and they continued on while the world flashed in moments of light and darkness around them. Then came gusts of forceful winds below the tide of the storm as the decaying dragon swept low across the field, rancid flames bellowing from its gaping jaws; and behind, followed a flood of black wails. Balls of bright flames lit the night, but it was left largely ignored when all he felt was the sudden rush of air and the hard impact when even his massive horse was taken down. With screams and flails the destrier struggled free from the grip of death, rearing back and knocking several bones to ash with his giant hooves. Bringing his senses back, Rychon rolled retaking his sword in hand, then stood driving it through the throat of a corpse, watching it burst into dust along with those starlit eyes. He pulled the sword hard to his left, driving it through another form charging at him before a rumbling in the distance caught his attention for a moment. Sudden, inconsistent, something had dropped. And when he looked up, only two shadows remained in a dimly lit sky. One of the dragons had fallen, but he couldn't tell which one. Another gaping mouth appeared out of the shadows, hungry and relentless. He turned, bringing the blade around him and cutting it down. Dismounted he was vulnerable; on the ground he would need to keep his own feet. He aimed for more shadows, when the heads abruptly dropped to the ground and Berterin circled him.
"What are you doing?" Rychon called, and the youngster smirked.
"Protecting my king, your grace." He replied.
"Keep your head, sentinel! There are greater things at stake than my life!" he warned, turning his attention to another wave of attacks, successfully warding and striking them down. Then he heard a hard thud on the earth as his friend came quickly to his side.
"The purpose of the Order is to protect those with the name Taugere. I'll be damned if I discard that duty here, regardless!" he countered, positioning his back to the young king's; their defence now stronger. He heard the red woman's words in his mind, echoing like the winds through a chasm. Stay close to your king… his grip tightened, waiting for another storm. I cannot leave his side… They battled the horde, stabbing and slashing while those around them fought or fell in the heat of this hell. A ring of light blinded him, and in that moment sharp pain filled his body from his right knee up to his waist and he fell with an agonized cry, drying desperately to cover a gaping wound in his calf. As he looked up, glistening blue eyes stared back calmly from the dark; a figure short, slender and quiet. A Stark dead to the world of the living, but not to those who came to destroy them. She turned, focusing on the Ardent King, and then moved forward intent. The pain kept him down, but he called out to his friend as she raised a spear with dragon glass tips fixed to both ends, and he turned. Berterin forced himself up, balancing on his uninjured leg as he struggled forward trying to reach his friend, but a rough hand gripped his throat and hurled him to the ground once more, the air exhumed from his body as he lay, choking on the smothering air. A face appeared, hard and ragged, half the flesh once burned away and the same shining eyes looking mercilessly down. He rolled again as the creature brought a sword down, cutting through the earth where he once lay, then quickly got to his feet, struggling to hold his balance while the behemoth straightened to face him. The living had a glow around them, something he could use to anticipate their movements. But here, there was nothing but the eyes. A challenge he would have to best without his gift, and hope he could do it quickly to close the distance between himself and the young king who now faced his opponent, staring at him with no emotion, no hesitation. The spear in her hand began to move, yet he focused on her body. The way she walked calmly forward, the way she moved, the way she looked at him. There was very little to foresee, he would have to rely more on all else than sight. But through the surrounding screams and clash of steel, that might prove more difficult than hoped. The blades whistled as they cut through the air, and then she moved forward suddenly. The first blow he parried successfully, but what followed left him in cuts and lesions wherever there was room for it if not warded off somehow. She was relentless, but his saving grace was the fine breastplate covering his body, each strike glancing off the hard steel. The intent was death, she meant to kill him, and would not diminish unless that was accomplished. She paused for less than a heartbeat, her eyes fixed on his, and he could feel the change rather than see it. If striking at his body didn't have the desired effect despite bleeding cuts, the focus would need to be on more vulnerable points, and he'd received more than a few scoldings for not accepting a helm or gauntlets. But he couldn't stand the restrictions when he couldn't see or hear anything around him or hold his sword right. The spear lunged at his head, and he ducked away bringing the sword up aimed at her side, but she whirled and the blade cut nothing but air before the other tip swung at him. It grazed the side of his neck as he pulled back sharply, the burning pain spreading down to his shoulder with droplets of red. Fuck… The next tip came at him, and he brought the sword up catching the shaft on the cross guard he forced through casting off the attack. Then she turned again, aiming a shining black blade at him, and he countered. The steel cut through his left hand, the impact and the pain releasing his grip on his sword and it fell to the ground. Agony throbbed in his hand and up his arm as he forced himself to step back, creating distance. Fuck! She stared at him, and in the dim light he could make out the faintest hint of a smile. I'm going to die here… She walked forward, spear in one hand and a dagger in the other. I'm going to die here… He stood his ground as she came closer, his hands clenching. I'm going to die… Her left arm moved. But not today! She struck forward aiming for his throat, and he moved suddenly as the blade passed him, leaving a gash over his cheek rather than his neck and grabbed hold of her wrist. He pulled back hard, and with merciless strength sent his good hand into her body, the soft flesh moving and ribs giving way to the blow. But it was not enough yet, and she squirmed to free herself which he allowed. His hand slipped over hers, taking hold of the dagger's grip and tearing it away from the fingers before forcing it back and driving the tip deep into her throat. There was silence as the blue eyes stared up at the sky, slowly fading as the body crumbled and fell away.
"Find your rest, lady Stark…" Rychon breathed as he gathered himself and looked up, several feet away his friend was still battling the behemoth who'd raised him into the air by his throat, struggling against the strength as he used his legs to allow himself some leverage. Fuck… Rychon looked down, searching for the spear which lay inches from him on the ground; then grabbed it and flung it through the air, calling for the young sentinel's attention over the roar of war around them. The powerful voice brought his eyes up, and a glow in the night caught his attention. His sword was of no use, and both his strength and skill were outmatched. All he had was his speed, which couldn't be used now. With what he had left, his grip tightened around the wrist, and the muscles of his legs tensed for a moment as his hand reached up, by some god hand catching the shaft, then he positioned the tip and drove it down hard into the neck of his attacker, and the creature vanished in the warm breeze, leaving him to fall to the ground where he lay gasping for air. The soldiers fighting in the area around him sounded far away. Muffled, somehow. Dull. But the reality that this wasn't over brought him to his feet roughly, a blood-soaked hand wrapped around his own.
"You're injured." Was the voice of the Ardent King next to him.
"I'll be fine." He assured, testing his weight on his leg. It remained painful, but he could manage some balance. Then he looked up into the face, blood darkening the right cheek from a deep lesion.
"You have to go." Rychon told, and he pulled free.
"There's no way I'm leaving your side." He refused, and the very earth beneath them shuddered. A wave of heat rushed over them behind a deafening roar, and then the shadow rose up casting them in darkness as star blue eyes regarded them. From its back slipped a figure, his brow rimmed with spikes of ice. The Night King came to take this challenge himself, and Rychon felt his skin grow cold over the heat of his blood. It was a stupid mistake. In his haste to reach his friend, he'd left Quill discarded, and now watched the Night King step over it without much thought.
"Get out of here, Berterin…" he told, but again the young sentinel stood his ground.
"No." he refused, gripping the weapon in his hand harder as he turned to face their new attacker who came slowly forward, blue eyes bright in the shadows and the wings of the dragon swatting away all who approached.
"I'm not asking! Find Vaellion and stay out of the way!" he ordered suddenly recalling that they hadn't seen him for a while, and the deep green eyes suddenly met his, almost shocked.
"This isn't something you can win." He told again. Then from the darkness behind them came a cry, loud, powerful and determined. A voice they knew.
"NO!" but it was too late as the boy passed them, charging his courser stubbornly forward, using the butt of the Taugere banner as a lance, aiming for the pale figure in the night.
"Don't!" again, no response. The Night King simply watched; no emotions discernible as he brought a large weapon from his back. Something that resembled a grossly oversized cleaver that might have been intended to be a sword, or even an axe. At the last instant, he ducked and sent the pale blade through the legs of the charging horse, and it stumbled wailing, throwing its rider to the ground. He lay perfectly still, and they couldn't tell his state. His brother called to him, but there was nothing. Then those blue eyes settled on them once again before moving up, focusing on something behind them, and then moved forward. Berterin stepped in front of him, trying to keep his oath, but as he brought the spear up hard a white hand wrapped around the shaft, and with a sudden force discarded a now broken tip. His foe raised his arm, and with a hard blow cast him aside, as easily as he would a quintain. He sailed through the air, landing hard on the ground but the blue eyes remained on their target, which was now separated from him by the young Ardent King alone. The pale body stepped forward, again and again and again, and with little choices Rychon gave ground, moving slowly back. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Without his sword, he had one other weapon left. And it would be utterly useless. He could hear the screams and cries around them as he watched the creature come closer. What do I do? Suddenly he pressed against something, and his hand came back touching the stone behind him, burning warm against his bleeding palm, and the voices around him diminished under the whispers in his head. Rychon... You must move... It told. Different voices, two male and one female, the depth of it so distinct that it couldn't have been just a thought. No… He refused, his heartbeat racing through his veins as the Night King neared, raising his weapon. It will be al right... but you must move... Those voices again, softer now. Gentler. Feminine. Motherly… I won't let him hurt you… He refused again as the frozen blade lifted into the air above him. Then time seemed to stop for an instant as the voices exploded through his mind. You must move, son... Hard. Powerful. The voice of his father above all else. Then a cry came from behind, and to his utter surprise the figure appeared holding Quill in his hand, cutting through the air with singing force. It was the Warden of the North, Jon Snow. Somehow, he'd followed the flight of the Night King through the horde and claimed the great sword from where it had fallen, now aimed to slay their threat. Move! The voice demanded again, and he did as Jon brought the blade forward hard. Whether their enemy moved or countered he couldn't tell when the great sword brushed past, and the thunderous crash of steel on stone rang just above him, a white shimmer escaping where the stone was cracked. It was like the world drowned and vanished as he looked up, light spilling from the splintering fractures spreading across the once hard surface and the roar of a raging fire came from within. No… The Atronach had been broken… Their shield was broken… No! It burst apart, fragments cutting through the night air while from its core a bright shine shot into the sky with a deafening scream, so loud that not even covering his ears made any difference in the mind splitting ferocity of it as soldiers both living and undead cringed at the sound that would haunt them to the end of their days. It was something living… and it sounded angry. After the moment's daze left him, his attention followed the star shooting through the sky, bright as the sun shining white and illuminating the world; then it turned and came back his way. Then he turned to face the Night King, for the first time registering the fury in his eyes as he lifted the blade above him. Fuck! He raised his arms, for whatever good that would do, and the star hit the earth behind him with tremendous force, enveloping him in blue flames and it struck his foe and all others near away, whom was left flying backwards through the air. Strangely, there was no terrible heat like he thought there would be. It was warm, but not scorching. Then as the confusion left him, he realized that the blue flames surrounding him was not fire, but feathers. Beautiful, glistening blue feathers. He looked back to gaze upon the creature. A magnificent blue phoenix, a third the size of the queen's dragons, glowing in the night. Long tail feathers flowed behind it, its talons hard and rough as stone, its beak of black onyx, and bright eyes, one frigid blue and the other burning red. Did I die… But no, this was far too great and terrible. Its wings spread wide, releasing its light as it shrieked again, loud and piercing, cutting through his mind like a dagger's edge. But, it seemed to affect the wights the most, the cry forcing them down on the ground in painful wails. Then a hand touched his shoulder, and he met the shocked face of the Warden next to him.
"What is that?" he asked, astonished.
"A phoenix… The Atronach was a phoenix…" he breathed, watching the giant creature stare back at him. Three elements combined into this beautiful bird, that was generally accepted to be female… And he realized. The prophecy… It was never about him. It had always been them. A shadow glided above, and the Night King was gone, the dragon fleeing into the sky, another pursuing behind. Get on! This fight isn't over. That voice again, and yet different. Deeper. Dominant. A king he once knew… Get on! It was the phoenix. She was speaking to him, directly into his mind… The wings flailed once more, and he moved taking the sword up from where it fell.
"Get them to safety!" he called out to several nearby soldiers, Haslinger-men as he indicated the figures lying motionless where they fell; and they rushed to do as they were bid before his attention went back to the Warden.
"Find your mount, Jon. We're not through." He called back as his hand took hold of the feathers. He'd ridden on a dragon once; this shouldn't be much different. He hauled himself onto the creature's back, securing himself as best he could. Hold on tightly… Once more, the voice was softer. Sweeter. Comforting. The gentleness of his mother. I'll try… With another loud screech, she leapt forward and the ground was gone, abandoning it for wind and warmth into the endless sky, and he found himself straining his grip while all blurred by in a daze. For all the strength and ferocity of the dragons, the phoenix was faster and more agile, leaving a beam of bright light in her wake. Keep your senses! She told, using the voice of his father. He looked up, forcing the world into a clear vision as they banked, racing through the air. No horse or dragon could ever equal this. We must secure the field. The dead cannot pass. She explained, speeding towards the ground behind the fighting soldiers. He nodded, before recalling that he couldn't be seen on her back.
"Then do it." He agreed, feeling the wind increase. They glided close to the ground, the tips of the right wing touching ground, and the world blazed in sparkling blue flames along the length of their chosen battlefield.
"Won't our soldiers burn?" he asked, finding it an odd time to be curious of such things, and then he heard a gentle chuckle in his thoughts. Is it burning you? No. It was just warm. Soothing warm. He noticed his hand; the blood was nearly gone and the wound healing. This can't be real… came the thought. My sear wounds the damned and heals the living. She shot into the sky once more, and for an instant what he saw was a wall of white fire. The force of the wind seemed less now, after he'd adjusted to it.
"What now?" Rychon asked, and the voice replied softly. The King created my bane by fusing his powers in a dragon. A smart move. I might not be able to best him, but I will bring you close. You must destroy him. She told, and he felt his heart sink away.
"How?" but his voice came out unsteady. His heart. It's the only way. She told. There was a sudden pause, and silence save for the dim echoes of swords, shields and spears far below. It's time… She dove, and he held with all his strength as the wind whistled by him; but he forced his sight clear, watching as they fell towards the earth, a shadow with two figures tailing behind came into view quickly approaching. His hands gripped harder, and there was a sudden jerk as blue flames exploded into the first dragon's side, lighting the sky as a furious roar tore through the air and they passed over. He was stunned, with no inkling of what had just happened.
"What are you doing?" he asked, and the voice replied. Slowing him down. And making him angry. They rolled, and came back as the dragon turned, fleeing the other way to escape the burn of the blue flames still in his side, and dove again closing the distance with once unimaginable speed over the green dragon, keeping pace with the larger black behemoth, now closer to the rotting tail of the once gold creature of light. Another jerk was followed by a blast of blue flames onto the monster's back, and more frustrated cries. As they glided across, the beastly head snapped up aiming sharp teeth for the glowing stomach of the phoenix, but the wings flailed and lifted her up out of reach. The events, seemed so like a series of uncontrolled images; all of which was real and utterly frightening. Once more… They rolled, and aimed for the dragon again head on as he flailed his ragged wings, desperately trying to climb away from his hunters now breathing fire down his back. His hands clenched tighter, the feathers mangling into his grip as he watched the jaws open when she suddenly jerked again, and another explosion of sparkling flames burst into the dragon's shoulder as they passed over the wailing monster. It was then that he realized that the phoenix had used her tail as a whip, slamming the brightly burning feathers into the dragon and leaving deep bleeding gashes in the hard scales. They banked, arching wide into the sky as he scanned the world following the balls of flame in the distance turning around. The dead wings working hard to increase his speed while the other two followed, snapping at the tail. This is going to get harder before it gets easier. Prepare yourself. Came the voice and she dove again, aiming for the decaying creature. There was no time to think when their speed increased again, but he could see all of it. Every agonizing moment that brought them closer. The wings spread, bringing the tail down, but instead of the whip it was the hard, stony talons that shot forward. One clutched onto a rotting wing while the other dug into the decaying flesh of the dragon's neck while the sharp beak tore into the monster's shoulder. Now! There were flames all around them, in every colour one could imagine as they fought in the sky. Their nemesis was barely feet in front of him, on the back of the struggling dragon. He thought of the great sword in his hand, imagining it cutting through the Night King's chest. A sudden impact rattled him, nearly causing his grip to fail as a shadow passed over them. The green dragon had torn two long lesions into his deceased sibling's back, and they were falling. Dark flames enveloped them, and he felt the scorching heat to his skin. They were free again, gliding through the sky; this time with the furious beast behind them, snapping through blazing breaths. Why didn't you strike him? The voice asked.
"Even with Quill, I wasn't able to reach him." He told, and the whisper came again. Very well… Something was wrong. She was slower, and off balance. Almost like the limp in a horse. He glanced left, and a sudden painful gasp hit his lungs. Several feathers were missing among ruined others, and the rest masked under dark, thick blood.
"Your wing!" the wounds were deep where the vile teeth of the dragon had torn through flesh. I'll be al right… She climbed higher into the sky, and he glanced back to see the shadows behind.
"He's getting closer…" he warned softly, then heard the gentle sigh in his thoughts. I know… Get ready to try again… He watched as the jaws opened to reveal the glow of its fiery breath, then as a heated roar ripped through the air, she thrashed her wings down hard jerking them up before spreading the feathers again to catch wind, and the dragon passed below. She dropped, latching onto the dragon's back and the sharp beak tore through a scaled shoulder once again, and bringing the enemy into closer reach. He gripped the sword hilt tightly, envisioning it striking forward and through their enemy. But no. Even here, it would do no more than a shallow wound. He had to get closer. A moment came that he thought of jumping, to throw his weight forward and into the enemy to strike him down, but then they broke free again and fell, diving and then gliding away from the dragon, who persisted to follow, now evidently fuming as smoke and flames bellowed from his throat, and the others snapping at his sides. What happened this time? He glanced back, watching the monsters following close behind.
"Still not close enough." He calculated, feeling the rush of air as they climbed into the sky. You have to do something, boy. I can't keep this up all winter. The voices seemed almost frustrated.
"I know. I just, have to think of something to get to him." He sighed, trying to find a way. With their individual mounts, it would be nearly impossible. The only sure way was to be parallel. This would allow him the proximity that he needed to strike him down. If the phoenix could engage the dragon once more, he would exchange his position and end this war. As she flailed down again to bring them higher, there was a sudden hard tug from behind, and his grip failed. He fell. Through light and shadow and wind he fell, nothing but air rushing through every sense, and his vision locked onto a ball of bright flames dropping through the sky where the phoenix and a dragons were entangled, wings and tails flailing for flight while talons, teeth and beak battled for dominance. No… He fell and fell, the sword he meant to use still clutched in hand, the world an endless blur between stars, clouds and dim moonlight. Sounds were all around, the maddening whistle of the wind chiming with men screaming and yelling, the dragons roaring and the phoenix shrieking, and the knowledge of the earth below inevitably coming closer. I couldn't do anything… He had his chance, and he couldn't do anything. Not a damned thing… and now, it was too late. There was nothing left… He struck something hard, the air erupting from his lungs in an almost painful rush and pain stabbing at his back like a dozen dagger tips, the force almost knocking the blade from his hand; but he was still in the air with something clenched around his left arm, feeling the wind flowing past; and then whatever was beneath him lurched upwards.
"Are you al right?" a male voice reawakened him, and through the shroud of discord and agony he recognized Jon, holding him in place.
"Yeah…" he struggled his way up, repositioning himself. The daggers to his back had been the hard spines of the dragon. How they'd caught him, was nothing short of a god's hand…
"Thanks." He glanced up, taking in the disturbing scene of the flaming ball sinking to the earth, slowed merely by the flailing wings that caught wind occasionally while the creatures continued to tear at each other.
"We must do something." Jon called back, rising his voice above the wind; and Rychon nodded.
"I know…" he agreed solemnly, with no idea what he could do. What do I do? He needed to get closer. What do I do? He needed to be upon him. What do I do? What he needed, became so clear, andit struck him suddenly.
"I have an idea. Get me above them." He told, and Jon gave him a worried glance.
"We have one more chance. Get me above them." He urged again, and then Jon turned away, taking hold of the spines and the dragon lurched higher until he finally aimed to glide over the glowing orb. He glanced at the sword in his hand, and then passed it forward.
"Take this." he told Jon, and he looked at the object.
"Why?" he asked, and Rychon pressed the hilt into his shoulder, urging him to take it.
"You know why. Now take it!" he ordered, and released his family arm into the hand of the Warden of the North. As they steadied, he attempted to stand, calculating his way down.
"What are you doing?" Jon called, and Rychon glanced at him.
"Taking that chance." He told.
"You're mad." Jon breathed, his eyes going down to the light now passing them below.
"I'm a Taugere. I am my father's son." Rychon assured, then slipped from the dragons' back, again falling through the sky as his heartbeat drummed in his ears, his breathing so frantic above the wind passing by him while the flames drew near. One chance… That's all we have… Fire enveloped him, its warmth seeping into him. That's all we need… He landed hard, grappling for hold on the edge of a torn, scaled wing. The dragon roared in frustration as the black beak continued to tear through the ravaged flesh of its neck, blood flowing from each open gash. He struggled through the raging battle, knowing that somewhere to his right, the Night King was struggling with his own grip to remain on the creature. And that if he could get to him, if he could take him down, they would end this war. End this darkness. Bring the dawn before this terrible, long night truly began. If only… He hauled himself up, his nails digging through the spaces between the hard scales. An abrupt surge made him slip, but with racing heart he regained his grip. Not this time… he continued to fight his way up towards the back of the dragon, amidst all of the turmoil, his breath hard and ragged in the wind. His right hand curled around a spine, and he pulled forward and secured himself on the still flailing wing. Everything was soaked in blood, and the earth below was a hard reality. I have to do something… and it has to be now… He looked up through the blur of flames and wings, and the Night King was before him, leering down expressionless but for the rage and frustration in those glowing blue eyes, and his hand reaching for the grip of his weapon. Now! It must be now! The voices cried to him, all of them at once in a frantic whirl. His limbs burnt with exertion, his lungs were aflame in his chest, his mind too ablaze for any thoughts, and he pushed on through the agony. He lurched forward, his hand reaching, and he took hold of something cold and rigid before pulling back hard, using both weight and force. Releasing hold of the dragon, his weight dropped with a relentless tug, and his foe came tumbling forward with him, away from the raging creatures as they fell. A hand curled around his throat, deadly as ice. With his free hand he wretched free, and sent his left knee into the stomach of his attacker. They struck the earth hard, rolling away as pain shot up his legs and into his back; and he spent half a heartbeat willing the pain away as he forced torturous gasps of air into his chest when another thunderous implosion hit the earth nearby, bellowing snow and dust and smoke from its centre. Through the plumes of shadows, the dragon raised its head, flames flowing from its jaws. But through the glow of fire, the phoenix rose to meet him, wings spread wide and beaming in the night; ending the flames from its mouth by tearing a hole in its throat with its sharp beak, and bright wisps poured out where flesh used to be. We have to end this… but before his body could respond to the thought, frigid hands clamped down on his shoulders and hauled him roughly up before casting him away, the smell of earth and snow and grass filling him. The pain was endless, and it was everywhere. Glancing up, he saw the pallid form watching him before turning to face something above him, great and black and terrible. The coal and crimson dragon floated above him, jaws open and the queen on its back. She cried out a command, and the world was bathed in rich copper as flames showered down on the Night King. Finally… It's over… Surely, the creature of ice could not withstand the rage of dragon fire. He breathed, and strangled the urges to cry out, and forced himself to his feet. The flames died away, and to his dismay the Night King still stood there, unharmed. Untouched by the furious fires. No… This can't be happening… The dragon darted away, and their enemy turned to face his foe on the ground, now coming at him with something that resembled the softest of smiles, and then realized. He's unarmed… This is the closest I'll get… The huge weapon was nowhere to be seen, only the cold pale hands at the creature's sides and those dead blue eyes. It moved, throwing an open hand towards his throat and he ducked away, sending his own fist into the enemy's jaw and he staggered back. But there was no emotion as he regained his footing, and came at him once more. Walls of fire surrounded them on all sides, glittering gold and silver and casting their long shadows along the ground as wails and whispers floated in the distance. I have to restrain him, somehow… If he could get a good hold on him, someone may be able to strike at his heart. Another open hand was swung at him, and he pulled back suddenly to avoid the strike, but then something slammed into him hard, his ribs aching under the steel breastplate as he met the ground, black tentacles of torture reaching through his stomach. The Night King was immeasurably strong, and he would need all he had to best him. A shadow darkened the world above him, and he was looking up into the placid face again, and a heel being driven down to meet his face. Instantly he turned, and where his head had been, a deep hole was dug into the earth. He came to his feet, forcing the hurt away, and lunged forward; a fist aimed at a gleaming blue eye; and connected solidly. The creature staggered back again, for a moment. But then he straightened and came forward. There's no end to this… He didn't seem to feel pain, at all. Each blow was nothing more than a temporary disruption. He steeled himself and engaged with all he could, hoping to the gods that his unarmed skill was enough to favour them, just a bit. A fist came his way, and he ducked to avoid it, bringing his own up into the pale face. Then another blow connected to his left side, sudden and hard. But he held his breath to stifle the pain, lunging his arm over and clamping down on the padded shoulder, forcing his foe down into a knee. He countered, and shoved the youngster back, his feet sliding over ground and snow to keep his balance. But he couldn't give up, not yet… He threw himself forward again, hoping and praying for something as they clashed, his muscles growing warmer to a burn. Each strike to his foe was brushed off after a minor lurch or stagger, and each blow taken seemed almost harder to bear. Is he getting stronger? No, the dead didn't function like the living. They don't know hunger, or thirst, or pain. They didn't grow weary, like the living did. It was he, that was losing strength. I have to end this now! Voices drew him, and shadows came bounding out of the darkness with swords raised in a desperate attempt to aid him.
"Don't!" but the creature before them, cast them away as easily as he did the others before them, with no restrain or relief. Blind with frustration Rychon moved forward, searching for an end as something glided over them, with no mind for what it was. He lunged forward, his fist just brushing past the pale cheek, and a hand took hold of his wrist while another secured around his throat, and he felt the ice seeping into his veins cooling the blaze. It was draining, the chill devouring what remained of his strength. It was death, finally come for him in the cold of night, and the world faded. Images of his past flashed by. His mother. His fathers. His family. His home. His people. And a beautiful smiling face, with bright green eyes. Bella… Fire blazed through him, white and powerful and relentless, consuming the frost that had filled him, every sense a burning entity. He sent his free hand into the body hard, feeling the armour move beneath his fist as the grip on his throat lessened, then took hold of the wrist and wrenched himself free before throwing his head forward, connecting with the frozen face. They had to end it. And it had to be now. He threw his weight into the body, his hip digging into the stomach and his arms coiling around his foe's neck, and he hauled forward sharply, throwing his enemy down. They struggled, and then the Night King rose to his feet as Rychon held him, arms locked around his foe's throat and shoulders. He shouldn't have been able to move. This would restrict his breathing heavily, essentially immobilizing him. But, the dead needed no breath. Good gods, help us please… The Night King continued to struggle for freedom, but each motion was met with solid resistance. Rychon glanced up, noting a figure in front of them, holding a sword with a unique shaped hilt in both hands, the blade shimmering in the light cast by the glow of the phoenix and the many fires that surrounded them.
"Do it! Do it now!" he yelled, and the blade raised up.
"But you – " the voice started to protest, when he felt his grip slipping. This creature would not relent, he would not desist. He'd come to destroy this world, and if they didn't destroy him, there would be nothing left, regardless of what it cost them.
"Fuck me! Do it!" he called out, his arms constricting around the fiend gaining control of itself.
"DO IT!" There was a moment of silence, and then a hard blow followed immediately by sudden searing pain. He felt the creature grow colder, a white sheen spreading over the figure as the sound of splintering ice resounded from it. Colder and colder, then it shattered, shards of white spilling to the ground and falling from his arms as another tug brought the great sword away. Around them, wails echoed into the distance as the monsters turned to dust, the crumbling bones blowing away as nothing more than ash. The dragon let out a final, ear piercing roar that emitted to the horizons before crumbling away, its light vanishing into a dismal darkness and what was left was only the faint glow of the phoenix lying on the ground, wounded and exhausted. Disregarding all his body felt, he rushed forward to her side and knelt, running his hands through the soft, blood-soaked feathers, while feeling a soothing warmth spread through his chest, replacing the pain where the burn had been.
"How badly are you hurt?" he asked softly, watching her hard breaths stir the dust and snow beneath. I don't matter… You did it… You won… she breathed, the voices soft and happy, relieved.
"Of course you matter! Without you, none of this-" he started, but the great head lifted from the ground, the bright eyes regarding him. No, Rychon… I was merely the shield for this world… But you… You were the sword… The sons of fire, brought the dawn, once again… He leaned his head forward, his brow brushing the soft, glittering feathers.
"So, what now?" he asked faintly, the thought of letting her go as unimaginable as a child's dream. Now, you live as you once did… And I return to my place… He could feel the cracks spreading through his heart. The ache of loss…
"Will I ever see you again?" he asked, and for just a moment could imagine a smile in the beautiful eyes. I don't know… You might. But, you'll always know where I am. When you need me again, I will rise… His arms wrapped around the elegant neck, the feathers soothing every part they touched. Thank you…
"Is… Is she al right?" Someone asked softly behind him, and he pulled back.
"She will be. The phoenix always rises." He breathed, and then sat and watched as the bird struggled to her feet, and flailed her wings, discharging droplets of blood to the ground. Then her head lifted into the sky, releasing a loud, victorious cry into the wind, echoing off the distant reaches of the horizon, joined by the voices around them, sharing in their triumph; and he laughed. It was over. Finally, their war was done. Then she shot into the sky, a beam of light in the night air, more magnificent than the brightest of stars. The glow floated softly down to the earth, and then vanished where the stone was before, the Atronach now reformed anew. Rychon came to his feet slowly, noting that the painful burn in his chest had returned. He felt weak, completely drained, and the world around him seemed to sway.
"I believe this belongs to you, your grace." As he looked down, Jon was beside him, presenting the great sword of the Taugere family back to him. The blade he used to destroy their enemy.
"Thank you, my friend." He took the sword, but strangely had no strength in his fingers, and it slipped from his grasp, and the expression on the face before him changed from relief to dire concern.
"Are you al right?" Jon asked, and the ground beneath him started to shift and move as an uneasy sensation of numbness spread through his being.
"I… I feel strange…" he confessed, trying to find the cause. Then, as his hands moved slowly up the length of the armour shielding him, he did. A gaping hole was set in the steel, and a warm fluid was seeping through it. His eyes went down to his fingers, seeing through clouded vision the clear glinting crimson stain to his hand as the world turned, and its weight pulled him down. The voices faded, draining into the distance to far off muffled murmurs amidst the shapes and shadows of fire and moonlight. Even the screams to his name seemed remote and isolated. There were no words he could discern, only the unnerving tones that lingered over his torpid consciousness until the dismal, harrowing scream of his brother smothered all into nothing. That agonized, haunting wail that would suffocate him even in his final moments was all that was left amidst but shallow breaths and a slowly diminishing heartbeat. One last time he took in the calm of the heavens; the clouds, the moon, the stars and the realms beyond before they were overtaken by shadows. Then darkness… Then nothing…
Bella…