The raven flew through the harsh cold air, the wind burning it's eyes, and it's lungs aching with every breath as it beat it's wings strongly. The frozen, dead landscape of the winter ravaged North stretched onto the horizon in all directions around the lone raven. But the bird's singular goal approached closer and closer as it spied a lone tree at the top of a frosty hill, it's leaves long since fallen, and the bark mangled by the snow and wind. The raven perched on a branch and ruffled it's black feathers, trying to conserve what little warmth it had left. There would be no survival for the poor bird, but it stood proudly, watching the horizon to the North as dark shapes came into view. Minutes of suffering and shivering passed, and these dark shapes took form. Many disfigured, desiccated, and rotten humans marched South, their numbers were uncountable, and the legion of the dead was led by icy figures riding upon deceased horses, but at the very head of this army was it's leader, a cold, hard frozen humanoid, head sprouting sharp icicles like a crown, face sunken, and blue eyes locked onto the raven itself. The Night King knew. It reached it's pale, bony hands towards the warged bird, palm facing the sky, and spindly fingers hanging, as if it were offering to take Bran's hand. A feeling of unease filled the Three Eyed Raven's mind, the first feeling he had in a very long time. He swiftly exited the bird, leaving it to freeze and starve in the frozen wilderness many miles North. Bran's eyes rolled forward into place, and he blinked several times, letting his eyes get comfortable once more.
"They'll be here before dawn." Bran muttered, looking up into the red sky from castle Winterfell, the sun setting, and showing the last bit of light the world might ever see.
The darkness outside castle Winterfell seemed infinite, a void of death encroaching on the last line of defence for the living, only broken by the lights of torches outside, and candles inside. Jon stood at a table, a crude model of Winterfell shaped on top of it, pieces representing the military resources of the living put in place strategically, trebuchets and catapults tucked neatly behind the walls, the wide trench represented by thin wooden dowels assembled in a semi-circle around the front of the castle walls.
"They're nearly here." Jon stated to his council of battle planners, consisting of Brienne of Tarth, the Hound, Jaime Lannister, Jorah Mormont, Ser Davos, and various Northern lords and generals. "There are too many of them to beat in a straight fight, even with our dragon glass and Valyrian steel." The black haired secret Targaryen looked around the room, seeing Brienne, Jaime, and Jorah clutching their Valyrian steel swords in apprehension, Jorah's sword being the Tarly heirloom stolen by Sam and given to him for the coming battle. Jon in turn clutched Longclaw, his own Valyrian steel bastard sword, gifted to him by the late Lord Commander Mormont of the Night's Watch. He thought of Arya, and the Valyrian steel dagger given to her by Bran, keeping the distribution of these mighty White Walker killing weapons in his head. "Our enemy doesn't tire, doesn't stop, doesn't feel."
"So what can we do?" Jaime asked, his bravery in his march North away from King's Landing now seeming to bite him in the rear as he did his best to suppress his shakes of fear. He'd seen but one of these dead men before, and it was unarmed, chained, and killed easily. The thought of an inconceivably large army filled with armed, loose, and ferocious dead men filled the Kingslayer with dread.
"The Night King leads them all. He follows their command." Jon answered. "I killed a White Walker North of the Wall, and that actually killed several dozen of the dead men." He recounted, nodding to Jaime. "We can only hope that killing the Night King will also bring down everything else in his army."
"If that's true, he'll never expose himself." Jaime hissed, looking down at the floor, tapping his foot and biting his lip."
"Yes he will." Came Bran from the corner of the room. All eyes turned towards him. "He will come for me. As he has many times before, with many Three Eyed Ravens."
"Why?" Sam asked, fat belly concealed beneath the thick padded coat used as armour by the Night's Watch. "What does he want?"
"An endless night. Death." Bran replied. "He wants to erase this world, and I am it's memory."
"Well that's what death is, isn't it?" Sam sighed, crossing his arms. "Forgetting." He looked Bran in the eyes, a look of understanding strewn across his face. "If everything we've ever done is forgotten, we may as well have never existed." He chewed the loose skin on the inside of his cheeks. "If I wanted to erase the world, I'd start with you."
"His mark is on me." Bran lifted his sleeve and revealed the frostburned grasp mark on his forearm. "He knows where I am at all times."
"Which is why Bran volunteered to be barricaded in the crypts." Jon added, bringing the attention of the room back to him. "Should we lose this battle, it will take the dead a very long time to break into the crypts, giving the fleeing innocents as much time as possible to get away." He explained. "I will also be asking for a volunteer to join Bran in the crypts. Should the Night King attempt to kill Bran himself, this volunteer will ambush him with a dragon glass dagger."
"I have repeatedly told you that I cannot survive this war." Bran asserted, voice still blank. "Every future I've examined where the sun rises over the world once again does not show me as a survivor." He kept a blank stare at Jon. "Though it is true that the world will not die so long as I live, that doesn't mean the world can't live on without me. The long line of the Three Eyed Raven must end for this world to continue."
"Then I'll make a future where you live!" Theon howled, shuffling through the crowd and looking to Bran, and then over to Jon. "I will be the one who protects Bran in the crypts." Bran took a breath as if about to speak, but paused for a moment, looking up and to the right before exhaling and relaxing back into his chair.
"You're just scared, aren't you, brother?" Yara chimed in from the darkness of the unlit corner she was leaning in. "You want to be down off the wall in the safest part of the keep while the rest of us fight the fairytales, don't you?"
"It has to be me..." Theon muttered, keeping the trained twitching under control. "If we lose this fight, I have to be there for Bran... It has to be me. I took this castle from him before. I must defend him now." Jon looked over to Theon, his heart tingled softly for a moment, and in this moment he finally realized how far Theon has come since betraying the Starks, and a twinge of regret bellowed up in his gut for striking him on Dragonstone.
"Very well." Jon declared. "Theon Greyjoy will be stationed in the crypts."
