Sometimes it seems like the universe just plain doesn't want me to get these chapters out fast. Very Recently the Internet around my parts went down, which means I had a lot of reading to catch up on, but enough excuses, NEW CHAPTER IS HERE! AND IT'S A LONG ONE! YAAAAY! Probably the longest one I've ever written.
Also, in a little show of irony it seems all that Benioff and Weiss are doing is 'directing' a Leslie Jones Comedy special on Netflix….wow…from the critically acclaimed and revolutionary fantasy series to this….now that is a fall from grace that made me laugh my ass off, those dibshits deserved it! XD
Now, as you all now; last chapter I said that this chapter would be the finale of the Battle of Winterfell, so I hope you all enjoy what I got…And from here on out….We go solo baby! No more scenes created by Chimp boy and Neanderthal face (Benioff looks like a fucking caveman and Weiss is a shaved chimp…prove me wrong) so REJOICE as what comes after this is going to be of my own making!
There may be a scene or two that seems like a S8 scene at most, but even then, the dialogue and directions will be TOTALLY different (probably because of what happens in this chapter) Now enough of my rambling and ominous warnings!
EDIT:….well….last time I updated this story there wasn't a Global Pandemic going on….huh…funny how the world works eh? Still, on the bright side this whole mess has given us nothing but spare time to kill, so what better time to update this story I've been pouring my soul into?
Kristofer Hvju and Indira Verma have also seemed to have contracted the Virus; though I have a good feeling they'll pull through our prayers are with them. Mark my words, it will take more than this to kill Kristofer and Indira. Hope they get better soon.
I hope you guys are all safe and healthy and are making sure to keep your hands clean. Oh, and please don't panic buy all the toilet roll when you go shopping…the rest of us need that shit too.
ON WITH THE CHAPTER!
Enjoy!
The Night Begins Part 5
The crunching of snow underfoot was always a comforting sound to Jon; it always meant he was home in the North, with his family and those dear to him. But right now, in this moment; creeping forward while staying close to the ground, the crunching of snow had become as unsettling as the growling of some otherworldly beast.
He had to stay quiet. If he could creep up upon the Night King unnoticed; then he could finish this. He would drive Longclaw through the bastard's back and shatter him like glass; his army would crumble to dust, and his family would be safe.
Dany would be safe.
Jon kept thinking about her; her radiant silver locks, her gleaming violet eyes, her voice as soft as velvet and a smile that could keep him warm on even the coldest nights. Everything he did now; was for her and the future he promised himself they would share together once the dead were defeated.
Those thoughts of what he was fighting for were the only things keeping him moving. If not for those promises of his life to come; Jon would be frozen on the spot in fear, a simple man standing against this icy apparition of death.
Though the sight of the Night King was not the only thing that kept Jon on his toes; the floor around him was littered with corpses, those of Dothraki bloodriders, Unsullied, Northerners both Free Folk and not, Westerland knights and even a few Vale Knights. Though the sheer amount of dispatched Wights gave Jon some semblance of peace 'at least our men went down dragging some of these fuckers with them'
With every step closer; Jon could hear the battle grow louder and louder, Wights screeching, beasts snarling and roaring, men yelling as they fought and died. This served as motivation for Jon to close that dreaded distance between him and the Night King. As Jon gave up on stealth and rose to his feet; holding Longclaw in his right hand; Jon began to jog, his jog turned to a brisk run, he had to conserve some energy in case he didn't land his first attack.
But as the gap between Jon and his enemy closed; the Night King stopped and tilted his head to the side with a sharp jerk; the sound of ice crackling as he moved. Jon froze with fear as the Night King slowly turned to meet eyes with the Lord of Winterfell.
Jon felt like a deer in headlights, those glowing ethereal blue orbs piercing into his soul like they did every time they met. Before Jon knew it; the Night King had fully turned to face him and was looking at him in the same way one would look at a cockroach or an ant. The Ethereal lord of death slowly lifted one hand as if reaching for the sword on his back.
'oh…so the fucker wants a fight eh?' Jon thought as he held his sword in both hands and readied his stance.
The Night King's hand stopped as it reached waist height…then he began to lift his other hand, a smirk slowly stretched across his features as Jon realized in horror what he was doing.
'No…NO…NONONONONONO!' Jon screamed inside as he broke into a full-blown sprint, he had to close the distance as soon as he could, energy conservation be dammed he couldn't allow that fucker to raise the fallen.
Time slowed as Jon closed the distance; corpses eyes opening to reveal bright blue glowing orbs; fallen soldiers slowly rising, sitting up; their posture rigid and their movements like those of newly carved marionettes. Jon tried to blot them out, they didn't matter if Jon did what needed to be done; if his blade was true then he could do it; he could end the battle before the odds turned against them further than they already had.
Jon found himself leaping over corpses that had begun to rise; side stepping shambling corpses and quickly finding the distance between himself and the Night King even further. Jon found the corpse of a heavily armoured Crakehall knight slowly rising between him and the Night King; the corpse was on all fours and was slowly rising to its feet. Jon took this opportunity to jump off the Knight and propel himself into the air towards the Night King.
With Longclaw in both hands; his entire weight and gravity all coming down on the Night King; there was no way he could block the strike with his hand like before on Rhaegal's back.
The Night King, with his hands fully raised with all the speed of a demon; thrust his left palm forward and into Jon's gut before Longclaw made contact. Jon felt like he had been gored by a Bull; the amount of force put into that blow sent Jon flying back 10 feet at least, the rising corpses of turned Night's Watch and Free Folk breaking his fall.
Jon gasped for breath as he swore the Night King had broken one or two of his ribs with that palm thrust. Looking down at his chest Jon's eyes widened as he saw an icy palm print on his gambeson slowly begin to spread across his armour. Jon fuelled by adrenaline and a will to survive quickly drew his knife and cut off the straps of his gambeson; throwing it to the floor as ice slowly engulfed the entire piece.
Jon found himself now surrounded by wights; all staring at him with their glowing blue eyes. Gasping for breath as he used Longclaw as support to slowly pull himself to his feet, Jon once again met eyes with the Night King; slowly lowering his arms and shooting Jon one last smirk before turning around and once again approaching Winterfell.
Jon grimaced through clenched teeth as he looked around him; only a few feet of ground separating him and hundreds of bloodhungry wights. Jon spat on ground before holding up Longclaw in both hands; his hair freed and wild; wearing nought but his grey tunic, leather breeched and his boots, the cold wind chilling his breath.
"Come one then, you fuckers!" Jon snarled like a wolf with his teeth bared; daring any wight to come at him first.
If he was going to die, he would die fighting.
"What in seven hells was that?" Tyrion asked as he walked around to Theon and Sansa; all eyes fixed on the roof after the impacts were heard.
"What else could it be?" Sansa replied with a whisper.
*THUD**THUD**THUD*
The roof shook as small chunks of debris began to fall with each impact; whatever was above wanted in badly. Sam looked at the number of non-combatants present; Gilly, little Sam, Missandei, the little one huddled beneath her cloak, Tyrion and Sansa, none of them were proven warriors that could hold their own against what was coming.
Hell, he could barely swing a fucking sword and he was one of the few that did have combat experience. If you could call stabbing a Walker in the back and luckily shooting a Thenn in the neck 'Experience'.
Sam quickly helped Gilly to her feet; being very careful of her swelling belly as he did; Little Sam old enough to stand on his own now. Theon knew for a fact that the women and children that couldn't fight could not stay here once the Wights got through; they had to get somewhere more secure.
"Sansa, you have to get the women and children somewhere more secure" Theon readied himself for battle.
"Where do you suggest?" Tyrion asked.
"…If we can make our way through the outer halls we can get to the Hunter's gate, from there it's a straight shot to the Wolfswood" Sansa replied.
"You really want us to escape through a forest?" Tyrion asked.
"Do you have any better ideas?" Sansa asked.
"No, fair enough" the Dwarf replied quickly.
"Then go, now!" Theon urged her.
"You had better be following us" she warned.
"I'll cover the rear with the Ironborn, you just concentrate on getting out" Theon replied.
"Sansa! Let's go" Tyrion urged her along.
"Right behind us! Understood!?" Sansa borderline ordered.
"As you command, Lady Stark" Theon smirked.
As Sansa began coordinating the non-combatants as best as she could; Theon was approached by Tyrion. The Dwarf looked up and down at the Greyjoy boy turned man; he was a far cry from the smug arrogant little prick that offered another round at Ros all those years ago.
"What do you want Tyrion?" Theon asked; his concentration on readying a bow and a quiver of dragonglass arrows.
"You won't be able to hold them back for long with this many men you know" Tyrion said, stating the obvious.
"…I know" Theon replied.
"…Good luck, Lord Greyjoy" Tyrion offered a hand which Theon looked at with a raised brow before taking it.
"…And you, Lord Lannister" Theon replied.
"…you know…you grew to be a better man than your father" Tyrion smiled.
"You too" Theon gave one last smile before the sounds of thudding and muffed screeching began to rattle above them once again.
"Go…Now" Theon ordered as he readied an arrow.
Tyrion quickly made his way towards the retreating women and children; Sansa and Samwell doing their best to keep a calm head and keep the masses from panicking. Thanks to Sansa with Sam and Tyrion's help, the non-combatants were successfully led out of the main halls and towards a more secure position. This left Theon and the Ironborn alone; nothing but a gradually thinning ceiling between them and the dead.
"Alright lads! Let's show these bastards how Iron islanders fight!" Theon growled with all the resolve of the man he pretended to be when he last held this castle.
The ceiling became weaker and weaker with every impact; until a tile fell and shattered on the floor around them. Theon drew back his arrow as did the other 10 Ironborn marksmen out of the 30 Ironborn that came with him.
The Ironborn men here knew that this enemy would not relent; they wouldn't accept surrender or show the slightest ounce of mercy. Trying to bargain or betray their allies to survive would never work with an enemy like this; you would have a better time trying to reason with a Tiger that was gnawing on your throat.
In this moment, it was fight or die.
The ceiling opened, and in a span of a few short seconds, blood began to spill, screams and screeches filled the air and the once safe and secure hall had turned into an abattoir.
Jon swung at the first Wight to creep toward him; with a single swing he decapitated the Dothraki wight that got too close. The next wight that came within arm's length was pierced through the chest; the next was sliced down the torso. The wights moved slowly; not at all like the wights that swarmed the walls of Winterfell, but then again, these things weren't animals or beasts or even men anymore.
They were puppets; puppets that followed the strings of the Night King.
Jon wondered how long it would take until they finally wore him down and ripped him to pieces.
However, within the span of a few seconds; the landscape around Jon went from icy wasteland of death to a field of fire and screeching husks turned to ash. Turning around and looking up; he saw his saviour, the mane of gleaming silver locks, her white fur dress and silver breastplate, and of course the gargantuan black dragon she rode upon.
Drogon's flames engulfed the Wights surrounding Jon; flesh and bone immolated and turned to ash and smoke. Jon could feel the heat surging around him and had to raise an arm to block some of the blinding light. Before long, the ground surrounding Jon had gone from white snow stained red, to blackened ground littered with fresh embers and ash.
Funny…Jon thought Dragon flames would feel much hotter than this.
Drogon hovered in stop; his wing beats fanning out the leftover flames and allowing Jon to gain his bearings again. The Lord of Winterfell couldn't help but breath a gasp of relief and allow a smile to grace his face. But Jon remembered what had put him in this position to begin with, his chase of the cause of all this death and destruction.
"RHEAGAL?" she called to Jon with worry in her eyes.
"HE'S ALRIGHT! I HAVE TO GO DANY!" Jon yelled back.
"GO! I CAN HANDLE THEM!" Daenerys yelled. She understood that now wasn't the time for teary hugs and a thank you, she had a job to do and so did Jon.
Jon nodded to Daenerys before turning to the opening she had made for him and running with everything he had; Longclaw in hand and cold air in his lungs. As Jon disappeared into the snowy winds towards Winterfell; Daenerys then put her mind back to the task she was descending in order to take care of.
It was a miracle that Daenerys had spotted Jon when she descended; she didn't know he was such peril until she had begun scanning the grounds surrounding the castle. She had something to take care of; the Mother of Dragons needed to see this through to its bitter and heart-breaking end.
She had to make sure Viserion was dead.
"DON'T LET THEM FLANK YOU!" Brienne yelled as she cleaved a wight down the middle.
The battle within the walls had turned into a meat grinder; the snow was stained bright red and the sounds of screeches, yells and battle cries filled the air. Numbers blended into white noise as men and women fought for their lives against the massed hordes of the undead, both human and beasts brought back to fight as thralls of the Night King.
The Unsullied shield wall offered defence against the sheer numbers of the wights, but all semblance of military strategy had been dissolved as all thoughts turned to a mad dash at survival.
Everyone with a blade or a weapon of any kind had to fight with everything they had; pure adrenaline streaming through their veins more than their own blood at this point. Some Free Folk and Northerners had broken their dragonglass weapons and were using the shattered shards or even stones from the floor in their defence.
This was no longer a war.
This was a slaughter.
Wight and human alike were falling like leaves from an old tree.
Benjen Stark, Brienne of Tarth, Jorah Mormont, Ser Jamie Lannister, Lyle Crakehall, Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarion, Tormund Giantsbane, Bronn of the Blackwater, Gendry Waters, Grey Worm, Qhono of the Dothraki Khalasar, the Unsullied, the united houses of the North, the Freefolk, the Knights of the Vale, the Dothraki, the Knights of Crakehall and the Crannogmen of House Reed.
All the united forces of the Living, all the walls they had built between each other had faded away, all differences of culture, skin colour, nation or allegiance had been dissolved along with any sense of military strategy. As these people from all corners of the world had become alike in that one aspect; their need to fight to survive.
The Valyrian steel of Dark Sister shone as it split an undead wolf's head in half; brain and splintered bone spilling onto the snow as the creature fell apart like dry leaves, no longer held together by the magic that kept it together.
Benjen was skilled and experiences enough at fighting the thralls of the White Walkers that he could hold his ground against them.
But even that experience didn't prepare him for what was coming.
"SCREEEEEEEE!"
The sound that pierced the air was like the sound of rusted steel bending and scraping against itself. Like a cold wind screeching and howling before a storm hit. This was a sound that even Benjen dreaded.
It may as well have been a war horn brought from the depths of the seven hells.
These wights were nothing more than fodder; bodies to be thrown at the enemy to wear them down.
Those screeches signalled the coming of the reserves.
A Vale Knight had his head ripped off by a massive beak.
An Unsullied was decapitated by the swipe of a clawed paw.
A Northern soldier was lifted like he was nothing and torn in half like a child's plaything.
Benjen's eyes shot wide open as he recoiled along with almost every other member of the living forces as the front line of wights was laced with a menagerie brought forth from the pits of the seven hells. Fur, Insectoid carapaces, Feathers, bone and exposed flesh all becoming visible amongst the lines of the Dead.
Undead beasts, Terrorbirds and Giants.
The dead didn't leave any time for the living to steel themselves as they promptly began to tear into the ranks of the living, wights mingled in between the blood and screams as claws, talons and fangs cleaved through steel, furs and leather.
A Northern Soldier drove his dragonglass sword at one of the Giants; his blood running cold when the Giant raised its foot and crushed the man like an insect under its massive trunk-like feet. The Freefolk and Crannogmen archers concentrating all their fire on the giants, aiming at any exposed flesh they could sink their dragonglass tipped arrows into.
Benjen growled like a Wolf as he clashed Dark Sister against an undead Bear. The blade slicing through rotten flesh and bone.
Jorah stopped a Terrorbird dead in its track as Heartsbane was plunged into its mouth.
Brienne let out a battle cry as Oathkeeper clashed against the fanged maw of an Ice Spider.
Sandor Clegane however took it a step further as he swung his Dragonglass battle axe into an undead Direwolf. The axe finding purchase at a gap in the creature's skull, any hints of brain or grey matter spilling onto the floor in a gruesome mess. The battle continued as blade and spear carved through flesh, ice and rotten hide all. One could be forgiven for covering their ears whilst witnessing the battle as the sound of silence was as foreign as snow not drenched in blood.
"Stay back you fucking twat!" Bronn cursed as he pulled Jamie through the ranks towards the back.
"What are you doing!? We have to fight!" Jaime cursed.
"It's a fucking Massacre you Lannister cunt! We can't beat those fucking things!" Bronn cursed in a blind panic; his survival instincts kicking in. Jaime forcefully broke away from Bronn and gave him a look that couldn't be better described as shame.
"I'm not abandoning this fight! I'm many things Bronn, an Oathbreaker, man without honour, a man without a house…But I'm not a fucking coward, run if you want, just know you'll die alone without pride" Jaime practically spat before turning with Widow's Wail in hand and joining the charge.
Bronn however kept pushing backward through the ranks.
'…Fucking Stupid Lannister cunt, he can get himself killed for all I care. I didn't come here to die for some fucking Northern Twats, all I wanted was my fucking castle and highborn wife…Fucking dead cunts ruining everything! Just need to find a horse, then I can ride for the coast, find a boat, go to essos! That's a plan! Away from all this fucking death! I don't give a shit about that sisterfucking twat or his little shit brother! I did it for the fucking gold!' Bronn thought as he pushed through the ranks, seeing all the terrified faces of the men heading into battle.
All these men.
Westerlanders, Northerners, Wildlings, Valemen, Unsullied, Crannogmen and Dothraki, some old, some young, many in between. Many of them dam near shitting themselves as they knew they charged headfirst into death.
And here Bronn was, fleeing through the ranks towards the back, like a coward.
Bronn stopped; his grip on his Dragonglass sword almost airtight.
"….FUCK!" Bronn grunted in a fury as he gripped his Dragonglass sword.
Beric fell to the snow as the ringing in his ears took over everything else, the sight of blood was as common as anything else now. The sight of men being savaged and torn to pieces, of the stuff of nightmares as Ice Spiders, undead Direwolves, Terrorbirds, Ice Bears and Shadowcats turned the battle into a slaughter.
All of Thoros' tales of the Long Night, of the end times that came with the icy messengers of death, they were all as clear as day and one would have to be a gibbering fool or a madman to deny them. Beric had died before many times, but he knew that if he fell here that he would never get back up again.
He was so worn down, so used up, so broken and battered that even the magic of the Night King wouldn't bring his worthless husk of a corpse back.
But then he saw it, something that sent a bolt of proverbial lightning into him as his vision focused and his own heartbeat and breathing were the only sounds reverberating through his ears. The wights, both human and beast all faded into blurs as he saw a glimmer of silver.
The feeling was as if someone had let the air back into his lungs after so long. He could see, he could feel something pulling him away.
One of the many gaps in the walls of Winterfell was open and unobscured; as wights poured through the main gate, this gap was free.
Beric could feel something deep within calling to him. His reason…it was here...at the end of all things:
He had found his destiny, and with determination and pure adrenaline coursing through his veins he picked himself up from the snow, his pain numbed, and vision cleared as he carried himself towards it.
His meaning was revealed, and his answer was right in front of him.
"Bran! Bran! Wake up you fucking shit!" Meera yelled as she shook the Greenseer from side to side; the way he was starting to shake was worrying Meera; visions of her brother's attacks lingering in her mind.
Bran's eyes were pure glazed over white. He had been like this for quite some time and Meera was fine with letting him do his thing; but when the blue flames of the undead dragon began reigning down from the skies, Meera had started to worry.
They needed the Three Eyed Raven now; things were spiralling out of control.
The crunching of snow sent the Unsullied and Crannogmen archers into full alert; but once the small form of Arya Stark came into view; they relaxed and lowered their weapons.
"Lady Arya" Howland nodded.
"Is Bran alright?" She asked.
"He hasn't been like this since the battle began, I'm getting worried" Meera explained as Arya came up beside Bran and looked into the whites of his rolled back eyes.
"What is he doing?" Arya asked.
"Bran is a Warg as well as the Three Eyed Raven…he has abilities that we can't begin to understand" Howland explained.
"Huh…that sounds useful" Arya shrugged; trying her best to ease the tension and ease her own nerves at seeing her brother like this.
"How is the battle at the gates faring, My Lady?" Howland asked.
"Not good…but for some reason my Uncle said I was needed here" Arya replied.
"Your Uncle is right, child" came a voice like velvet, a very familiar voice.
"You!" Arya growled as she turned to meet eyes with the Red Woman herself; her two Fiery Hand guards stood at her sides. As if sensing the killer intent in the air; the Fiery Hand guards reached for their swords; only Melisandre gestured for them to stand down once again.
Melisandre then whispered a few words in a foreign tongue to the two guards; without a word they both nodded and turned. Almost in synch they marched back to the battlefield; their longswords drawn and purpose in their step.
"Where did you send them?" Arya asked.
"To fulfil another purpose" Melisandre replied.
"You sure you don't need them here?" Arya asked; still battling with the urge to slit her throat right now.
"My death won't come at your hands girl…I know that and so do you" Melisandre smiled.
Arya was taken aback by that response, for so long she was used to seeing people hide fear whether it be when they were seconds away from having their lives ended or when they were faced with their own mortality in general. But here Melisandre was, perfectly comfortable at the very end of days with a Stark ready to end her.
"Your Brother requires my services before the end…and he requires you by his side for what is to come" Melisandre stepped closer to Arya.
"My Uncle I can understand…but why would I listen to a fucking word out of your mouth?" Arya glared at Melisandre; the knowledge of what she would have done to Gendry still fresh in her mind.
"Because though your Brother, and the future of you pack depend upon what comes next" Melisandre replied once again.
Arya raised a brow in confusion; when had everyone suddenly started speaking in riddles as if she had any clue as to what was going on anymore? Her Uncle Benjen, the Red Woman, Bran, even Lord Howland had all began speaking as if they were privy to something no one else knew.
All she wanted to know was what to do when the time came.
"And what is that?" Arya asked.
"…a Revelation"
Snow was uplifted from the ground by the beat of Drogon's mighty wings; the husk of his fallen brother coming into view as Daenerys circled. The Mother of Dragon's was hard pressed not to feel a pang of sorrow fill her chest when she laid eyes on the broken corpse of what used to be Viserion; he was in a sorry state. Drogon's whine of sorrow was the best encapsulation of how Daenerys was feeling at seeing her son's twisted and mangled corpse. He may have been brought down by the Night King, but she and Drogon were the ones that put him down like a rabid dog.
His left wing torn to shreds; his right wing broken like a twig.
His throat torn wide open, exposing bone.
The gaping wound in his chest cavity, that was once a small precise wound left by the Night King's lance. The wound torn open by the combined assault of Drogon and Rhaegal.
His once beautiful gleaming scales now dull and rotten.
His eyes…once full of fire and life; eyes that Dany used to love looking into, now blue and glowing.
Wait.
Blue and glowing?
Daenerys and Drogon barely had time to react as Viserion lunged forward; his broken maw full of jagged, broken and out of place fangs targeting his brother's hide. Drogon with a single powerful beat of his wings managed to get out of the way of the jaws of his deceased brother.
The mournful whine of Drogon was instantly replaced with the more familiar fury as he let loose a jet of flame; roasting the already broken-down husk that was Viserion. There was a time that Viserion would have been very hard to burn, but in the sorry state he was in the fire burned better than it would if he were alive. Viserion however seemed unfazed by the fire and continued to drag himself by his one wing claw; trying to close the distance so he could lunge at his mother and brother once again.
Dany willed Drogon to take off, but as the black dread reborn tried to flap his wings.
*RREEEEAAAAAAAH!* Drogon squawked in surprise as he felt something strong tug on his tail.
Turning her head; Dany's eyes widened in absolute shock. 5 Giants, all had their arms wrapped around Drogon's tail and were tugging him down with all their might. Drogon snarled and landed against Dany's wishes and with a mighty roar he lashed his tail out of the Giants' grip.
"DRACARYS!" Dany ordered; Drogon having no issues with the command opened his mouth and let loose a massive jet of flame; the fire burning through the rotten and decrepit flesh of the undead giants; their hair and fur attire acting as kindling as they were reduced to piles of ash and charred bone.
But as soon as the giants were reduced to embers; hundreds of wights were already crawling up Drogon's legs and his tail. His turning his attention to the giants, Drogon had left himself open to attack; as the dull and rusted blades of Long dead freefolk and the still fresh dragonglass weapons of recently fallen defenders pierced Drogon's scales, he let out a screech of shock.
'Fly my son! Fly!' Dany urged Drogon to take to the skies and shake the attacking corpses free from his hide.
Wights fell to their demise as Drogon began flapping his wings and shaking his head and tail to send his attackers flying. Many Wights fell to the floor; the sheer impact shattering their bones on impact as they were thrown around like ragdolls.
Daenerys began to panic more as snarling and screeching corpses scaled her son's hide with their knives bared; with one particularly strong flap of his wings Dany felt her grip loosen. It took a split second of panic, weakness and the pain her son was in that seemed to temporarily numb their bond. Dany felt herself impact upon the soft, snow-covered floor; the breath left her lips in a gasp of fear and dread as she saw Drogon ascend into the sky in a panic of his own. Wights fell from Drogon's hide as he shook and rolled around in the air; Wights falling from his hide like drops of water. Her largest son disappeared into the clouds above, the storm drowning out the sounds of his snarls and screeches.
That left Daenerys sat there in the snow; her eyes darting around as she realized that she was now caught in the Killzone. Wights were all around her, by some miracle none of them had noticed her; her bright silver hair and white fur dress working as a camouflage of sorts against the winter snow.
Daenerys slowly began backing up; but as she made the slightest bit of movement, a shambling Free Folk wight took notice and let out a shrill shriek before darting towards her. The only weapon Daenerys had on her person was the Dragonglass dagger that Jon had given her. As the screeching wight lunged for her; she drove it through its eye socket; the body going limp before she pushed it from her form.
Daenerys instantly regretted not pulling the dagger back out as she realized that the screech the Wight had let out had attracted more of the shambling husks. The strength had gone from the Dragon queen's legs as she felt helpless; her rapid heartbeat filling her ears like the bells of hell, she wasn't a warrior, she couldn't fend off these things by herself.
She was going to die.
A Wight: formerly of the Night's Watch judging by its black leathers and fur cloak screeched as it shambled towards Daenerys, a rusted broadsword in its hands bared for the kill. Suddenly the Wight's head went flying as a sword of flame lopped it clean off.
"Your grace!" her saviour exclaimed as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
Beric Dondarion, former lord of the Stormlands, resurrected by the Lord of Light after his deaths at the hands of the Clegane brothers and the Lannister army. In this dark moment, Daenerys found herself saved by the most unlikely of allies.
"What…how?" Dany exclaimed in shock.
"The Lord works in mysterious ways your grace, now come!" he shouted; his eyes darting back and forth looking for ways back within the walls.
Beric was flying on the edge of his seat, making things up as he went along. The walls were overrun and everything within Winterfell had fallen into a free for all, there was no way of telling if they were holding their ground or not. But in that one moment of chaos he saw a sight that sent a bolt of proverbial lightning through his barely beating heart.
When Beric saw that shine of silver fall from the back of the black dragon; he felt a chill up his spine he hadn't felt since he came back that first time. Beric had been without any real purpose for a long time, constantly questioning his place in the world since his first death and subsequent rebirth.
He felt it deep in his breast that this…this was a sign from the Lord. For all Thoros' sermons about the Lord of Light and his design, this was the first time it felt like he was working as the hand of the Lord.
Daenerys was just happy to still be drawing breath as Beric held her behind him with his sword held out in front. The flaming sword cut down wights left and right; but the Lightning Lord had seen better days; his armour was rent and bloody, and his swings were getting weaker with every attack.
But Beric did not relent; the adrenaline coursing through him kept him from passing out; his lungs had never worked so hard and his heart had never beat so hard, even when he was a young man that hadn't tasted the frosty bite of death yet he hadn't felt this alive.
The wights however, unfazed by this kept on their assault; one Wight lacking one arm swung at Beric only to have its remaining arm struck from its body. The Wight however fell to the floor and latched its teeth around Beric's left leg.
"GGGH!" Beric grit his teeth in pain; blood flowing into the jaws of the wight.
Daenerys couldn't bring herself to let this man defend her by himself, and she had come too far to die like some damsel in distress. Grabbing a Dragonglass sword from the corpse of a dead Northerner; Daenerys drove the tip of the blade into the wight latched on Beric's leg.
Daenerys was not some weak-willed lady, destined to knit and pray her days away, she was the blood of the dragon. And if she were to die, she was going to die the way she had lived.
Full of fire and defiance.
Davos hacked away at a wight; his swordsmanship as basic as it came. Even when he had all his fingers he was as talented as a drunken brawler at best, but skill in circumstances such as this were of no consequence. Talented ripostes and footwork went out of the window when fighting for survival against walking corpses.
"FUCK!" Davos lost his balance and fell to the floor.
The smuggler resigned himself to his fate when he saw a Wight dressed in Unsullied armour loom over him with a spear at the ready.
'Marya I'm sorry luv…I won't be coming home. I tried my best' Davos' last thoughts being of his dear Marya and his boys back in the Stormlands.
But just when Davos thought he was going to meet his end; a longsword cut off its arm before a Dragonglass axe was driven into its head.
The wight fell permanently dead. Davos looked up to see his saviour; but whilst he expected a Northern soldier or one of Daenerys' men, he saw the red armoured forms of Melisandre's gaurds; their blank amber eyes, longswords in one hand and Dragonglass hand axes in the other.
"What the fuck?" Davos gasped as the Gaurds of the Fiery hand sheathed their hand axes and ran their hands over their longswords; the steel engulfing in flame as they stood in front of Davos; cutting down wights like grass as they approached.
The battle continued in the gates of Winterfell; the forces of the living battling the forces of the White Walkers and their undead thralls.
All seemed dire.
Sandor Clegane, Brienne of Tarth, Benjen Stark, Jorah Mormont and Lyle Crakehall were leading the men as best as they could whilst making sure to not lose sight of the battle itself. The battle lines had been shattered and groups of men only survived by fighting in tightly knit groups, fighting back to back to prevent the dead from flanking them.
Lord Glover drove his longsword into the gut of a Wight, pushing it off with his foot when done. His men were panicked and in the same disorganised ramble as the other soldiers. The thought that these things were just the stuff of fairy tale and make believe had been driven clearly from Glover's mind.
"Stay together men!" Glover shouted; trying to keep his own bannermen together as one unit.
The Glover men however seemed to blend into the ranks of Free folk, Dothraki, Unsullied and Westerlanders. The destruction of the gates had also destroyed anything segregating the forces into their little pockets. Of course, some men still carried the strength of their groups, Unsullied banded into small groups here and there to set up shield walls and phalanx formations, Screamers still flanked each other, and Free Folk still banded in small groups.
The ranks were so mingled that he even saw the Young Karstark Lady fighting side by side with what looked to be a Young Thenn boy in full warpaint. The young Baratheon Bastard with Snow's Direwolf tackling any wights that got to close, the Hound fighting beside the Strongboar and even a few of his own troops fighting beside Dothraki screamers as if they were brothers in arms.
This sight would have disgusted Glover if he weren't so racked with adrenaline and a need to preserve his own survival.
"I said stay together!" Glover shouted; mere seconds afterwards noticing that the ground around him had darkened and all the living around him recoiling and rushing away from him.
Glover turned and looked up to see the thing they were fleeing.
A Giant, 20 feet tall and covered in armour made from bone and wood; half of its face missing to reveal it's pronounced skull.
Glover barely had time to react as the Giant scooped him up from the ground; its huge fingers clasping around his arms, keeping him from attempting to fight back. Glover began to scream as he felt his muscles contract and bones beginning to fracture.
"AAAAGH!" blood flowed from Glover's mouth as he felt his ribs break and rip into his lungs from the inside.
Crannogmen archers began unloading arrows at the Giant; the undead creature snarling as it blocked the volley with his heavily armoured left arm. Glover could feel his blood vessels burst and his arms snap like dry twigs.
The last thing that Glover was the Giant's closed fist coming down like a hammer on him; everything above his med-section was turned to red paste as Lord Robbett Glover was dropped as a headless corpse onto the floor.
The Giant snarled loudly as the Crannogmen continued firing on it. The Giant raising both arms as shields as it could not afford an arrow sinking into its eye socket.
"RAGH!" Tormund drove his dragonglass coated cleaver into the sternum of a wight, pinning it to the floor as it ceased its thrashing. The Redheaded wildling looked up to see the snarling form of the Giant as it roared and brought its foot down on an Ice-river clansman, turning him into a red smear in the snow.
Tormund looked around; his eyes locking on a nearby stone staircase that led up to the ramparts above. The fighting was everywhere; even on the ramparts there were men fighting for their lives; Northerners mostly by the looks of them, a few Night's Watchmen and men of House Crakehall. The Wildling let out a bloodthirsty growl as he made a mad dash for the stairway, cutting down a wight or two before making it to the stairs. The stone steps themselves were slick with blood and viscera, Tormund made sure to not slip and break something.
Once to the top, Tormund had to cut down another Free folk wight; ram a Skeleton's skull into the stone wall and push a Northman Wight from the wall. Once Tormund found the right area of the wall, he held his cleaver in a reverse grip before grabbing a Dragonglass sword from the corpse of a dead Northman and held it in a reverse grip.
"Come on you Big Twat!" Tormund growled in wait.
The Giant snarled as a Fire arrow skimmed across its face, grazing its rotten flesh and leaving a large cut. The Giant stumbled back when an Unsullied threw his spear, the weapon finding its mark in the Giant's hand.
"RAAAAAGH!" the Giant roared loudly as it stumbled back as few steps.
Tormund took a deep breath and leapt from the wall; the dragonglass sword sinking into the Giant's hide as he used it like an anchor. The Dragonglass was good for killing smaller wights and undead beasts, but a Giant was a different matter.
It would take a direct hit to a vital area, and Tormund knew that Giants had thick hides; barrel chests with plenty of muscle to protect their vital organs. Bringing down a Giant was not something that could be done with ease, even a live wounded giant would take down many men before it was finally felled.
But luckily, Tormund had experience in this area. He wasn't named Tormund Giantsbane for nothing.
Crannogmen continued firing on the Giant; arrows sinking into its chest and legs; not one managing to sink deep enough to hit anything vital. But this distraction gave Tormund a chance as he used his cleaver and longsword in tandem to crawl up the Giant's back.
Once at the base of the Giant's neck, Tormund raised his cleaver and sank it deep into the base of the giant's skull. The dragonglass cleaver finding what was left of the giant's brain and severing the old magic that kept it standing.
The Giant let out one last snarl that devolved into a high pitch screech before its jaw fell off; the rest of its body following after wards; flesh melting, bones rattling and snapping under the weight and the once mighty undead giant collapsing to the floor in a pile of remains.
Tormund fell to the floor with a thud, the giant's thick hide and flesh cushioning his fall as he let out a long and manic laugh.
"Sir! Are you alright?" a few Stark Bannermen ran to Tormund, one offering his hand.
"The fuck are you standing around for!? There's a fucking fight on!" Tormund growled as he pulled himself to his feet and pulled his cleaver from the skull of the giant.
"DON'T LET THEM FLANK YOU!" Brienne yelled as she pushed the Ice Spider, driving Oathkeeper into its hideous maw.
"GIVE THEM NO QUARTER!" Jorah yelled as he struggled; Heartsbane grinding against a rusted longsword belonging to a Night's Watch wight.
But things somehow got worse as whatever hope that may have been left was promptly cut down.
There; walking with a mighty stride full of purpose and a glare that could make boiling lava freeze in an instant; was the leader of the White Walkers, the Night King. Strolling through the battlefield like he was on a leisurely walk.
"KILL HIM! KILL THE FUCKER!" Tormund yelled as he struggled against a Wight.
A group of Dothraki Screamers; thrilled at the chance of killing their Khaleesi's enemy and being immortalized in glory borderline sprinted at the Night King; their Arahks raised to deliver the killing blow.
The blank expression on the Night King's face never changed as he backhanded one Dothraki in the face so hard that his jaw was torn off. Another Dothraki was grabbed around the throat and had his neck snapped like a brittle twig. The Night King didn't even motion for assistance as two Undead Direwolves ran past his flanks and latched their jaws around the throats of the attacking Dothraki.
Qhono was the first attacker to not be immediately swat away like a fly; his arahk swipe causing the Night King to step to the side and acknowledge the Bloodrider. Qhono growled and swung his Arakh like a man possessed, but the Night King side stepped and evaded every single swipe like he could read Qhono's mind.
The Night King finally took offensive action as he blocked the Dothraki's Arahk with one arm, the dragonglass blade failing to pierce the black armour on the Night King's forearms, while the other hand plunged into the Bloodrider's chest. Qhono coughed up what looked like a lungful of blood before the Night King tore the Dothraki's still beating heart out. The blood that ran down the Night King's hand froze before the organ was shattered like glass in his grip.
Qhono couldn't even utter a word before the Night King threw him to the floor like he wasn't fit to stain his boots.
Time stood still for many of the living as many of their friends and allies were slaughtered like dogs. Those that managed to make it to the Night King without being torn to shreds by Wights were about as fortunate as Qhono, whose blood was staining the snow.
An Unsullied spearman thrust his spear at the Night King, only for the spear to be caught, snapped and then rammed back into the face of its previous owner.
A Crakehall infantryman tried to shoulder tackle the Night King in order to knock him down. But the Night King barely budged before grabbing both sides of the man's helmet and twisting his neck all the way around with a sickening crunch.
A Northman tried his luck with a swing of his dragonglass sword; but the Night King caught it with his bare hand and brought a foot down on the man's leg, snapping it like a twig. The Northerner barely had time to react before the Night King grabbed his head and promptly tore it off and tossed it over his shoulder.
All the while the same eerie expression graced the face of the Night King as he marched forwards. Almost as if by magic; two White Walkers were walking by his sides, both holding Ice swords, then another two holding spears of ice. Everyone was so focused on the arrival of the Night King that no one had noticed the other Walkers joining him, covering his flanks like personal bodyguards.
Not that he seemed to be needing them.
Like an Unholy royal precession, the Night King passed the ongoing battle and slaughter as if it were a choir welcoming him home.
"AAAGH!" Brienne yelled as she held Oathkeeper aloft, her eyes dead set on the Night King.
Before Valyrian steel had a chance to connect, an Ice Sword blocked the blade and shoved the warrior woman backwards. One of the Night King's Walkers was now fully facing her with a murderous glare on its face.
The Night King had also stopped in his stride as he glared not at Brienne but at the blade she was holding. Oathkeeper, forged from half the steel of Ice, the ancestral blade of House Stark, a normal person without the correct knowledge wouldn't have known that from a glance. But a Greenseer knew very well the origins of the blade.
As if supressing something deep down, the Night King's eye twitched before pointing at Brienne, a silent command before walking away.
'Kill'
The White Walker was happy to obey that command as it stalked towards the Daughter of Tarth with its ice sword gripped tightly.
It wasn't often that Brienne found herself facing an Opponent both taller and better built than her, but then again this was a very special circumstance. The Walker was built like a Tank at 7 feet, its scowl only highlighted by its glowing blue eyes and aura of death.
The constant fighting that Brienne had been taking part in since the night had started had taken its toll, she was already short of breath and bloodied from the Wights.
The Walker however was fresh and ready to kill, its glowing blue eyes fixed on its quarry.
Brienne found her breath speeding up involuntarily as the Walker lunged like a hungry beast. Oathkeeper met with the Ice Sword in a loud clanging symphony of vibrations as the Ice Blade failed to shatter the Valyrian Steel. The Walker however didn't find itself surprised as it continued its onslaught; Brienne barely finding the strength to continue blocking the Walker's strikes.
The Walker double handed the sword and brought it downwards; frost flying from the blade as it met Oathkeeper. Brienne had both hands on the hilt of Oathkeeper as the Walker's strike was blocked, but the smirk that appeared on the Walker's face spelled disaster as it raised its foot and delivered a devastating kick to Brienne's midsection.
"UGH!" Brienne spluttered as the kick sent her flying into a nearby wall. Her armour had taken the brunt of the impact but even then, she could feel as if something had broken within; a rib or two had been broken by a Kick that would have shattered the sternum of a lesser opponent.
The Walker stalked forward, blade in hand and bloody snow squelching underfoot.
Brienne's vision was blurred as her breathing became pained and shallow, looking up she could only make out the flowing white hair and glowing blue eyes of her attacker as he raised his sword to deliver the killing blow.
Brienne could only close her eyes as she relinquished herself to her fate.
'I'm…I'm sorry Jaime, I tried to be worthy…I tried…'
But the resounding clang that rang through the air caused Brienne to open her eyes in shock. Standing there with his teeth grit and his prosthetic clung to his chest was Jaime Lannister; Widow's wail connected with the Walker's ice blade.
The Walker didn't seem to be adding any pressure; only tilting its head as if intrigued by this crippled man standing against it with defiance in his eyes. The Walker seemed to smirk in amusement as Jaime forced the Walker's blade away from him.
'What in seven hells am I doing?' Jaime asked himself. Back when he had both hands, he would have stood a chance against a creature such as this. But with only one hand and an already exhausted wheeze in his breath he didn't see himself lasting more than a few minutes.
But fuck it if he wasn't going to spend those last few minutes with pride. Jaime held out Widow's wail in front of him; his breath visible in the extreme cold as he gasped for breath. The Walker seemed to be amused by this as it stepped forward.
The Walker one handed its sword and swiped it at Jaime, Widow's Wail clanging as Jaime went stumbling along with it rather than relinquish his grip. He had to keep a firm grasp on his sword, if he loosened his grip for even an instant then it would go flying into the snow and leave him defenceless.
The Walker was playing with him like a Cat with a Mouse.
Every swing of the ice blade was an insult or some sick attempt at humour as the White Walker seemed content with making a mockery of the former greatest swordsman in the seven Kingdoms. Jaime lunged with a grunt only for the White Walker to roughly shove him to the floor; snow kicking up around him as Jaime lost grip of Widow's Wail, the Valyrian Steel blade clanging on the floor as it was now out of Jaime's reach.
The Walker's gaze followed the blade before returning to Jaime, simply staring and giving the faintest smirk imaginable.
Just when all hope seemed lost and the gods had abandoned him; it was this moment that the nearby soldiers noticed the presence of the Walker and ran to engage it.
A Northern soldier ran to engage the walker; his dragonglass sword connecting with the ice blade twice before the Walker roughly punched him in the gut and promptly lopped his head off.
A Vale Knight ran up with his longsword, lasting only a few moments longer than the Northerner before the Walker cut off his sword hand and wrapped a hand around his throat, his plate armour freezing before the Walker crushed his windpipe.
A Dothraki and a Wildling ran at the Walker forcing it to concentrate on two opponents at once.
Jaime used this momentary distraction to crawl towards Brienne, who was clutching her chest in agony as blood dripped from her lips. The Lannister's eyes were full of concern as he didn't know if the Walker had delivered a fatal blow before he had intervened.
"Are you alright?" Jaime asked with desperation as he began checking Brienne.
"I'm fine…It just winded me" Brienne replied, her eyes squeezed shut in pain.
A Scream pulled Jaime out of his concern as he turned back to the Walker; the giant creature had cut off one of the Dothraki's legs and had its hand wrapped around the face of the Wildling, the man's face freezing in its grip. The ice blade pierced through the wildling's gut, intestines spilling all over the floor when the Walker tore its hand from the man's face, taking most of it with him.
The Dothraki didn't have a chance to defend himself when the Walker drove its ice sword downward into his chest.
The Walker turned its gaze back to Jaime; flourishing its ice blade, blood splashing onto the snow as it stalked down Brienne and Jaime like a Lion would a deer. Very ironic given the circumstances that the Great Lion of Lannister was the one being hunted.
"Brienne can you stand?" Jaime asked, eyes fixed on the Walker.
"I can bloody well try" Brienne grunted as she used Oathkeeper as a crutch. Jamie grabbed a discarded Dragonglass sword from the dead Northman and held it up. The two stood; gasping for air and holding their swords out in offensive stances.
The Walker wasn't amused as it swung at Jaime; the ice blade knocking the already tired Lannister onto the floor as he failed to find the strength to keep his balance. Brienne used this opportunity to strike; Oathkeeper contacting the Walker's ice blade with the same vibrating clang.
Jaime had never felt so helpless in battle; he grabbed the dragonglass sword as Brienne began to falter, their exhaustion was like a broken leg, handicapping them in this fight against the Walker.
The Walker with one viscous and brutal lunge; swat Oathkeeper out of the way before backhanding Brienne so hard that she was sent shoulder first into the wall with a thunderous thwack. Brienne didn't need to be told; she knew in that moment that her shoulder was dislocated. Sweat poured down her face and her yell of pain was like ringing the dinner bell to the Walker.
Jaime ran to Brienne; standing in-between her and the Walker; but the Walker was done with playing with its food. With one strong swing, the dragonglass sword was sent from Jaime's hand and he was sent sprawled to the floor.
The Walker reached down and grabbed the back of Jaime's armour, hauling him up like he weighed nothing and holding him up in front of his face. The Walker's eyes boring into his soul as it raised its ice sword to deliver the final blow; the tip of the blade aimed at Jaime's neck.
At least Jaime could find some comfort in the mere fact that it took an ancient creature of myth and legend to finally kill him.
Jaime's thoughts were pulled from death when the Walker's eyes shifted to the side; an angry scowl taking over its face as it carelessly dropped Jaime to the floor. Jaime's ears were filled with the ringing that the Walker's blade made whenever faced with Valyrian Steel, one could be forgiven for thinking Brienne had stood up and began fighting the creature again.
But when Jaime looked up, he saw none other than Bronn, holding Widow's Wail and throwing everything he had at the Walker.
"Come on you blue fucker!" Bronn yelled as he swung at the Walker. The creature letting out a shrill hiss as it took a swing at Bronn that would have took his head off if he weren't so quick on his feet.
Bronn had fought men of all shapes and sizes, but the thing in front of him wasn't a man. It may have looked somewhat like a man but the way it hissed and screeched, the way it crushed men and threw them around like they were nothing was anything but human.
The Walker and Bronn clashed swords; the vibrating of Widow's Wail echoing through the air as they fought. Jaime could not fathom why Bronn had come back, he had a chance to abandon this battle once and for all, but instead he had come back and was fighting one of the Walkers.
To protect him.
Why?
The Night King walked with purpose, snow crunching and hardening beneath his feet as he strode towards his objective. 3 White Walkers covering his right, left and back, a group of at least 50 undead Wights of assorted origin, 5 undead direwolves, 3 Undead Sabre Cats, an Undead Bear and a pair of Pale Spiders the size of horses.
The Night King knew there would be resistance; but that mattered little to him.
His focus was fixed on the one task he needed to attend to, a wrong that must be put right, a piece on the board that must be put back in place, a puzzle piece out of synch with the rest.
The clearing came into view, as did the weirwood tree of Winterfell. This was a tree he had not looked upon with his eyes for so long. Ancient history for some, now relegated to a memory at the very back of his mind, not worthy of further thought.
Then he saw him, he had made eye contact.
The Stark boy, in his chair, blank expression plastered across his face as Crannogmen archers and Unsullied troopers stood at the ready.
The Night King simply stared.
One of the Walker's let out a battle screech; pointing with its spear at the living. The Wights charged along with the Direwolves and the Pale Spiders.
But all of that was white noise as the Night King focused on Bran. His legs carrying him past the bloodshed as he began to walk towards his target.
Jon ran; fire in his eyes and Longclaw in his hand as he cut down any wights in his way. running through the courtyard of his ancestral home; Jon stayed in hot pursuit of his quarry, his quarry being the source of all this death and misery.
As he ran, he saw the battle unfold.
He saw Unsullied lines broken and the soldiers forced to fight in smaller groups and formations. A few Unsullied had assembled themselves into porcupine formations with their shields and spears, a technique he had only read about in books.
Lyle Crakehall was battling alongside Grey Worm, a group of his unsullied and many Free Folk, the Strongboar had drove Tusk into the head of an undead bear after it had killed a member of the Cave people. Grey Worm covered the Westerland Knight's rear against any wights that tried to flank him; the West and the East working together against the dead.
Jon saw Sandor Clegane fighting alongside Gendry; Axe and Hammer, Hound and Stag as Ghost tackled wights to the floor and tore them to shreds.
Jon even saw his Uncle Benjen, the First Ranger of the watch fighting beside other brothers of the watch. The Eldest living Stark's movements were perfectly honed against the dead, as if he were born to fight them.
"JON! GO! NOW!" Benjen yelled at his nephew.
Benjen was right, Jon didn't have any time to waste trying to assist the others. He had a duty to fulfil, he had a King to slay. Finding the adrenaline to keep pushing, Jon went into a full sprint, his grip on Longclaw tightening.
Beric coughed up a lungful of blood as a wight drove its blade into his abdomen, Daenerys quickly dispatched the wight as she drove her dragonglass blade into its chest. The Lightning Lord shook off the pain and continued to swing his flaming sword before pushing himself back in front of Daenerys.
'She must live, she must live, nothing else matters, she must live' he chanted within his head as he swung his blade.
The Undead bear ripped and clawed its way through the Unsullied line; the Sabre Cats, Direwolves and Wights leaping through the gaps to bring down troopers and rip their throats out. The Unsullied formation was broken as the men went into survival mode. Shield formations were not built to keep undead beasts at bay, so the main strength of the Unsullied was rendered obsolete.
The Walkers watched and followed close behind their King as he approached his goal.
Theon planted his dragonglass hand axe into the skull of a wight with a viscous yell; blood drenched the walls as Wights continued pouring in through the roof, bodies piled so high that many of the Wights could barely move.
Only a few of the Ironborn where left; Theon and three others who were in very bad shape, one was missing a hand, another had been impaled and was slowly bleeding out, and the last had lost an eye.
Theon himself wasn't looking good either as he had several large gashes across his torso, his chest plate had been ruined; a nasty cut above his right eye caused blood to run down his face and a Wight had managed to plant a dagger deep into his left leg.
There was no chance of escape at this point, but Theon kept fighting.
Footstep by footstep, the Night King approached; as Wights, and undead beasts kept the Unsullied and Crannogmen archers away from him as he slowly approached his destination. Howland fought beside his men, dragonglass coated sword in hand as he fought.
Meera stood in front of Bran, arrows at the ready.
But Melisandre and Arya Stark were nowhere to be found.
Benjen cut the head off a Wight before he saw the same flash of silver that Beric had seen; his eyes widened in shock as he began to look around in panic. She had to live, she couldn't die here and now.
Benjen thanked the gods when he spotted a Dothraki horse in absolute panic, its rider dead in the saddle. The Lone Wolf ran towards the horse, cutting down wights on the way and yanking the Dothraki corpse from the saddle before hopping on himself.
Benjen ignited his flail and rode towards the gap.
Meera fired arrow after arrow at the Wights, every shot a kill shot, but even she had to stop firing after a while to avoid hitting her fellow Crannogmen or the Unsullied that Queen Daenerys had placed in their defence.
That's when she noticed him; approaching slowly with a purpose.
Meera ignited an arrow and aimed at the Night King; her eyes focusing to plant it in between his eyes.
She released.
She was shocked when the Night King moved his head right before the arrow connected; the fire arrow harmlessly hitting the ground behind him. The Lord of the White Walkers continuing his advance.
"Stay together! Don't panic!" Sansa tried to calm the fleeing women and children as best as she could; the interior of Winterfell was large and the hallways vast, but even then the sounds of people panicking would only attract the Wights, for now they were occupied with the men fighting outside and the Ironborn in the main hall. Missandei kept Jory and Uma close to her; the two Northern orphans practically glued to her sides. Gilly held Little Sam close to her breast, the little boy making barely any sound, his mother having taught him well to stay quiet during times of panic. Sam stayed nearby but kept his hand fixed on the hilt of a Dragonglass dagger at all time, ready to defend his family and anyone else he could.
Tyrion waddled up to Sansa; always keeping an eye on the hallway behind them, as if waiting for the Wights to come bursting through after them at any moment. Tyrion knew that Theon and his Ironborn couldn't keep them at bay forever, if only poor Sansa knew the truth.
But when Tyrion looked to Sansa and saw the tears pouring down her face, he knew he had underestimated how much she knew. She knew Then was not coming back; the only thing they could do now was keep moving.
Meera nocked another arrow into her bow; but when she drew back and aimed her eyes widened in shock as she saw one of the Walker's let go of an ice spear. Leaping out of the way; Meera managed to evade the ice spear at it sliced through the air beside her.
If that spear had met its mark; she would have been stuck like a pig.
When Meera regained her bearings, she found that the Night King had closed the distance between with the two of them. Before she even had a chance to react, he backhanded her so hard she collided with a nearby tree with a sickening thud.
"MEERA!" Howland yelled; terrified his little girl had been killed before his eyes ran to her and knelt beside her prone form.
Putting a hand on her shoulder he was relieved to find she was still breathing, still alive. Looking up he saw that the Night King had lost all interest in Meera and was walking step by step towards Bran.
Howland could not let this stand; he could not stand by while this happened.
Howland ran to Bran and stood in front of him, holding his Dragonglass coated sword in an aggressive stance.
"You will come no further!" Howland yelled as loudly as a man of his stature could.
The Night King stopped and simply glanced at him.
"I am Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, this boy is the son of the only man I would call brother, his aunt was the first person who gave me strength… you shall go no further!" Howland growled with a slight tremble in his voice.
The Night King tilted his head.
'Lyanna…Ned…Jojen…I tried…forgive me for trembling' Howland said a silent prayer in his head before he swung at the King of the White Walkers.
The Night King didn't retaliate as he simply dodged and evaded every swing Howland sent his way; the Dragonglass sword ringing through the air with every failed attack. Howland began to sweat, his age beginning to catch up with him, his war wound acting up and his strength leaving him.
"FIGHT BACK YOU COWARD!" Howland roared at he swung the sword again.
*CLANG!*
Howland stared in horror at the Night King had caught his sword in his bare hand, tilting his head before ripping it from Howland's weakened grasp and throwing it to the floor. Howland panted and wheezed as he glared at the Night King; the lord of death itself standing there as if waiting for a response.
As if waiting for him to move.
Meera's eyes opened as she came to, her vision unblurring as she tried to pick herself up. The shock of pain all across her right arm told her immediately that it was broken, but when she remembered the last thing she saw, she looked up towards the Heart Tree and there she saw her Father standing against the Night King with no sword in his hand, wheezing for breath.
"I…am Lord Howland Reed…of Greywater Watch….I…will not…bend" Howland said between gasps.
The Night King's hand wrapped around Howland's throat and lifted him from the ground; the lord of Greywater Watch's hands wrapping around the wrist of his attacker as the Night King held him close; his glowing blue eyes boring into Howland's soul.
"FATHER!" Meera cried as the Night King hurled Howland at the tree that Meera was prone against.
But while the Night King simply tossed Meera aside as if she was nothing, he threw Howland with a fury that sent the Grannogmen hurdling into the trunk of the tree. Howland almost bent across the trunk as an audible crack filled the air; the tree shook as Howland slumped at the base, Meera scrambling through the pain to get to her father.
"Father! No! Don't do this to me! Please!" Meera pushed Howland's greying hair out of his face to see the blood running from his nose and mouth, his eyes closed shut, his body absent of any signs of life.
Tears began to fall from Meera's eyes as she buried her face in her father's chest.
The Night King paid it no mind as he approached Bran, still sat in his wheelchair, his eyes rolled back into his skull and his mouth agape like a fish. The lord of the White Walkers stood little more than a foot away from the young cripple, his eyes boring into the three eyed raven as if waiting.
Bran's eyes flickered back, and he slowly looked up to meet eyes with the Night King.
…
…
Daenerys panted heavily; the dragonglass sword going limp in her hands as she struggled to stand up. Beric looked worse than the wights attacking him; he had more swords and daggers in him than an armoury. So much Blood had flowed onto the snow from his wounds that it was a wonder he hadn't shrivelled up into a dried-up husk.
But still, he fought with that same ferocity, swinging his flaming sword, cutting down any wights that came too close and taking whatever attack they intended for Daenerys.
Daenerys knew this was futile, she knew that she and Beric could not hold the wights off forever, their numbers would eventually overwhelm even his fiery resolve. But just as all hope seemed fire; the sound of horse hooves rattling upon ground rang in her ears. Turning to the breach, Daenerys saw Benjen Stark astride one of her Bloodrider's steeds.
"DAENERYS!" He shouted as he held out a hand when within arm's reach.
Daenerys reached out and grabbed onto Benjen's arm; the Stark's eyes widening in shock when he saw a Sabre Cat leap for them. But luckily Beric had stepped into the way of the beast as its fangs pierced his shoulder and blood sprayed forth in lethal amounts.
"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Beric shouted, blood spewing from his mouth as he shouted. The tip of his flaming sword emerging from the back of the undead Sabre Cat, the creature letting out one last yelp as it went limp.
Benjen didn't need to be told twice as he hauled Daenerys onto the back of the horse and spurred it into a sprint. Daenerys was stunned at the show of sacrifice that the Lightning Lord had shown, she wrapped an arm around Benjen's waist but upon their retreat she shouted "What are you doing!? We can't leave him!"
Beric could only smile as he saw the silver hair of Daenerys Targaryen leave on the back of Benjen Stark's horse. She was out of harm's reach; he felt a sense of euphoria as the wights in pursuit failed to keep up with the Northman's steed. He had accomplished his goal; he could feel it deep within his breast, the Lord was pleased.
The Lightning Lord closed his eyes as the Wights swarmed over him; the pain of his ties to this world finally being relinquished after so long.
"I'm not going back! You're all that matters! The rest of us are expendable but not you!" Benjen shouted back without thinking as he spurred the poor horse so badly that Daenerys feared he would cripple the poor creature.
Why had Dondarrion done that? why had he of all people sacrificed his life for her? She had never even had a conversation with him beyond a word of greeting here and there, yet he was willing to die in such a horrendous way just to keep her alive? What did Lord Stark mean about her being all that mattered?
All these thoughts ran through her mind in the span of a few seconds.
*REAARERRRRRRR!* The Horse let out what could only be described at a screech of terror as it reared; Benjen moving fast to turn, wrap his arms around Dany and take the brunt of the Landing himself.
Daenerys finally saw what had put the horse into an absolute panic as it was lifted into the jaws of Viserion. The Undead dragon had hauled himself across the snow on his broken wingtips; his hide ruined beyond recognition, only one blue eye remaining and most his teeth either broken or gone.
Viserion threw the Horse to the wayside; its blood running down his maw as he crept forward.
Benjen drew Dark Sister and held it out in front of him as Viserion let out a wet, guttural snarl, steam erupting from his broken maw.
"If I die…run…don't look back, just run" Benjen whispered as he kept his body in front of Dany's.
…
…
A second passed as Bran simply stared at him without a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
…
…
The Night King's hand lifted slowly.
…
…
*Creak*
The Night King's head shot up as he heard a Tree branch shift above him.
There with her double headed spear in one hand; was Arya Stark, face in a scowl of anger as she dropped down to the Night King.
*TWHIP!*
Meera Reed let loose her dragonglass headed arrow; the Night King's attention now divided between two attacks. Arya from above, Meera to his left, a Wolf of House Stark with her fangs bared and a Lizard-Lion of House Reed with hers equally sharp and deadly.
The Night King's right hand shot up and batted Arya's spear out of her hand in a shocking display of speed as his left hand caught Meera's arrow out of the air; his blue eyes glaring at the daughter of Howland Reed. Arya however still had one trump card; sheathed in her belt, a 'gift' from the now deceased Littlefinger.
The Catspaw.
With every bit of ferocity, she could muster; Arya drew the dagger from her belt and lunged at the Night King. Arya had trained for this; she had trained to kill, to look death in the eye and not flinch, she would be the one to end this. Arya Stark, killer of the Night King.
The Dagger sank deep into the Night King; slicing through both black leather and icy flesh like butter as the Valyrian steel tasted the flesh of an ancient enemy.
Arya smirked.
…
…
…
Her smirk disappeared as she looked up and saw it.
He hadn't shattered.
He didn't fall into a thousand pieces like Jon said White Walkers did.
He didn't even flinch.
The Bastard wasn't even bleeding.
He simply glared at her with a look that could be understood no matter what language you spoke.
'Is that all?'
The Night King's right hand darted forward and grabbed Arya's right arm, her hand still holding the dagger.
*CRACK!*
Meera's arrow was snapped in the Night King's grip.
The same as Arya's arm.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Arya screamed at the top of her lungs as the Night King snapped her arm like a twig. The young wolf fell to the ground screaming bloody murder as the pain tore through her body unlike anything she had ever felt before.
Arya had felt injury, she had been hurt in her training with the faceless men. But this was something else; every cell in her body, every fibre of her being was screaming out in agony even as the Night King reached down; grabbed the scruff of her collar and threw her out of his way like a piece of refuse not worthy of his attention.
Arya fell face first into the snow; her arm was burning; a broken arm shouldn't be burning should it? Arya then felt a pair of hands, one on her head and another on her arm as the burning and the pain began to slowly fade.
"Shhhh, child…calm…calm" Melisandre whispered as calmly as she could as she cradled Arya's form to herself.
She could feel the darkness beginning to enshroud the Young Stark as she squeezed her eyes shut at the pain, her throat going hoarse and her breathing becoming shallow as sweat poured down her face.
The most Melisandre could do was keep the Dark at bay, to keep her stable and as calm as she could.
"Shhh, it'll be alright" Melisandre whispered with a tremble in her voice as she looked up.
The Red Priestess could only watch on as she looked at the Night King staring at the young Stark Boy. This moment was important; as important as Aegon's first steps on Westeros, as important as the death of Jaehaerys that led to the dance of dragons, as important as the swing of Robert's Warhammer into Rhaegar's chest, as important as the sword swing that took Ned Stark's head.
And it must be witnessed.
The Night King's eyes narrowed in an almost angry gaze at the young Stark boy that had barely flinched at the breaking of his sister's arm.
'So, this is it? This is what the old one died to protect? This is not what I wanted or expected…this husk of a man…I suppose I must correct this, for events to proceed as they should!'
The Night King's hand shot forward and landed on Bran's forehead, the skin on Bran's face not blistering or freezing like his arm had.
Bran's eyes rolled over white.
The Night King's eyes glowed blue so harsh that one would be forgiven for seeing blue flame.
Uh…yeah….remember when I said this chapter was the last chapter of the Battle of Winterfell….well funny thing happened, I was writing this chapter and then looked at the Wordcount and….yeah I decided to cut it down…again….LOOK I WARNED YOU GUYS THAT ALL THAT BUILDUP WASN'T GOING TO BE RESOLVED QUICKLY!
My Long Night is exactly that…LOOOOOOONG!
Anyways, you'll also be glad to hear the next chapter is already finished and should be out in a few days. So, by the time most of you have finished reading it will be time for the update…if you don't just skim this in a few minutes.
ANYWAY! Thoughts? Questions!? REVIEWS! And don't forget guys:
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DAKKAMAN777 OUT!
