Season 8 Episode 6 Part 4: The Last Night

Several minutes earlier

Harrenhal's walls

Arya Stark

On the battlements of Harren's legacy, Arya shot a dragonglass arrow into a wight, ending the creature's misery. The battlements were more than two hundred feet tall, the tallest tower jsut a hudnred feet shy of being as tall as the wall.

The saddest part was, they could hear the screams of the dying Golden Company, as their flanks slowly began a deliberate retreat, cutting off their own escape, forming a large circle.

Arya hadn't cried since the Twins, when the Red Wedding happened. But now she cried. She cried at the bravery of the men of the Golden Company, sealing off their own escape. She cried at the fall of the Northern army, the last remnants of the North's Fighting force, she cried at the fall of the Company of the Rose: That meant the complete extinction of more than thirty Northern houses, including the Karstarks, Boltons, and the Umbers.

Family lines, eight thousand years long, wiped out. Gone.

The only survivor of the Rains of Castamere? Entrapped in that circle.

The survivors of the Battle of the Blackwater? Out there, somewhere.

The two only living dragons in the world? Lost in that deadly cloud.

Arya was shaken out of her tear - filled reverie by Ser Duncan the tall walking towards the wall.

"Ser." Arya said, respected the two hundred year old knight a lot.

"A fighter girl. I like this one." He said, sounding a little like Sandor.

Sandor. Where was he?

Was he even alive?

"I'm talking to you, fighter girl."

"Yes." She said simply.

"You lost someone out there?"

"Many people. Close people."

"You have killed many. They were close to people."

"Yes, but I never killed unless necessary."

"And now it's necessary." Stated the knight. Arya wasn't sure if it was a statement, or a question.

"Yes."

"You have killed many beings, with different eye colours."

"Yes." Said She, unsure of where this conversation was leading.

"Then what's another being with blue eyes?"

Harren's Great Portcullis

Beric Dondarrion

Beric removed his half helm, as they finally got behind the massive portcullis. The undead charged forwards, apparently unaware of the fact that their route was blocked by a massive portcullis. The undead slammed into the metal with a sickening crunch, which made Beric want to puke. The last few survivors of the slaughter ran past him.

It had been chaos.

Total chaos

Beric had no idea how he had survived that, those waves of the dead, like a massive ocean, simply wiping over then. Honestly, the last thing he could remember was seeing the black cloak of a brother of Night's Watch on a wight, and then, he remembered the portcullis slamming shut behind him.

He had no clue how his legs had managed to carry him back to the castle, only that now he was here, so now he would fight.

Yes. He would fight.

He would fight for all those who had lost their lives to the dead, for all those who were yet to see their friends come back to life and kill them, for all the innocents.

"Dondarrion."

Beric whirled around, hand on his sword, and stared into the eyes of the tallest man he had ever met, aside from the Mountain.

"Ser Duncan." The knight had introduced himself to Beric a while ago.

"R'hllor has a need for you." Beric noticed a teen girl peeking from the battlements, down at them and their conversation. He didn't particularly care, Varys' little bridies could fuck each other in a tree, for all he cared.

"What would you know of R'hllor?"

"As much as Melisandre told me."

"You know her?"

"Unfortunately. She and I had a very eye - opening conversation about her god and her hero. It is how I realised how this fight must happen."

"What do you mean?" Demanded Beric. "What fight?"

"You shall see."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because, after it, you have to go out there."

"Out where?"

"Outside the castle. I shall tell you why."

Beric noted that the teen girl who had been watching him walked off, and it was only then that he recognized her: Arya Stark.

Somewhere in the Sky

Aegon Targaryen

Rhaegal flapped his wings, flying above the poisonous cloud. He had learnt the hard way that dragons weren't affected by the strange air-borne cold poison that the cloud carried. Jon had fainted several times, but breathing fresh air made him come back to consciousness each time. Daenerys had only fainted twice, but she had nearly fallen off Drogon.

She wasn't really fit for riding a dragon. She was physically fit, but not mentally so. Jon didn't particularly care about the fact that she had tried to kill him twice, but she obviously did feel so. Jon still didn't know what had gotten into her during those fateful thirty seconds on the Kingspyre tower.

Jon held on tighter to Rhaegal, sucking in as much fresh air as his lungs could take, before they both lived through the poisonous clouds, looking for the Night King. Hopefully they could find him, and end this whole farce of a battle.

It had been a gamble, to not provide any aerial support to their troops, but it had been decided that the chance of being able to finish off the Night King, and end the whole bloody war was more worth going after than a few thousand wights, who didn't even matter to the Night King anyways.

They had been searching for several hours now, to no use. They hadn't seen the Night King, but the ground had been covered in wights for several miles around. Jon had no idea as to how the living were possibly holding Harrenhal.

Wait.

What if Harrenhal had already fallen, and they were just flying up here for nothing? The defenders of the castle were outnumbered one - to - fifteen, and if the Night King attacked the castle with Viserion while they were searching for him out here…. Well, they had already seen the results of the last time a dragon had attacked Harrenhal.

It was, of course, entirely likely that the poisonous cloud had just been a lure, to keep the dragons away from the castle, so it could be safely taken.

Jon hit Rhaegal twice, as he ran out of air within the cloud. Rhaegal banked up sharply, and finally broke the top of the cloud. Jon gasped in fresh air, and saw, to his right, Daenerys do the same, mounted on Drogon. Jon raised his right hand, and waved wildly, hoping she'd see him.

(He didn't trust himself or Rhaegal enough to raise both of hands from the dragon)

Drogon kept flying, until Rhaegal let loose a roar worthy of a dragon. Drogon turned around, Daenerys with him.

The two dragons flew as close as humanly (dragonly?) possible, and he heard Daenerys shout:

"Did you see him?" Yelled Daenerys, above the wind and the flapping wings of the two dragons.

"NO!" Yelled Jon, at the top of his lungs, before adding: "BUT WE NEED TO GET TO THE CASTLE, IT'S A TRAP!"

"What?" Yelled back Daenerys, making it clear that she could not hear him.

"WE NEED TO GET BACK TO THE CASTLE, IT'S A TRAP!" Yelled Jon again, his voice becoming hoarse.

"I can't hear you! Let's go towards the ground!"

Jon gave her a thumbs - up, and both Drogon and Rhaegal dove through the clouds.

Jon held his air in his lungs as they flew down through the poisonous clouds.

Harrenhal Battlements

Brienne of Tarth

In her childhood, she had loved Archery. She just didn't think that her hobby would lead to her defending a castle from dead people, alongside Lannisters, Baratheons, Starks, and Targaryens.

In her childhood, she had also studied politics. She had never believed that the aforementioned could ever fight alongside each other.

But now they were fighting alongside each other. And she was fighting alongside them.

She sent another dragonglass arrow into a wight, as they kept surging forwards, creating a literal staircase, alongside Harrenhal. Harren had created a massive Moat alongside his castle, fed with the water of the God's Eye, but the frozen over moat hadn't deterred the wights in the slightest.

Brienne drew back her bowstring, nocked an arrow, and let it loose into the staircase of the Undead. She tried to figure out the weakest section of the staircase, where taking out one wight might collapse the whole staircase. She notched another arrow, aiming carefully this time, hoping that, like a stack of awfully balanced Cyvasse pieces, the whole staircase might fall down.

Where do I launch it? She searched the ranks of the Undead, looking for a particular wight that was holdign up the staircase.

THERE!

She saw a wight which was all - but crushed by the weight of the wights on top of it, but wasn't bending to the weight. She aimed carefully, and let the arrow loose.

It flew in a graceful arc, directly towards its target. It seemed to happen all at once: one moment, the arrow flying, the next, the arrow vanished, and it was the wights who were falling, all of them.

She whooped in delight, before turning to her side, and realising that it wasn't her arrow that did it: Her arrow had missed. The arrow that did that had been Arya Stark's arrow.

In the skies

Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, new heir apparent to the Iron Throne

Rhaegal and Drogon both flew towards the Castle. They had been flying for several minutes now, and Jon was starting to think that they may have gotten lost. How could you possibly lose such a massive castle as Harrenhal?

Then, he saw a strange, orange glow in the foreground. Daenerys seemed to have also seen it, for she directed Drogon towards it. Jon had Rhaegal follow. Both dragons flew towards the glow, which grew larger, and larger, until they realised it was Harrenhal.

They had come back to the castle. They were only around a couple miles away from the castle when Viserion slammed into Rhaegal, blue flames ripping open Rhaegal's flesh. The dragon screamed in pain, the blue flames traveling along the length of Rhaegal. Finally, Viserion jabbed in, with his mouth, and big out a chunk of dragonflesh.

Jon held on tight to Rhaegal as Viserion moved on to Drogon, The Night King visible atop the dead dragon. Rhaegal screamed in pain, and Jon directed the wounded dragon towards the ground. Rhaegal landed with a large crash, and Jon nearly fell off the dragon.

"Stay. Rhaegal, Stay, you're injured, you're in no condition to fight -"

The dragon leapt up, cutting Jon off, leaving him with the choice of hanging on tight, or not hanging on tight. Jon chose to hang on tight.

Drogon and Viserion were fighting. For the first time since the Dance of the Dragons, dragons fought each other. The two mighty beasts lept at each other with claws and flame, before Drogon would disengage, not wanting to face the wrath of his dead brother.

Viserion kept pushing the offence, trying to get Drogon to panic, and in that panic, to drop his rider.

But Drogon wouldn't. Drogon bore the blue flames, those bony claws, everything, all so his rider could survive. And then, Viserion pounced. The dragon pounced on his own brother, who had help him, who taught him to fly. Viserion bit into Drogon's wing.

Rhaegal roared.

And he charged.

Rhaegal charged at his own little brother, who had grown up under the shadow of his wing. Rhaegal slammed into Viserion's side, but the dead dragon shrugged off the hit. Viserion twisted in midair, and somehow flung Rhaegal off of him.

The Night King turned to look at Jon in mild interest, clearly recognizing that he was the same person who had killed a White Walker at Hardhome, and the same person who had tried to charge him on that Frozen Lake.

Jon looked straight into the dastardly being's eyes, trying to see what secret was hidden behind them. Why he was constantly killing. Why he -

Viserion finally slammed into Rhaegal, opened his mouth wide, and chomped on Rhaegal's wing, opening a Dragon mouth - shaped hole in it.

Jon knew what would happen even before it happened.

He knew what would happen even before Rhaegal fell from the sky, even before Daenerys yelled in rage, at the possible loss of another one of her children, and her lover.

He knew what would happen even before Drogon leapt forward and blew his own fire all over Viserion.

He knew what would happen even before Viserion let out a massive growl, one of pain. Drogon didn't stop, he kept blowing fire all over him, killing his own brother, killing Viserion for the second time.

He knew what would happen even before Daenerys realized her mistake, and commanded Drogon to stop and to drop the carcass of his brother, even before Drogon flung his dead brother's corpse.

He knew what would happen even before The Night King was hurled off his dragon.

He knew what would happen even before The Night King twisted around mid - air, his hand stretching back, as if pulling back, before launching an invisible spear.

He knew what would happen even before the spear appeared in the Night King's hand.

He knew what would happen even before The Night King hurled the spear, even before the spear cut straight through Drogon, even before it impaled Daenerys.

He knew what would happen even before Rhaegal, Jon, Drogon, Daenerys, Viserion, and the Night King fell from the sky, three of the above already dead.

This chapter happened chronologically before the last chapter, which is why there is no casualty counter here. Plus, I can't bring myself to write anything more after having killed off literally one of the main characters.

Guest: The next victims are here! Although the victims in the next chapter will surprise everyone except for Lillian, although it might even surprise her.

Lillian: Seriously though, it's strange that I found killing Davos harder than killing Daenerys. The moment with the oath was meant to be inspiring, and I debated with myself before actually adding in the two dragons part. BTW, the two dragons are Drogon and Viserion.

SV: Sorry about the last chapter being short, hopefully this one makes up for it!