The Kingdom of Ice and Fire

Chapter 13: The Battle of Winterfell Part II

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy New Year! I am so sorry that it's taken me forever to continue this story. I assure you that I never gave up on it. I intend to finish this story no matter what. It's just that the last few months of 2020 were extra hard on me. My dad got into a car accident in October. Thank goodness that it wasn't too serious, but he was hurt. And then in November, I got diagnosed with cancer. Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I've been doing chemotherapy to recover since the end of November but before that I had to get two biopsies and one of them was on my bone marrow which hurt like hell. And college got a bit packed in the last two months. So, I had very little time to write. And I was focusing on resting and recovering in December. 2020 ended pretty tough on me and my family. But I am so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. I know that some of you already knew about my hardships and I wanted to say thank you for your support. The support of my friends means a lot to me and has helped me keep my spirits up as I continue fighting against this cancer. And a big thanks to my good friend Longclaw who helped me write this chapter so I could finally upload it. Without him, this chapter would not be uploaded now. I hope you all enjoy it!

The tone of the great hall was subdued. Unlike the boisterous, warm atmosphere of the Stark rule that fostered a sense of comradery among highborn and smallfolk alike, it felt as cold as the icy winds of late autumn. For those remaining following the Ironborn attack, it wasn't easy to see why.

The grey direwolf banners were gone, replaced by the flipped Rogar's cross in the blood-red shape of a flayed man. House Bolton ruled, and no one knew it more than the titular future Lady of the keep.

"You're not eating, love?"

Gulping, she sat still upon the table at the front of the Hall. To her left sat her 'dear' husband, while to his right were her goodfather and goodmother. It should have been warm, like her dreams, but even the ice seemed preferable. "I'm not hungry."

A finger stroking her cheek, made her tense. "Oh? That's too bad. You'll need your strength for tonight." She dared to look at him, and while his smile was outwardly pleasant, his eyes said them all. Dark and malevolent, they promised an evening of unspeakable cruelty and seemed to relish in it.

It was then she prayed for death…

Memory unbidden, Sansa was drawn out of it as twin roars of the dragons shook the very stone walls of Winterfell castle. Many cringed, others looked curious. "Mama! Dragons!" Little Sam exclaimed, jumping up and down in his childlike innocence. "King and Queen save us."

Gilly too fearful to answer, it was the dark-skinned Lady in Waiting to the Dragon Queen that replied. "I've seen them do the impossible. Never bet against the side with dragons." Little Sam clapped his hands, alone among the unarmed civilians that dwelled within the great hall of Winterfell.

"At least one of us can keep out the fatalism," Tyrion mused from where he sat next to Sansa. He stroked his beard, trying to ignore the pangs to drink – while his impending death was staring him in the face, after being demoted as Hand he was resolved to face the coming storm sober. "Endearing in a way, most of us would need to be deep in their cups to let go of the cares of the world… never worked for me, though," he chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Neither did it for me," Sansa replied, voice cold. Not even with the façade of amusement. "Nothing helped with that… not even power it seems. There will always be someone over you."

Tyrion shrugged. "The way of the world. Unless one is a dragonrider, there is always a leviathan that can crush a person beneath their feet." It was mankind's destiny to be subjugated, it seemed, even as it ran counter to Daenerys' intention to break the wheel. "For the longest time, it was my father."

"Your father was a mercy. At least he was personally above repute."

"You didn't know him as I did."

Sansa opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her tongue. "Fair." More howls and screams penetrated the walls, these a mix of dying men and snarling demons. They were faint, as if far off, but loud at the same time. Only then did many of the smallfolk that weren't of the Free Folk realize just how many corpses were after them. Sansa closed her eyes, trying to think of a memory to warm her soul. A happy one of her family, of the days where the worst occurrence was Mordane being late to embroidery lessons. But they did not come. Only the darkness. Of Joffrey, of her father's death, of Baelish… of him…

Why did he still haunt her life after she killed him. After Jon and she destroyed his entire house?

"Ah, Lady Missandei, please join us." Sansa looked to her left to see the former slave lower herself to the ground, Tyrion separating them. "A beautiful lady is always welcome next to me."

Missandei wasn't amused. "Keep to decorum, Lord Tyrion. I wouldn't wish to see Grey Worm upset with you." Sansa had to remind herself that the Dragon Queen's friend was in a relationship with the commander of the Unsullied. How is that supposed to work?

Tyrion held up two hands. "I meant nothing of it, just a compliment." Missandei merely cocked her head. "But I regard my previous reputation as marring such gestures."

"Just be careful, my Lord." She looked over at Sansa. "Lady Sansa, I hope that you are holding yourself well as the night descends upon us."

It still made Sansa curious as to the obviously foreign woman speaking common tongue without an accent – as perfect as the most learned maester. Even the highest-born Dornish held thick accents. "I am fine," was her response, slightly cold.

Pursing her lips, Missandei leaned back. The sounds of battle roared outside the great hall, joined by the muffled prayers of the more pious smallfolk or the wails of fussy babes. "Your view on her Grace is misguided."

It took Sansa a moment for her to realize that the former slave was speaking to her. "Pardon?"

"You are cold as your lands to her Grace the Queen. It is completely misplaced."

"Missandei, please let's not…" Tyrion began, trying to diffuse the situation.

Sansa ignored him, narrowing her eyes at the other woman. "I am aware of her power and her desire for more, as am I aware of my brother – the King chosen by the Northern Lords – has knelt to her and rides alongside her. Oaths mean something to me, and I am no traitor." Did even she believe those words?

Was it treason to resist a foreign Queen?

Another image of Ramsay flashed before her eyes. It wasn't any noble reason she resisted such a Queen, wasn't it?

"Desire for more, you say?" Missandei looked ahead in silence, the uncomfortable sounds of chaos and death filling the void. "I have talked to many of the North, and they speak of wishing to be left alone, to be allowed to pursue their hopes and dreams without interlopers trying to subjugate them. No?"

Sansa held her head up proudly. "We've been betrayed, murdered, and brutalized by greedy men and women playing at the game of thrones. No more. Never again."

Missandei nodded. "Such as it was for the slaves of Essos. Thousands of years in bondage, never once granted the ability to control our own mundane tasks, let alone our destiny. Whipped, raped, murdered at the whim of others." Her eyes looked haunted, nearly as haunted as Sansa's. "Queen Daenerys lived our life in her own way, sympathized with us, fought for us. It was through her might that we have the choice of our destiny once more… and I hope that the Northmen can see she fights for their destinies as well."

With that, Missandei rose and walked back towards Gilly and Little Sam, leaving Sansa to digest her words.

Gritting his teeth, Jon held Rhaegal's spines with all his strength as the dragon roared and flapped his wings. Arcing in air, he plunged downward – tucking his wings back for extra speed. Wait, boy. Faster and faster they dove. Wait… The howling wind slammed against his face and hair, flecks of ice and snow stabbing at Jon's skin like a thousand tiny knives but he wouldn't give in. Wait… Below, the swarming mass of corpses grew and grew out of the darkness, illuminated by the wall of fire that seemed to ring it. A sea of ice blue eyes, malevolent against the snow. Remembering the cold, the freezing cold of their very presence, a pit of fire roared inside Jon. NOW, BOY! DRACARYS!

Wings suddenly extending, Rhaegal bottomed out barely thirty feet above the ground. His maw opened and a torrent of flame surged out to incinerated everything in a wide radius. Long decayed and bracketed by the elements, the bones and rotting flesh made for perfect kindling as the dragonfire turned them to ash.

"Pour it on!" Jon screamed into the void, knowing Rhaegal heard him through their bond. "Pour it on and don't stop!"

Rhaegal followed the direction of his rider, unleashing such a gout of dragonfire that it bordered upon physical pain, but still he attacked. The men and women defending Winterfell depended on he and Drogon, and as the hundreds of wights changed to thousands virtually pulverized to ash the burden upon the defenders lightened significantly by the moment.

A flash of silver glinting with the firelight caught Jon's attention. His heart clenched with pure horror. "PULL UP! PULL UP!" The dragonfire disappeared, Rhaegal banking sharply… followed by an ice spear shooting just feet above Jon's head. Close enough for him to feel the wave of air it created. "Away from here, my son! Away!"

As the green dragon gained altitude, Jon allowed himself to look down. The scar left by his attack run was quickly being filled by the rest of the army of the dead, corpses swarming over the blackened ground like ants. Already the teeming mass continued to throw themselves at Winterfell's defenders, winking lights of flaming arrows and the flash of steel and dragonglass stabbing forward as the jaw closed around the army of the dead. Drogon roared as he pulled up from blasting an equally long line of flame closer to the rear of the mass, winking upwards towards him just as the block of cavalry wheeled around Winterfell to assault the rear of the dead.

Everything was going according to plan…

And it scared him. Drew upon an instinctive worry from deep within him. Things never went according to plan, not with the Night King involved.

'Jon, my love…'

Blinking, Jon looked over just as the two dragons burst through the clouds. The moon cast a bright glow upon the tops of the storm, illuminating Daenerys as she called to him through the dragonbond. 'Dany, I have to find the Night King and Viserion'.

Drogon and Rhaegal beating their wings rapidly, they hovered in the air, allowing Dany to meet Jon's eyes across the gulf of the distance between them. Viserion… her gentlest child, stolen from her and turned into an undead slave at the command of a demon. 'End his suffering, Jon, and destroy that evil cunt'.

Nodding, Jon stroked Rhaegal's scales… feeling the warmth even through his gloves. "Dive!" Both of them plunged through the clouds, Daenerys back towards the army of the dead while Jon stabbed through the blizzard itself. Immediately, the ice and snow enveloped him, the pain of the cold unimaginable. Worse than Hardhome, worse than the lake North of the Wall… worse than death itself.

That's how Jon knew he was here.

'Time to die, tonight.' Rhaegal felling his rider's resolve and roaring over the screams of the wind, the King of the Seven Kingdoms into the darkness.

The flock flew high. A swirling mist draped over them, blocking all vision beyond several winglengths ahead of them, but still they flew. Unaware of their location, but they knew they were where they needed to be.

All around, the malevolence seemed to freeze everything. It was pervasive. He was here, he was close. Only just a bit more…

Until a gout of blue fire enveloped them all…

"Ahh!" Normally his returns to the world of the living were tranquil, as if gliding from dream to reality – this time, Bran felt as if punched awake. His heart beat out of his chest, sweat covering his brow in spite of the cold.

"Bran!" Theon was by his side. "What is it, what did you see?"

Each deep breath of freezing air seemed to steady him. "The Night King… he's there… somewhere. It was murky, too murky…"

"He cloaks himself." Bran found Melisandre looking down at him, sternness in her gaze… though not directed at him. "The being is a dark one, conjured by the same magic that shattered Dorne it seems." The flames told her too little, but from them and the old legends kept by the High Priests in Volantis allowed her to piece some things together. "If it is you that he is after, then you will struggle to find him."

Hearing the sounds of death around them, Bran sighed. Emotion was hard to come over him these days, but not for the first time did he feel sorrow. That he missed Meera, the one person that knew who he was through all of this.

But he couldn't afford such sentimentality now. "I cannot see past what created him, nor anything after for centuries." The Night King must've blocked it out. "But when he was close last time, the mark on my arm burned… now it doesn't."

Before Melisandre could question him, one of Theon's Ironborn captains bellowed. "They're comin' for the walls!"

Instinctively grabbing an arrow out of his quiver, Theon's blood ran ice cold. Did they break through the ring? "Boys! Get ready to defend yourselves! What is dead may never die!"

"What is dead may never die!"

"Go," Bran whispered to Melisandre.

"What?"

"This will end soon. Go and do what you need."

Nodding, Melisandre dashed for the ladder to the battlements. She scaled them, coming upon a horrible sight. The dead had broken through the wedge between the Northmen of House Manderly and the Unsullied phalanx on the Targaryen left. Each pulled their flank back, defending their line from being enveloped, but it opened a corridor straight for the godswood that the dead took advantage of.

It would be up to the Ironborn to protect Bran, but as the massive blizzard bore upon the defenders of Winterfell, only light could banish the darkness and give them a fighting chance.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands in Valyrian prayer. "Lord, bless us with your flame to banish the night."

Nothing.

She tried again. "Lord, bless us with your flame to banish the night."

Nothing.

"Lord, bless us with your flame to banish the night."

Nothing.

"AAAAAGH!" she screamed in frustration.

And then light.

In an instant, tens of thousands of swords ignited in one great sheet, the blessings of the Lord of Light granting their power upon the army of the living. From the howling screamers of the great Khalassar, to the frenzied Free Folk berserkers, to the stolid Unsullied phalanx, to the gallant knights of the Vale, all imbued with the fiery flames of the first Battle for the Dawn. Fanning out – their horses blasting through the snowdrifts piled on by the blizzard engulfing Winterfell – Ser Jorah raised the burning Valyrian steel blade of House Tarly and let out a sharp warcry. It spread along the entire line, Dothraki, Northman, and Valeman all as they slammed into the twisting bodies of the blue-eyed corpses. Hacking, chopping, slicing.

"Fuck you!" Swinging hard with her now alight dragonglass blade, Arya stabbed a rather fresh wight in the temple, ice blue twinkle snuffing out instantaneously. With a grunt and a kick, the daughter of Winterfell sent the corpse toppling to the ground. Close to her, her Uncle Benjen managed to destroy a few decayed wights simultaneously with his flaming chain. One wight managed to get close but Benjen destroyed it with a quick swipe of a dragonglass dagger he had.

A flash of red splattered blood across Arya's face, joining the dull red of the dried liquid already soaking her clothes and hair. A young lad, he couldn't be older than Rickon would have been, fell as a skeleton leapt on him, claw-like fingers ripping through his intestines. With a snarl, Arya stabbed forward with her Catspaw dagger, caving in the empty eye sockets of the skeleton. It was too late to save the boy though, his eyes wide and mouth frothing with blood.

"Behind you!" With but a blur of dark grey steel, Arya ducked. Gendry's warhammer disintegrating the face of an undead shadowcat. He was just as caked with blood, some of it his own with a shallow gash above his left eye and one oozing blood from his side. It made Arya want to kiss him, it made Arya want to hurl herself at the wights in a deranged fury of a woman whose love was in danger. "Watch my back!"

"Aye!" Twirling the daggers in her hands, Arya slashed at the legs of another wight, fighting nearly shoulder to shoulder with Gendry.

"AAAAAAAGGGGH!" Flames illuminating his scarred face, Sandor looked almost as demonic as those he was fighting. Larger than even Arya, his claymore swung with wild abandon. "I!" A fresh wight was cleaved in two. "Hate!" Another's arm and shoulder were hacked off. "Fucking!" A skeleton collapsed when he punched it in the face, pulverizing it. "Fire!" The crackling flames upon his sword only fueled his rage, seeking to drown the fire in a sea of destroyed wights.

Burying her dragonglass dagger right into the chest of a former Night's Watchman, all around Arya the sounds of clashing blades and screaming wights drowned out everything else. The Northmen and Wildlings, after retreating nearly to the Winterfell gates, finally advanced along with the Unsullied on the wings. Arrows stabbed through the windswept air, their oil and pitch-soaked arrowheads diving right into the packed mass of thousands. The archers had to try and miss.

Individual acts of heroism abounded. Tormund bellowed like a giant, hacking the front legs off an ice spider before a spearwife stabbed it through the mandibles. As a wight pushed a Mormont man-at-arms onto the blood-soaked ground, young Lyanna Mormont slid over and ran her short sword through its neck. She continued to slash at the onrushing dead… until two Bear Islanders grabbed her by the straps of her cuirass and dragged her back to the safety of their lines while she screamed to be let back in. Grey Worm, bellowing commands in High Valyrian as he thrust his spear into a wight, pulling it back and up as the line crashed into the shield wall. Gritting his teeth, he and his command let the wights push against the line, boots digging deep through the snow and dirt. With a warcry, he led the Unsullied in pushing forward with their shields, staggering the dead and allowing them to thrust again with their shields. Ghost managed to get the jump on more than a few straggling wights, using his razor-sharp canines to tear them to pieces.

Blade burying to the hilt, piercing the padded leather of northern armor, Arya kicked the lifeless wight into writhing mass of the continued charge. "Move! Forward, you cunts!" She advanced several paces, planting her feet in a defiant stand. "Men, with me!" The semicircular ring contracted inward as the Army of the Living pushed the wights back into the center… towards the waiting blades of the horse.

Gendry crushed another skull. "Arry! The trap is closed!"

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Hear that boys! We have em' trapped. Move in for the kill!" As if by magic, the darkness above vanished as the large black dragon swept in, tongue of flame reaching down at the attacking wights and incinerating thousands. Arya swore she could see Dany astride Drogon, the braids of her silver hair having been blown out by the furious wind. "The Dragon Queen is with us!"

"DRAGON QUEEN!" came the furious cry.

But suddenly the already deathly cold landscape grew even colder… the sweat and blood on Arya's brow starting to freeze. A blue far more malevolent than anything they had ever seen twinkled in pairs of eye sockets.

The White Walkers had arrived.

"Dracarys!"

Eyes turned skywards; the servants of the Night King watched as Drogon assaulted their armies – a weapon of mass devastation sufficient to turn the tide of the entire battle. Aside from a few stirrings of anger, their unhuman expressions were devoid of emotion. 'We cannot survive this'.

'It matters not'. Gripping a broadsword of enchanted ice rather than the spears of the others, one white walker seemed to command the others. 'You have your tasks, get to them'.

At once. Most charged towards the frontline, two towards the godswood, while three others moved to places unknown.

That left two, the commander and one other general, to coordinate the attack. He closed his eyes, letting the command breeze through to hundreds of thousands of minds. 'Kill them all'.

Jaw snapping shut, the tongue of flame dissipated without the black dragon's stoking, the snow and ice bracketing it without end. Flying low, undead shadowcats and direwolves and sabre-toothed tigers leapt at Drogon's wings. Dany winced as some dug their claws and teeth into his scales. Bank. Bank! A furious wingbeat sent them surging, dislodging all but the most determined of beasts. Drogon roared, a powerful roar that boomed across the landscape. Amber eyes nearly red with the dragon's wroth, he unleashed a torrent of flame onto his wings. Any beast remaining was incinerated.

"Good work, boy!" Dany shouted in High Valyrian, earning a loud trill in response. "Circle around and fire again!" Another trill, Drogon beating his wings as he complied with the command. Fire surging through her blood, Dany looked up at the dark thunderclouds above, lightning crackling within. 'Hurry Jon, I don't know if I can hold them off by myself'.

Below, calculating eyes watched the dragon bank around, it's black shape far darker than even the overcast sky. 'The King wants the dragons for himself'.

The leader of them – the oldest and first of Craster's sons sacrificed to the dark magic of the Children of the Forest – merely cocked his head at the young general. 'No. He wants the dragon King for himself. The Queen and her mount are fair game, so do it'.

If the malevolent beings were to have true feelings, this one would have sighed. But expressionless and quiet, he pushed past the snarling, swarming slaves around him. With a mere flick of his hand, a giant bear stopped in its tracks, lowering its head for the Walker to climb atop him. Allowing a perfect line of sight. The tiniest of smirks on his face, he drew the ice spear just as Drogon leveled out from his turn, aiming directly for the center of the army of the dead.

Sitting straighter in between the rows of spines, Daenerys's eyes narrowed. Her lips set in a firm, determined line. The horsemen of the Vale and her own Khalassar were wheeling around and around in a furious caracole, redoubling charges straight into the mass of dead while the less experienced riders mopped up the stragglers. They drove the monsters towards the waiting swords and spears of the defensive ring. Both Jon's northerners and her Unsullied marched steadily, piles of broken corpses left in their wake.

They were on the cusp of victory. Jon had his duty to fight the demon that killed Viserion, and she had her duty as well. A dark smile, one close to madness but nothing unearned by her foes this night, Daenerys gave the command to Drogon. "Dracarys!"

Any human warrior would have been unable to resist breaking at the sight of a massive dragon unleashing red-orange tongues of dragonfire from their maws… but the Walker wasn't human. Not anymore. Wights incinerated around him by the flames, the young general merely raised the spear to his shoulder, blue eyes tracking the Black Dread Reborn before taking aim and letting the javelin fly.

Unlike the Night King, the aim wasn't true. Instead, the spear grazed the side of Drogon's back, but sliced open his scales regardless in a twenty-foot gash. Fire snuffing out, Drogon shrieked. An almost unholy, terrifying sound of pure agony as he jolted suddenly in the air. Nearly stalling, his feet grazed the blackened ground, trying desperately to flee on sheer instinct.

But such didn't take his rider into account – not for the split-second of fear of death. Daenerys gripped his spines tightly, but the jolt was too much. Her hands slipped, and the sudden turn sent the Queen, crying out in fear, toppling to the snow below her.

Straight into the midst of the Army of the Dead.

A/N: The middle chapter of the Battle! I think Longclaw did a great job! The ideas were mine and I made a few additions of my own, but Longclaw did an amazing job executing my ideas! The living are doing a great job, I would say! But it doesn't end until the Night King falls. And he's still at large. Because Bran made the transition to the Three-Eyed Raven so quickly he's not as powerful as he could be. And even if he was, the Night King is much, much more powerful than him so Bran tracking him is next to impossible because the Night King can easily break and bend Bran's ravens and his visions. And the storm he has created is far too murky for even a raven to fly through easily. Sansa is still neutral. Maybe Missandei managed to talk some sense into her. Or perhaps Sansa is too much like Cersei and Littlefinger. Only wanting more power. And after her marriage with Ramsay, she never wants to feel that helpless again. As you can see, the Walkers will most certainly be playing a huge role in this. After all they and their master were being built up as the most dangerous threats. And unlike Dumb&Dumber in their fake nightmare of a season, I promise to deliver. Dany has fallen off Drogon and is now in the midst of the enemy. That's not good. She has her Valyrian Steel Sword with her, but she can't hold them all off on her own.

I hope you all loved this chapter. I promise Chapter 14 will be out and it won't take me 6 month to write. Thanks to my good buddy Longclaw, I should have it up and ready in a week or so. Who knows, maybe one day I'll ask for you guys to help me write it. D&D ruined the show instead of giving it to new showrunners. I won't do the same with my true ending. Oh, I have a question for you all. Will you guys ever rewatch Game of Thrones? I've been doing that with my dad because we bought the whole show in 4K. We are both enjoying it very much. But of course I will never watch the fake season again. In fact I got rid of it from my collection. Will you guys ever rewatch the show? Of course not the fake season but Seasons 1-7 or until whenever the show ends for you guys and then the story ends however you envision it or read it?

Anyways, thank you all so much for reading! I'm really excited because we are almost to Chapter 15 which is the "big game changing" chapter. I cannot wait to write and share it with you guys! Oh and one last thing. Tomorrow I have another batch of chemotherapy. Wish me luck my dear readers!