The end of the battle. Short but intense, or so I hope.


JON XVII

He barely had time to look at the red sea far away, since a sword was swung in his direction. Jon ducked just in time. The movement caused his head to spin. He managed to avoid another hit, then one more, and finally stumbled at the fourth. Laying on his back, he raised his sword and blocked what could have been a killing blow. He felt his arms giving away, unable to muster enough force to push back his enemy, a man with an armor displaying the fiery heart. But this man ended with an axe in the back, a gift from a Northerner of the hill tribes.

Jon stood up again, fighting the sickening feeling and the pain to his chest that threatened to placate him to the ground once more. He stabbed in the back the first enemy he saw fighting a Northerner. Another soldier limped toward him. He slashed him across the face, using this momentum to keep going forward. He just realized that the other side seemed to back away. All the Northerners advanced once again. Jon followed them. He wanted to fight, no matter the pain in his ribs, but the others didn't leave him much space to outrun them.

Jon used the break it gave him to look at the overall situation. It was then that he noticed the red banners displaying a golden lion, and also other sigils he recognized as houses of the Westerlands. The golden pyramid and sun of the Leffords. The silver ships of the Farmans. The burning tree of the Marbrands. The green arrow of the Sarsfields. They were on their right, but also at the front, mingling among the banners of the Vale and Stannis. Jon realized the latter sigils were being pushed by those of the west.

Jon thought for a short time to send a man to find out what the Lannisters were doing here, but in an instant he turned back to battle. Robb was in a batter position to see what was happening and to decide what to do. If he had specific orders for Jon, he would send messengers. For Jon, all he could do right now was to prepare for the worst if the Lannisters were attacking them. He regrouped his men he could find, and they ran together again towards Stannis' lines. No matter if the Lannisters were against them, Jon knew Stannis was their enemy and that he was the Lannisters' enemy too. In their situation, he could only hope he wasn't wrong about the people he once lived with and they would not stab him in the back as they fought a common enemy.

Jon felt the tide turn entirely. They gained terrain without interruption, and whenever he looked up from his immediate surroundings, he saw the banners of Stannis had lost ground.

A hand patted his shoulder. He recognized one of Robb's courrier. "My lord, the king is telling you to keep pushing against Stannis. The Lannisters are fighting on our side."

Jon felt a flood of relief go through him. He laughed, to the incredulity of the messenger. He looked up where he saw the red sea some time ago and realized another swarm was coming from a nearby hill. Jon laughed again at the situation. Then he turned back to the battle and shouted his men to keep advancing, directing them to fight Stannis Baratheon and his allies.

The battle fever was upon Jon. He had never felt better in his life. He pushed his comrades forward, killed any man with a sigil from the Vale or the fiery heart who came across his path. One by one, he felt that Stannis' men were falling. But they kept resisting.

As they kept walking forward, Jon noticed every new footstep was harder, slower to make as the exuberance receded. He began to feel strangled in all this mess of people, both allies and foes. Every movement he made, he hit someone in the ribs, on the shoulder, on the arm, on the head, or the legs. Soldiers both on feet and on horses got along, in all shapes and colors. Cries and yelling resounded in all forms and accents through the battlefield. Jon ended fighting with two Northerners on his left and right, squeezing him so hard he could barely move. He got thrown against a man without helmet and barely had time to raise his sword in a horizontal position. The sword just got pushed against the throat of the enemy who fell on the ground.

And then the unexpected happened. The enemy lines broke, but instead of falling apart, they gave way to a swarm of horsemen who hacked and cut everything in their way. Jon got pushed aside, falling again on the ground with many of his comrades. He got back on his feet in no time, not without jolting another flash of pain through his head, and slashed his sword without seeing anything. By sheer luck, he got a horse that fell on its side with his rider. He then finished the rider before he could get up. He barely noticed the man was in full armor, meaning he was definitely a knight and not some random mercenary.

New horses came in the open space that was created by the cavalry charge, this time bearing sigils of the west. Slowed down after their initial charge, Stannis' cavalry had no choice but to face the new threat at their back. Red armors battled fiery hearts. Jon lost no time and ran at a nearby knight. He stabbed his horse, making it lift its two front legs before it fell. Jon was almost crushed by the mount and only avoided it by an inch.

"Jon!" He heard his name coming from nearby. "Behind you."

He turned just in time according to instructions to see a sharp sword coming at him and parried at the last second. He came nose to nose with a square face and angry eyes topped by graying short hair. He felt the eyes of the man in front of him piercing him like daggers.

"You look very much like your father, Robb Stark, but you're a fucking traitor!"

The man slashed at him with an energy Jon couldn't match. He dodged, deflected, avoided the deadly blade, giving ground with every new sweep. Then he made a mistake. Instead of only deflecting a blow, he instinctively tried to block it. Coming from the right and top of the enemy, sword brought Jon's to his low right. His opponent, taking the chance, swung his sword up.

A sharp pain like none Jon ever experienced surged on the right side of his face. Jon dropped his sword and fell on his back, his hand on his face as he felt a hot liquid where his hand laid. His left eye registered the man who defeated him standing on top of him, a gaze of utter hatred in his eyes, raising his sword to deliver the final blow. Jon realized there was something he wished he could tell, but the person was not here to hear it. She wouldn't be here to hear it.

Then a shadow passed and a great cry of pain shouted out. The figure on top of him fell to his knees, then on his hands. Without thinking, Jon seized the small dagger at his belt, stumbling with his left hand. With a cry of rage, he plunged it in the back of the man who was about to kill him only a moment ago. Then he plunged it again, and again, and again, until he was no longer able to stab him.

His face fell hard against the earth, dust and leather. His breath was ragged, his heart pumped heavily in his chest, and the right side of his face got even warmer.

"Jon! Jon, son of a whore! Stay with us!" The voice came from far away. Someone grabbed him and turned him on his back. The face he saw was all blurry. "You saved my life. I'm not going to let you die, you bastard!"

Jon recognized this voice. Just before he fainted, he whispered the name.

"Teron."

And all went black.


I hope you all enjoyed the Battle of the Five Armies.

Please review

Next chapter : Tyrion (and the aftermath of the battle)