Fighting her way through, Rhaena managed to escape the chaos of the courtyard. It was strange to kill and yet her blade remained utterly clean from any blood. It appeared the dead did not bleed. Tossing the notion aside, Rhaena searched around desperately as her mind wracked itself for the quickest way to the godswood, turning around quickly as a screeching wight ran at her in order to take off it's head with a single, clean swing. She prayed Ser Barristan was watching over her, wishing more than ever that he was there beside her. Perhaps then she might not feel half so terrified as she was. A dragon does not feel fear. A dragon does not feel fear. Perhaps so, but Rhaena was not a dragon like Rhaegal or Drogon. She was a woman, and mortal at that, and she could bleed. Dragging herself away, her eyes fell upon a flight of stairs leading towards the ramparts. For the moment they were clear, and so Rhaena bolted for them as she was suddenly struck with a bolt of inspiration. She recalled one of her many discussions with Bran about his climbing, and the time he had told her the best ways to get from one side of the castle to the other. It was always over the rooftops. It was pure luck that Rhaena remembered his words, and greater fortune still that she happened to be in the area Bran had described to her as the most efficient way to clear a large section of Winterfell without ever needing to touch the ground.
Dragging herself up after sheathing her sword, Rhaena scrambled to climb the wall and lift herself onto the roof, imagining that a young Bran was instructing her in where to put her feet and hands, encouraging her to continue climbing before then taking off at a sprint. Vaulting from one rooftop to another, Rhaena passed over the thrashing masses of the undead as they continued to seek out the living, ignoring the sickening sensation in her stomach. The rooftops were clear, by the gods' mercy. She could have wept in gratitude. Ignoring the pain in her legs from forcing them to move so swiftly, Rhaena thundered over the rooftops of Winterfell, seeing the trees of the godswood gradually growing closer. Upon reaching the rooftop of the armoury, Rheana immediately saw the sentinel tree that Bran had described to her, the one he had used to climb as a boy. Diving for it, Rhaena grasped hold of one of the branches and swung down gracelessly, choosing haste over care. There were wights already in the godswood. Noticing them, Rhaena refrained from lowering herself to the ground and instead, leaped for the next tree. She climbed through them until she could no longer, breathing deeply before all at once, she ran along the limbs of one of the tree branches and with a yell, launched herself into the open.
Twisting whilst soaring through the air, Rhaena cast out her hands to create two slashes of fire as they burst from within her, rallying with her furious spirit and casting themselves upon the ground in a thick wall of flames which cast themselves directly in front of the Night King. He had made it to Bran, Rhaena noted as she struck the ground and rolled, rising quickly to her feet and drawing her sword in a single movement to place herself between Bran and the one who sought to kill him. The Night King reared backwards from the unexpected creation of fire, more from surprise than fear, his naturally freezing air cooling it into nothing remained but still, it did not stop the living female from creating more. Before the wights could charge, Rhaena had channelled a ring of fire around the earth to surround the weirwood tree and Bran, with her and only the Night King within it. She could not keep him out, she knew, for not even dragonfire could melt his frozen face. What good would her own fire be against him? But at the very least, she could keep the rest of the undead back, as well as the White Walkers whom Rhaena suspected were far more susceptible to heat and flames than their king. Catching her breath as she dropped her bow and quiver of arrows which were over half spent, Rhaena focused entirely upon the Night King with her sword in hand. For a brief moment, her eyes dropped to a figure on the ground, just beyond the border of her flames. Theon Greyjoy. At least he had kept his word, and defended Bran to his last breath. Lifting her eyes back to those of the Night King, Rhaena did not waste a single moment more.
Stepping forwards she swung her blade at her enemy who neatly tilted away from her strike, allowing her to come at him with everything she had. Rage and desperation fuelled her, thinking of Bran only a few feet behind her back, and so Rhaena moved with every fibre of her body fully attuned to the battle, roaring with heat and flames as they danced across her body and wreathed through her flowing hair. Not having anticipated such a resistance, the Night King reached up behind him and drew forth the sword made from ice he carried upon his back. When the two blades met, a powerful note of ringing song burst and sang clearly as they locked against one another. Rhaena breathed heavily, feeling as if the darkest depth of winter was breathing across her face, causing her to shiver and grow sluggish. Her own internal fire rallied in defiance, fuelling her with heat and warmth to combat the cold. The deeper the chill, the fiercer her fire became. Soon enough her footprints were enough to scorch the earth as Rhaena fought against the Night King, hardly even able to comprehend how she was moving before her body was simply reacting upon instinct.
It was impossible to tell who held the control, but with a sensation of dread, Rheana suspected she was only being toyed with. No sooner had the thought occurred to her, Rhaena felt ice slash against her flesh and draw blood against her thigh, swiftly followed by sharp stab into the chink of her armour between her shoulders. Disregarding the pain, Rheana continued to fight, still thinking of Bran as she battled with everything she had against the enemy. Ducking under a slice at her head, Rhaena shifted her feet in a quick turn in order to rise up behind the Night King, drawing back her arm in order to thrust forwards through his back where the heart should be but without even turning to face her, Rhaena was not quick enough to catch sight of the sword as it was switched in his grip and turned with the tip towards her. With a short yet powerful thrust, Rhaena felt it pass straight through her armour and her flesh, piercing her entire body before protruding from her back. It felt as if the breath had been utterly knocked from her lungs. As she froze from shock, Bran jerked in his seat, staring in silent horror as he saw the blade cut through Rhaena seemingly with ease.
Wet heat began to flow against her skin as Rhaena staggered, eyes widening as the Night King calmly dragged the sword free from her and turned, catching hold of her sword-arm in one hand and pressed the razor edge of his sword to her throat with the other, the clear ice now red from her blood. Seeing that she was beaten, Rhaena went utterly still, gasping for breath even as she felt herself continue to bleed from her injuries, staring incredulously at the Night King as her mind struggled to process what had happened. For a few moments, neither of them moved, until gradually the Night King drew away his sword and returned it to the scabbard upon his back. Confused and stunned by this action, Rhaena began to thrash and fight against him, intending to break free but no sooner was the sword sheathed, the Night King grasped hold of her throat in a vice like grip. Fingers colder than anything Rhaena had ever experienced squeezed as she was lifted onto her toes, scraping desperately against the ground where the leaves rustled pitifully beneath her. Between the sensation of freezing and choking, Rhaena wondered if this would be similar to what it would feel like to drown somewhere off the Frozen Shore, struggling for air as the Night King levelled his eyes upon her and just…stared. It was as if he were trying to read her, or even understand what she was. Whatever it was he was doing, it caused Rhaena's heart to race in panic, struggling against him with everything she had even to try and move her sword closer towards him even as she continued to bleed and throb with pain. Such an effort was futile, and as her vision began to swim from the lack of air and blood loss, the coldness of winter began to creep into her bones and all the way to her core where the heart of her internal fire resided.
Gradually it began to dim, a slow coaxing as if someone was gently whispering to simply go to sleep. Go to sleep and the pain would end. Go to sleep and you will dream forever. Go to sleep…and the endless night shall be your eternal shroud. For an ephemeral moment, Rhaena was tempted. It would be effortless to simply give in to the temptation, to let go and allow herself to merely drift away into nothing. The Night King promised her a place at his side, not as a mindless thrall, but as one of his own lieutenants to help lead others to spread the endless night to all those that would otherwise deny winter's hold. It would have been the easiest thing in the world…but Rhaena was not a follower, nor someone who could be conquered. She was a dragon, and the moment the last spark of her magic seemed to flicker, she released her roar.
Baring her teeth as heat and fiery summer poured through her entire form, Rhaena drew the dagger from the small of her back and slashed it across the Night King's face in a movement so swift it almost made contact. Ripping back his head, Rhaena used his own momentum to drag the freezing fingers from her neck, ignoring the pain as skin was scraped away from her flesh to leave several fresh wounds which bled freely. Fire rekindled and burst from her, burning across her body, cauterising her wounds and spreading over her sword as Rhaena twisted her wrist and pulled her entire body across in a movement which cut through the Night King's arm in a single, clean slice. It fell to the ground with a dull thud as Rhaena sucked in a second breath and roared once more. Somewhere in the distance, Drogon and Rhaegal answered as her dragon stirred into awakening, responding to the sudden wave of fire and magic which soared through his rider. Around them the boundary of flames climbed higher until they were taller than the trees and the walls of Winterfell, burning so intensely that merely standing near them was enough to scorch flesh and burn the undead to ashes. Even the White Walkers recoiled from the flames, several of them melting into crumbles of ice and snow.
Recovering from the shock of the sudden retaliation, the Night King retreated as Rhaena struck at him with her sword, bellowing with an outlandish fury as her violet eyes turned white with rage, burning with living fire as it pushed itself beyond the boundary of her person and spiralled into a living, breathing entity. Turning his head sharpy in order to see, the Night King became enshrouded in a hurricane of fire as Rhaena fought against the coldness he possessed, all but screaming wildly as she hacked and slashed. Fire caught upon him, refusing to go out as Rhaena continued to push her assault upon her enemy. Drawing his sword, the metal against ice once more began their sonorous song as they clashed repeatedly against one another, ringing even through the roaring of the flames as the swirling hurricane twisted higher and higher into the sky like a beacon until all at once, it crashed back downwards. Ignoring the fresh injuries the Night King delivered her, Rhaena thought only to end it all. The fire slammed against both Rhaena and the Night King as she released a final roar, powering everything into one final attack which tore the Night King's sword from his grasp as Rhaena twisted and jumped, using one of the trees to push herself upwards into the air as she brought her sword crashing down in an arch, seeing the flash of intense, unnaturally blue eyes stare up at her before all at once, she brought her sword crashing down upon him. The Night King had thrown up his remaining arm in order to shield himself, but Valyrian steel was sharp, and it cut through him like butter.
Tearing through his body, Rhaena could not recall where exactly her blade struck or how deeply it had carved through him as it had happened all too quickly. All Rhaena knew that was one moment she was staring directly into the sapphire bright eyes of the Night King, next, he had burst into ice and crumbled like a frozen sculpture as a moaning wind groaned through the godswood. The same moment the Night King fell, Rhaena's fires diminished into little more than flickering embers, the wights toppling where they fell as the White Walkers also disintegrated into shards of ice, collapsing where they stood as the magic which bound them beyond the realm of death was released, scattering into the wind and become nothing more than a whisper. Everything became eerily silent as Rhaena breathed, frantically turning in order to face the next opponent, the next threat, but nothing stirred. The dead returned to being dead, and never moved again. A tortured whimper rippled from Rhaena's throat as she looked about her, feeling Whitefyre slip through her bloodied fingers as she then staggered. It was over. Finally over. The dead were finished, and the endless night thwarted.
Turning to face Bran, Rhaena gasped with relief to see him there, perfectly untouched and unharmed. Even with the smoking remains of charred trees around them, Bran was utterly unblemished. Releasing a sob, Rhaena started towards Bran but the moment she attempted to put weight upon her left leg it collapsed beneath her, and she crumbled to the ground. Fresh wounds continued to bleed, and her neck felt as if it had turned to a solid block of ice from where the Night King had strangled her. All her energy was spent, and for a few brief moments, Rhaena wondered if she was dying. "Rhae!" Hearing someone call to her, Rhaena blinked blearily against the shadows and bursts of light from the fires around her as she lay upon the charred earth, drinking in its scent. When her name was called again, Rhaena twisted herself to see Bran reaching out towards her, attempting to manoeuvre his chair in order to come closer. Stretching out her hand, Rhaena fisted her fingers into the burned earth and attempted to drag herself towards Bran, managing to slowly shift and crawl her way towards him until he simply cast himself out of his chair and dragged himself towards her also. They met before the pool, Bran grasping hold of Rhaena and somehow managing to shift her into his arms, resting her upon his lap as he pulled his furs away from his tangled legs and instead lay them across her. "Do not die, Rhaena. You cannot die. You are still needed here." Bran whispered to her and as Rhaena managed to focus upon him, she smiled.
"Sweet Bran…this is perhaps the most emotion I've seen from you since you were a boy." Her fingers lifted to his face and touched at the tears that were overflowing, touched that he allowed himself to express his feelings just for her. "Are you safe now, Bran? Tell me you are safe."
"Yes…yes I'm safe now. We're all safe. The night is ended." Glad to hear it, Rhaena thought that perhaps now it would not matter if she closed her eyes for a while in order to rest. She was exhausted, and every part of her ached in varying degrees of pain. She could hear Bran whispering to her softly, holding her tenderly in his arms whilst cradling her head against his neck, brushing at her hair as she felt the first flakes of snow descending upon them in a fresh snowfall. It felt oddly comforting, though strange at the same time. After all, it seemed to Rhaena that it was not so long ago that she was embracing Bran in a similar manner, swaying with him as she told him her stories and sang her songs. How time had flown and how much had changed. All the same, at least the worst of it was now over, and finally Rhaena could rest in peace and quiet. This much, she reasoned, she had earned.