Finally complete. Big Thanks to my beta the Hope Lions. None of this would've been as good as it is without you


Arya

"Watch it!" Sandor shouted as he swung Heartsbane directly down onto a wight, cutting it perfectly in half and just nearly missing Arya. "You're not keeping track of yourself girl!" He told her as he kept on fighting.

Stabbing Blackfyre into the torso of a wight, Arya shrugged his criticism of her off. "I've never been in a battle before!" When they all made the charge, Arya expected it all to be something from a song. At the beginning it was, all the soldiers shouting battle cries and fueled with a desire to win, but in heart of it all everything was chaos and the goal was to survive it. One moment, she would be fighting alongside someone. The next moment they would be on the ground dead or a trying to kill her.

Skewering a freshly made wight, Sandor lifted the creature off its feet and threw the body of the sword. "Doesn't matter if you want to stay alive!"

A wight covered in flames burst throw the battle and charged at Sandor, causing him to tense up. Feeling the need to save him, Arya slit the knees of the wight she was just engaged with and ran into the burning wights path and slashed it across the chest.

When she turned around to check if he was alright, Sandor was already back into to combat, not wanting to be seen as he was.

"Fucking fiery cunts!" He shouted while carving the Valyrian great sword through four wights with one swing. All around them were the warriors of the Fiery Hand from Essos, fighting side by side with the men of the Stormlands against the dead with their flaming swords. The dead caught fire like pitch but they didn't die as quickly they would from dragonglass and Valyrian steel.

Arya made sure to keep close to Sandor. Her skills were sharper than they have ever been, but she wouldn't risk making another mistake that could get her killed. Not to mention, she was only sixteen and rather small for her size. Her strength was far from that of the dead, and they could easily overpower her. But what she did have that they didn't was greater speed.

Dodging a rusty chain of all things, Arya stomped her foot on the end of it when it touched the ground and stabbed Blackfyre into the wight's exposed ribcage. The entire creature collapsed into a pile of bones, hardly any flesh on them, before she was faced with a sword swinging straight for her.

Reacting on instinct, Arya's knees fell to the snow and the blade whisteled over her, just barely missing her skin. The wight sent a flury of attacks after Arya, but its movements were so rash and barbaric that she could dodge them with hardly any effort.

The wight stopped and took a moment to realize what it was doing was completely useless agaisnt her, which surprised Arya, but doing so allowed it to be stabbed by Valyrian steel through the hip.

Arya could feel herself getting better at this. Maybe she should start keeping count to see how many she could kill.

All thoughts emptied her mind when a terrifying screeching came from the sky.

Looking up, Arya saw the undead dragon flying towards where she was fighting and being chased by Ygris. The Night King must have given up his chase for her as he finally turned his attention where everyone was hoping he wouldn't.

The undead dragon opened its mouth and an evil blue light formed from the back of its throat. Seconds later, blue fire blasted from the mouth the dragon. The flames were about twenty yards away from Arya, but force of the blast's impact knocked her backwards off of her feet.

She hit the ground hard and started to feel light headed. Her ears started to ring and her vision blurred. From what she could see, there was a great trail of blue fire stretching across the battlefield, killing more of the living than it did the dead.

A great many others were knocked into the snow from the blast of fire, but their fate was no better than those the blue flames hit. When everyone tried to regain their footing, soldiers were swarmed by wights and brutally massacred.

Arya felt her grip on Blackfyre tighten immensely when a large Wildling wight thrusted a spear down at her. Still in a daze, Arya rolled over and dodged the jagged steel. Swinging her legs, Arya kicked her feet up and managed to knock the spear out of the way. Swinging Blackfyre, she was able to cut the blade into the wights sleeve, enough that it fell down hard on top of her. She grunted hard when the full weight of the wight pinned her in the snow.

Using all her strength, Arya slipped out from underneath the wight and finally regained her senses. She looked all around her and saw hundreds of wights overrunning the Stormland soldiers and Fiery Hand. Burning swords were dowsed as the wielders fell dead at the hands of the wights. The undead dragon was returning high into the skies, Ygris unleashing a burst stream of fire right behind it.

"Sandor!" Arya shouted. She looked all around the battlefield and tried to find any hint of him, but everything was becoming to chaotic. The last place she remembered seeing him was near where the blue dragon fire hit the ground. She thought the worst happened to him as she stared at the fire flickering from the ground, the flames rising higher than her. Standing from where she was, she could feel the heat like it was right next to her. Yet with the heat so great, the snow around the flames remained frozen.

Arya's attention turned to the sound of clashing steel behind her. She turned and saw one of the Fiery Hand getting stabbed through the head with a crude dagger. Without a second thought, Arya rushed forward and stabbed her sword through the wight's body. The soldier it killed didn't even hit the ground when his eyes turned blue, the dagger still imbedded in his skull.

The newly made wight swept its foot at Arya's legs and knocked her backwards. Before she could get up, the wight was already on top of her. Arya held Blackyre up with her hands and used all of her strength to keep the wight away. It clawed at her leather armor, trying to tear through to her skin.

The wight wore a steel breastplate, giving Arya no chance to cut through even with the Valyrian steel. The only place that wasn't protected was the wight's neck. Arya maneuvered Blackyre up the breastplate as best she could and lined the edge up to its neck. She slid the blade across the wight's neck and the magic of the steel diminished the blue light of the wight's eyes. But the wound Arya just inflicted was not a clean one. A great amount of blood began to spill out of the neck and poured over Arya's face.

She shut her eyes and spit out the blood that dripped into her mouth as she shoved the body aside. She let go of Blackfyre and started to wipe the blood off of her face. But strangely, the blood had already frozen, far too quickly than it should have. She started to panic and claw at her eyes, trying to get the blood off so she could open them.

Her efforts stopped when she felt something trip over her and all of the sounds around rushed into her mind at the same time. Her time training in Bravos as a Faceless Man enhanced everything it could when her sight was gone, making everything around her far worse.

From every direction all Arya could hear was pain and death in the most vile of ways. Images of the Stark army massacre at the Red Wedding began to flash through her mind. Men screaming like newborn babes and begging for mercy or something to save them from their last moments before death.

"HELP ME!" Crude steel tearing through flesh was ever constant.

"NO! NO! Nooaugh!" The only thing Arya could hear was a gagging before what could be bones being ripped out of the body.

"Die you cu-" Whoever said those words was cut short when the sound of a blade immediately stopped his words.

Every skill Arya knew of swordplay, stealth, it meant nothing now. She desperately crawled around the snow, hoping that she would find someone who could help her. She wanted Sandor to find her, Gendry, Jon, anyone. She wanted her father to save her from the part of war that is never made into a song.

She bumped her head into what felt like a stone pillar, but it was wearing greaves of a sort. Letting go of Blackfyre, Arya felt her hand in front of her to see if she could identify the shape of what it was. She could feel a boot, and a leg attached to it. It couldn't be a wight, otherwise she would've been dead already.

"You have to help me, I can't open my eyes!"

Whoever it was, they didn't say anything to her. In fact the only noise she could hear coming from them was a strange one, like ice breaking. Every hair on her skin stood up when she remembered what creature made such a noise. It kicked her onto her back and from where she was, Arya could hear the creature pick up Blackfyre and toss it away.

A great presence of cold reached down to Arya. In a scared attempt, she swung a fist at what was in front of her. Her hand was caught but a grip firm as stone and a freezing sensation shot through Arya's left arm. She let out an agonizing scream and clutched at her arm once she was realised, begging that the pain would fade.

The strange icy sound was made again followed by what sounded like a sword being unsheathed.

'So this is how I die. Blind and alone on the battlefield. I don't want to die yet!'

Someone began yelling out as loud as the could and snapped Arya out of her fear. Aside form that noise, there was a wild barking getting louder and louder. There was a loud thud just in front of her and the sound of a predator's prey being torn to shreds. Whoever was shouting stopped as a hammer swung through the air and shattered something like glass.

Seconds later, a pair of arms picked her up and started to drag her away.

"I got you milady."

"Gendry?"

"Who else would it be?" He told her. Gendry stopped and sat her up against what felt like a big body. "Hold still, she's gonna clean the blood off your eyes."

Before Arya could ask, some large, warm, and wet began to lick at her face. It didn't take long for the blood to be cleaned off her face. The first thing she saw when her eyes open was a big pair of golden ones looking at her. Arya nearly burst into now that she finally got to reunite with Nymeria. Forgetting the pain in her arm, Arya lurched forward and embraced her direwolf around her large mane.

"Don't leave me again girl." Arya begged with all her heart.

"She won't, and neither will I." Gendry informed as he knelt down to Arya and held her tightly. "How's the arm?"

Arya let go of Nymeria and held up her left arm to Gendry. "It's cold and it hurts like a bite in the arse."

Gendry gently undid her leather vambrace and rolled her sleeve down. Arya clenched her teeth as the fabric slid on her skin and felt like a knife. Her left arm was dark red but the snub was very pale.

"You need a maester. I'm taking you to the camps-"

Nymeria started to growl loudly and bore her teeth at something behind the two of them. Gendry and Arya turned their heads and saw a group of wights heading straight towards them with nothing in their way.

"Seven hells," Gendry shook his head, "can you fight?" He reached behind him and held Blackfyre out to Arya.

She grabbed hold of the handle and got on her feet, keeping her injured arm close to her body. "Do you think we're going to die here?" She asked him as they faced the wights.

"Not today."


Edric

The battle was going on for just over an hour now, but to everyone fighting it felt like weeks were passing by. The durability of the dragonglass weapons proved to not last as long, for the rock itself was brittle and cracked. At this point, all anyone could do was rely on regular steel weapons. That was until torches became deadlier than any blade. Nearly every man wielded a burning torch instead of a sword, and spears dipped in pitch set alight.

Rather than wielding a flaming weapon, Edric was fortunate enough to be graced with two swords that were still able to kill the undead on strike. Fighting for so long made his armor was dented and battered. The only bits that he still wore were his greaves, breastplate, chainmail, and left spaulder. Everything was absolute hell, and he was right in the middle of it.

He just finished fighting off a great wight snow bear with seven other men, and then the six that died trying. Taking a moment, Edric gazed around the fighting just to take in the chaos and tried to spot any sign of victory in his favor. "Come on Ned," he told himself, "show these old men of Dorne the power of youth."

Every moment he swung his swords, Edric felt like he was dancing in the cold. But this dance wasn't one of entertainment or the steps of something formal. This dance was driven by his heart and fueled with every emotion he could put into it. Anger against the mindless evil that killed any and everyone without a second thought. Fear that his skill was not great to be a Sword of the Morning, that one inch too shy of his strikes and blocks might be the inch that gets him killed. But most of all hope. Hope that he will live through this catastrophe. Hope that he will see his wife and children at the end of all this. Hope that there would be the moment of absolute victory.

First Light struck deep into a crude iron shield belonging to a long dead wight and wouldn't budge. Letting go of the sword, Edric dodged an axe that swung at his head and swiftly planted Dawn deep into the wight's body.

Edric reached to free First Light from the shield, but he failed to see a wight's sword slash down at him. The chainmail held strong, not a single ring breaking, but the slash was great enough that the force it carried brought great pain to Edric's sword arm.

Edric cried out as the pain shot up his arm, as if it pricked every nerve possible. In anger he cut down the wight that struck him as fast he could before a large arm wrapped around his body and started dragging him away from the battle.

"Make way! Lord Dayne is injured!"

First Light disappeared in a swarm of soldiers, both living and dead. "Release me! I can still fi-" Something hard hit him in the head, making everything go dark.

The next thing Edric knew, he was lying down on a bed in one of the tents. His eyes opened and everything was a blurry haze. He tried to move, but a maester next at his bedside forced him to stay still.

"My lord," the old man said, "you mustn't move. The chainmail protected your arm from dismemberment, but the strength of the strike tore your skin to the muscle."

Edric lifted his head and could see his sleeve had been rolled up and a large gash just below the wrist on his right arm. "Seven hells," he muttered, "my sword arm."

"Drink this." The maester held up a small vial to Edric's lips.

"What is it?"

"Milk of the Poppy."

"I don't any damn Milk of-" Edric was slapped across his face by the maester.

"If I hear one more person say they don't want Milk of the Poppy, I'll make them beg for it. Drink the milk."

Edric rolled his eyes and did as he was told. All things considered, it did not taste like any kind of milk at all, but it was sour. He swallowed the medicine and watched as the maester prepared to do his work. Faintly, he could still hear the noises of war. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. You woke up as quick as you were brought to me."

"My sword, where's Dawn?"

"Resting on a table behind your head."

"Then do what you must as fast as you can. I need to get back out there."

The maester chuckled lightly as he worked some herbs in a mortar. "As you wish. The soonest you'll be ready will be in about… three weeks."

"I need to get back out there now." Edric demanded.

"The bones in your arm are cracked. Any violent movement and they'll fracture. Then it will be months before you recover and the damage to your arm will permanently affect your ability with a sword." The maester mixed the mortar contents with a strange liquid and brought it to Edric.

"I can't rest on a bed while others fight and die to protect the country."

"You can and you will. Bite down on this and don't move." The maester held out a thick piece of leather to Edric who bit it hastily. Using a small spoon, the maester dripped the liquid onto Edric's wound. Edric clenched his teeth and his whole body when the liquid touched his injury. each drop felt like searing hot daggers sinking deeper into what was already done. He cried out and bit down on the leather as heard as he could, nearly biting through to his teeth. "Now think how bad that would've been without the Milk of the Poppy." The maester stopped applying the liquid to Edric's wound and began the stitching.

The feeling of the needle was unnoticeable, so Edric spat the leather out of his mouth and breathed heavily, recovering from the pain.

"If you go out there like this, you won't even live through the first thing that attacks you. How glorious will your death be then, hm?" With his sewing done, the maester cut the thread and began to wrap a clean bandage around the wound. "I would advise you to rest, but none of the men I've treated so far have been able to while the battle continues to rage on. I won't force you to stay in bed, but there are two men out there who will make sure as all the hells that exist that you don't go back to the fight." He finished with the bandage and strapped a wooden brace on Edric's arm, securing it snuggly as to not make it hurt any more than it would and restricting his wrist from moving. "Sit up." The maester help Edric sit up before retrieving a sling and wrapping it around Edric's neck and resting his arm in it. "You're all set. You can stay here and try to rest as per my recommendation or go out there. But what do I care? I'm just the one trying to save lives." The excused himself from Edric's presence and sat himself at a table that had a water skin, but it was probably filled with wine.

Being stubborn as he was, Edric got out of the bed, retrieved Dawn, and left the tent. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to rest, he wouldn't be able to while the battle continued on. But he also didn't want to be in the company of himself or that maester, so he decided to go to where he would feel at best during the time.

Followed by his guards, both of whom were Dornish, Edric walked through the camps until he arrived at the safest area in the entire camp. Entering the clearing in the middle of the encampment, the first thing he saw was Lyarras sitting upright, keeping a vigil over those she protected. In front of her was the Queen Daenerys, her handmaiden, Lord Brandon, Lord Rickon, and Lady Sansa who was the first to notice his presence.

"Lord Edric," she said before noticing his arm in a sling, "what happened? Are you alright?"

"Sword to the arm, my lady. But luckily my armor protected me from far worse." His guards gave him some distance as he approached the small host of lords and ladies. Brandon Stark was in his chair as always, and his eyes were the white of a warg's that Edric had heard so much about. It was a surprise for him to see that young Rickon's eyes were the exact same.

"Are you in pain?" Sansa asked.

"Not as much as I was when the wound was treated. I swear, that maester made it hurt on purpose. But in all good things, I will recover. I only wish it could miraculously heal now so that I can return to the battle. I can't stand all this waiting to find out who wins."

"You shouldn't be hard on yourself. I understand that you wish you want to be alongside your men. But if you died, what story would be told to your children about your demise?"

She had a point. If he did die like the maester said he would, what story or legacy would his children have to look up to? He didn't want them to learn to fight until the death, he wanted them to learn to fight until victory. "I just wish I could do more."

"You've done more than most could, and no one can say you did nothing. I'm afraid the same can't be said for me though." She looked like she was upset at herself. "I couldn't learn to shoot a bow or wield a spear, leaving me to endure this whole thing. All I've done is sit idly by and nearly get killed."

Edric gave her a reassuring smile. Sansa seemed to always lift her spirits whenever they spent time together. Seeing her in such a doubting state was unchivalrous of him. "Not everyone can find a place on the battlefield Sansa. Your skills lie in the game for the throne, and they can and will be deadlier than any blade, arrow, or dragon that we have."

Rickon suddenly gasped as if desperately trying to breath from lack of air in his lungs. He fell to hands and was helped up by the Queens handmaiden.

"Are you alright?" Daenerys asked.

Rickon nodded at her as he got to his feet. "Jon's getting close. He's just a mile away from us."


Tyrion

While the cavalry, infantry, and the other ground forces fought the wights at the pass and the collapsed Wall, the archers on the eastern battlements of the pass continued their volleys of arrows as long as they still had them.

The dead had no bows for reason that no one understood but they did occasionally launch spears and javelins at archers. The dead were getting smart as they kept their shields above their heads to catch the arrow falling from above. Grouping together, they were form small squads of shield walls and throw their weapons.

Luckily for the three heroes of the Blackwater Bay, they were all spared the fate of those that took spears to their bodies. The three of them stood at the edge of the ramparts, aiming for precise targets rather than participating in the volleys. Tyrion was given a box to stand on that he may be able to actually see what he was trying to shoot with his crossbow.

"How many do you think we've killed?" Bronn asked as he shot another arrow from his bow string down from the east battlements into the passageway.

"It's hard to say," Tyrion shot another bolt from his cross bow, "they're so many bodies down there, its hard to tell if I'm shooting at the enemy or something already dead."

"Just shoot what's moving." Bronn told him as he shot another arrow, looking fully confident that he hit something. He reached for another arrow that should have been in a bundle leaning up against the ice, but there weren't any more. "Podd!" Bronn shouted. "I need more arrows."

"I don't have more!" Podrick told him.

"I need arrows!" Bronn shouted openly while looking for anyone who had any to spare. But to his surprise, everyone was on their last arrows.

Tyrion still had six bolts, but he was the only one using a crossbow so it didn't matter. The men on the ramparts began to grow confused and angry, trying to get more of what they didn't have. While they argued, Tyrion noticed the dead began to rush the east side of the pass, swarming at the broken infantry to break through. That didn't much sense to Tyrion. The infantry was broken for now, but they were recovering fast enough and an attack from behind would be futile. There are five hundred men at the catapults, but even if the dead tried to attack them, there would be no more than a couple hundred that would get through and there were wargs that could see were reinforcements would be needed. And if the dead tried to flank the archers, it would be against worse odds.

"Bronn!" Tyrion called.

"Unless you're giving me that crossbow, I'm not interested." Bronn told him.

The dead were started to slip through and push the infantry away to establish a permanent line of entry. Only two managed to get past the soldiers, but they didn't run for the catapults or the archers, just east to nothing. It wouldn't make sense of they were trying to flee the battle when they were gaining the upper hand.

"Bronn!" Tyrion shouted louder.

"What?" Bronn asked angrily.

"What do think they're doing." Tyrion pointed out to the two wights that were gaining a small following of almost a dozen wights.

"I don't know. Is there anything east of here?"

"The closest place is Oakenshield, but it's thirty miles away. The battle will be over before they get there, and that's if they get past Rhaegal." It suddenly hit Tyrion in the head like a rock what the wights were trying to do. Even injured, Rhaegal could hold his own against a couple dozen wights. But if a dragon stuck on the ground had to face a hundred or more wights, it would surely lose. "They're going after Rhaegal! We need to reinforce the lines and keep more from getting through."

Bronn didn't hesitate to forget about the lack of ammunition and threw his bow to the side and drew his sword. He shoved past the men around to get to the stairs. "Quit standing around with hands on your cocks and get down there!" He shouted.

Other men rallied to him and drew their swords as well, rushing to get down from the what was now the spectators wall and into the fight. But others were not so brave as to follow their fellow soldiers into battle.

"What are you waiting for? Let's get down there?" Tyrion called to them.

"We're archers, not fighters." One of the men reminded. "We can't fight with swords as good as they can."

"So the battle is over for you then? Should I have some and ale sent up for you to enjoy watching the battle? I may be half a man, but I'm going down there to fight with the armies none the less. If you're not going to fight in this battle anymore, then why did you come to fight at all?" Some of the men looked ashamed at the truth of Tyrion's words. "Westeros is our home, and the home of our families!"

"Aye!" many of the men said in unison.

"If both of those aren't worth fighting for, then fight for yourselves! Fight so that you may live to see the light of tomorrow! Fight so that you make love to woman after tonight! Fight for glory! For honor! Fight for anything you can in this shit world and make it make it greater than it is!"

"AYE!" The men drew the swords they had and raised them up high and cheered for Tyrion. "Half man, half man, half man!"

"Podd, my axe." Podrick gave Tyrion a small dragonglass axe, made in the same size and shape of his axe from the Blackwater.

Leading the men down the steps of wood and ice, Tyrion began to question what in seven hells he was doing. Leading a charge? Rallying soldiers? This was the same foolish courage that nearly killed him at the Mud Gate of Kings Landing. But, maybe a fool's courage is what the battle needed right now. Many of the archers ran past Tyrion since his little legs could only go so fast as he could move them.

Bronn and his men were already engaging themselves against more wights that were slipping through. It would only be dozens right now, but if they don't plug the gap in the infantry in time, then there will be hundreds coming through.

But the dead were far stronger than Tyrion thought at first. The wights coming through the past focused entirely on breaking through to the east. The number of wights grew greater than anyone could have hoped for, and soon the dead would outnumber the living three to one.

Faintly, a horn could be heard from far way. It was a signal for reinforcements. But it would be a long wait for them to arrive. The archers would have to survive as long as they could, or let their deaths not be in vein.

Tyrion's only advantage in the fight was his size of all things. When the men he led began to fight the dead, he was practically ignored. None of them had any armor on their legs, giving Tyrion a great selection of easy kills. Swinging his axe with all the strength he could muster, Tyrion began chopping through flesh and bone as if he were a lumberjack. He had to careful who he attacked, for at his height he could barely see who had the blue eyes of the dead and who didn't.

Everything around was loud. The clashing of steel, breaking of bones, battering of armor, and cutting of flesh. But none of it was great enough to drown out the sound that erupted from the skies. Tyrion glanced up and saw the Night King's dragon flying high in the sky and Jon's white dragon diving down from higher up, heading straight for the Night King.


Jon

He was almost there. An hour of riding through thick snow and Jon was nearly at the camps, and soon he and Lyarras would be able to join Ygris in the skies and defeat the Night King. Though Lyarras wasn't as large or powerful as Rhaegal, she and Ygris were faster, and from all his years of fighting Jon was sure that speed was what determined the outcome of a fight. His only concern was if he would be able to handle it, he didn't have much experience flying to begin with and he was barely able to handle Rhaegal. But maybe His connection with Lyarras would be stronger since she had more of an attachment to him than Daenerys's dragons.

At the beginning of the ride, Jon was feeling doubtful about this whole thing. But after miles on horseback, having to watch and listen to his army fight and die while he was safely away from it all turned his doubt into anger. He would not be defeated by the Night King again. This time, he would be the one to stare at those eyes of ice without a single doubt that victory was his. But first, he had to get close to the wretched creature to even see those eyes.

All his emotions started to become mixed and confused, as if colliding with each other. But one thing that was clear among them was that his help was needed, desperately.

Jon halted his horse, his escort stopping with him.

"What's the matter?" Benjen asked.

"Something's wrong." Jon told him. This feeling left his mind and entered his heart, weighing heavily on him. His eyes were drawn to the sky and he could see Ygris chasing after the Viserion. But he could feel that she was growing tired and weak. Something had to be done now or else the tables would turn and she would surely be killed. "Ygris needs me now." Jon told them. "we won't make it to Lyarras in time."

Getting comfortable on his horse, Jon warged into Ygris and entered her mind, saw through her eyes, and felt her fatigue. Her thoughts aligned next to his, ready to know what he could do.

Ygris was faster than Viserion by far, but the undead dragon felt no pain or fatigue and neither did the rider. Such advantages are what gave the Night King the ability to handle such wild maneuvers. Whenever she would get close enough to use her fire or physically attack the two of them, they would break away that would throw any normal human off the back of the dragon. If Jon wanted Ygris to catch Viserion, she would need a strategy, and she would get one now that Jon was with her, in mind and spirit.

As far as he knew, the dragons were fantastic flying creatures, but if they were thrown off balance enough then they would fall out of the sky with only a slim chance to recover. Against an undead dragon with hardly any limits and incredible dodging capabilities, Ygris would have to flying in so fast that there was no possible chance for him to dodge.

'Fly up as high as you can.' Jon told her. Ygris didn't hesitate to follow Jon's guidance and rose up to the clouds, letting the Night King and Viserion slip away from her. Jon half expected them to follow, but luckily that wasn't to be. Ygris' senses allowed her to know where they were, and there wouldn't be much time before they began another attack. Ygris used every once ounce of strength she could to rise higher and higher, her wings burning with exhaustion but empowered by the fight at hand.

'Dive now!' Ygris stopped rising and twisted her body as she began to free fall through the clouds. Through Ygris' mind, Jon could fell where Viserion was as she gained a great amount of speed. Aiming for the path of Viserion, Ygris was like a falling star with nothing that stop her. In this moment of time, neither Jon nor Ygris felt anything but the wind, the snow, and the clouds brushing past them. A sheer moment of bliss before the chaos. 'One day,' Jon thought to Ygris, 'we will fly together in the clouds with no battle or enemies to give a damn about. Just us and the freedom of the sky.' Ygris felt excited just before she burst through the clouds. Viserion wasn't far away and her speed rapidly closed the distance between them.

Ygris triumphantly roared as the Night King finally saw her, the look in his eyes being nothing but surprise. She crashed into Viserion, throwing him in a spiraling fall while attacking at him with everything she had and gripping her talons on his body, easily piercing the decaying dragonhide. Viserion cried out as Ygris tore at his flesh with her fangs, having nothing hold her back. This creature was no dragon, just the husk of one. Ripping at Viserion's neck Ygris tore down to his bones, ripping through everything she could while ignoring the horrible taste of his stale flesh.

Despite her efforts, Ygris made no progress in her attempt to behead Viserion, the constant whipping around in the air preventing her from attacking effectively, so she began to inflict what he did to Rhaegal. Tearing her talon's through the skin of his wings, Ygris crippled Viserion from ever flying again, making him just as vulnerable as Rhaegal was, but she didn't stop there. She sank her teeth in the elbow of the wing and with all her might snapped the bone in half and tore the wing off.

With no possible way to recover from the fall, Ygris released her grip on Viserion and spread her wings to catch air. Just as she let go, Viserion reached his head out and bit down on her tail. She cried out as a great weight pulled her back down to join her in the fall. The pain was not only felt by her, but Jon as well. She tried to thrash around to free herself, but the Viserion's but only tightened the more she did.

Jon began to panic. The dragons were nearing the ground at a very fast fall and they were headed for the trees on the south side of the Wall close to where he was. Jon tried thinking of something to fix this, anything. But against his own desire or will, he was forced out of Ygris' mind by her and returned to himself. He gasped heavily as the exhaustion of warging overtook him for a moment. He looked back up to the sky and saw the two dragons fall over the trees and out of sight. Seconds later, the sound of trees breaking and the ground shaking boomed all around. Without hesitation Jon spurred his horse to gallop into the woods.

"Jon wait!" Benjen called as he, Beric and the rest of the escort followed after him.

Jon would not wait for them. He would not let another dragon die because of him. The trees around them all began to thin out and they came to a small clearing. There were two trees lying on their sides, their roots ripped from the ground and the dirt covering the snow. Away from the trees was Viserion, lying still and covered in wounds. Next to him was Ygris, groaning and slowly getting up.

Jon could feel that she was weak and hurt. As he dismounted, Jon's horse began to act wildly, as did the other horses when their riders dismounted. Jon lost grip of the reigns and his horse ran away from him, the others joining suite. Jon drew Longclaw from its scabbard and stayed alert. The dragons were in sight, but not the Night King.

Beric drew his sword and ignited it in flames while Benjen did the same, except with a strange mace head attached to a long metal chain. The brothers of the Watch wielded dragonglass spears and kept their swords sheathed. Stepping slowly towards the dragons, everything grew ghostly quiet in the clearing. Not the whistling of wind, nor the scrunching of snow beneath their footsteps made a noise.

Ygris rose her head off and starting to shake away any daze she was feeling. But without warning or any indication of intention, Viserion screeched out from his supposed unconsciousness and attacked Ygris. He sank his teeth into her neck and lifted her off the ground and began to viciously thrash her around.

Jon's feet picked off the ground and he ran as fast as he could.

Viserion threw Ygris to the side as he saw Jon coming after him. She landed in the snow and was bleeding heavily from her wounds. Her growls became moans of pain as she lay motionless but barely alive.

Jon raised Longlcaw as Viserion positioned himself and opened his jaws, revealing his teeth. The dragon lunged his head forward at Jon but missed as Benjen tackled out of the way from behind. The others drew Viserion's attention away from them as Benjen grabbed Jon's arm and pulled him away.

"Don't be reckless fool!" Benjen ordered. "You're not gonna kill a dragon like that!"

Jon couldn't help what he just did. She Ygris being attacked like that made him so angry beyond his control. But Benjen was right. Jon had to keep his calm and focus if they were going to live through this. But he also had to get to Ygris, he had to protect her.

Everyone backed from Viserion and kept their distance from him. When the dragon tried to move closer, he failed to notice that the fall broke one of his legs, and without a full wing moving nearly impossible. Viserion's mouth began to glow blue as he prepared to unleash his fire upon them all. But Ygris' attack to his neck open his throat and when Viserion tried to attack, the flames came out of the hole more than his mouth. The fires were weak and uncontrolled, spraying nowhere they were intended.

Viserion began to bang his body around, like he having a fit that he was practically useless now. But he was smart enough to keep close to Ygris so that no one could see to her.

But the moment everyone thought that Viserion was the least of their problems, one of the brothers of the Watch gasped for air suddenly.

They turned to see that a spear of ice was in his back and protruding his chest before he fell flat in the snow. From the direction where the spear came, they all saw four White Walkers approaching, all armed with their weapons of ice.

Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw as two of the White Walkers split from the group and approached him and Benjen who began swinging his chain.


Daenerys

"Ygris!" Daenerys was unable to contain herself when she saw the two dragons crash into the trees just a mile away from the camps. She turned to Bra,, hoping that he would awaken from his state and say something to them all.

Sure enough, Bran's eyes returned to their brown color and he took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Bran," Daenerys said, "what happened to Ygris and Viserion? What happened to the Night King?" It pained her to see the dragons fight like they did, and even more so to see them fall out of the sky and crash.

Bran breathed heavily as he spoke. "They're all still alive. Jon was going to try and slay Viserion, but the Night King…" He looked scared for the first time Daenerys knew him, "four White Walkers managed to slip past the armies. He's attacking Jon with everything he can."

"We need to help him." Rickon pleaded. "We need to send some soldiers to where he is."

"They won't make it in time." Bran told him.

"What about Lyarras?" Daenerys asked.

"We can't send her. It's what the Night King wants. While Drogon and Rhaegal are too weak to fight, Ygris and Lyarras will be the keys to his victory if he can turn them into his puppets. If he mages to turn Ygris, then Lyarras is our only hope against her."

That wasn't good enough. Jon didn't have that many with him. Against four White Walkers and the Night King, she couldn't bring herself to believe that even Jon was skilled enough to handle that. "Bran, there has to be something." Daenerys lost Jon one too many times for one life, and she couldn't bear to lose him again. She didn't want their children to be born into the world without their father to see them when they were.

Lyarras started to stir, growing uneasy and growling angrily. She let out a roar and spread out her wings, preparing herself to fly.

"Lyarras!" Daenerys called out and raised her arms, hoping that she could calm her down even without a strong connection to her like Jon had. She knew Lyarras wouldn't harm her and the dragon roared out in frustration when Daenerys got in her way. "Lyarras," Daenerys spoke calmly, reaching out with her feelings to the dragon, "please." Lyarras began to hold still and lowered her head to her, but she could still feel that Lyarras was just as worried as the rest of them.

Daenerys wasn't sure what to do. Everything was so frantic and she needed things to stay calm more than ever, she just wasn't sure how. But then she remembered her first supper with Jon on Dragonstone. 'Do you really sing to your dragons?'

'I do on occasion. It calms me down as much as it does them.'

Daenerys took a deep breath and looked into Lyarras' eyes while caressing her snout. The dragons weren't the only ones Jon sang to to bring peace, and she made sure that she remembered every word of his song.

She let the words flow out of her mouth, serenading the minds of all who could hear her voice. Lyarras stared down at her, her beastly noises turning to deep breaths. Daenerys never understood why, but every time she heard Jon sing to her and their children, the was a magical weight to his voice. She wasn't sure if she had that some presence in hers, but the result of Lyarras holding perfectly still gave her the answer she needed.

Lyarras began to growl at Daenerys, but it was more like a cat's purr. The air around everyone became peaceful and tranquil as the words sank into everyone's spirits.

"He'll come back to us," Daenerys told the dragon, "I know he will."

"He's there," Bran suddenly said, "the Night King."

Daenerys turned to Bran, hoping that he had more to say than just that.

"And Viserion, he's trying to trap Jon."

"Can't you do anything Bran?" Sansa asked.

Without replying, Bran's eyes flashed white and he returned to his warging state.


Bran

Without a weirwood to give Bran the power to manifest a projection of himself, Bran had to find the mind of an animal to warg into. But every animal had begun to fight back against his control over their minds ever since Viserion and Ygris crashed. The power of the Night King being so close, the instinct of the animals was screaming at them to run away to safety. Nothing would go near the trees as long as that presence was there. Bran's only hope was to warg into the mind of a beast already there. The only problem was that the animal could only be warged by Jon.

Once before, Bran tried warging into the dragon at Winterfell when they were still small. But even then, the will of a dragon was near unbreakable and too much for him to get through, even with all of his power.

Bran found Ygris' consciousness in the clearing. Her mind was weak and exhausted, but she could also feel him trying to enter it. Instead of resisting, Ygris freely let him into her mind, recognizing him and the desiring the comfort a friend's presence. She was in much pain and stricken with bite mate all over her tail and left shoulder. The wounds weren't fatal, but enough that she couldn't resist the urge to rest.

Through her eyes, Bran could witness everything that was happening to everyone.

The White Walkers had just revealed themselves to Jon and the ones with him by killing one of the brothers of the Watch. Everyone prepared to stand against the ice demons, ignoring Viserion as he no longer posed such a great threat to them and was nearly immobile. But Ygris knew that wasn't true. Viserion had the strength and position to lunge forward, but his target had to get closer, and that Target was Jon.

Before the brother who was killed could rise up as a wight, one of the other men of the Watch stabbed the dragonglass head of his spear into his body. Another one of them charged forward at the two Walkers with his spear, not recklessly, but the attack was easily dodged and the spear shattered by a sword of ice cutting through the middle of the shaft. The brother was then decapitated and fell limply into the snow by the time Beric and the other brothers all charged together rather than one at a time.

Beric's flaming sword clashed with the blades of ice, the magic of the fire engulfing the blade kept the steel from shattering. But such magic was not sufficient enough to harm the White Walkers. Two of the other brothers were both impaled at the same time, the blade of ice cutting through their black chainmail like thin parchment before shattering the metal. But with the last bits of life, the brother closest to the White Walker drew his dragonglass dagger and stuck it into the White Walker's arm, destroying the creature and the dagger as they all collapsed. Beric and the last remaining brother of the Watch were locked in a stalemate with the last White Walker they faced, but the same couldn't be said for Jon and Benjen.

A white Walker wielding an ice lance took the vanguard while the other one, dual wielding ice swords, took the rear. Benjen swung his flaming chain head over his head like a Dothraki lasso and let the weight of the steel launch a powerful blow at the White Walker in front of him. It tried to brush the chain to the side with its spear, but there was enough slack that it wrapped itself around the shaft. Benjen pulled the chain with all of his strength and pulled the spear free of the White Walker's hands and caught it in his. Unlike anyone of the living, Benjen's hands did not turn into frozen flesh, allowing him to grasp the weapon. But it being of no use against the dead, Benjen threw it to the side away from the White Walker and continued attacking with his flaming chain.

Jon on the other hand rang the air with the sound of Valyrian steel against the swords of ice. He took the offensive at the start, but the strength of the White Walker turned him to take the defense. Constantly striking for Jon's legs, the Walker forced him to retreat backwards, closer to Viserion.

The two weapons against one was no great obstacle for Jon, as he was experienced at fighting Wildlings who also dual wielded weapons, but the White Walkers speed was ever so slightly faster than his. Jon parried a strike down to his body with longclaw but was nearly hit from the side by the other sword. He was able to dodge it, but the edge of the ice blade grazed his right pauldron, freezing the metal and cracking it into pieces that feel into the snow.

Ignoring the loss of his armor, Jon parried a thrust to his body and spun his body against the White walker's now behind it. Instantly, Jon sliced Longclaw across the White Walker's back, shattering it into bits of ice. But what he didn't realize was how close he was to Viserion.

Ygris saw the undead dragon reveal its teeth, remaining unnoticed by Jon for what little time he had. She wanted to move, but she too tired to move.

'You can do it Ygris!' Bran told her through thoughts. 'You have to move! You have to save Jon!'

As Viserion arched his neck back, Jon finally noticing but too close for it to matter, Ygris summoned a phantom strength in her body and roared out as she jumped forward as tackled the undead dragon. Her senses were going blank with nothing but exhaustion, yet she still managed to continue to fight.

Wrestling with Viserion, Ygris bit down hard onto the wound in Viserion's neck and let a burst stream of fire into the wound. Her flames went into both Viserion's body and exiting his mouth. Viserion went limp in the snow, but still in his undead state. Ygris snarled as she eyed Viserion's neck and began to ravage her jaws into the rotting dragon flesh, tearing away all she could. When she reached the bone, She used every bit of her will to gather strength and crushed the spine. Teeth still gripping on bone, Ygris jerked her head and tore Viserion's neck from his body, completely decapitating him. With that done, the blue of Viserion's eyes fade away and turned into a pale white instead. Finally, Viserion was dead and free of the Night King's control.

Benjen was able to wrap his chain around the neck of a Walker and pulled it off its feet to the snow. Before it could get up, Bejen brandished one of two dragonglass daggers he had and stabbed it into the Walker's neck, turning it into ice.

The brother of the Watch who was with Beric was killed but set aflame by Beric before he locked weapons with it. Each trying to overpower the other, the White Walker nearly succeeded had Benjen not ran up behind the Walker and planted the dagger into the Walker's shoulder, breaking it and destroying the dagger.

With all the White Walkers dead, Jon, Benjen, and Beric took a moment to catch their breaths.

Jon looked up to Ygris and he could see how tired she was. Her body was screaming for rest and she was panting heavily for air, not finding enough in each breath.

But there was a still moment that she forgot all the fatigue and the pain in her body when Jon smiled at her. It comforted her mind and let her know that everything was alright.

But a sudden pain shot through her back and exited her chest and nothing but waves of cold began to extinguish the heat inside of her. Ygris gazed down and saw one of the White Walker's spears sticking through her chest, freezing the blood that spilled from her wound.

Jon became absolutely horrified and let began to yell in despair at her as she lost all feeling inside of her and collapsed to the ground.

Bran's link was severed and he materialized into his unseeable self on top of the dragons' bodies even without the use of a weirwood. His body felt colder than freezing and the falling snow began to blow by harder and becoming a blizzard.

"Bran look out!" Benjen shouted.

Bran turned around and the last thing he saw were the glowing blue eyes and curved ice blade of the Night King slashing down at him.


Daenerys

The white of Bran's eyes began to have a certain glow to them and his grip on the arms of his chair began to tighten, digging into the wood.

Without any form of warning, Bran's eyes clenched shut and he let out a blood curdling scream of pain. It only lasted for a second before he slumped down into his chair, unmoving like the dead but breathing softly.

"Bran!" Sansa and Rickon exclaimed in unison. The two of them knelt down their brother, checking his state to see if he was dead, dying, or something else.

"Bran, wake up!" Sansa yelled out, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She held his face softly in her hands and shook him lightly. "Please wake up!"

"Somebody get a maester!" Edric shouted as Sansa and Rickon both began to sob for their brother.

Daenerys looked over in the direction the dragons feel, praying with every bit of her sould that her love could hear her words. "Jon, please hurry."

Benjen

The image of Bran that stood atop the dragons became nothing but faded bits of himself, like ashes blowing through the wind, and the Night King stood in his place, glaring down at him and Jon. The tiniest of smirks could be seen in the corners of the Night King's mouth. He lost one dragon, but he would soon get another if he wasn't defeated here and now.

Standing next to Jon who was still on his knees, Benjen reeled his chain back into his hands. He picked Jon up by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "A king doesn't kneel to false royalty." He told Jon.

Beric joined him and Jon and together the three of them faced the Night King, ready to end this or die trying.

Jon undid his sword belt and tossed the scabbard aside, not wanting anything to become an obstruction. His blood boiled and had more right than anyone to be furious. As long as he used his emotion to fuel his skill and not blind it, then they might stand a chance.

The Night King jumped down from Ygris' body and slowly started to walk towards them. Before he got any closer, the Night King knelt down to the snow and picked up the spear of ice Benjen disarmed from the White Walker he faced and now wielded a heavy weapon in each hand, but for a creature with unnatural strength and speed, it was going to make this worse.

"Lord of Light," Beric started as he gripped his flaming sword in both hands, preparing to face whatever battle was about to ensue, "guide hands true in this fight that we may find the dawn. Let the evil of the world feel the burning of your flames and never forget their touch. For tonight is dark, and the terrors are before us."

The Night King began to pick up his pace and started a slow jog. He raised the spear in front of him and the curved sword above his head in a stance both offensive and defensive.

Benjen began to swing his chain around, waiting for any indication of who would attack or be attacked first. Beric took the first steps forward and advanced to meet the Night King, Jon moving to the side to perhaps attack the flank.

Letting out a loud battle cry, Beric charged forward and immediately swung at the Night King, but his hopes of taking an offensive stand were denied as he was instantly defending himself. He parried strikes from every direction the could possibly come from, nearly being overwhelmed.

But Jon come up from behind in hopes to take the Night King off his guard. But without even looking, the Night King blocked Jon's strike and started to fight both of them with incredible skill. The demon of ice ducked and moved in ways that were inhuman and impossible for any living man. But he was neither living nor man and had no limits as far as anyone could tell.

Benjen finally joined the fight and swung his chain forward, aiming for the Night King's arm wielding the spear attacking Beric. But even when fighting two skilled warriors, the Night King parried the fiery chain head with his curved sword and knocked it into the snow. Benjen got closer to the duel and reeled his chain again, hoping that he would do better next time. The Night King practically ignored him as he got closer and kept his attention on Jon and Beric.

Beric was able to strike his sword on the Night King's arm, but it had absolutely no effect, the blade only scraping on the black armor. The Night King locked eyes with him for an instance before slicing his spear at him. Beric was far enough that the blade wouldn't reach his body, but the strength of the swing cut through his sword, breaking it in half. The Night King proceeded to kick his foot hard on Beric's breastplate, both shattering it and knocking him into the air. Beric hit a large tree trunk and fell hard into the snow, unconscious and out of the fight.

As the fires of the pieces of Beric's sword diminished, Benjen swung his chain at the Night King again. This time he aimed it for the Night King's legs, hoping that his attacks on Jon would keep him from blocking the head. The chain successfully wrapped around his leg and locked itself. But when Benjen tried to pull, the Night King twisted his body and stepped his free foot on the slack of the chain. Blocking a thrush from Jon, he bashed Jon in the chest and knocked him to the side. Jon began to gasp for air as the wind was knocked out of him, but still managed to keep his guard up.

Stabbing his spear into the ground, the Night King grabbed hold of the chain and pulled with the strength of a giant. Benjen foolishly kept his rip on the chain and was pulled off his feet. The Night King shook the chain off his foot and began to spin Benjen around as if he was playing a game.

Benjen landed in the snow hard and heard a loud pop in his arm. He grunted heavily as the chain slipped through his hands and he finally stopped moving. Cover head to toe in snow, Benjen looked at his arm and saw that his elbow was bent the wrong way.

He fought back at the pain as he got to his feet and drew his last dagger of dragonglass. The Night King held the chain in his hands and only took a few seconds to shatter it completely into tiny pieces of steel and iron.

Jon was still recovering, and wide open for an attack despite his effort to protect himself.

Benjen realized that this fight was only going to end one way, and that was between Jon and the Night King. But he needed to buy his nephew some time, even if it was only just a few seconds. Snapping his arm back into place, Benjen let the pain fuel his war cry as he charged at the Night King with only his his dagger.

As if mocking Benjen, the Night King didn't even arm himself. He just stood where he was and waited for Benjen empty handed.

With reached, Benjen swung the dagger as fast as he possibly could. The Night King dodged every swing and thrust Benjen gave to him. Though he could land a strike, Benjen could see Jon catching his breath finally, proving his efforts were not fruitless.

But that small distraction was the moment the Night King grabbed Benjen's arm and held it tightly. Benjen dropped the dagger and felt his skin begin to freeze instantly. With his other hand, the Night King thrusted it like a spear into Benjen's chest. Benjen cried out before he stared at the Night King dead in his eyes.

"I'll see you burning in hell." Benjen grunted out before the Night King pulled his hand out of Benjen's chest. In it was the dragonglass that the Children of the Forest put in Benjen's heart to keep him alive.

"Uncle Benjen!" Jon called out.

Tossing the dragonglass aside, the Night King then threw Benjen away from him. But Benjen was already dead before he landed in the snow, limp as a wet rag. Now all that remained was Jon and the Night King.


Jon

Rising to his feet, Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened as the rest of his body finally relaxed. Everyone was gone, only he and the Night King remained.

Jon looked down to his uncle Benjen's body and was unsure how to feel. His uncle was trapped in that decaying state for years and now he finally got to rest, but Jon wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. Then there was Ygris. Watching he get skewered by the spear and collapsing killed a part of him inside. But he could still feel that she was alive, just barely. If he didn't end this, then she was going to die without a doubt. One thing was clear, he was angry. Or at least he thought he was.

Jon glared at the Night King and the two of them stared at each other, letting a stillness ensue around them. The sounds of battle silenced out and the cold of the air diminished as the two of them locked eyes and absorbed the stature of the other. As he looked into the depths of the evil blue color, Jon could feel his hands starting to shake. He didn't take his eyes away from the Night King to look, but he didn't need to to realize he was afraid.

'Why now?' Jon asked himself in his thoughts. 'I've faced him before… but never like this.' In his heart, Jon didn't want to fight alone. He didn't know if he could win if he was alone. If he lost then everything would be lost. With Ygris the Night King would have all the power he would need to win. Lyarras was still in condition to fight, but Jon knew that she would lose if she was by herself. And after she died, the armies would die, Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Bran… and Daenerys. Jon felt a cold run through his very soul imagining Daenerys with the blue eyes of the dead.

His thoughts began to corrupt his mind with doubt and sorrow. He had to be brave now, but how was a man supposed to be brave when he was so afraid?

'That is the only time a man can be brave.' His father's voice sounded in his head, breaking through his thoughts and silencing his worry.

Jon felt relaxed hearing the words of his father as if he was standing right next to him. All those things, Lyarras, the armies, his family, Daenerys, protecting them was all he needed to be brave. He wasn't going to die again, not unless he was with Daenerys at her side and she was far away so that wasn't about to happen.

Jon took the first step forward, gritting his teeth and leaving everything he felt behind him, only letting his courage guide his actions.

Wielding only the curved ice sword, the Night King began to approach Jon, walking just a bit faster than he was.

Jon raised up Longclaw at the same time the Night King raised his weapon, and the two blades clashed into one another, ringing and signifying the fateful duel between two kings had begun.

Jon ducked underneath a swing from the Night King, the blade barely missed him except for a bit of his hair. His movements and style of swordplay for this were unlike anything he'd ever done before. His stance was more shifted and this felt more like a duel against survival rather than any other opponent he ever faced. He knew that this creature before him had no honor, no mercy, and no weakness. But despite that, Jon didn't let his blade streak through the air to meet the Night King's without honor. He was everything the Night King could be, and he would let himself be any less than that.

Blocking a strike from above, Jon locked Longclaw with the ice sword and pushed forward with all his strength. The Night King was nearly a foot away from his face and bore his teeth, showing Jon that he too was using every bit of strength as well. Jon could feel himself being over powered, so he spun his body and slipped out of the lock. The Night King stumbled forward, but only by a couple of steps and recovered rapidly as he dodged a swing from Jon.

Jon kept throwing his strikes at the Night King, making sure each one was true and not reckless. All his opponent could do was block and retreat backwards. Jon finally realized that this was the first time he ever took the offensive against the Night King and held it.

With a sharp thrust of his sword, Jon nearly pierced the tip to the Night King, but the attack was dodged quick enough that only the Night King's armor was torn slightly.

The Night King backed away from Jon and looked at the blow he took, astonished that it was the first one of any kind he ever took. He looked back at Jon with those same eyes Jon saw at Hardhome when he killed his first White Walker with Longclaw.

Jon took deep breaths, keeping himself calm and determined as the Night King returned to meet him. The next swing Jon had parry, but doing it made him realize the Night King was attacking much faster now. His movements put himself in Jon's line of reach more frequently. It was like he didn't care about being killed at all but just killing Jon, and he was taking greater risks to do it.

The song of clashing steel Longclaw made kept ringing throughout the clearing. Neither one of the two fighters were finding the moments they needed to land the final blow on the other.

Jon was faced with a slash aimed for his head and raised Longlcaw in time to black and stop it. But the curve of the ice sword bended to towards him and the Night King pushed his arms in a small motion that moved the blade greatly. The edge cut at the left side of Jon's face next to his ear and then through his gorget that shattered at the touch of the weapon.

Jon felt a burning cold beginning to spread from the cut he took. It traveled to his teeth to his eyes and even to his scalp.

His blood began to pump hot through his veins as he attacked more furiously at the Night King.

Dodging a vertical slash, Jon spun his body and held Longclaw in both hands, using all the momentum of his spin combined with the strength of his arms. He let out a roar like Tormund would and met the Night King's blade. But this time the Valyrian steel cut through and shatter the ice sword like the ice that was.

Both Jon and the Night King had an instantaneous second of disbelief before Jon raised Longclaw and swung it down as fast as he could, aiming the sword right for the crown upon the false king's head.

But as fast as he was, the Night King was faster. He dropped his broken weapon and caught Jon's arms midair by his halfgaunts, shattering them only seconds later and gripping Jon's sleeves. The cold touch of the Night King began to sink into the leather and the fabric, stealing the heat of Jon's arms. But Jon wasn't giving into pain just because of that. He continued to press down and had the advantage of his stance, which meant that the sword was inching closer.

Mere inches away, the Night King led Jon's strike away and let the fall take him off balance. The Night King released Jon before landing a punch square in Jon's chest. The force was so strong that it knocked Jon backwards, making him stumble and fall a few feet away and drop Longclaw just out of his reach.

The night King picked up one his commanders weapons, a regular sword of ice, that was only a step away from him and gripped it in both hands.

Jon's eyes widened as he realized that this was it, he failed. Or at least, he thought he did.

From behind the Night King, Beric jumped and wrapped his arms around and immobilized him. In one hand Beric had the top half of his sword and ran the blade on his other arms, cutting deep and beginning to bleed heavily.

"Lord of Light!" Beric called out. "Ignite us with your fury on that which evil!" Beric's blood turned to golden flames that rapidly began to engulf both him and the Night King.

To Jon's surprise, the Night King began to yell out, not in pain but annoyance and struggle as he continued to fail breaking free of Beric.

"What are you waiting for!?" Beric shouted at Jon, making him realize that this was his only chance.

Jon scrambled to his feet and gripped Longclaw in his hand and charged forward, yeeling out like the wolf and the dragon he was. Every step in the snow felt a like a hammer on an anvil, forging the path to one thing that matter here and now. Everything else that was and ever will be was just a destraction until this moment of time passed.

Thrusting Longclaw, Jon rammed the blade into the Night King's stomach and forcing it to exit his back and into Beric. But instead of a cry of pain from Beric, he mearly smiled at Jon and faded into his fire, leaving no trace of himself behind.

The Night King began to scream out as the magic of Longclaw began to crack his skin slowly and bits of him shattering off. He dropped his ice sword and backhanded Jon back into the snow, unable to pull any strength or reasoning to take Jon with him.

Jon sat himself up as he watched the Night King try and pull Longclaw out of his body.

The cold hands gripped the hilt of the sword, but shatter the wood of the handle, the steel of the guard, and the wolf head pommel, leaving nothing but the sword's tang. He tried to grab ahold of that but when his fingers wrapped around the Valyrian steel, they all cracked off and turned into tiny bit of ice small than snow. The cracks in the Night King's body began to emanate a light as they grew bigger. He looked at Jon and let out another loud howl of pain before he exploded into nothing but cold air.

A n incredible gust of wind rushed past Jon and blew through the trees to the fighting armies. The force of the wind was greater than anything he had ever felt and Jon wondered what kind of effect it would bring to the dead.


Arya

Stabbing Blackfyre into an approaching wight's skull, Arya quickly pulled it out so she could kill another as fast as possible. Fighting without stop was the only thing she could do to take her mind off of the pain in her arm.

Nymeria growled from behind her and tackled a wight that attempted to kill Arya while she wasn't looking.

Ayra dodged a heavy axe with ease and sank her sword into the chest of the wielder. "Thanks girl." Arya said.

"I wish I had a direwolf like her." Gendry commented as he repeatedly back a wights skull in. The dragonglass of his hammer had all cracked and broke off so he was reduced to using the steel side.

Arya felt tired and soon her arms felt like heavy rocks. She never fought this long in her life and never expected to. She loved to fight but doing all of this made her hate battles. She began panting for air as she could see more wights coming her and Gendry's way. Her grip on Blackfyre started to loosen, unable to find the strength to keep holding onto it.

All of the sudden a great blast of air rushed past everyone like a powerful wave of water. Blackfyre flew out of Arya's hand and stuck into the snow. When the gust hit the dead, they all began to instantly collapse all around. From all around inhuman screeches could be heard coming from the White Walkers. They were on their knees and clawed at their chests before exploding into piles of shattered ice.

Arya and Gendry both looked all around them, looking to see if what just happened happened everywhere. And sure enough, the only people standing were alive and doing the same as them, confused and cautious.

Like a rock thrown at her head, Arya finally realized the glorious reality. "It's over." She said as she gathered her breath and couldn't resist but smile. They won.

She looked over to Gendry and saw that he was just as happy as she was, but a few seconds later their smiles died as they both looked into each other's eyes.

Gendry dropped his hammer and the two of them pulled each other into themselves and they met their lips together, finally having their first kiss.

'Gods' Arya thought, 'why haven't we done this sooner?' She reveled the warmth of being held in Gendry's arms, but found that his lips were much warmer and refused to them him go.

Someone began to cheer when everyone else finally realized that they achieved victory, and all-around others join and bellowed their joy out of their lungs as loud as they could. They wanted to let the world know that they won, and they were alive.

"Girl!" A familiar heavy voice called through the cheering.

Arya and Gendry stopped kissing and turned to see Sandor approaching them, looking disgusted at their passion in the middle of a battlefield.

Despite that, Arya couldn't help but feel incredible grateful that he was alive. "I thought the dragonfire got you." She told him.

"You think I would let fire be what fucking kills me?" He stabbed Heartsbane into the snow and rested his hand on the pommel. "I won't die like that and not without a fight."

Arya smiled up at him but didn't receive one back. But she didn't care, not as long as she finally had Gendry and they won.

Arya's eyes looked past Sandor and Saw a soldier kneeling in the snow, cradling a dead man in his arms. It slipped her mind and the gravity of reality started to weigh on her as she looked around and saw others on the ground, looking for those they knew.

With great victory came terrible loss.


Jon

After the great roar of victory died down, Jon got to his feet and walked over to where the Night King had fallen. Resting atop the snow was Longclaw, or at least what remained of it. The blade was broken in half and the top was nowhere to be seen. Kneeling down, Jon sifted through the snow to make sure that without a doubt that the Night King was gone. He felt his fingers touch something hard and sharp. Carefully pulling out the object, Jon found a shard of dragonglass in the snow. He eyed it curiously, as if looking at it for the first time.

His heart stopped when a gently growl was made. Jon looked up and saw Ygris slightly moving. Her eyes were partially closed and she looked terrible.

"Ygris!" Jon tossed the dragonglass aside and ran to his dragon, praying to every god with his heart that she was going to be alright. He collapsed to his knees at her head in full view of her eyes that was looking up at him. "Ygris…" he croaked out, feeling sorrow overcome him. He placed his arms on her head and softly caressed her skin. "We did it." Jon told her. "We won." Ygris didn't make a sound, but her eye kept slowly blinking like she was falling asleep. "You're going to be alright now," he told her as tears weld up in his eyes. He looked at her body and saw that she stopped bleeding, but not because her wounds were healing. He looked back at her and started to realize the reality of her condition. "We can go home now… to Winterfell… we'll fly above the castle together… we can go home."

He felt his connection with Ygris slipping away. She looked directly into his eyes and he could tell she knew he wasn't telling the truth. On the last moments he felt her, Ygris' eyes closed and her soft breaths faded away into nothing, leaving her lifeless, but not alone.

Jon laid his head on Ygris and wished that there was something that he could've done to save her. But he kept remembering that miracles had their limits, even with him.

His tears began to fall from his face onto his dragon as he held her in his arms, not wanting to let go.

Through some premonition, he looked up at the sky and saw the snow had stopped and the clouds were starting to clear away in a great speed. Revealing the stars they hid and the light of the moon.

"It's over." Jon whispered softly.