Chapter 46; The turn of the tide, part 1;

Characters of the chapter

Davos Seaworth Knight of Westeros, Advisor to King Jon

Jon Snow, also known as Aegon Targaryen and Jon Stark, King of the North Kingdom of the Twin Kingdoms

Ynessa des Montagnes, Chevalier of Orlais, Duelling Champion to de Rozien, Chosen Sword of Orlais

Ynessa ran forward with the other Orlesian soldiers, her feet eating away the distance between her and the wall, doing her best not to trip on the bodies that littered the landscape. Beside them a new battering ram was being dragged towards the gate in the hopes it would succeed where the first one had failed. This time it's roof had been reinforced with sheets of steel and spare shields to protect it from fire dropped on it from above. All around her soldiers were dropping from arrows fired at them, adding to the bodies already at their feet. Behind them their own archers were sending clouds of arrows at the walls to suppress the enemy and give them at least some cover, but that could not only do so much. She wondered if it might have been a good idea to bring her shield along after all, having left the thing behind, so she would have her off hand free when she reached the top of the wall. In hindsight that decision was making this part of the approach more difficult.

When they reached the walls she helped a couple other soldiers raise a ladder, docking it securely against the wall. Around them other soldiers were doing the same. As soon as the ladders were docked stones began to rain on them, adding to the hail of arrows.

Ynessa was the first to start climbing up ladder. She was about halfway up when she had to throw herself to the side to dodge a rock about to fall on her. Her sudden move almost made her lose her grip and fall, but she managed to hold on. The stone barely missed her, skidding along her armor and clothes. The soldier right behind her was not as lucky. The stone bounced off his helmet, crumpling it. He swayed on the ladder for a moment, slipped off and fell down, breaking his neck as he landed. Ynessa continued to climb upwards, knowing there was nothing to be done except keep going. Next she saw how a large kettle was raised atop the wall, then promptly upended, pouring boiling oil on the ladder next to hers. The oil doused everyone on the ladder and plenty more who were standing just underneath it. She could not help but wince as she heard people screaming in immense pain, saw them falling off the ladder like leaves, trashing on the ground, clawing at their own armor. Of all weapons of war she had seen, boiling oil was among the most vicious. It did not necessarily kill at once, instead causing horrid, excruciating injuries and a slow death later on. She truly pitied the poor sods that had been hit with it. The only weapons she considered more brutal were the gas grenades invented by their alchemists. Now there was a weapon she never wanted to be on the wrong side of.

Despite the death and horror all around her, she was pleased that she was finally allowed to be here. Finally she could sate her craving for combat. Finally she could seek out the King and have with him the clash she had desired for so long.

It would be so glorious!

Finally reaching the top of the wall, she drew the Sunblade from its sheath and jumped down from the crenellations, putting her sword through an archer as she did. She freed her blade and quickly slashed left and right, felling an opponent with both blows. Another enemy moved to attack her, but Sunblade met his blow, as before on many occasions burning straight through the metal in an instant, leaving her opponent defenseless. She quickly killed him too with a quick jab, a smoking hole left on his chest as he fell flat on his back. Other Orlesian soldiers began to reach the top and the bridgehead she had managed to form, taking the fight to the defenders, and Ynessa moved on, going on her hunt, walking along the wall with brisk steps. Now and then one of the defenders sought to challenge her. She cut down each in short order, barely slowing her pace as she did so. Right now these others were an irritant to her, a persistent distraction as she hunted her real objective. They would not deny her.

Eventually she managed to fight her way into an area where the defenders were not concentrated, and no more enemies challenged her for a moment. She was moving on along the wall when she came face to face with an older man, standing atop a flight of stairs, while she was at their base, the two eyeing each other warily. She noted how, like her, he was holding his sword in his left hand, although for him his reason for doing so was not preference, but rather the fact that his right hand was missing its fingers except for its thumb. Then her eyes flashed with recognition.

"I know you. You were at the parlay the Marshall arranged. You're Davos Seaworth, aren't you?" She said.

"I am." He said, his voice stone cold.

"Then where's your King, ser Davos? I seek him." She asked.

"If you want to get to him, you'll have to go through me." He said defiantly.

Ynessa sighed at the cliché response. She took a step forward on the stairs, making Davos retreat a step. "Go away old man. You can't beat me, and I'm not after you. Only your master."

Davos did not leave.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I just cut through a dozen of you like carving a cake. What's one more?" With that she darted forward, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat, slashing at him. He barely managed to avoid her first attack, then instinctively tried to block the next one with his sword, only to have it snapped in half by the Sunblade. The golden blade kept going, slicing a line into his shoulder, making him shout in pain. Then a punch to the chest made him fall on his back against the staircase, bruising him as he did. Next he found the Sunblade pointed at his throat. Any closer and it would set his beard on fire. The fight was over, having lasted for only a few heartbeats.

"Where is the King?" The Chevalier asked again, her voice full of quiet menace. Suddenly Ynessa heard a snarl of something large and fast approaching coming from behind her. She turned quickly, in time to see the biggest wolf she had ever seen lunging at her. Then the wolf was on her, pushing her to the ground as well and latching his teeth to her throat. She could feel the immense pressure shutting her windpipe, feel the teeth gnawing at the gorget that protected her neck, trying to rip it away. Most alarmingly she could feel the pain as her head was being twisted sideways, neck straining and ready to snap. Fighting back panic and with only seconds left to live, she did the only thing she could and tried to attack the wolf. She could not turn the blade in her hand enough to give herself a sharp edge, all she managed to do was to slap the flat of his blade against the wolf's flank. Fortunately for her the Sunblade was still scalding hot.

The effect was immediate. The wolf yelped and jumped off her, stumbling down the steps, barely managing to keep himself upright, a long blackened line of burnt skin left against his white fur. For a moment Ynessa simply lay there, coughing and gasping for breath. Her gorget was crumpled and was scratching her neck, so she pulled it off and threw it away from her. Then, with shuddering breaths, she stood up and saw the wolf at the base of the stairs, snarling at her, keeping his wounded flank turned away from her. But he was not moving to attack her again. She glanced behind her to make sure that Davos was not getting up to ambush her, then advanced on the wolf. Ghost moved back, trying to frighten her away with a fierce growl, too defiant to flee but unwilling to challenge her again after the injury he had received after his first attempt. Ynessa was not deterred. She moved forward, raising her weapon, intending to finish the wolf off.

"Leave him be! Leave them both be!" She heard someone shout behind her, accompanied by the sound of a sword leaving its sheath. It was enough to make her stop short of landing her blow. She turned herself sideways so she could keep Sunblade pointed at the wolf while she turned to see who had spoken, mildly irked that she had been interrupted yet again. But then her eyes lit with delight, for it was Jon who had spoken, standing atop the same stairs she and Davos had been fighting on. Apparently the Onion Knight had managed to clamber to his feet, as he was now standing at Jon's side, his free hand on his wounded soldier.

"Gladly Your Grace. For it seems I have what I came for." She said to the King.

Jon looked at the wound on Davos's shoulder with concern, gave him a reassuring nod, then boldly steeped between his chief advisor and the Chevalier.

"What is it you claim to have? Death? Destruction? Is that all you're good for?" Jon demanded, walking down the steps.

"No. No. None of those things. I care not for them. What I have… is the duel of a lifetime. A worthy opponent. At long last." She said, smiling behind her mask. She nodded towards Ghost, then at Davos. "Send them away and I swear not to harm them further. Others may, but I will not. It will be just you, against me. Fair."

"Ghost, away!" Jon commanded his direwolf. "Away!" He repeated with more emphasis when Ghost seemed to hesitate. Reluctantly the wolf obeyed him, running off in the opposite direction.

"Davos, you're injured. Go have your wound tended to." He told the Onion Knight next, not moving his eyes from Ynessa. "Go. This is not a fight you can help me with, especially when wounded." He added when Davos tried to protest. Although he did not wish to, Davos quietly accepted the King's reasoning and backed away as well, leaving Jon alone with the Orlesian woman on this strip of wall.

"You will not risk the lives of those closest to you. You cannot save them, but you continue to try. I commend you. Unfortunate it is that such a great man must die this day. But such is my nature. Such is my destiny." Ynessa said, nodding her approval.

"You will not harm my family. And I'm not dead yet. Nor will I be today." Jon said in challenge.

"You will. To me. To another. It matters not. This battle ends today. No help has come for you. Honestly, it would be better for you if it were me that kills you. At least I will have proper appreciation for the deed. These soldiers… you are just a target to them. Something to be destroyed so it is no longer in their way. But I respect you. Your skills, your dedication… your courage, even in the face of defeat. And I will remember you even after you are gone." She said, slowly closing the gap between them until she was standing right in front of him.

"But I will speak no more. I have waited long enough for this. Don't disappoint me now. Don't you dare." She said before suddenly moving forward and attacking Jon. Longclaw expertly rose to counter her attack, and their blades met. Ynessa expected the King's sword to fall apart on contact, just like all the others. She would have found that unfortunate, far too easy a resolution to the confrontation she wanted, but not enough so to stay her hand. But that was not what happened. Instead Longclaw held firm before her attack, and where the swords met, the golden light of the Sunblade transformed into a deep blue color.

Their blades still locked together, Ynessa tilted her head sideways. "A mage-blade? Here?" She said, astonishment in her voice. She pushed Jon back to free her blade, and as their swords parted, the blue light transitioned back to the normal golden light of the Sunblade.

"Well, at least now this is interesting." She said before launching herself to another attack. And so the two fought there at the walls of Winterfell, while all-out battle raged around them. Each time their blades struck together there was a flash of blue light.

Jon quickly realized that the two were quite evenly matched. The fact that his opponent was left handed was making this fight a lot more difficult for him. All the usual rules were reversed, throwing off his instincts. As a result he had to narrowly dodge the Sunblade on more than one occasion. And the Orlesian wasn't afraid to fight with her other hand either. Several times he managed parry a sword strike, only to be punched in the face by a gauntleted fist.

Now and then one managed to land a hit on the other, but even their most successful attacks were little more than flesh wounds. Not one of them was enough to resolve their clash, and so their deadly dance continued. Eventually the two drifted back into the area where the Orlesian assault was ongoing. There others were on occasion drawn to their duel, Jon set upon by Orlesian soldiers and Ynessa likewise attacked by the defenders of Winterfell. Those that got themselves involved were swiftly cut down by the one they tried to attack, causing only momentary disruptions in their duel. In truth neither of the two wanted those distractions to be there, not even for their own benefit. Ynessa didn't want her people to intervene because she wanted her victory over the King in the North to be hers and hers alone. Jon on the other hand didn't want to risk lives against an opponent that he already knew to be a better fighter than most of the soldiers he had. And so both instinctively tried to keep away from the hottest pockets of the fighting. They even went so far as to shout warnings to their own when they drew near, both in their own languages, warnings to stay away, for whatever good that did.

Near Winterfell's gatehouse Jon grunted, parrying another attack, the sheer relentless rain of blows given and received beginning to numb his arm. He followed the parry with an attack of his own, followed by another parry. He had just enough time to realize the opening the parry left in his defenses and curse the confusing nature of this enemy before the pommel of a sword struck him across the face. However, as he was reeling from that blow, spitting blood, he happened to spot an opportunity. Putting all his strength behind his blow she punched her in her now unprotected throat. Having raised her sword for another attack, thinking to press the advantage she thought she had gained, she was caught completely by surprise. Giving out a gurgle she staggered backwards, nearly falling over, raising a hand to her throat, the world around her forgotten for the briefest of moments. Jon took advantage of the moment and, a roar leaving his throat, slashed at her, splitting the metal mask on her helm in half. She doubled over, giving out a gasp of pain, blood dribbling from the crack on her helmet. Jon moved forward, intending to finish her off, only for him to have to quickly retreat away from a flurry of blows from her. Her swings were wild, lacking the form typical of her, but they were nonetheless enough to drive him back.

Cursing in Orlesian she yanked her helmet from her head and threw it at the King. Her aim was off, and Jon easily dodged the projectile. The helmet banged on the body of a tower just behind Jon before tumbling over the edge of the wall and toward the ground. Tuning out the pain, Ynessa readied her sword once more, moving toward the King, somewhat more cautiously than before.

She was about to launch herself to another attack until suddenly a roar coming somewhere far overhead made her freeze, turning her gaze upwards. In that moment Jon noted that the fighting had come to an abrupt halt, every pair of eyes turned to the sky, whether Orlesian or Northern. Jon lifted his gaze as well a sudden sense of hope in his heart.

He was perhaps the only one of them here that had recognized the sound for what it was.

What he saw was Drogon, levelling out of a steep descent, flying low over Winterfell towards the outer wall. A familiar woman was seated atop the dragon, her silvery hair flying in the wind, almost like a banner. As soon as his neck passed the wall the dragon unleashed a blast of fire, carving a furrow through the Orlesian attackers, hundreds set ablaze in a heartbeat. The Dragon carried on to the Orlesian camp, strafing that place with fire as well, a river of flame cutting the camp in two. The Orlesian soldiers were disciplined, but the sight of their comrades burning due to a huge sky borne monstrosity was too much for many. Both at the walls and at the camp several Orlesians lost heart at the sight and routed.

Almost immediately after the dragon had appeared a horn sounded in the distance, and the Queen's army began streaming to the field, block after block advancing toward the enemy, the three headed dragon banner at their head. Alongside the Royal Army marched the forces of her lords, their banners accompanying that of House Targaryen to war. The Orlesian forces whose morale remained unbroken and who were not committed against the walls of Winterfell began to respond to the development, swarming from their camp and hastily forming battle lines to face the new enemy.

From the Targaryen side more horns sounded, both as a challenge to the enemy, and a greeting to their northern comrades, promising long overdue relief to them in their struggles. And what a welcome promise it was. Until this moment the defenders of had pressed grimly onwards, all but convinced that their efforts were leading to an inevitable defeat and death at the hands of their enemies, that the best they could hope for was to fight until the end and maybe help those that would come after them win the war where they could not. But now, suddenly, they had hope again. Now they had a fighting chance.

For Daenerys Targaryen had come at last.

Even as outside the battle was entering a new phase, on the wall of Winterfell silence continued to reign for the time being. Still mesmerized by what she had seen, she slowly turned her gaze back to the king, their eyes meeting. Jon gave her a triumphant smirk. "See? It's you who have lost." Jon said with that look, without ever uttering a word.

At first Ynessa looked shocked at the King's expression. Then her face twisted with anger. Screaming a scream of rage at the top of her lungs she charged at him, launching herself into a storm of attack so intense that even Jon was put on the defensive in a matter of moments. Her savage assault was enough to break the stillness, the fighting between defenders and attackers beginning anew, as fierce as ever.

Even though many had fled with the arrival of the dragon, and others were heading back to join with their comrades facing Daenerys's Royal army, the rest of the Orlesians continued their assault on Winterfell relentlessly, perhaps hoping to get inside a defensible position that the dragon and his rider would be reluctant to target. And so now the attackers fought twice as hard, their desperation lending them strength. The ram, which the dragonfire had miraculously missed, crossed the final distance to the gates, the charred remains of the previous ram cleared out of its path. As soon as the ram began to batter down the gates the defenders reacted, trying to destroy it as before, although the numerous Orlesian soldiers already atop the wall were making this difficult. Stolen gas grenades were dropped on the ram, but to the defender's surprise this had no effect. Unbeknownst to them the ram crew had been fitted with the same gear that the bag-heads used, protecting them from the effects of the gas. Pots of oil struck the roof of the ram, followed by torches. But the flames could not take hold on the fortified structures of the roof and soon guttered out, leaving large blackened splotches on the metal.

Jon meanwhile was pressed hard by the Orlesian Chevalier, forced to give ground before her assault. Blow after blow she rained on him leaving him no time to make attacks of his own. She drove him to the gatehouse's stairwell and up the steps, Sunblade leaving glowing marks on the walls of the stairwell as she pursued him. When the two finally emerged atop the gatehouse she was set upon by three northmen. Even in her enraged state she proved more than a match for all of them, cutting them down in a matter of seconds. Jon did manage to take advantage of her distraction to strike at her, but she simply deflected his blade, and her counterattack would have cut his chest open had he not jumped backwards at that exact moment. With the three northmen dead, no one besides the King remained to oppose her up here. In that moment Jon understood that he had to change things up. She had to be stopped, and to gain an advantage he would have to do something drastic.

As Ynessa was going for another attack Jon suddenly dropped Longclaw and grabbed her wrist with both hands. At first Ynessa tried to wrench her arm free, and when she did not succeed she drove her knee to his stomach. Jon grunted as air was driven from his lungs, but he held on. He freed one hand to pummel at her, giving her a backhanded strike to the face, then a punch to her stomach, the finally as she doubled over a knee to the jaw. Jon tried to land another blow as she was dazed, but her free arm intercepted, making Jon wince as his wrist painfully impacted her metal-encased arm. Her free hand then went for the dagger on her belt, only for Jon to catch her other wrist as well. Thinking quickly, he lowered his head, and slammed his forehead into her face, feeling her nose break. As she was reeling from that he threw his full weight forward, pinning the Chevalier against the crenellations. Even as she was wrestling with him to get free, Jon pushed her arms down, taking care not to get himself accidentally burned by the Sunblade. He then began to push her over the crenellations, using his knee to help with the lifting. Feeling her feet lift off the ground she realized his intent, and her struggles intensified. That was enough to slow Jon, but not stop him. Eventually he half pushed, half threw her over the edge and with a final terrified shout she fell, impacting the ground feet first.

Jon looked over edge, feeling utterly exhausted. Then she saw her still moving as she lay on her back on the ground. Still alive. Unbelievably, still alive. Jon gave a low curse, spitting on the floor of the tower, then went to retrieve Longclaw. He made his way down, in the moment ignoring the rhythmic crashing sounds made by the ram working to break through the gates.

Standing before her, it was obvious to Jon that Ynessa was gravely injured. Her legs were twisted and broken, blood slowly leaking out through the gaps in the armor, while Ynessa herself was still conscious, quietly mumbling to herself in Orlesian. From the way she moved Jon figured that her spine had been shattered by the fall as well, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Her weapons lay out of her reach, but even so Jon picked up the Sunblade as he approached, throwing it even further away. He placed himself over her, raising Longclaw, ready to plunge it through her.

"BEFORE you do that… hear me out…there's something I would ask you to do." Ynessa said weakly before he could, raising up one trembling hand, making Jon hesitate.

Briefly Jon was surprised by her words. Then he placed the tip of his sword to her throat, drawing a little blood. "What makes you think that you have any, ANY, right to ask for anything, invader? All the lives you took? The pain you've caused? Everything you would have done if I hadn't stopped you now? What your people are still doing out there right now?"

She gave him a sad smile. "No rights to anything, I know. But whatever I've done, whatever my crimes, I'm going to pay the price for it soon. I'm dying. I can feel it. I wanted to treat you honorably, as much as one can give to an enemy I was going to kill. Meant to. So I'd ask… listen to what I have to say, consider what I ask. After that… you can finish me off if you want, or leave me here. Won't make a difference. Please. It's not for me, not for the Empire. For my family. For my ancestors."

"Speak." Jon said coolly after a pause. "And do it quickly." He added, nodding towards the gate. "If they start looking like they're going to get through, you time will be up."

She nodded and produced a glass vial about as long as her hand was wide from somewhere inside her uniform, lifting it toward the King, fighting to stay conscious the whole time. Jon uncertainly took the vial from her , noticing the thick red fluid sloshing within.

"What in the hells in this? What's in here?" Jon demanded.

"Blood. My blood. The blood of others, my ancestors. Protected, preserved with magic." She said.

"What am I to do with it?" Jon asked, aghast.

"A tradition. Among my people. N-not Orlesian. Avvar. A group of warriors among my clan you see. A line, a legacy. A chain of heirs. Each in the chain took the strength of those that came before and added his own, to pass it on to an heir that was found suitable, through that vial. Each generation stronger, each… more. I was the last to receive it. I was supposed to pass it on long ago, but I tarried for far too long, and now I have no time. You vanquished me. You are worthy. What I would ask you to do is… drink half the blood to claim our strength, the refill the vial with your own blood. Then, when the time is right, pass the vial on to someone worthy, so those who came before can live on in another. Do this and our strength is yours to wield as you see fit, and you will be considered kin to our hold, so you can call on us in times of dire need.

Jon simply stared at her, not believing his ears. "This? This is what you would ask of me? To take part in some superstition of yours? "

"Please, Your Grace! I know you wish to punish me, but whatever my crimes I'm paying for them anyway. I beg of you, don't let my ancestors be destroyed for this. Don't make them pay the price for my mistakes. Save us, and our strength will be yours for all time." She pleaded, her voice breaking.

Jon considered. Even if he still considered this nothing more than a superstition, her voice told him that she took this seriously. This meant something to her. But did she deserve this mercy, this boon, after all the lives she had taken, all the blood she had spilled? He regarded the vial in his hands. It was such a fragile thing. The only reason it had survived thus far was because she had kept it safely inside her armor. If he wanted to deny her, all he needed to do was crush it in his hands, and then her precious legacy would be no more. It would be so easy… if he wished to do it. Yet on the other hand she had only fought for her people, for what she believed. She had been a worthy opponent by all accounts. And now she was dying. Did she really deserve to have insult added to injury?

Jon finally came to a decision. Giving a heavy sigh he uncorked the bottle and emptied half the vial's content down his throat. To his considerable surprise the liquid didn't taste like blood at all. Instead it had a peculiar sweet taste, like the juice of some fruit. As soon as the fluid passed his throat he felt stronger, the exhaustion of the last few days suddenly gone from him. He shot Ynessa a puzzled look. Then, taking care not to spill the remaining contents of the vial, he worked Longclaw into a position to cut his palm. Jon grimaced as the blade bit into his flesh, then placed his hand above the vial. Blood slowly dripped into the vial, refilling it anew. As soon as the vial was full again he closed it once more.

On the ground Ynessa smiled, crying tears of relief. "Thank you my king. Thank you for your mercy. Now we are kin. Now I and my ancestors stand with you. Use our power as you will, to defeat your enemies."

Then her smile vanished as there was a very loud crash at the gate, the wood cracking and bending where the halves met. "They're breaking through. You should go now. Go, and survive this day. Survive and pass what has been given to another worthy when the time is right." She told him, urgency in her voice.

Jon thought about finishing her off and giving her a clean death. But just then there was another violent impact against the gate, and he knew he was out of time.

"Fall back! Fall back to the keep!" He shouted as loud as he was able, then took off running towards the castle, leaving the wounded Orlesian where she lay.

"Mère? J'ai froid. Si froid. Je meurs. Mère, aide-moi. Je..." She muttered to herself, then breathed her last.

As soon as life left her the gates were shattered, and Orlesians soldiers began streaming through like water. With the walls now being abandoned by the retreating northerners more imperials were spilling over the walls and into the yard. They chased after the fleeing defenders, cutting down any they managed to catch. Just outside the inner gates leading inside the castle itself the northmen mounted a quick defense to buy more time for the rest of their number to make it through to safety. Jon was the last to enter, cutting down two Orlesian soldiers closest to the gate before he dove through, the gates closed and barred immediately after.

The defenders of Winterfell had hope again, but for now they had to retreat before the enemy and hope they would be able to hold out until victory was theirs.