Silence.
Men, only united by the prospect of the toils of war, stood side by side as they waited for it all begin. Waiting. No words were spoken as thoughts ran through their heads, questioning how their lives had brought them to this terrible point. Yet no one dared to think about the future because no one expected to get out of this alive. They were embracing themselves with the presence of life in the face of encroaching death. That would be the thing to keep them going, to keep them fighting, until the very end. This wasn't a war about politics or about the Throne. They watched as their breath became visible in front of them in the cold air, signifying the life and humanity they were fighting for. This was a battle for the right for existence. Lose and the kingdom would soon fall. Lose and the reign of man would come to an abrupt end.
Night had fallen quickly as they stood there, the darkness adding to the foreboding nature of the evening. Any movement was likely to spook even the best of men. So they stayed still. Waiting. They stood and watched as three separate fires, one by one, sprung to life to form circular defences around the castle, the heat providing a necessary warmth for the soldiers. The quiet was shattered by the sound of a lone horse galloping back towards Winterfell, its rider pushing it to its limits to get back within the safety of the stone walls. It reached the gate and waited, silence regaining its throne. A tense moment passed as the rider waited to be let back in before the bark of an order sounded around the grounds.
"Open the gate!" someone shouted and men hurried to do so, the horse galloping in. The rider pushed themselves off the animal, allowing it to be led away. The creator of the fires. An act of magic that had come about from her realising that she was now the master of her own powers. That had been the message behind his words. The master of her powers and her fate. Melisandre observed the men around her, noticing how none of them looked at her. They weren't looking at anyone. Focused on themselves for the time being, relishing the privacy of their own thoughts before they were forced to fight as one entity. She walked off, allowing them to relish the quiet. The gate was closed, the brief interlude of noise coming to an end.
Silence.
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Stood together overlooking the open grounds surrounding Winterfell on the front wall of the castle were Bruda, Jorah and Davos. Just like the soldiers below in the courtyard, they found comfort in the quiet. The only noise came from the biting wind that blew through their hair and beards. They couldn't take their eyes off the horizon, waiting to see the horde of the undead come into view. Yet still nothing came. That was the worst part. The anticipation. The fear of the unknown. Yet Jorah didn't know whether Bruda was as in the dark as the rest of them after his revelation. It had been a shock to everyone, naturally. It had hit Daenerys understandably hard, since she was so close to him, and she hadn't said anything to the warlock afterwards. He could tell that had hurt Bruda, even if he wouldn't show it or talk about it. When Jorah looked at him, he couldn't see any new difference in the old man. It wasn't as if the truth had brought out a new side to him. It was just him. Or at least he hoped.
"So what do we call you now?" he asked, bringing an end to their share of the quiet. "Winter?" He half expected such a name to make his hair and beard turn completely white. Bruda, along with Davos, turned his head to send a questioning glance at the knight. Of all the things to be considering at that moment, that hadn't been an expected one.
"Don't be stupid," he replied briskly. "My name is Bruda, just as you have known since you first met me. You just didn't know that it could have a hidden meaning."
"Do you have any powers to do with Winter?"
"The only abilities I have are the ones you've seen. Don't be blaming me for the failed harvests you see across the kingdom. That's to do with someone completely different." He winked at them both. Jorah couldn't tell whether he was making that part up. It was best not to think about it.
"So you're exactly the same person as before?" Davos inquired, almost tentatively.
"The one and only. Nothing new. Same old Bruda. The only new thing you know is that I was meant to be here when the White Walkers arrived."
"So that's why you pushed Daenerys to come," Jorah reasoned.
"No. That was her own choice. I proposed it as an idea because I knew she wanted to rule the kingdom and I knew this was going to happen."
"Why do you have to be here?" Davos asked.
"To help," came the simple reply. That was all they were going to get. Jorah was worried that Bruda still held some secrets close to his chest. But, after all this and all he had done, he realised that it didn't matter.
"You know that Daenerys doesn't see you in any different light," he said, trying to reassure the warlock.
"If only that were true. Maybe one day she'll realise that I did what I had to do so that everything worked. But I doubt that faith will be restored any time soon." Jorah could tell that he was right. It wouldn't do to voice his opinion though. Davos shivered against the cold.
"Is it just me, or does it feel like this isn't actually happening? After all this time and planning..." The other two chuckled slightly. "I don't think I've ever admitted to being scared...but if there was ever a time to do so…" He left the rest unsaid, as if to maintain his dignity but they knew what he meant. Bruda patted him on the shoulder.
"I'll make sure that you two survive, don't worry."
They didn't exactly know what that meant but didn't ask. They just turned again to look at the land ahead of them. It wouldn't be long now.
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The men standing outside the gates had all volunteered to do so. They would act as a final barrier to the castle if the White Walkers managed to get past the flaming defences. One of the men stood there was Sandor Clegane. He hadn't wanted to wait inside like some coward. But now he saw the flames dancing against the blackness and was somewhat regretting his decision. He stared at the fire as it made the horizon hazy and blurred. The men around him were wearing impassive masks, hiding their true emotions of fear as they had been trained. Probably by that Stannis, who was too busy now cowering behind those tall walls. A phoney leader if there ever was one. He looked up at those stone walls and observed the archers lining them, armed with arrows with dragonglass tips. If they could take out enough approaching enemies from above, they might just stand a chance. He turned his eyes back to the fire and froze. The blackness they had been dancing upon was still there but now, coming into view, was a horde of thousands of bodies, a horrendous noise of screeching beginning to reach their ears. The dead had arrived. The men around him seemed to stand taller as they got closer. A loud horn rang out across the castle grounds to signal their arrival. He simply gripped his sword and axe tighter.
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Bruda gulped as he saw the Wights come into view. No one spoke as they watched the numerous creatures charge towards them. He cracked his knuckles and then his neck, prompting the other two men to look at him with confused expressions. He ignored them as he lifted his staff into the air, a look of pure concentration on his face. Blue energy crackled around him, originating at his feet and slowly crawling up his body to the tip of his staff.
"We knew that they'd choose to attack at night because it gives them an obvious advantage. But they should soon realise that they're not going to have everything go their own way." The energy collected at the tip of the staff, building into a large, wild ball. A beam of blue light then shot up into the sky, seemingly piercing the night itself. Everyone watched as a boom in the distance went off in one of the clouds, a flash of blue going off before the inky black sky began to disappear, quickly replaced by the light blue of a sunny day. The grounds were filled with light and the men below began to cheer, the Dothraki warriors hooting and chanting, whilst banging their Arakhs together. It filled them with a peculiar sense of optimism. The numerous horses began to bang their hooves on the ground, a cacophony of sound enveloping the surrounding area. This was the final stand. They would not go down meekly.
Bruda wasn't willing to be so joyous too prematurely. He focused on the creatures who were continuing on their way towards the castle with no obvious acknowledgement towards the change in the environment. It was a relentless swarm that went on forever. He tensed as he watched the first of them reach the ring of fire. They plunged into the flames as if they weren't there but their screams signalled that the defence was working. He could make out their twisted bodies writhing in some form of agony (if they could feel such an emotion) as they slowly succumbed to their wretched fate. The men around him began to cheer again, louder this time, as they saw the early signs of success. Even Davos slapped the stone wall in triumph. But the warlock was more focused on a strangely serene figure making its way to the fire. It walked calmly towards the burning flames, ignoring the screeches around it. One of the White Walkers. More humanoid than the Wights and much more imposing. It seemed to observe the events unfolding before it continued walking. Bruda, begging to any gods that were listening as he muttered under his breath, waited for it to be consumed by the fires but, as soon as it stepped into the blaze, the flames extinguished, the line of orange suddenly dying, replaced by blue and black smoke. The trenches were still full of dragonglass judging by the number of Wights falling into the pit and not moving afterwards but Bruda was still speechless.
"I've made a massive mistake," he quietly uttered. The two others looked at him worriedly, not knowing what that mistake was, and stood and watched as he barked an order at the archers, telling them to prepare themselves for the first wave. He then set off into a run, Jorah and Davos following closely behind, quickly making his way down the steps to get into the cramped courtyard. He observed the nervous energy passing between each soldier and made eye contact with Stannis. The Baratheon, putting aside his grudges, nodded his head before facing forward towards the gate.
"Men! At arms!" he bellowed. The soldiers followed his order promptly, swords and other weapons being raised as the men let out a final roar in the face of adversity. Bruda shared a look with his closest comrades, grim expressions on both their faces. They were up against it now.
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Sandor saw the men around him raise their weapons as one as they watched the Wights breach the first barrier. They channelled themselves through the first opening, using the corpses of other monsters to climb over the dragonglass shards. It had done its job in reducing their numbers but there were still thousands of them. The same happened at the next line of fire and then they made their way to the third. Clegane swore that he saw the White Walker look him in the eye as he stepped into the flames. The fire tried to put up a fight but it was a battle that it was losing. He heard the soldiers chant louder. The Unsullied men banged their spears on the ground, whilst shouting words he didn't understand. The Dothraki shouted unintelligible noises whilst hitting their crude armour with their weapons. Any Westerosi men simply shouted "For the kingdom!" over and over again as they watched the Wights swarm. They breached the fire and charged towards them. The Hound lifted his two weapons in preparation, knowing that it would ultimately be futile. He vaguely heard a distant roar as the creatures got closer. He braced for their impact as they were right in front of them.
The roar, closer this time, came again and the Wights were engulfed in flames right in front of his eyes, causing him to take a stumbling step back in fear. They fell to the ground instantly defeated. He looked up to the sky and saw a black dragon soar over their heads, quickly followed by another two, who repeated the action. He shook off the momentary weakness and then charged at the mass of bodies, ready for whatever the outcome would be.
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Daenerys gripped tightly onto Drogon's back as he swooped over the dreadful sight. He breathed another blast of fire, taking out numerous creatures that were in its path. She turned her head and watched as Viserion and Rhaegal did the same. Drogon continued flying away from Winterfell, taking out masses of Wights at a time, before circling back again. This had been the main focus of their tactics in preparation. It wouldn't do to let the soldiers take the brunt of the attack when they had dragons on their side. She gasped in awe as, out of nowhere, wild green flames engulfed a large collection of Wights. Hidebyo, now larger than Drogon, flew over the castle walls in order to join the fight. They had been unsure whether he would cooperate, with neither Sam or Marwyn being here to instruct him, but the disturbance had obviously awoken him from his nest in the caverns around Winterfell. It was a major boost in their efforts. She was transfixed by the colour of the fire. Bruda had theorised that it would be different from that of her dragons because of the wildfire it had been born in, and that was obviously the case. Her thoughts turned to the warlock, as they often did. She regretted not speaking to him after he had unveiled the truth but it had been too big of a shock to her system. Yet she still cared for him deeply, regardless of what his name meant. She'd just done a bad job of conveying that sentiment.
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In between the trees that surrounded Winterfell at its sides, two portions of the army stood waiting to attack. It had been Stannis' idea to use a tactic he had devised which had helped him take the castle from the Bolton stronghold. The Wights had not noticed their presence and so they would be able to catch them unawares by charging at them from the sides. They were just waiting for the call. An air of anticipation had collected amongst the leaves. They stood and watched as flames tore through the undead army but still they continued to surge towards the castle walls. There was a growing number of normal bodies littering the floor, which was a concerning sight. But they had to wait. Leave too early and they would risk ruining their chances.
Within one of these groups, Jaime Lannister looked on in horror. He never would have thought leaving King's Landing would have brought him to this point. He questioned whether he had made the right choices along this path. He would likely die in this battle. Yet it comforted him that, after all he had done wrong in his life, his death would actually have been for something good and righteous. He glanced at Bronn, who he was surprised to see was still with them. He had half expected him to flee when the war actually started. He wasn't getting paid for this, as far as he was aware, so it went against all of the sellsword's nature to be involved in this fight. Maybe they had both changed, now resembling somewhat good people. He then looked at Brienne, who was focused on the melee occurring in front of them. He couldn't put his finger on the emotions he felt when he looked at her. Definitely affection but nothing like he had ever felt before. She turned her head and noticed his staring. They shared one final look. There was so much left unsaid between them. A conversation would be needed after this if they both got through it. They quickly turned their heads as they heard the unmistakable noise of arrows flying through the air. The Wights had got so close to the wall that the archers were now being deployed. And that was their signal. They began to charge as one.
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They could hear the unearthly sounds of the Wights from outside the castle walls as they all stood in the courtyard. Bruda had wished that they wouldn't be able to get this close to the castle but it had been a faint, hopeful dream. He looked up and saw a few Wights scraping at the top of the wall where the archers were. He noticed one unlucky soul get dragged down from his position, presumably fatally falling into the hordes of the undead. It wouldn't do for them to stay inside the walls. The tight room, with so many of them packed inside, would surely work in favour of the Wights. He glanced at Stannis once again, who seemed to know what his next plan was. He caught the eye of Jon, who was in the middle of the soldiers. A grave nod was shared between the two. Selmy saluted him from his position on a mighty black horse. He turned to Jorah and Davos. They'd have a bit of preparation time because they were stood on one of the high wooden platforms. It wouldn't be a lot though.
"Good luck, men," he said to them both. Jorah, setting a resolute expression on his face, gripped his new sword tightly and nodded. Davos let out a simple aye, whilst straightening his armour. Bruda, opening his arms outwards, bellowed an order. "Open the gate!" A moment's hesitation. The noise of men standing taller, preparing themselves. Horses whinnying. Then his order was followed. And all hell broke loose.
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Jaime sliced the head off a rampaging wight, enjoying the sight of it rolling to the ground. The dragonglass blades seemed to be working as any contact was killing them off. The only advantage they had was numbers, the sheer size of their collective beginning to overwhelm them. One jumped at him, pushing him to the ground. It snarled millimetres away from his face as he struggled against its weight, trying to get a better grasp of his sword. Suddenly, another blade went through the arm of the wight, killing it instantly. He shoved the corpse off of him and looked up to see Bronn, blood already smeared on his face. He could make out a small gash on his arm, which caused him to wince as helped Jaime up to his feet. The Lannister nodded his thanks but they had little time to spend on pleasantries as a trio of the creatures came towards them, only for a Dothraki warrior on horseback to come barreling past them, removing the heads from all three of them with his curved blade. The shouts and hoots coming from him suggested that he was actually enjoying this. They shared a quick bemused look before rejoining the fight.
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Jorah and Davos fought side by side, parrying any attack that came at them. The undead soldiers had quickly filled the courtyard, causing mayhem. They found that it was easier to repel their attacks by sticking together since it gave them a greater field of view, which was essential as the wights were seemingly coming from every direction. Jorah sent his sword through the chest of one of them, whilst Davos clumsily hacked off the arm of another. It was clear to see that he wasn't accustomed to this sort of fighting but he was managing to hold his own. But it was soon apparent that they were in trouble with a number of wights targeting them due to them having killed quite a few of their number. Yet, when it looked bleak, a beam of blue shot through the horde, turning them to ash in an instant. They gathered their breath as they saw Bruda, who looked surprisingly composed amongst the utter chaos, walk up to them. He swung his staff, hitting the head of another wight. He became a part of their defence tactic as they kept their backs to one another. They parried as one, fending off attacks quite well. They grew worried though as they saw Selmy, having taken out at least ten of the monsters in quick succession, fall off his horse under sustained pressure on both sides. Acting fast, Bruda slammed his staff onto the ground. It seemed to rumble as a blue force rose from the stones like a wave before surging towards the group around the former kingsguard. It destroyed the assailants immediately, and many in the near vicinity, but they could only see his body on the ground, unmoving. Bruda cursed under his breath, not just because of the effect the magic had had on his tiring body. The other two looked at him, checking that he was okay and non verbally asking whether they should see if Ser Barristan was still alive. But they knew the answer to both questions - they had to just keep going on.
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Jon, hardly noticing himself kill another wight, adding to the considerable number he had already felled, stared at the White Walker who had made its way into the courtyard. It appeared to be intent on its own mission, ignoring the battle around it. A man, Jon didn't know whether he was brave or foolish, charged at the humanoid figure, yelling loudly and brandishing his longsword. He had a poor stance and one swing of the Walker's spear knocked him to the ground. It wasn't finished there though as it lifted the poor man by the throat up into the air, his feet dangling a few feet from the ground. He struggled against the tight grip but it was a fruitless endeavour. The White Walker simply plunged its spear through the stomach of the now dead man, its end protruding out of his back.
Jon had seen enough. He had defeated one of these before and so knew it was up to him to help. He cried out as he ran towards the figure, swiping aside a wight as he did so. The Walker acknowledged the challenge and swung its spear again. Jon parried well with his sword. It took the White Walker by surprise that the sword wasn't shattered into tiny pieces. He was thankful for the Valyrian steel in that moment, having known it would stay strong under the attack. He pushed back using all the strength he could muster, momentarily forcing his opponent backwards. Trying to take advantage of his temporary upper hand, he made a slashing motion with his sword that was only just dodged by the White Walker. But he had put in too much effort, causing him to stumble off balance and he was made to pay. The Walker hit him with the handle of its spear with so much force that it sent Jon flying, hitting the wall with a thud. He lay on the ground unconscious, planks of wood tumbling to the ground after his impact, which worked to cover his body. The White Walker considered walking to him to finish the job but knew that it had a more pressing task to complete.
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The battle was spilling onto the grounds outside the castle walls, which was a positive outcome for the soldiers. The wights had used the cramped spaces to good effect, signalled by the number of fresh corpses that covered the cobbled ground. With more open space around them, they were able to see the horrors of war more clearly. Bruda tried to ignore the sight of one man's head being a considerable distance away from what he presumed was his body. He managed to dodge a wight that had flung itself into the air towards him before smirking as he saw a trio head towards him. Holding his staff horizontally, he parried each attack, successfully keeping them at a safe distance. He noticed a sword on the ground quite close to him so he pushed them away temporarily, using the added time to pick up the spare weapon. It was slick in his hand from the blood that coated the handle but it was still effective. He let one get close to him before swinging his staff again at its torso, forcing it into the other two. He flicked his hand, causing a blue ethereal rope to bind them together, before he shoved the blade through their heads, ending their existence.
He looked up at the sky as the dragons came around again. They took out a sizeable portion of the undead but even their aerial attacks weren't doing a sufficient job. He caught a streak of blonde in his vision, worrying about Daenerys' safety and knew that he needed to act soon. Yet he was immediately distracted by loud thuds coming from behind him. Getting rid of another wight, he turned around and looked up.
"Oh fuck off." An undead giant, presumably attracted by the blue light coming off Bruda, was marching towards him clumsily. He saw two men get crushed underfoot but didn't have time to care. With the large beast getting closer, he held out his staff and, gritting his teeth, let loose with a beam of magical energy once more. It stopped the giant in its tracks but the sheer size of it was allowing it to push back against the force. It was taking a lot of effort to stop it but it had to be done. Even the dragonglass swords would have little effect on this thing. He was aware that wights would be able to get to him easily now but, out of nowhere, Jorah came to his side, protecting him from any other attacks. Fed up with the nuisance, he let out a disgruntled shout before making a shoving motion with his hands. A snap from somewhere in the giant could be heard before it was flung into the air. It arched almost gracefully as it soared before landing heavily on a large group of wights. Bruda just raised his eyebrows at Jorah's impressed look before looking back at the dragons. They were getting dangerously close to the ground, prompting some wights to try and jump towards them. His eyeline caused him to look further ahead and saw a group of figures on horseback, watching the battle. He scowled at the figure.
"Jorah, with me," he ordered and they set off away from the castle. He needed to accept his fate.
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The light blinded Jon as the panels of wood were removed from on top of him. He shielded his eyes from the view so couldn't tell who was helping him. A strong arm helped him to his feet and held his shoulders as he regained his balance after his heavy fall. His senses coming back, he realised that Mance Rayder had been the one to spot his body. He was thankful that a person had found him before the undead creatures but he still needed a moment before he started fighting again.
"Are you okay boy?" Mance asked, concern evident in his voice. He had blood and mud all over his face, making him look even more haggard than usual. Jon nodded his head whilst breathing heavily. "Good. Now get back out there. We can't afford to lose anyone against these fuckers. We have to keep…" Mance stopped talking and coughed abruptly. A spurt of blood came flying from his mouth and they looked down together. Something metal was sticking out from his stomach. They shared one last look before the Wildling king tumbled to the floor, dead. Jon screamed out in rage and, picking up Mance's sword, he swung wildly at the wight that had killed him. Tears filling his eyes, he continued on his killing spree, taking out target after target before there were no more close around him. Tormund had seen what had happened and had been consumed by a fit of rage. He tore through the wights easily as he raced through the courtyard in a rampage. The wildling was followed by Ghost, who Jon hadn't seen in the battle up to that point. The direwolf ripped the arm off of one wight before continuing to savage another. Jon looked back at the lifeless body and knelt down by it. He was filled with an awful sadness as he looked at the older man. It was a grief that was becoming all too familiar with him but, for once, Jon understood that Rayder would have been content in his death, fulfilling his duty of protecting his people against the Others. He felt that it was his fault but also knew that Mance would have told him to get over himself. He'd want him to carry on. Not knowing where his own sword was, he kept Mance's in his hand. Jon looked around wildly, trying to see if the White Walker was still there. No sign of it. That was troubling.
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Theon watched the door intently, holding his sword as he had done since he heard the horn ring out. The castle was practically shaking due to the intense fighting going on outside. It was causing small granules of rock to occasionally stream down from the ceiling. He'd get twitchy if any of it landed on him. Yet Bran was as serene as ever as if this was the most natural thing ever to be happening. That made it worse for the young Greyjoy - it seemed as though he shouldn't be so paranoid when, in reality, it was the most obvious time to be worried. He had such an important job and he didn't want to let the Starks down yet again. This was his chance for redemption. All he had been through, all the suffering he had caused and subsequently become a victim to, had led him to this point. He wasn't planning on failing.
He became more alert as loud noises became apparent from the corridor right outside. The unmistakable shouts of men, the clanging and crashing of metal upon metal, the harrowing screams of pain and anguish, even the noise of a body flying against the wall. Theon looked at Bran, who appeared as if he knew what was about to happen. What was he not sharing with him? What had he condemned himself to? He was interrupted from his thoughts when the perpetrator of all the noise turned their attention to their location. They were intent on getting in. How did they know Bran was here? Did they know Bran was here? Was he ready for what was about to happen? The door began to shake under the heavy bangs from whoever was outside.
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Daenerys clung on tightly to Drogon as he glided through the air with a mighty roar. That's when she saw him. He was unmistakable. Sat on his strange horse, surrounded by other White Walkers. He watched her as if he was amused, interested in what she was about to do. Bruda had said that fire was their weakness and she was sitting on top of one great, big monster born of fire. She directed Drogon towards him and, for a moment, they simply hovered above their targets. The Night King watched impassively. That infuriated her. The cause of so much pain already. She could end him right here, put an end to this war. She let out a sort of war cry, screaming at him as Drogon let out a stream of blazing fire. It engulfed all of them and she watched gleefully as the fire surrounded them. It continued for a few moments before the dragon eventually stopped. She continued to stare, hoping to see his ashes drift off into the artificially bright sky. But her anger turned to anguish as she saw him still standing there, his impassive expression now replaced by a condescending smirk. Her eyes widened as he jumped off his horse and collected one of those spears Bruda told her about. She quickly ordered Drogon to get out of there and his wings began to beat, causing them to go higher. They got a fair distance away but still within his sights. He arched his arm back and flung the spear towards them at a frightening speed. Drogon saw it coming and managed to roll in the air, causing the weapon to narrowly miss his stomach. It still caught him in the side, causing him to roar out in pain. She didn't notice that though as his manoeuvre had given her no chance of hanging on. Despite her efforts, her hands gave in to gravity and she slipped from the safety of her dragon. She felt the air rush beneath her as the ground got closer.
Falling.
Falling.
Floating.
A soft blue light surrounded her and she slowed down dramatically. The force brought her to the snowy ground gently and she let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She looked around and saw Bruda, along with Jorah, running towards her briskly. She had landed some distance away from the Night King so that wasn't a worry. And they were so far away from the castle that the only wights near to them were already vanquished. The warlock bent down and checked her all over, Jorah squeezing her hand in a reassuring manner.
"It's him." It took her a lot of effort to speak due to the shock. Bruda gave her a grave look before he stood back up, looking over in the general direction of where he presumed he was. Jorah helped her to her feet, putting his arm around her protectively.
"Get back to the castle," Bruda said, a sad note in his voice. They looked at him with equally perplexed faces.
"What do you mean?" she asked startled. She stepped closer to him, now more stable on her feet. She looked at him closely and grew concerned when he wouldn't meet her eye. She took a hold of his face with one hand, forcing him to look at her. "What are you planning on doing?"
"To have a word with him." If only it were that simple. She stared at him for a moment longer, so many words running through her mind but none suiting the situation. Tears stung her eyes as she nodded. Realising that she had relented far quicker than he had expected, he sent out a spark into the sky and a loud whistle. Viserion was soon upon them, the flapping of his wings causing a breeze to blow their hair in different directions.
"Come back to me," she whispered.
"I always do," he replied with a solemn smile. Jorah took her arm in his hand and led her towards the dragon. The knight stared at the warlock, not knowing what to say. "Protect her," Bruda said eventually.
"I always do," came the response. They then hurried to get on Viserion. His arrival had attracted a group of wights to come towards them so they needed to get on quickly. Bruda couldn't tell if any of the creatures had managed to get on as they began to fly away. He was more focused on destiny as he began the long walk.
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Jaime didn't know how he was still alive. The horde of the undead just kept coming like an endless sea of grey. He batted away one savage whilst surveying his surroundings. He saw Bronn boot a wight away from him with his foot from his position on top of a wooden cart. The wights were attacking him from every angle but he was currently holding his own. The Greyjoy girl wasn't so lucky - Jaime watched horrified as a swarm of the creatures finally overpowered her and she was taken up by the wave of death. The large ginger wildling, closely followed by a gigantic white wolf, continued to charge through the courtyard, killing anything in his way. It was a sight to behold. Stannis Baratheon was still going but only just. He had received a knock early on that was hampering his fighting ability but he'd backed himself into a corner, allowing him to concentrate his defence in one direction for the time being.
Jaime's eyes then landed on Brienne, who was loudly grunting with each blow she struck. She was struggling massively, that was clear. He decided to help her and jumped over a wooden crate as he ran towards her. Yet his presence had the opposite effect. His arrival distracted her for a moment too long and one of the wights took advantage. It sliced her across the stomach, where her armour didn't cover, and she fell to the ground. He shouted out in fear as he saw what had happened, trying to get to her in time. He batted away a wight, attempting to shove his way through. He saw her dying eyes, the life fading from her quickly. He could only see her. Didn't care about anything else. The only other woman he had cared for. It just wasn't worth it anymore. He gave in to the sea of grey, his body washed up in an instant as if he was nothing more than a pebble.
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Jorah was glad to see another wight tumble off the side of Viserion. Quite a few had managed to get onto the dragon and, with Daenerys intent on flying the beast, he was tasked with protecting her. As he had promised Bruda. Only he knew what he was about to do. All Jorah hoped was that he did it quickly. He sent his sword crashing through the torso of a rotten figure, kicking it away once he'd done so. One wight got close enough to him without him noticing to create a gash down his arm. Jorah cried out in pain, alerting Daenerys briefly before she made herself focus on her task. He managed to throw it off into the air, giving him a short moment of respite. They just had to keep going until Bruda was done.
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The Night King was just up ahead. He battled through the wind as he kept on walking, clutching his staff tightly. He eventually stood directly in front of the leader of the undead, who had been standing there as he approached, intrigued by his arrival. Bruda could tell that the White Walkers were a bit perturbed by his arrival. He definitely wasn't a part of their plan. He looked at his opponent. He was truly an ugly creation. So humanoid yet so devoid of life. He wondered how scared a group of people had to be to make him as their saviour. The Children of the Forest had initially seen him as their only hope. How bleak their prospects must have been. He was surprised that the Night King didn't move or step closer to him. He was prepared for him to kill him straight away. Be done with this nuisance. That's what he would have done after all. Curiosity was always the downfall of power-hungry tyrants, even those of the undead variety.
"I don't know whether you remember me," he began, as if he was striking up a normal conversation. It was absurd. Was he finally giving in to his madness? The Night King didn't respond. Could he even talk? This was Bruda's ideal type of conversation - where the other person just left you to it. "We met at the Wall? You killed a friend of mine and I think I slightly inconvenienced you. Ring a bell?" Still nothing. It was almost boring. "I've come to ask you, politely, to end this madness. You can go live out your existence safely beyond the Wall and we can go about our business, doing things that humans do, such as fighting our own wars, making mistakes and falling in love. How about it? Neither of us truly want this death to continue." What he didn't expect was the Night King to start laughing, a deep, hollow sound that grated on his ears. There was no actual joy to it. It just resembled a laugh. The White Walkers followed his example. All staring at him. Laughing. He stroked his beard in annoyance. "Fine then. Different tactic. Before you inevitably kill me, because that seems your only skill, do an old man a favour and answer some of my questions. I'll be long gone before I can tell anyone so you've got nothing to lose." They didn't say no. "Okay...first one. What's with the obsession with the boy?"
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The door finally gave way. Theon stepped back from the destruction and looked on in fear as a White Walker stepped into the room. It stared not at him, but at Bran. Theon glanced at the young boy, who showed no emotion whatsoever. What was going on? The White Walker turned its attention to him after a beat and eyed his sword. The Greyjoy boy audibly gulped but tightened his grip on his weapon regardless. He charged straight at the Walker. He thought that it wasn't going to react until it swung its spear down on the sword, shattering it instantly. Theon looked down at the shards in his hand and then the White Walker. He was defenceless. There was nothing he could do as the spear was driven into him, blood spurting out of his mouth as his redemption died with him.
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They still didn't respond to his question. It was like they were allowing him to figure it out on his own. "Okay. Let's think. Bran said that you were created by the Children of the Forest. He's not one of those, so there's no connection there. I'm sure you know he's the Three-Eyed Raven…" Bruda stopped and looked at the figure in front of him. "It wasn't the Children. It was the Raven. So you're coming back to meet your maker. For what? You want to be stronger and the only person in existence who can grant you that wish is Bran Stark. And, oh boy, he lied to us. He knew all along why you were coming. He was positively excited to meet you. I'll be having words with him." They were growing a bit restless, unnerved by his words. The Night King took a step forward. "Ah! We're not going to be doing that. Come on. We're having a conversation, aren't we? I feel sorry for you, I really do. You've come all this way and yet you're still not going to get to see him." He banged his staff on the ground. A dull noise rang out as wisps of blue energy surrounded the Walkers. They froze in place, unable to move against the magical force. The Night King found that he couldn't move either, although he was more willing to fight this unknown power. "You really should have killed me when you had the chance. Honestly. Never let your opponent do a monologue. It's the first rule of being evil."
"Now then. I've got a bone to pick with you. We found a symbol that signified that you could be defeated by fire. So you can understand my shock when I find that isn't the case when it comes to you and your cronies." He clicked his fingers and pointed at the frozen man. "But I've realised why. Because I'm very intelligent and I often have a lot of time to think. And I work very well under pressure. I'd say that you're almost as clever as me. That's clear because you used that very symbol to confuse us. You knew that your wights would be killed by it and used that to your advantage. Your soldiers weren't subconsciously creating those patterns. That would be incredibly stupid and impractical. You wanted us to think that fire was your weakness so that we wouldn't be able to defeat you." He clapped his hands sarcastically. "And it worked. Quite brilliantly, in fact. Even I fell for it until very recently." His expression turned serious. "But you should have done your research on me. Because I know that you were created by dragonglass, even if Bran spoke lies about everything else. You were created by fire so can't be destroyed by it. We share that in common." He gestured to his staff. "Valyrian steel. Very similar to dragonglass. Forged by fire. You know how I knew you were created by dragonglass?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Your eyes. They're blue. Just as the steel turned my magic blue, the dragonglass turned your eyes the same colour. Isn't that just a remarkable coincidence. You know what else is remarkable. The fact that, because of this connection, I can do this." He aimed his staff at the Night King, a swirl of blue energy surrounding them both. A high wind picked up as he gripped the metal tightly. His arms shook under the pressure, magical energy pouring out of his body as he aimed it at his enemy. The Night King roared in anger and struggled against the force. For a moment it looked like Bruda would succeed but then the creature took a small step forward. He was able to fight it. The warlock had feared this. The blue energy continued to swirl around them but he knew it wasn't going to work. He was confined to his fate as he had known deep inside. As the Night King took another step closer, reaching out his hand towards Bruda, he threw his staff to the ground. It landed with a thud and the connection was broken.
"Fine!" he shouted. "You have it! You have it all!" He raised his hands towards the Night King. This time golden energy poured from his fingertips. It forced the monster back as it engulfed him in blinding light. A tornado of pure magical energy surrounded him. Bruda couldn't hold on for much longer. Another angry roar was let out but even the Night King couldn't fight this. The winds grew wilder, the energy became stronger, and Bruda saw the first flake come off the Night King. He tried to fight the magic but it was too strong. The ultimate sacrifice. It built up further, becoming a blinding gold colour before one final roar was let out and the tornado broke, a massive impulse firing out in all directions. It shattered the Walkers where they were. And sent Bruda flying into the air. But the Night King was gone.
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The White Walker reached out towards Bran and, just as it was about to make contact, it shattered into thousands of tiny shards of ice. Across the courtyard and the surrounding area, the wights dropped to the floor. Soldiers all around look at one another, confused as to what had happened but euphoric nonetheless. Some hugged each other, others cried, whilst some just shouted into the sky. It was over. Somehow they had won. All they knew was that it had something to do with the strange golden energy that had passed through the castle.
In the sky, Daenerys and Jorah had clearly seen the golden explosion. Daenerys had stopped breathing as she saw it happen. They both knew it was Bruda but weren't willing to think what it entailed. She ordered Viserion to turn around as they flew back to where the explosion had originated. Both didn't want to know what they'd find.
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Bruda got up from his position in the snow, grunting painfully as he used his arms to stand up. He stretched his arms out and looked at his hands. He focused intently but his hands remained the same, no golden energy appearing. He smiled sadly. He knew that would be the case. He saw Winterfell in the distance and began to walk, hoping to get there in time. He walked clumsily, stumbling in a zigzag fashion. He made it a few more steps, gritting his teeth due to the sheer effort it was taking. He'd have loved to have kept going. He slipped on a rock hidden by the snow and fell to the ground once more. He lay on his back and looked at the sky. Before him, the blue one he had created slowly dissipated, leaving the black sky to take back its position. He was happy about that.
"Stars," he whispered. "I knew there would be stars." With that, Bruda let out a long sigh and one single tear rolled down his cheek, eventually getting lost in his beard. He closed his eyes for the final time. And darkness fell.