Chapter 9 – The Storm

When the third blast of the horn sounded, everyone knew what it meant. Thousands of men and women moved through Winterfell to get to their designated post. The various houses of the North and Vale combined with the countless tribes of the Wildlings lined the ramparts of the castle. The Dothraki men mounted their stallions and among them was Jorah Mormont, who was charged with leading the cavalry shock unit. He watched as the Unsullied, armed with their spears and shields, marched out of the gates to act as their last line of defense. As the men in black leather armor passed by him, a familiar face stopped in front of him, "Good luck to you, Jorah the Andal."

"And to you too, Torgo Nudho."

"When you were banished by our queen, I treated you as a traitor. But I was wrong, you are a good and loyal man. I must ask forgiveness," said Grey Worm as he bowed his head.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"When the war is over, our queen will wish to have you by her side."

"Nothing would make me happier," said Jorah as he got onto his horse. "Now, you have more important people to say goodbye to." Grey Worm followed his gaze and the two men exchanged one last nod before going their separate ways. Part of Jorah envied the moment the Unsullied general shared with Missandei. He could not deny that deep down he still loved Daenerys dearly but in the end, it simply wasn't meant to be. She would always be his queen but nothing more. 'Perhaps when this is all over, I may be able to find someone else.' As Jorah rode out to join back up with his unit, the roars of the dragons resonated across Winterfell as Drogon and Rhaegal took flight. The men on the rampart cheered as the intimidating sound brought a brief moment of comfort to everyone in the castle. They were fearsome beasts but tonight they would be their guardian angels.

Despite being from the North, Jorah still felt chilled to his bones as the cold winds battered down on his spirit. Perhaps it was the Essosi weather that he got used to, but he noticed that the Knights of the Vale, who were with him, were also struggling with the cold. Every pair of eyes was staring into the night's abyss as if the darkness itself was coming to engulf them. For a long time, there was nothing but the eerie silence as the soldiers waited nervously for their enemies to appear. Suddenly, out from the darkness came a figure of a cloaked rider. The men were quick to draw their weapons, but Jorah held out his arm, signaling to hold. As he took a closer look, it was not a White Walker that approached them but a woman in red.

Sansa stood on the front battlement overlooking the entire battlefield alongside Arya. She had always believed that if the Starks could reclaim Winterfell, they would be safe again. That this castle would return to being the safe haven it once was when she was young. But now, even after fighting so hard to get it back, their sanctuary was once again being threatened. "It's at times like these that I wish I was more like you," said Sansa to Arya. "To at least have the strength to defend myself."

"I've already lost count of how many times I wished I was more like you." Arya pulled out a dragonglass dagger and offered it to her sister. "Here."

"I don't know how to use that."

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," said Arya with a smile.

"The preparations are complete, My Lady," said Tyrion as he walked up to join the Stark girls. "Now we just wait."

"Waiting is always the worst part."

Their conversation was interrupted when a shout came from the watchtower, "Here they come!" Before they even had a chance to see the dead coming, they heard their inhuman cries, and the rumbling of their stampede grow louder and louder. Without further warning, the tsunami that was the army of the dead crashed into the first wooden barricade. "Fire!" The command for the artillery fire came instantly and dozens of meteors began crashing down onto the invading army. The damage was there but it was not nearly sufficient enough as the dead tore through the barricade with the sheer volume of their forces.

Up in the air, Jon and Daenerys witnessed the true scale of the enemy that numbered over a hundred thousand. It was their second time seeing it, yet it was still no less horrifying.
"Dracarys!" The Targaryens wasted no time joining the fray and unleashed their dragons upon the wights. The dragonfire came down like the wrath of god and smited the dead with far greater effectiveness. Every strafe the dragons made destroyed hundreds of wights at a time, leaving behind a trail of fire that lit up the dark night. As Sansa watched the dragons turn the terrain into a field of fire, for the first time since Daenerys arrived at Winterfell, she felt truly grateful that they were on the same side.

Jon scanned his surroundings as he rode Rhaegal, looking for any signs of the Night King. They needed to intercept him and Viserion, otherwise, the undead dragon would blow a hole right through Winterfell's walls. If the castle's defenses get breached, the battle would be over. As he flew over the army of the dead, he spotted the Night King's generals whose count neared a hundred. Each rode an undead steed and when they noticed the dragonriders' approach, they pushed their mount into a gallop and launched the same ice spears that took down Viserion.

"Sōvegon!" Having had this dance with Qyburn's Scorpions before, the dragons picked up altitude and got out of the range of the spears. The time away from the battlefield did not come without consequences though as the rest of the stampede pushed past the barricade and continued their advance onto Winterfell. The gap between the first line of defense and the second line of defense was 150 meters, and the wights were quickly closing that distance. But after having been stopped by the barricade and thinned out by dragonfire, their ranks were not as tight, and their charge had lost the flood-like force it had before. That's when the forces of the living blew the horn a second time that night, but this time it did not come from Winterfell.

The sound of the horn was accompanied by the thundering sound of the hooves as 40,000 Dothraki screamers and the Knights of the Vale led by Jorah Mormont charged at the enemy. Right before they made contact, the Dothraki raised their arakhs and their blades got enchanted with the fires of R'hllor by the Red Priestess Melisandre. A volley of fire flew over them to cut off the reinforcements of the undead army as the cavalry smashed into their enemy's flanks. The horselords and mounted knights reaped through the wights like a scythe through harvest, clearing out a significant portion of the undead army with little casualties. "Again!" shouted Jorah as he raised Heartsbane into the air and led the cavalry for another charge. As his horse picked up speed, the cold wind felt like sharp knives on his face. It wasn't until he felt his horse slowing down that he noticed the giant snowstorm that was about to overtake them. By the time he called for a retreat, it was already too late.

Back in Winterfell, beside the Heart tree the castle was built around, Bran quietly observed the battle through the eyes of the crows he has warged into. Once the storm came, his vision was obscured, and he returned to his body. "How is it?" asked Theon as he noticed Bran's eyes roll back to their natural state.

"Not good."

"Is there anything you can do to help them?"

"There is but I need you to lay me against the Heart tree. My powers are stronger when I'm in contact with them." Theon nodded and carried the young Stark to the weirwood tree after laying down his cloak. Bran took a good look at him then and noticed the shadow of death that clung to him. Thousands of umbral arms reached for him, each representing a different reality in which Theon Greyjoy perishes. "Theon," said Bran as he sat him down, "you're a good man."

The look he got in return showed what those words meant to him. He may not be able to take back his betrayal but at least knowing that he is forgiven for it can help lighten the weight on his soul. Perhaps if he was still Brandon Stark, he would be able to offer more than those few simple words. Perhaps he would try to find a way to save him, no matter how unlikely. 'Forgive me.' Bran thought as he submerged himself into the past.

To find a way to defeat the Night King, he will need to go back thousands of years. But trying to see something that far back in the past is like trying to find an old book in the Citadel's library. He will need time to work his way back to the beginning. When he reemerged from his dive through time, he found himself in a well-furnished room with the most noticeable thing being the Targaryen décor. Bran wasn't sure where he was, given that he didn't choose this time and place to resurface. This was simply a temporary stop before he could dive further back into the past.

The footsteps at the door pulled him out of his own thoughts as he instinctively took a step behind cover. The man who entered had the telltale sign of a Targaryen; pale skin with silver platinum hair along with a light shade of purple irises. While still being quite young, he had the weight of the crown sitting atop his head. Another man followed behind him, they were around the same age but this one did not have any relations to Old Valyria. Well-kempt blonde hair and sharp green eyes adorned his serious demeanor. While the king wore an extravagant robe, he wore a simple red leather doublet with a golden lion stitched at the front.

"I want the doves to come flying in right as the music and the dancing…Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhmm," hummed blonde man as he walked past the king and went to his desk.

"This is important, I will not have the bards say the king does not know how to host a splendid ball."

"Yes, you've said this a hundred times on our way up here. What I don't understand is why you must bother me with this? Seems like something you ought to plan with your wife instead of with your Hand."

"You know how it is with me and Rhaella, but speaking of women…"

"Only the fairest maidens."

"You know me so well." The king laughed while the blond man shook his head in mock disappointment of his friend. "Oh, I was also thinking, what if we invited some Dothraki horselords to come to compete at our next jousting event? I would love to see how our knights fare against men who have been riding since the day they were born."

"I'll give this idea a moon's turn, same as the one about invading the Stepstones."

"I'll remember this one, and I will make it happen. When I do, I'm going to make you compete in it too, just watch." This time, the young lion couldn't help but chuckle as well. "People in court say you don't laugh, I always tell them I can get you to do it."

"How can the Hand keep his job if he doesn't laugh at the king's jokes?"

"Oh don't even…"

The blonde man looked up from his work when the king suddenly went quiet and saw that he was staring out the balcony. He followed his gaze but there was nothing there, "Your Grace?"

"Shh, I hear something," said the king as he took a step toward Bran. "Do you hear that? It's like a whisper or something." As he took another step closer, Bran took a step back which caused the king to freeze in his place. "Who's there!? Guards!"

His tone brought the blond man to his feet, noting that this wasn't a simple prank. He quickly scanned the room, but he still did not see anything out of the ordinary. "Your Grace, there's nothing there."

Bran did not dare move another muscle, in case his presence was felt even more. He could feel the powers of the Three-Eyed Raven gathering within him and he knew that he would be able to dive through time again in just a few seconds. As he channeled his ability, time was no longer linear to him. He saw pieces of the past he wanted to go to but also pieces of the 'future' that had already happened in his present.

'A mad man sees what he sees.'

'Sigil, a lion. Words, a Lannister always pays his debts.'

'You served him well, when serving was safe.'

'I know what my father was, what he did. I know the Mad King earned his name.'

'By what right does the Wolf judge the Lion?!'

'Burn them all!'

"Burn them all…"

"No!" Bran tried to contain his powers, but it was already too late. His soul was already leaving this plane of time and moving onto the next one. Before his vision faded to black, he saw the king collapse onto the floor and the blond man shouting at the guards to find the Grand Maester. The king would not remember what happened when he wakes up but the words he heard that day would later become seeds that eventually grew into paranoia. The paranoia would then eventually grow into madness, earning him the name of the Mad King.

Inside the storm was a dark and cold hell that had no end in sight. Jorah's horse had long since collapsed from the bitter cold and the knight from Bear Island was not faring any better. He felt the frostbite claim the flesh of his cheeks and his limps grew rigid. A layer of frost and snow-covered his armor and he knew that the ice would imprison him if he did not keep moving. He had passed by many of his fellow soldiers, the dead already half-covered in ice and snow. Their look of terror still frozen on their faces.

Walking was already becoming too much to bear and finally, he came to a stop when the four horsemen slowly approached him on their steeds. He no longer had the strength to fight and he fell forward on his knees, the only thing still holding him up being the Valyrian sword Sam had given him before the fight. He had made many mistakes in his life, but he would not carry any regrets to his grave. As he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable swing to come, it never did. Instead, the storm cleared around them and let the light of the moon shine down on top of him. When he looked up at the sky, he saw Daenerys atop her dragon; every bit the goddess he saw her as.

"Moon of my life."

He knew she had seen him as well when Drogon began descending, but at the same time, he noticed the White Walkers around him, who were still hidden by the storm, prepare their ice javelins. She would never call him her sun and stars but to know that she would risk her life for him is enough. In the end, his loyalty to her was not in vain, he did have a spot in her heart and for that, he would not let her fall on his watch. With all the strength he could muster from within, he pushed himself up onto his feet while the White Walkers were still focused onto the dragon.

In their minds, a man half a foot past death's door was no threat to them, he had served his purpose in drawing out the dragonrider, but that all changed when one of their brethren was shattered into a million pieces by the man's Valyrian steel blade. Such transcendent beings were not used to the feeling of shock but that was exactly what they were experiencing at that moment. No man had ever survived this long in their storm before, much less still be able to fight.

Lyanna Mormont had once said that every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders, and Jorah was no different. Two White Walkers approached him, with every intention of ending this fight quickly with their numbers advantage but the former heir of House Mormont would not get meekly cornered. 'Here We Stand,' those were his house words and he stood his ground by striking with a ferocity that the ice demons have never witnessed before. He took the fight to the first White Walker with quick consecutive strikes while putting distance between him and the second one. The Other had the strength, speed, and reaction to deflect his blows but its overreliance on its physical capabilities left an opening for tricks. A smart feint from the experienced knight gave him the window he needed to deliver a clean cut that turned his first opponent into dust.

The second White Walker let out a shriek that mirrored the sound of breaking glass as it charged at Jorah. Perhaps these monsters had a sense of brotherhood amongst themselves that likened them to their human counterpart, but Jorah paid no heed to it as he calmly deflected its thrust. Heartsbane sang as the steel clashed with the magical ice the White Walkers wielded as their weapon. The Valyrian blade had never tasted the flesh of the cold gods before and it was singing for more. Jorah felt empowered by the magical steel that vibrated in his grip and swung down as hard as could, shattering the White Walker along with its guard.

The roar of the dragon above him let him know that Daenerys was getting close, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he looked for his last opponent. Armed with Heartsbane and with his queen watching him, he knew he could not be bested in single combat. But the challenge never came, and by the time he saw the White Walker throw his javelin, he had already felt it pierce through his armor. The fire in his veins began to extinguish as he felt the fight leave his body. With the last remaining strength he had, he took one last look at his heart's bane.

"Khaleesi…"

*Author's Note: Let me know what you guys think of Bran's visions so far! I'm curious to see if you guys can name all of the quotes I used, some were as far back as Season 1. Jorah was always going to die defending his queen, but I do hope I was able to give him the death he deserved.

GulfYankee23: No worries, I don't think your comment was harsh at all and I still greatly appreciate the review. The first version I wrote was actually one where Dany takes it well and they work it out immediately, but I honestly felt like that didn't do justice to the internal turmoil that Jon is faced with from the revelation of his true parentage. This is something Jon needed time to come to terms with, but the dead aren't so kind as to wait for him to sort his thoughts and feelings out XD

Guest: Wow I actually didn't know that, thanks for the review!

Samantha: Thank you for the kind review!