Author's Note: Whew, this was a long chapter to write. Originally it was going to be broken up but I decided to have it all in one after finishing it. As always thank you for all your favorites and reviews! And I own nothing, sadly.
Chapter Nine: Must Come Down
Arya shifted, her back ached from hours crouching along the snow banks. She'd got Bran's message about the oncoming horde of wights the night before and spent the early hours of the morning warging between flocks of ravens to mark the enemies numbers. Over the last hour though, she'd focused more on the counterattack launched by their forces near Last Hearth. She tracked the progress of Jon and Daenerys on dragon back, her amusement at Dany's abrupt proposal through the storm clouds had sent her into a giggling fit that had Gendry twitching from his post next to her. He'd followed her out of Winterfell that morning, stalking behind her as she made her way between the thick banks of snow to the godswood. He hadn't said a word to her, instead maintaining a solid, quiet presence at her back. But as she snorted and giggled, failing at muffling them in her gloves, he spoke up.
"What's so funny milady?"
"Don't call me a lady," the retort was so automatic she didn't notice it at first, until she heard the sharp inhale of the man next to her. When she'd seen him in the company of her brother and the dragon queen all those weeks ago, she'd been ecstatic. She was so certain that he'd been killed by the red witch, that seeing him alive and well had filled her heart with a joy that she hadn't felt since Jon had gifted her Needle those years past. She'd acted on impulse then, pulling him into a hug and sticking to him like a burr on a saddle. She didn't want to question her feelings, her happiness at seeing him or her resentment at his choices in the past, instead choosing to focus on the present. And he seemed to agree with her, rarely touching on their past and focusing on the present and tentatively the future. But something had changed between them as the nights grew colder and longer and the Night King came closer, something that had her itching to reach out and...and well she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she wanted to do something.
"Alright, I won't," Gendry smirked at her kneejerk response, something's didn't change, and her attitude towards her station definitely hadn't. She had though. Not that he minded, of course, but she wasn't the young girl he'd traveled with from King's Landing. She wasn't Arry, but she wasn't Lady Stark either. She was something new, cold and harsh, sharp like a newly wetted blade, but soft underneath, like supple leathers.
"Shut up, stupid. I'm trying to watch Jon make a fool of himself with the Dragon Queen," Arya punched his arm, wincing as her fist impacted against solid muscle, Gendry's long days in the forge evident.
"Aren't you supposed to be watching for wights?"
"Yes. No. Shut up," Arya shot a glare at him as he snorted and shook his head, he had grown his hair and beard out over the last month or so, the locks curling around his ears, while the thick scruff made him look more Northern. She liked it, not that she wanted to admit it to him. Shaking her head, she tried to channel her power again, centering herself inward while reaching out. Her gaze broadened and she warged from bird to bird, until she reached the main force of White Walkers. She watched as Brienne and the Kingslayer fought back to back, their Valyrian steel swords cutting large swaths through the enemy as archers with dragonglass tipped arrows took down row after row of wights. Fire blazed against the cold white snow as foot soldiers with torches flitted through the battle, setting corpses of wights and humans alike, alight so they wouldn't rise again. She watched as Brienne pulled her forces back and Tormund Giantsbane had to physically pull little Ned Umber away from a corpse he was hacking at. She watched them plot and plot, and then she watched several chosen few climb high among the trees and set the Kingsroad alight with wicked green flame.
Pulling back to herself she felt her breath catch in her throat, "Wildfire, they're using wildfire," she gasped, sagging into Gendry as she did.
Flinching, Gendry reached around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. He remembered hearing stories as a kid running around Flea Bottom of pyromancers and their experiments with the substance. That they would have some here, so far in the North, that they would even need to use it was startling, and more than a little unnerving. Arya sat in his arms, unmoving for several moments before he shifted her and asked, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," shaking her head, Arya pulled away from him, already regretting it as the cold bit into her cheeks, "Yeah it was just, awful. It ripped through the wights and Others and set everything aflame. But even that wasn't enough to stop their march, just slow it down…"
"Chin up Arry, your brother and the Dragon Queen will make short work of the Night King," Gendry forced a smile on his face.
"I hope so," Arya muttered, her mind focusing on the thousands of wights that still marched towards them, in spite of the raging inferno that blocked their path. The bulk of the Northern forces were waiting at Long Lake, and she hoped that the ones at Last Hearth were using the wildfire as a means of escape to go meet with the main forces.
Jon leaned into Rhaegal's back, his hand digging tightly into the spine's along the green dragon's neck as said dragon banked hard to the left. They were nearing their destination at Long Lake and so the dragon's had taken to flying lower, beneath the clouds. Jon's heart squeezed in his chest, a frantic throbbing as he felt the anticipation for the oncoming battle mix with his excitement at Dany's proposal. His response still rang about his head, and he wondered once more why he ended up the least eloquent Stark.
Dany let her eyes settle on the emerging treetops as Drogon flew lower and lower, her proposal had been sudden and fueled with a mix of giddy excitement being in the air, yet not alone, and fear of the outcome of the coming battle. Jon's response though, had been a blessing and helped ease any worries that might have crept up, "I'm supposed to ask you, not the other way around!" Her resulting laughter sent him into a spluttering mess, though that may have been the sudden cloud of bugs Rhaegal had banked into. Her brooding wolf had been silent since then, alternating between shooting glances at her and patting Rhaegal on the back. She wasn't sure what was more amusing, that he would be sulking that she proposed first, or that his response to her proposal was to sulk. Either way she knew that if they survived this, he was the only one she would marry, blood of her blood, sulking wolf and all.
Jorah Mormont was having a spectacularly shitty day, month really, some might even say life, though they wouldn't say that to the Old Bear's face. His Khaleesi had sent him off with Grey Worm to tighten the security along the Kingsroad and set traps along Long Lake to keep the bulk of the Night King's forces from advancing past there. At first, he was thrilled that she'd entrusted him with such an important duty, but when he realized that he would be leaving her alone in Winterfell with the bastard king (he refused to believe the boy was Targaryen, absolutely refused), he was desolated. His sweet Khaleesi was probably mauled by the boy every night, but he did have to marvel at her strength in putting up with him so they could face the Long Night. He was sure once the battle was over, and the boy was hopefully dead, she would reveal it had been a ruse to get the North on her side. Of course, it didn't make his current situation any better. Digging ditch number fifty to line with wooden spikes tipped with dragonglass had his back and joints aching more than when he'd been sold into slavery or infected with greyscale. He'd tried to get out of ditch duty, but for some reason Grey Worm and his niece had teamed up and told him he had to, stating they trusted no one else to lead the men in preparing the traps. Little Lyanna had arrived at their encampment several days prior, and ever since she had, Jorah had the sinking suspicion that all her comments about forgiving him his past sins had been faked. The little she bear had done nothing but sneer at him when he approached her about reclaiming his title as Lord of Bear Island once the war was over, not that he wanted to live there of course, that would place him too far from his khaleesi, but the title would go a long way to show her his worth.
Leaning on the shovel Grey Worm had shoved at him that morning, Jorah marveled at how even with the biting cold, the trenchwork had worked up a heavy sweat. Taking a swig of wine from his waterskin, he went to start back up again when he heard a familiar roar. A massive black shape broke through the low hanging snow clouds and Jorah marveled as Drogon landed several hundred feet away, his Khaleesi on the dragon's back. Another roar startled him from his perusal and he flinched as Rhaegal landed much closer than his brother. The green dragon growled at him making him take a step back only to fall in the half dug pit he'd been working on. Landing in the sodden mix of mud and snow, Jorah grumbled about uptight lizards and heaved himself up to be greeted by the sight of his Khaleesi in the arms of the King in the North. Rearing back from the image of his Khaleesi devouring the boy, Jorah fell back into the pit, hitting his head on a stray rock and falling into unconsciousness.
"Khaleesi, we did not expect you today," Grey Worm strode forward, interrupting the passionate kiss between Jon and Dany. Projecting an outward face of calm, Grey Worm was smirking internally, he had called their relationship from the start, even before the little Lannister. He told Missandei and she had agreed, wagering with him over how long it would take post-Targaryen reveal for the two to become one. Missandei had explained the Westerosi customs of marriage to him and he would bet his spear that his queen had proposed marriage to Jon Snow, if the man's uncharacteristic grin was anything to show for it.
"Yes, sorry Grey Worm. We received news from Bran that the Night King and his forces were almost at Last Hearth. We," she turned and looked at Jon with a small smile, "Decided to come here and help cover the retreat of the forces from Last Hearth. All of our strategies have the final push happening here anyways. We can't let them get any closer to Winterfell, if they do, well…." Dany's voice trailed off as Jon straightened his back and took over.
"While Winterfell can weather a siege by normal means, these are not normal soldiers and to add to that the main population of the North has made its way there to hide for the Winter. That on top of the Dothraki and Unsullied forces have strained our resources to the point where if there was a siege, we would not last long. We need to strike now, hard and fast. As soon as the forces from Last Hearth arrive, we need to set out. I want to know the exact numbers and what happened before we act though. So far neither Bran nor Arya has seen Viserion near the main army and that worries me." Jon locked eyes with Grey Worm, an unspoken communication passing between the two men, speaking of their mutual worry for Dany over the subject of her fallen son.
"I agree," Grey Worm nodded his head and gestured for the two Targaryen's to follow him to the command tents to get warm, the snowfall slowly starting to pick up.
Jaime pushed on, urging his horse forward through the thick snow, they had to make haste towards the rendezvous point at Long Lake, the Night King's army wouldn't be stopped for long, wildfire for all its sinister purposes could not burn forever in the constant snow of the North. He didn't know how the Stark's did it, living day in and day out with the constant oppressive cold, but he was dying for the warmth of the sun in Casterly Rock, he'd even settle for the humid Riverlands, he just wanted out of the snow. Brienne pulled her horse up next to his, her blue eyes rimmed with red, exhaustion seeping from her much like he assumed it seeped from him. They'd been riding hard for the last day, they'd set off as soon as Bronn had lit the wildfire and hadn't stopped since. He hoped the sellsword turned knight had made it to the rearguard, but he wasn't going to head back and check. Their main priority was getting the bulk of their forces to Long Lake fast and without delay.
"Little Ned says we should be there by midday, or whatever passes for midday in this weather," Brienne called out, her voice hoarse against the harsh winds that suddenly picked up and began to whip snow and ice around them.
"Great, pass it on down the line. We can't afford any breaks, the last one was bad enough," Jaime replied, wincing as his chapped lips split open from the movement, the coppery taste of his own blood sinking into his mouth.
"At this pace we'll kill the horses Jaime, we have to slow down and pace ourselves at least," Brienne shifted her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Jaime could feel his own mount quivering from the strain of the hard ride in thick snow beneath him, he knew they needed the horses for any cavalry maneuvers or another quick getaway, but they couldn't afford to lag behind. And if they went any slower, they would freeze faster… but if he didn't order a slower pace, it could kill the horses.
"Alright, we'll slow it down. The first company will take a rest at the next clearing, then push onward while the second company rests, and so on."
Brienne wheeled around to relay his orders, though she was theoretically in charge, she'd turned to his expertise in battles and warfare over the past weeks. Their budding relationship was strained by the tense atmosphere and the guerilla attacks they wielded on the Others, and she was looking to the day where the dawn would rise and the two of them could sit down and discuss their future. Passing along his orders to Pod who in turn headed down the line to tell the next in command, Brienne felt a shiver crawl up her spine, an awareness that they weren't alone on the road. Something was watching them.
Jon sat in the command tent his legs crossed in a meditative pose that Arya had shown him, he had wanted to question where she learned it, but a quick look from Sansa had shut him down fast. Now he was trying to reach out with his mind and warg into the nearby flock of ravens to take a look at the oncoming horde himself. He'd only managed to successfully and consciously warg with Ghost several days before and so he knew that this was a shot in the dark, unlikely to work. Slowing his breathing down, he started to slip into the blank space where he could feel his connection to the direwolf when a loud exclamation startled him to consciousness.
"The Kingslayer's company has been spotted along the Kingsroad, they'll be here in under an hour. They're riding hard, I can only assume the Night King is on their tail," Dany gasped for breath, her rapid fire words of warning causing panic to rise in her chest. It was too soon, too soon, they weren't ready…
Jon stood up and pulled her trembling hands into his own, he hadn't felt this kind of fear since he'd woken from his resurrection, life flooding into him with the cold decay of death clinging to his thoughts. Here and now though, he banished the panic, killed it and the boy it belonged to. Holding Dany's hands in his he tried to push that strength through to her, knowing she just needed a reminder that she was Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons.
Dany blinked and squeezed Jon's hands back, his silent support and strength in the face of her fear was illuminating. She could be just Dany with him, and he would still love her. But she could also be Daenerys and he would be there for her as well. Shaking her head she felt a well of cold steel settle along her spine, she would be cold and sharp like a Valyrian blade in the face of the Others, unbreakable and unbending.
"It's time, isn't it?" the question came from Grey Worm as he stood quietly behind the couple.
Turning, they kept their hands intertwined as they faced the commander, the heavy knowledge that the battle was nigh settling over their shoulders.
"Yes, pull everyone back to the second defenses and signal the Kingslayer to do so as well. The Others will be right behind them and I'd rather be in place and ready then caught off guard."
Grey Worm nodded and left them to do as the King in the North bid, but was quickly replaced by the massive white form of Ghost, who nosed his way into the tent. Dany let out a giggle as the direwolf snuffed at Jon, his countenance appearing haughty and annoyed.
"I think he's upset we left him behind at Winterfell when we took to the skies."
Kneeling down, Jon wrapped his arms around his silent companion, burying his face in the soft scruff as he muttered his apology, "Sorry boy, we had to leave fast and I didn't think you'd take to flying well."
Ghost pulled back and sniffed at Jon's face before leaning forward and dragging his tongue up the side of his human's face, snorting as Jon recoiled, wiping at his face. Of course he didn't want to fly with the giant flying lizards, but Jon could have at least told him they were leaving, humans were ridiculous, so uncommunicative. He wasn't going to stay behind in the castle when his human went off to battle, especially when he was fighting the cold, dead things. Ghost would enjoy ripping them apart, they smelled foul and made his fur stand on edge. He had worked out a partnership deal with the smaller flying lizard over Jon, and he was grateful to the lizard that he had alerted him to his human's departure. It was a long hard run to get there, but he wouldn't be anywhere else.
Jorah Mormont stared down the massive black beast his Khaleesi called a son. He'd been pulled out of the trench the day before and had spent the night curled up in his blankets shivering away and cursing the name Jon Snow. Now though, there had been a call to arms and they had abandoned the preliminary defenses and pulled back to a secondary site. Drogon had gone hunting hours prior and had since landed and decided to hold a staring contest with Jorah. The man in question wasn't sure why the dragon had fixed him in its gaze, but he wasn't comfortable with it. They were standing along the edge of a hillside overlooking Long Lake, the dragon taking up a majority of the hillside.
"Drogon, sōvēs ," his Khaleesi's voice rang out from the dragon's back and Jorah wondered when she had mounted him. Blinking he took one step back, then another as the dragon leaned forward and launched itself into the air. A roar split through the sky as Rhaegal followed his brother's example and the two dragons tooks to the skies, flying sinuously between the other's wings. It was beautiful, a dance of dragons. And it was terrifying, the small white spot along the deep black scales of the larger dragon was all he could see of his Khaleesi. His heart leapt to his throat as he saw a new shape enter the sky, blue scales tinged with the unearthly color of the Other, Viserion had joined the fight. Looking down to the lakeside below, Jorah felt the hair on his arms not just stand on edge, but ice over with fear. There, creeping through the woods along the lake was a massive host of the shambling wights. Trees creaked and groaned before falling to the ground as dessicated mammoths and giants forced their way through. Jorah reached down and grabbed the hilt of his sword, tightening his grip as he watched the first wave of the Others step up to the first set of traps.
The united forces of Unsullied, Dothraki, and Northmen with the small contingents of Lannisters and Tully's stood at the slope of the hillside, watching with bated breath as the host of the dead made its way towards them. Grey Worm lifted a hand, holding any movement from the archers as the wights began to rush towards the hill, scenting their prey. All at once the corpses rushed forward at varying speeds only to reach a certain tree and collapse into the jagged pits they'd spent the last weeks making. Lined with spears tipped with dragon glass, the footsoldiers were instantly impaled and halted.
But the undead kept coming. They had no sense of self-preservation, no sense of cunning, no actual sense at all. They ran headfirst into the trenches over and over and over again. A low roar of pain showed that the larger pits were also working, a giant having fallen into one and impaling himself on the spikes. A mammoth fell into one next, but with half a trunk missing there was no trumpeting of pain and just the muted thud of the heavy weight hitting the earth. Row after row, score after score of wights and creatures fell into the pits that lined the lake.
The skies weren't quiet either, as the dragons reenacted their ancient dance. Rhaegal flew low, sliding under Viserion before swinging his spiked tail up to catch the smaller dragon in the chest. Digging his claws into what remained of his younger brother Rhaegal dodged his snarling head and bit into his neck, ripping and tearing at the wound before releasing Viserion and flying off. Drogon slammed into the creature that was his brother next, sending him flying a few feet in the air. Daenerys screamed along the back of her eldest, the pain at seeing her children fight consuming her, " Dracarys ." White hot flames bathed the side of the smaller dragon as Drogon banked, clearing the way for Rhaegal to baptise Viserion with his own fire.
Dany sobbed into Drogon's back, the mutilated form of her youngest twitching in the air as it tried to fight back. They had wondered if the Night King would ride Viserion, but apparently he was shrewder than they thought, and realized how easy of a target it would have made him. Looking away from the ruined form of her child she took in the progress of the battle below, the pits were working so far at stopping the dead. But they needed to move onto phase two of the plan. Tugging on her bond with Drogon, Dany pulled him away, leaving Rhaegal to finish him off. Flying lower to the ground, but not so low or so close to be in range of the Other's ice spears, Dany cried out the command again and the world was bathed in a blinding white as the pure flame that came from her child's maw. Fire sprang to life in the secondary pits they lined along the road, lighting the packed together kindling and dragonglass, the heat from the flames sending the dragonglass exploding out into the oncoming horde.
Arya knew it was too good to be true to think that the Others would have stayed together in one army. Slicing a new and improved Needle through the waist of a wight she wound her way back to back with Gendry. The blacksmith swung his warhammer tipped with dragonglass in large sweeping arcs, allowing her to dart through and around his strikes to take down those that he missed. The wights had been scrabbling up the walls of Winterfell since nightfall. A smaller host than the one Jon and Dany were facing, but still a sizeable one. The battlements of the castle were littered with the newly dead as they defended the keep. A secondary level of defense in the form of archers was sending volley after volley of dragonglass arrows into the dead. A wight swiped at Arya, its clawed fingers catching on her shoulder only to release as an arrow sprouted from its neck, severing its head from its shoulders. Arya jerked her head to see who saved her and blinked in surprise as Sansa sent a grim smirk at her, the large bow in her hands looking so out of place Arya wondered when she'd learned to shoot.
"Eyes open Arry," Gendry called out as he bashed the skull of a wight into the ground.
Snorting Arya turned and slammed her valyrian steel dagger into the chest of another wight behind him, inwardly thanking the weasely Littlefinger for being so thoughtful to gift it to Bran, her little brother knew how she'd love blades and given it to her in turn.
Davos cleaved a wight in two as he ushered Sam and Gilly further back into the library, somehow wights had made it inside the castle walls and everyone was on high alert. Torches lit each wall by the hundreds, installed in preparation for such an events. Gilly grabbed one and slammed it into a wight that tried to tackle Sam while Sam used his dragonglass dagger to stab one that was creeping up on Davos.
Tyrion was thankful that Robert's bastard had forged so many weapons in the time he did, but he wished he had had the foresight to ask for something more tailored to his height. Sansa was standing several feet away, a pile of arrows next to her as she picked off target after target. She'd revealed her hidden skill that morning, stating she had Brienne teach her months ago, before the Battle of the Bastards, on the off chance that the battle went south. Tyrion himself was left with a small dragonglass handaxe and dagger, the dagger being slightly more wieldy than the handaxe. Sighing, he turned and kept his eyes out, the guards that were supposed to be protecting them having long left to join the fight along the front gates. The expanse between the outer walls and the castle was empty, they'd cleared it of snow that morning and set the trap. A single horn blast alerted them to the retreat and he rushed over to help Sansa gather her weapons.
"When this is over, I'd like to discuss the state of our marriage," Sansa's statement had him dropping his small armful of arrows as he looked up at her in surprise.
"What?" before he could finish his question a pair of soft lips pressed against his. Leaning into it, Tyrion felt a wave of warmth slide over him, but it was quickly gone as Sansa pulled away to pick up her weapons. '
"No time now, but we will discuss it," her tone brokered no argument and Tyrion nodded dumbly back at her, following along as she retreated into the castle and the front grounds of Winterfell were set ablaze, the oil they'd spilled earlier easily catching alight despite the sudden snowfall that arrived with the wights.
Jaime fell into a tree, his armor dented as a wight went flying past him, Pod's enraged face appearing beside him. Breathing heavily he nodded at the squire, making a mental note to knight the boy if they survived this. He'd lost sight of Brienne hours ago, their short respite at the rendezvous point with the main forces separating them, and then the battle was upon them and he had no time to seek her out. Taking a moment to breathe, he watched as Pod threw himself back into the battle, the massive axe Brienne had given him slicing and dicing through the wights. A familiar head of ginger hair popped up next to him as Tormund slid against the tree trunk.
"Sister-fucker if we get out of this I want to see that pretty little cock of yours that has all your women so enchanted."
Jaime burst into laughter, taken aback by the wildling's comment. Clearing his throat he tried to respond, "What?" but the man was already gone, throwing himself into the thick of battle.
Jon trudged through the slush of snow and mud and blood, Longclaw was dripping with the viscous fluids from the wights he'd killed. Turning on his heel, he felt Ghost lunge in their bond and was met with the gaze of his direwolf grappling with a White Walker. Breaking into a run, he joined Ghost in the battle, Longclaw sliding through the defenses of the Walker, shattering it into shards of icy glass. Running his free hand through Ghost's fur, Jon had the momentary thought of surprise that it was still so white despite the battle going on, but was quickly drawn back into the fray as a slew of wights descended on him and Ghost. Blood and bone mixed with ice as Jon wreaked havoc on the wights. A roar from overhead had him craning his neck to watch as Rhaegal dealt a final blow to Viserion, ripping his former brother's head from his neck. Wincing at the brutality, Jon watched as the wights kept pouring into the clearing below the hill. He could sound the call for the Dothraki to enter the battle, but he held back, the horsemen still weren't used to the snow and so they were better off as a last resort. Pulling back from his rather open stance, Jon ducked behind a boulder and felt for his tenuous bond with Rhaegal. Tugging on the silver thread that connected him to the dragon, he called out his name.
An answering roar echoed along the sky as the green dragon descended from the sky, landing with a dull thud on the bodies of several approaching wights. Sprinting out from his position, Jon raced to the dragon, climbing onto his back in a swift if a bit awkward motion since Longclaw was still in his hand. Settling himself in a hollow at the crook of Rhaegal's neck and shoulders Jon winced as he landed a bit too hard on a scale, they should have had Gendry or someone make saddles or something, he walked funny for the day or so after the quick flight from Winterfell and he knew he would be again if they survived this. Clinging to a rather inconvenient spine with his free hand he emulated Dany in rather butchered valyrian, " Sōvēs, " and Rhaegal took to the skies. Soaring over the scrabbling horde of wights, Jon marked the danger zones where his forces were close to being overrun and directed Rhaegal towards them. Clearing his throat, he called out " Dracarys, " praying to the Old gods and New that Rhaegal had enough awareness not to burn their own forces in the process. Fire spewed forth from his dragon's mouth, incinerating the wights that were overwhelming his men, blinking from the sudden smoke that filled his eyes Jon let out a bark of laughter as Tormund signaled him with a rather crude hand gesture before turning back to bisect an oncoming wight.
Again and again he directed Rhaegal to swoop down and burn the Night King's forces, his eyes scanning for the bastard in question. He wanted the battle over with, they'd been fighting for so long and the dark skies had him praying for an end. A sharp chill went up his spine and he barely had time to react, shouting at Rhaegal to turn in common as an ice spear went shooting up at them. Rhaegal screeched as the spear clipped his leg, narrowly missing impaling him as they veered off to the side. Jerking his head, Jon searched for where the spear came from and felt his chest tighten as he locked eyes with the cool gaze of the Night King. He was astride a dessicated and sickly looking mammoth, smaller than some of the others Jon had seen trampling through the masses. A sense of finality flooded through Jon as he stared down the Night King, it was time.
Dany could feel the push pull of the elements, the heat from Drogon beneath her, the freezing winds of winter biting at her cheeks. Her eyes watered as she scanned the battlegrounds, her Dothraki were milling about at the top of the hill trying to stay warm as the Unsullied and Northern forces tried to push back against the tide of the undead that threatened to sweep over and consume them. Dragonfire had decimated factions of the Others, but they still kept coming. She hadn't really believed Jon when he said the Night King had over a hundred thousand of the undead, but seeing them all now, a seemingly endless flood of corpses, she believed. A screech pierced through her thoughts and Drogon wheeled around and she watched as Jon and Rhaegal shot through the sky, making a direct descent towards the Night King who sat on top of a mammoth. She watched as several White Walkers launched spear after spear at Rhaegal, her son narrowly dodging each one, and she thanked the gods for his smaller size, the first time she'd done so, as Drogon would never have been able to do such maneuvers.
Rhaegal let loose a torrent of flames that ripped through the snow, melting all in its path and carving a clear shot towards the Night King. Dodging the flames, the Night King launched from the back of the mammoth, landing on the ground with prenatural reflexes. He was tall, taller than Jon for sure, and even though Jon was on dragonback and had the apparent upper hand, Dany felt a cold chill grip her heart.
Arya wove in between the spears of the Unsullied along the walls of Winterfell, her new and improved Needle biting into wight after wight and separating limb from limb. The gates were still holding but they'd set the open space between that and the walls ablaze after wights started slipping through the soldiers along the battlements. Gendry roared behind her, his warhammer slamming into the skull of a wight that was trying to sneak up behind Arya. Bone and decay went spraying in the air, and Arya let a quick grin flash across her face. It disappeared as soon as it came though, as a chilling howl gripped the air, followed by another, and another. Backing up against Gendry, Arya let out a choked gasp tears forming along her eyes as she called out, "Nymeria?"
The snow lined trees along the road burst into a spray of powder as a massive grey direwolf lunged forward, her jaws snapping down and ripping into a wight. Smaller forms followed as wolves descended on the ranks of the undead beating against Winterfell's walls. A howl went up from the other side of the trees and another massive form appeared along the trees, followed by another, the direwolves from beyond the Wall had come to join the fight.
Jaime felt the deep cold biting into him down to his bones, he was tired, so very tired. Punching out the shattered jaw of a wight he whirled around searching for his next opponent. A blaze of white hot heat, so different to the chilling cold that had settled in him sent him reeling back. Searching for the source of the blaze, he blinked and then blinked again, the King in the North was launching himself off the back of the dragon to meet the long ice blade of the Night King. Cursing the predictable Stark behavior, Jaime lunged forward heading to back up the idiot.
Brienne swore as she watched a blonde head of hair bob and weave through the scrabbling masses of the undead. Her idiot was making his way towards the bigger idiot, their King who was currently buckling under the weight of the Night King's sword. Their enemy was nearly twice the height of Jon, and his sword reminded Brienne of her childhood when she tried to lift her father's sword. Wincing as Jon managed to land a blow with a dragonglass dagger in the Night King's side only to be tossed aside as the monster roared in pain.
Tormund slammed his axe into the torso of a wight, grinning as the body exploded outward, bones flying into an oncoming corpse. Pod swooped in with a torch in one hand, his axe in the other to set the corpse alight. Laughing as the green boy tripped over an arm and gagged, Tormund wheeled around and felt the piercing bite of an ice spear as an Other appeared and ran him through the side. Grunting Tormund stumbled back, the spear head breaking off inside of him. Pod shrieked next to him and launched himself at the Other, a dragonglass dagger in hand. The Other cackled, like gravel scraping together and shoved Pod off. Pod yelped at the touch of the Other, his armor freezing and buckling together as he fell to the ground.
Spinning and whirling around, sword in one hand, spear in another, Grey Worm was cutting through the wights like butter. His company of Unsullied and Northern soldiers were holding the dead back for now, but as he kept one eye on the King fighting their ultimate enemy, Grey Worm felt the first chill of fear seep in. What if he failed? What would happen then?
Jorah ducked under a blow from a particularly massive wight only to trip over a femur sticking out of the snow and tumble to the ground. An ice spider clicked up over him, its beady blue eyes blinking down at him as its pincers widened and made to rip his head off. Closing his eyes, Jorah sent a prayer to the Old Gods for a quick death, grateful that no one could see him wet himself in his final moments when the oppressive weight of the spider disappeared from his chest. Cracking his eyes open he felt a wave of disgust flood through him as the albino direwolf of the King in the North ripped the spider apart, legs flying in the air. Jorah curled on his side and emptied the contents of his stomach as the realization that he now owed said King in the North settled in his bones, for certainly the Old Gods had worked through the direwolf to save him.
Ghost recoiled at the scent of piss and fear and bile that emerged from the grizzled man the monster had trapped. He loathed ice spiders, it was part of his pack memory to hate the multi-limbed beings and so he combed the battlefield for them, the desire to rip them apart making him salivate. Shaking his head as the man sat up and started to squawk at him, Ghost turned and leapt back into the battle, he had spiders to kill.
Dany leaned over the side of Drogon, the bile she'd tried to hold in spewing forth as she watched the Night King toss Jon aside like a rag doll. Jaime Lannister appeared and attempted to draw the monster's attention away from Jon and Dany coughed, wiping her mouth before pulling on her bond with Drogon, urging him forward to help. Choking out " Dracarys ," Dany flinched as Drogon opened his maw and let loose a torrent of flames on the Night King. The flames seemed to bend off its iced form, fracturing out and dissipating in the air. Undeterred Dany urged Drogon on and soon an unending deluge of flames was pouring from him, and the Night King slowly began to stumble backward between the flames and the blows Jaime was landing on him in between the flames. Jon appeared from behind the falling form of the Night King and thrust Longclaw through the Other's back. The Valyrian steel sword erupted through the ice armor in a spray of powder and shattered bone and the Night King let out a piercing shriek as he fell to his knees. Lunging forward, Jaime shoved a dragonglass dagger into the throat of the monstrosity, cutting off the shriek.
The battlefield paused for a moment, every being frozen in place and the a concussive blast shot forward from the fallen form of the Night King, wind and ice and something tinged with power flooded outward and the remaining Other's exploded into a spray of slush as the magic that embodied the wights disappeared, corpses collapsing to the ground and decaying on the spot.
The storm clouds that had covered the skies in an unyielding darkness for the past months began to disappear and the pale light of the sun crept out along the horizon.
They had won. The Long Night was over.