A/N: The way I wrote this chapter was very, VERY experimental. It was definitely hard to write. Unpopular opinion time: the battle episodes of GoT are some of my least favorites (yes, even Blackwater and Hardhome, though I do really enjoy BotB mostly because we got to see Sansa feed her vile rapist alive to his own dogs...) so writing a chapter that was nothing but battle was trying. I hope you guys like it though!
Warning: this chapter has some character death.
Bran
The early morning was grey and cold. Every blade of grass had turned white from ice and snow was continuing to fall as dark clouds rolled in, the flakes big and fat. Bran turned his eyes up towards the sky and watched as the flakes accumulated on his lashes. The Night King was coming, and the winds of winter were coming with him.
Sansa pushed his chair towards the godswood, where he would be staying for the duration of the battle. He spotted Arya already there waiting for them. In that moment, he thought that his two sisters, both so different, looked more alike than they ever had: both dressed in grey pants, their hair pulled back, each with a skinny sword sheathed at the waist, Arya also with the Valyrian steel dagger he'd given her. "That's a very nice breastplate Gendry made you."
Arya turned to look at him, eyebrows knitted together. "Thanks…"
Bran examined her and noticed that her tunic was sticking up in the back. "Seems you two dressed in a hurry this morning. Neither of you noticed your shirt is untucked?"
Arya's look of confusion turned into one of embarrassment, and then of anger. "You were watching us?"
Bran scoffed. "Not during the act. Do you really think so low of me, Arya? I'm not a pervert." Still fuming, Arya turned back around, but said nothing. Sansa looked perturbed and glanced from one of them to the other. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it and simply rolled her eyes, before fixing Arya's tunic for her.
They heard Ghost first, the white direwolf emerging from among the trees before Jon followed him half a second later. In that moment, Bran thought he looked like a true king in his brand new Targaryen armor with Ghost by his side. Ice and fire, both. He thought. The wolf walked over to Bran's chair and whined. Bran smiled feebly and scratched Ghost under the chin.
"It's almost time." Jon said. Above them, Drogon was circling and Rhaegal landed in the clearing, lowering his head onto his front legs like a dog waiting for its master.
The four siblings looked at each other, and they all knew the meaning behind Jon's words. The battle was about to start, there was a chance that any one of them could be killed, and this might be their last chance to be together.
Arya moved first, practically tackle hugging Jon as she tossed her arms around his neck. Jon hugged her with enough strength to lift her feet off the ground. "I love you, little sister."
"I love you too." Arya whispered. "Stick 'em with the pointy end, big brother."
Jon laughed weakly and kissed the top of her head. "I know which end to use."
He moved to Sansa and hugged her too, Sansa burying her face into his shoulder and inhaling. "You'll come back to us." She said, and Bran couldn't tell if it was meant to reassure Jon or herself. "I know you will. The pack survives, just like Father always said."
Jon squeezed her tighter and kissed her forehead, lingering before reluctantly pulling away. "I love you, Sansa. Please take care of yourself."
"I love you, Jon. I'm…" Her breath hitched. "I'm glad that you're my brother."
Now it was his turn. "Jon," He said. "Today…there are sacrifices that are going to have to be made. I need you to face them when the time comes. Can you do that?"
It was a vague request, but Jon trusted him and nodded his head. "I will. I promise."
Bran shut his eyes as Jon came to hug him as well. He lifted his arms and hugged him back, squeezing his eyes shut as the memories crashed over him. Shooting bow and arrows in the courtyard, the sound of Jon and Robb laughing. How Arya used to fling food at Sansa across the dinner table, when their parents weren't looking. Hugging Rickon, not knowing it would be the last time they saw each other. Jon's lips on his forehead the day he left for the Wall, Bran unable to say goodbye. These weren't the Three-Eyed Raven's memories. They were Bran Stark's.
"Jon?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. He felt like he might cry now – he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. "Father, he…he would be so proud of you."
He felt his brother's arms tighten around him. "You too. I love you, Bran."
A tear slipped from his eye. "I love you too, Jon." He suddenly felt guilty. I should've said that more. But I was so lost in all the memories, I shut that part of me off…I should've told him I loved him more. I should've told him the day I saw him again.
But Jon only pulled back and smiled wearily, tears in his eyes as well. "I know."
Together they watched as Jon climbed onto Rhaegal's back, their brother casting one last reluctant look at them before he took off. "Rhaegal, soves." Bran watched as Jon disappeared from view.
He feared they would never see each other again.
Afterwards, Arya left them as well, exchanging quick hugs with him and Sansa before she went to join the army. Bran could see the sadness and anxiety in Sansa's eyes as she watched her go. "She'll be fine," He found himself saying. "I know she will."
In truth, it was impossible to know such things. With so many factors at play, the future was still uncertain and susceptible to change at any moment. In battles, everything was up in the air and every decision someone made had the chance to change their fate for better or worse. But his words seemed to offer Sansa some comfort, and for the moment that was enough.
"When will it begin?" She asked.
"Soon," Bran answered. "I don't know when exactly, but he's coming. I can feel it."
Sansa nodded and knelt before him, squeezing one of his hands gently in her own. "I'll be here the whole time."
Her face was the last thing Bran saw before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and suddenly he was someplace else.
The pack of ravens took off with a caw. Bran adjusted to being in the bird's body as the pack flew over Winterfell and then out towards the battlefield. He could go anywhere and see anything, but there were so many people and he needed to know where to look. He decided to check on Jon first and found him easily, Rhaegal and Drogon landing gracefully in the field to address the troops.
Jon stood tall and strong with Rhaegal behind him. Ghost had chased after him and was now prowling on the first lines, looking fierce. Daenerys was perched on Drogon's back, gleaming in her red gown trimmed with black leather, and the protective layer of black armor she wore on top rippled like the scales of her dragon.
"I know this seems like an impossible task before us," Jon was saying to their forces. "But we have one thing on our side that the Night King does not: we are fighting for life. Fighting for love, for family, for friendship, for our husbands and wives, for our neighbors, for our brothers and sisters, for our children and grandchildren. Will you fight for life with me?" An enthusiastic cry was his response.
Their army was massive: Northmen, women, children as young as nine or ten, Unsullied, Dothraki, archers, cavalry…But the Night King had more, and his army would only continue to grow the more of them fell. Bran looked around and wondered how many of these people would be dead before the day was done.
He found Arya, fierce and noble in her direwolf breastplate. Gendry was by her but they stood a good several inches apart, no sign of their newfound closeness, but now was not the time or the place for such things. The army was filled with familiar faces: Ser Davos, Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime, Tormund Giantsbane, the Hound, Jorah and Lyanna Mormont, Yohn Royce, Grey Worm, Podrick Payne, Alys Karstark, Robett Glover, Wyman Manderly…There were many people to watch during the fighting, but Bran could not allow himself to become overwhelmed.
It began as a slow rumble at first. A cold breeze sweeping down from the far off mountain tops, the ground tremoring from the strength of an approaching army. And then there was the sound of a distant roar, cold as ice and loud as thunder, that had not come from Jon or Daenerys's dragons.
"Prepare to attack!" Jon commanded the troops. Men and women lifted their spears, their axes or their hammers, some on horseback and others on foot. Before he climbed on Rhaegal, Jon moved towards Daenerys and she bent down to kiss him, long and hard. "Be safe." He said to her, and she told him the same, before they both took off into the grey sky.
The Army of the Dead appeared from the mists, slowly at first, more and more undead soldiers emerging. "You heard your king!" Ser Davos yelled, spurring his horse. "Charge!"
The living surged forward with a great roar. Some of the men were screaming at the tops of their lungs or chanting the words of their houses as a battle cry. "Honed and Ready!" "Righteous in Wrath!" "We Remember!" But the most overpowering sound was the clash of steel.
In the madness he lost Arya, but he quickly found her again. His sister spun away from a wight's blow and sliced his skull off at the neck with her sword. Gendry and the Hound were both with her. Gendry brought his warhammer down on a wight's head, the pieces of dragonglass on the weapon causing the wight to disintegrate. The Hound had two coming on him at once and he punched one wight square in the face, then stabbed the other in the neck with a dragonglass weapon before going back to kill the first.
Ser Davos and the cavalry charged into the fray and Ser Davos slashed his sword as he rode past, killing three with one long slice. Robett Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, had his horse killed under him and he fell to the ground, limply trying to lift himself back up again in vain. A wight was on top of him in an instant and the wight stabbed him in the throat, causing Glover to fall back onto the ground sputtering and dying.
Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime were making their way across the battlefield accompanied by Ser Bronn and Podrick. "Take that, fuckers!" Ser Bronn cried as he stabbed a wight in the chest.
Bran saw it before any of them did. The Walker was tall with ice white skin, a bald head, a white beard, and those unnaturally blue eyes. There had been four White Walker generals the last time they saw the Night King, but Arya killed one at Karhold, which meant this was one of the three who remained. Ser Jaime caught sight of the Walker as it approached them.
"Watch out!"
They ducked in time as the White Walker's spear came at them. A pack of wights were slowly descending, following their commander, and Jaime and Bronn exchanged a look, then a nod. Bronn threw himself at the White Walker and wrapped his arms around its middle, sending both of them onto the ground. The Walker's spear flew from its hands and across the icy ground, but the Walker still managed to grab Bronn by the shoulder and throw him off. Bronn landed several feet away and though he was still alive, his shoulder had now popped out of its socket. Bran swore he could see bone, and Bronn let out a long stream of curse words.
A pack of wights surrounded them. Brienne and Podrick attempted to hold them off while Ser Jaime charged at the Walker, brandishing Widow's Wail. The Walker retrieved his fallen ice spear and threw it in Ser Jaime's direction, knocking the sword out of his hand, though contact with the Valyrian steel made his spear split in two.
Ser Bronn tried to get up again, dragonglass weapon in hand, but his injured arm could not be moved without making him grunt in pain. A now weaponless Ser Jaime tried to help him to his feet. "Are you all right?"
The Walker slowly and methodically moved to pick up a shard of his spear and then walked towards the two men. Brienne and Podrick were still busy fighting off the wights, but when Pod turned his head and saw what was happening, he broke away and charged at the Walker. He drove his dragonglass weapon into the unsuspecting Walker's back, and the Walker screamed an icy scream before dying. All of the wights around them disappeared as well.
A look of relief brightened Brienne's face. "Pod, that was brilliant – " But then she turned around and her face went ashen.
Only now did Bran notice the blood bubbling at Podrick's torso. His hand was pressed against his stomach, but it did little to staunch the blood flow from the stab wound he must've taken from one of the wights. "My lady," He gasped breathlessly, blood now dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I did it." And then he collapsed face first onto the ground.
Brienne screamed.
Bran left the tragic scene in search of Jon, but then he decided to check on Lord Tyrion first, for Sansa's sake. He flew back towards the battlements of Winterfell. Wights who had managed to pass the armies were charging at the castle. "Knock," Lord Tyrion instructed the archers as another pack of wights approached. Some of them were trying to climb the walls, clawing at the battlements with bloody fingers. "Draw…loose!"
Arrows flew down from the battlements towards the wights. Theon loosed an arrow that stuck itself in a wight's eye socket, the flaming arrowhead killing it instantly. But some of the wights had arrows of their own, forged of ice. They shot towards the battlements.
"Duck!" Lord Tyrion screamed, and most of the archers did so, but young Berena Locke reacted too slowly and an arrowhead struck her throat. She tumbled from the battlements, the wights swarming around her corpse.
Satisfied that Tyrion and Theon seemed to be handling themselves, Bran took off again. He soared over the armies, watching as men and wights alike dropped like flies. The Dothraki proved formidable, but they were not used to the North's snowy terrain. He spotted another White Walker, cutting through Unsullied soldiers with his sword of ice. Across the throng from him, Ser Jorah Mormont and Grey Worm were taking down wights one by one, Ser Jorah with Heartsbane, Grey Worm with a spear.
Several of the Dothraki's horses were dying, wights attacking their legs and making them collapse. The Dothraki continued on their feet, but their fighting style was compromised without their horses. As they worked their way through the Dothraki, the wights set their sights on another target and began to swarm Ser Jorah.
Ser Jorah was only one person and even with Heartsbane he could not fight off ten, twelve, fifteen wights at once. When Grey Worm saw him struggling, he began to stab some of the wights in the back with the dragonglass tip of his spear, but more and more descended to take their places. A determined look coming over his face, Grey Worm turned and began to walk in the other direction – towards the White Walker.
Bran realized immediately what he was doing: if he could kill the Walker, all the wights would fall too. As the White Walker continued to fell Unsullied, Grey Worm charged forward bravely and they clashed, his spear meeting the Walker's ice blade. They clashed again and again while Ser Jorah desperately attempted to fend off wights. The White Walker pushed Grey Worm back, but the Unsullied leader persisted, continuing to match the Walker blow for blow even while walking backwards.
Suddenly Grey Worm tripped over a rock obscured by the snow and fell onto his back, his spear skidding from his hand. The Walker stood over him and brought down his blade, cutting through the side of Grey Worm's neck. Before the Walker could cut him again, Grey Worm – though weakened from his rapidly increasing blood loss – reached for his spear and kicked the Walker in the leg to force him down. He drove his spear into the Walker's shoulder and the Walker disintegrated, as well as the wights. Now free, Ser Jorah rushed to the felled commander's side and pressed both hands over his wound, but Grey Worm had already lost enough blood to make his face drain of color, and red seeped across the snow as he shut his eyes…
Bran soared further upward. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the dragons up ahead, obscured by the cloudy, snowy morning. Daenerys flew Drogon downwards, holding onto him by the spikes on the back of his neck. "Drogon, dracarys." Drogon flew over the wight army and spewed a great burst of fire. Wights caught flame and some of the frozen grass was also scorched. The air grew thick with smoke. Up ahead, Jon was circling on Rhaegal's back, squinting through the clouded sky. From the distance, there was a low rumble and then Viserion appeared.
The undead dragon's eyes were icy blue like that of the Walkers and he roared. Bran could see Daenerys's mouth physically fall open in shock when she saw what had become of her son. Jon reared Rhaegal and flew up to meet the Night King on Viserion, and a second later Daenerys recovered herself to follow him. Viserion spit flame, but Drogon and Rhaegal quickly retaliated and red fire met blue. Daenerys flew Drogon upwards while Jon took Rhaegal lower so that the Night King could not come after them both at once.
Drogon gnashed his teeth at Viserion's tail while Rhaegal rammed into his belly. Viserion thrashed in an attempt to shake them off, sending all three dragons careening towards the ground as their riders attempted to regain hold of them. Viserion broke free and flew lower, spewing blue fire at the human army and causing the air to smell like burning flesh. On the ground men and women screamed as they roasted alive.
Drogon and Rhaegal descended again and Rhaegal's jaw locked around Viserion's wing. Viserion screeched as part of his wing detached from his body and he butted Rhaegal, sending him and Jon flying back several feet. Daenerys rose up on Drogon and attacked the Night King and Viserion from above while Jon attempted to regain control of Rhaegal. Viserion spit fire at his once mother and Daenerys swerved to avoid the flames, a look of pure anguish on her face as she brought Drogon down on Viserion. Drogon crashed into Viserion's skull and blew fire at his head. Viserion roared in anguish and Drogon clamped his jaw on Viserion's face, ripping through scales with his teeth and spraying blood and flesh.
As Viserion tumbled towards the ground in his death throes, the Night King made one last offense and Viserion took a bite out of Drogon's wing. Viserion's wings beat at Dany and Drogon until all four of them were careening down together. Daenerys tried to fly back upwards but Drogon was too injured, unable to do anything but fall…
As Drogon fell wildly, Daenerys's grip began to loosen and she slipped from Drogon's back, dangling from the dragon with only the hand clenched around one of his neck spikes keeping her aloft. Viserion tumbled to the ground and Bran lost sight of the Night King, but as Drogon continued to thrash Daenerys's hand slipped and suddenly she was falling…
Out of nowhere, Jon and Rhaegal swooped back in and caught Daenerys before she could hit the ground. Drogon fell and spewed fire at wights on the way down. Though he was alive, his wing was too injured for him to take off again. "Dany?" Jon said worriedly, holding onto Rhaegal with one hand and Daenerys with the other. She was still breathing, but her body was limp in his arms and her eyes were closed. Her left arm was twisted and looked broken, as she'd landed on it when she fell, and there was a cut bleeding on her head – she must've whacked it on Drogon on the way down, hence why she was now unconscious. Without a second thought, Jon turned Rhaegal around and flew back towards Winterfell.
When he landed Rhaegal in the courtyard, Sam and Gilly immediately rushed out to meet him. Melisandre was already standing on the parapet, watching and waiting. Jon disembarked, Daenerys passed out in his arms. "What happened?" Sam asked.
"She fell from Drogon," Jon explained and he passed Daenerys off gently to Sam, while Gilly felt her for a heartbeat. "Viserion is dead, but the Night King is still continuing on foot. Take her to Maester Wolkan, please. I have to go back."
"You can't!" Gilly gasped. "It's too dangerous!"
"I have to." Jon insisted. "He's killing my people. He tried to kill my wife. I don't have a choice."
"Wait." The three turned their heads as Melisandre descended the parapets towards them. "Your Grace, I believe I may have something which could help you: a sacrifice."
"If you are suggesting that I burn an innocent alive," Jon objected. "I would never – "
"Not an innocent." Melisandre inched closer to Jon so that they were almost chest to chest and she reached for Longclaw at his waist, pulling the sword from its sheath.
A look of horrified realization crossed Jon's face. "I can't."
Melisandre laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "Don't tell me you've grown fond of me, Jon Snow."
"It's true," Sam added when he saw that Jon still looked conflicted. "The Nissa Nissa sacrifice. Bran knows too. It's…" He gulped. "I think it may be the only way Jon."
For a long moment, Jon was silent. "Take Daenerys to Wolkan."
Sam and Gilly disappeared back inside Winterfell carrying Dany's limp body, and Melisandre knelt down in the snow. She ripped the front of her red dress open, exposing her bosom. Jon lifted Longclaw and pressed its tip against her chest, his grey eyes full of resignation. "One last thing," Melisandre said, and her hands moved to unfasten the ruby from her throat. The necklace fell to the ground and with it Melisandre's youthful glamour, red lips and unblemished skin fading away to reveal wrinkles and thin grey hair. "I wish to meet my god in my true form." She smiled. "Aim true Jon Snow, Warrior of Light and Son of Fire."
And when the sword pierced her chest, the courtyard reverberated with cries of ecstasy and pain, and the crackling of fire.
Bran was pulled back to reality by Sansa forcefully shaking him. "Bran, Bran!" His eyes rolled back and he saw her white face in front of him, cheeks frostbitten and blue eyes wide from fear. "You've been gone for over an hour, I was worried! If you're gone for too long, you won't be able to come back."
"I'm fine." He insisted. "I was watching Jon…Daenerys is hurt."
"Is she all right?"
Bran swallowed. "I don't know." He answered honestly.
Sansa took a deep breath. "Arya?" She asked. "And…Lord Tyrion?"
Bran had known those would be the next two people she'd ask after. "Alive," He said. "Both of them." The words gave her as much assurance as they possibly could, given the circumstances.
"Please be safe, Bran." Sansa's voice was quiet and pleading.
Bran could not force himself to nod. "I have to go back and check on Arya. Let me go. I swear I'll be right back."
Reluctantly, Sansa nodded and that was all the permission he needed.
Back in the raven's body, he searched the battlefield for a sign of his other sister. After several minutes he found her trapped in the middle of an ambush with Gendry and the Hound, snow and sweat in her hair and flecks of enemy blood and bone on her armor. When a wight tried to step towards her she stabbed it with Needle, slicing through the belly, and Gendry finished the job when he brought his hammer down on the wight's skull. Besides them the Hound cut off a head, then an arm. One of the wights bit down on his shoulder and the Hound cursed before throwing it off. "Run!" He shouted at Arya and Gendry. "I'll fend them off!"
Arya's eyes blazed stubbornly and she killed a wight with a kick to the ribs and then a stab of her dagger. "We won't leave you here!"
The Hound turned to her. "It wasn't a request, girl! Go – now!" In his eyes was an emotion that Bran swore looked akin to compassion.
Still Arya looked unsure, but Gendry grabbed her hand. "Come on." He insisted, and grudgingly Arya relented, the two of them fighting their way through the swarm and out the other side.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" Arya asked Gendry breathlessly as they ran hand-in-hand. "Maybe…maybe we should go back…"
"Meaning it will have all been for nothing?" Gendry retorted. "The Night King's lost his dragon. We have to go on."
"What are we going to – ?" But Arya cut herself off mid-breath when they came face to face with a White Walker.
The last White Walker. Bran realized. One had been killed by Arya at Karhold, two more by Podrick and Grey Worm before they died, meaning only this final Walker and the Night King remained. The Walker lifted his spear and brought it down, but Arya and Gendry broke apart to deflect the blow, Arya dashing to the right and Gendry to the left. Arya's Needle clashed against the Walker's spear and she tried to stab him with her dagger, but the Walker grabbed her arm and pulled it backwards. Arya cried out as the Walker tried to force her onto her knees, bending her arm in such a way that Bran was expecting to hear the bone snap.
Gendry attacked the Walker from behind and knocked him onto the ground. The Walker released his grip on Arya and she fell backwards, rolling across the snow. Gendry tried to pin the Walker down and smacked it in the face with the butt of his hammer, causing blood and shattered teeth to spray the snow. The Walker's ice blade had split into tiny pieces but he picked up one of the shards and brought it down. Gendry dodged but the Walker still managed to graze the left side of his chest and he grunted from the pain.
Arya got back to her feet and drove her dagger into one of the Walker's legs just as Gendry slammed it in the face with his hammer. Together, the Valyrian steel and the dragonglass caused the Walker to die with a loud screech. Bleeding from where he'd been stabbed, Gendry's knees buckled and Arya raced to him, though she lacked the strength to hold him up. His breathing had gone shallow and his eyes were fluttering shut. "Gendry, no." Arya cried. "No, don't you dare die on me…"
"Arya, go…find your brother and your sister…protect them…"
"I won't leave you – "
"Go, Arya! Please go!"
Arya stared at him for a moment, looking conflicted and heartbroken. After one last pleading look from Gendry, she reluctantly took off running.
Bran scanned the sky for Jon and saw Rhaegal return from Winterfell's walls and landed in the midst of the battle. Ghost tore through the crowds to get to him, pouncing on a wight and ripping out its throat. Jon descended from his dragon, the sword in his hands now burning red as he struck down wights. He was going to meet the Night King on the ground.
Bran knew what he had to do.
He returned to his body just as there was rustling in the brush. Sansa jumped up, drew her sword, and charged – only for Arya to emerge and cry out in surprise when she saw her sister now had a blade pointed at her throat.
"Gods, Arya!" Sansa chastised, dropping her sword onto the ground. "I thought you were a wight! I could've killed you!"
"I'm sorry, I'll remember to announce myself next time I'm making my way through the trees. 'Hello it's Arya, coming into the godswood, please don't stab me Sansa.' Is that better?"
Sansa rolled her eyes, but then pulled Arya in for a quick hug.
His sisters came back to kneel in front of his chair. Arya grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
"He's not dead." Bran told her quietly. "Gendry. Or at least not yet anyway."
Sansa looked at Arya. "What happened to Gendry?"
Arya frowned. "He took a spear to the chest. Saving my life." Sansa looked overwhelmed by the information.
"Now I have to go save Jon." Bran told them. "I need to get back into the ravens…help him stop the Night King…"
Arya's brow knitted in confusion. "How long have you been warged?"
"Hours," Sansa said before he could answer. She turned to him. "Bran, you can't. If you leave again…" She trailed off, not wanting to speak the words. "If you leave again, you may not be able to return to your body. There has to be another way."
"This is the only way." He hesitated and touched Sansa's cheek. He tried to memorize the blue of her eyes, the snowflakes in her lashes, the thought of her smile. "Take care of yourself."
Sansa's breath hitched and it looked as if she may cry. "No." Arya insisted stubbornly. "You can't do this. You can't sacrifice yourself for us, I…I won't let you!"
Bran laughed hollowly. "You always were a stubborn one." He took in her stormy grey eyes and her fierce expression. They were still the sisters he'd always adored, no matter how much time had passed since their childhoods here at Winterfell, and it pained him knowing soon this would all be nothing more than a memory. But he was resigned to his fate, and it would be done. He only wished he could speak to his brother once more, to tell him not to blame himself. "Tell Jon." He said. "Tell Jon that it was worth it."
"Bran – " Sansa pleaded. "Bran, please don't – "
But Bran didn't listen. "I'm sorry. Remember I love you both." He told Sansa and Arya, and then before they could say anything, he left his body again.
The raven flew out of the godswood, over Winterfell's walls, and across the field. Men and women were bleeding, crying, dying, and the number of wights had significantly diminished with all the White Walkers dead, except for one – the most important one.
Jon cut through wights like carving a cake, before he was soon within feet of the Night King. The Night King turned and swiftly abandoned his current fight, walking determinedly towards Jon. In his hands he held an ice sword, and he and Jon came to blows.
The two kings – one living, one dead – circled each other as their weapons met again and again. Jon's teeth were gritted and his strength was failing him after hours, but the Night King was eerily calm. His strength was unbelievable, his movements precise.
Bran flew down towards them and attacked the Night King, clawing at his face. He dragged the raven's talons into the Night King's eye sockets and then down his cheeks. The Night King fought, trying to throw him off, but Bran stuck the talons in deeper and heard the sounds of icy flesh being ripped from bones.
Go Jon. He willed silently. Please, go now.
With a guttural scream, his brother gave this last charge everything he had in him and ran at the Night King, stabbing the flaming Longclaw into the Night King's chest.
Everything seemed to stand still and yet move so fast all at once. Bran flew back and the Night King turned to Jon, a look of shock and horror on his frozen face as it was suddenly overcome by flames. The sound of ice cracking was loud enough to make the ground tremble and the Night King shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, blowing off on the wind as all the wights did so as well…
Exhausted, Jon let out shallow, ragged breaths and collapsed into the snow face first as he struggled to breathe.
As for Bran himself, suddenly he was overwhelmed by a sensation that he had never experienced before. As if he had transcended time and space, as if all the world was melting away around him, as if Bran Stark was gone and this newer omniscience had taken his place.
Yes, He thought. Yes, I understand it now…I understand it all…All the pain and the hurt and the sorrow was gone, and all he felt was peace.
And then there was only flying, flying, flying…