Warg Maiden
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
A/N: Hey, Everyone. If you have read my previous stories, you know I always add many perspectives to the Long Night. However, this chapter will be different, as it will focus more on Jon and Imogen since they have been telling the story so far.
Chapter 72: The Second Long Night
Imogen's POV
Time vanished as I lay in Jon's arms. No words were said as we watched the sky. A part of me wished that I could take him to Lunar Haven so he could see the Northern Lights. Instead, we sat there, watching the starry sky slowly vanish before us. We dozed off now and then. I can feel his breath against my neck. Times in which it was even as he dozed off, and other times as he woke.
Ghost had laid beside us, resting his head on my lap. Slowly, I petted the top of the albino's head.
To say I was scared was an understatement, for I was afraid. For years, I had drowned my emotions and gone by my instincts. But now, seeing that I had more to live for…scared me. I offered Jon a chance to leave if the spell came with a price. And yet, if my soul was tattered, he was willing to stay with me.
Just hearing that, I told him in the Children's language that I loved him. Even though I could have said it in Common Tongue or Old Tongue. However, I did not want to distract him. What has become of me?
I am in love with someone who was once my enemy.
In love with a crow.
A southerner.
A king.
A man with two names, one that had protected him and one that was hidden.
A wolf and a dragon.
A lost prince who has a claim to the Iron Throne.
Instead, he sits on the battlement with me. With no crown or throne. As if his own two feet were enough and a sword in hand. A man who doesn't want anything. A selfless man.
Quietly in Old Tongue I whispered a prayer. Jon Squeezed me tightly as he listened to the words.
Suddenly, the runes on my body became numb. I gasped, trying to separate the feeling. Jon embraced tight as if he could sense it too.
"They're here," I managed to say.
Not long after, the horn was sound. Jon cursed under his breath as he gestured to Ghost to move. Ghost lifted his head, adjusting himself, and I got up and offered a hand to Jon. Jon accepted it as I pulled him up. We stared overhead, seeing the torches were extinguished from the Wolfswood.
"Fuck," I cursed.
Jon and I stared at one another. Knowing this was our last moment. For we may die after we part ways. A part of us wished we had more time. But now, all of it is gone. That we are about to die, only we will not die willingly.
"Ghost will go with you," Jon said.
I nodded, knowing the direwolves had the advantage.
"Be careful," I replied.
Jon cradled my face, kissing me once more. I gasped, hungrily kissing him back, deepening the kiss. His beard tickled my face while his gloved hands stroked my jaw and neck. Our tongues tangled as we explored each other's mouths until the air escaped us, and we broke the kiss. I panted, resting my head on his.
"Stay alive," I whispered.
"I'll try," he promised. "Same for you."
I nodded.
With nothing else to say, we forced ourselves apart and I grabbed my spear.
Everyone was getting into position. The women, elderly, and children who couldn't fight were taken to secure locations. The soldiers and those deemed to fight took position outside the castle walls. The archers were on the battlements. Everyone was getting into position.
"Imogen!"
I turned around to see it was Fenrir.
I sighed in relief as I made my way over to him. No words were said as he wrapped me in his arms.
"Ma, Ethan, Aiden?" I asked.
Fenrir pulled back slightly, "They are in the Great Hall."
I sighed in relief, yet I was afraid. I am scared that the people I love will die. Damn, these feelings. For right now, I want to be emotionless again. However, I wouldn't have time for my family and friends if I were.
Fenrir grabbed my head and kissed my forehead, "It's alright to be afraid. It makes you human."
I nodded, clinging to his cloak.
Fenrir pulled me close again, "Whatever happens, I'll always be there for you."
My eyes watered.
Fenrir grabbed my face, "The Lone Wolf dies…"
"But the packs survive," I finished.
"Good girl," Fenrir said as he kissed the top of my head again. "Ground yourself. Know who the true enemy is."
I nodded.
"You can do this," he murmured.
I took a deep breath.
Fenrir kissed my head one more. He grabbed my mask off my belt and secured it on my face. I returned the favor, taking the mask off his belt and placing it on his head. Masking our humanity to be the warriors that we are.
"I love you, papa," I mumble.
"And I love you, my pup." He murmured.
Time was limited, as Fenrir held me one last time before pulling away. Valko came over, nuzzling against me, before sharing his affection with Skadi. Skadi whimpered as she did the same. Although Skadi was not Valko's sired pup, they were a pack.
Once more, it was a struggle before Tormund came over to take Fenrir away. However, Tormund managed to give a shoulder pat before leaving. They will be in the vanguard with the other Free Folk. The two left with the grey wolf, and I watched the men who had my back from the beginning.
Skadi whimpered as she leaned her head against me.
For some reason, I feel like I will never see those two again.
My eyes stung as I tried to ground myself. Taking several deep breaths, I found my bearings and searched for the others. Bran was there with Theon, with Lady Alys and her men. I nodded to them, gesturing we head to the Godswood. They nodded as Theon pushed Bran's wheelchair. Skadi, Ghost, and Summer were by our side; as we made our way to the Godswood, I noticed Lord Tyrion with a massive waterskin and dragonglass hatchet in hand.
Once we were in the Godswood, Lady Alys and her men assembled the quivers at the Heart Tree, creating a perimeter. Bran was placed by the tree next to the face of the gods. I glanced at the white bark where the Three-Eyed Raven mark stained it.
The Night King has been trying to regain his soul all this time. All this death was because the Three-Eyed Raven was afraid. Now, it was time to finish this. I took a deep breath and glanced at Bran.
"You ready?" I asked.
Bran took a deep breath, "We still have time."
I nodded, staring at the sky as the stars and moon vanished.
Quietly, I prayed.
.o0o.
Jon's POV
Jon had reached Daenerys at the south gate. No words were said as they made their way out to get to the dragons. Drogon and Rhaegal were at the ready, as the two riders got on and flew over to the location where they would wait.
When they arrived, Jon got off and reached the edge of the cliff, seeing the battlefield. They could see the many torches that illuminated Winterfell and everyone in position. However, on the other side was utter darkness as the Wolfswood vanished into oblivion.
Jon took a deep breath, for it brought back memories of the void when he was murdered.
Daenerys and Jon stood there waiting.
Jon wondered if he did enough. Did he get enough allies and soldiers to fight in the Great War? Did he get enough dragonglass to supply their forces? Did he assemble a good battle strategy that would keep the civilians safe and protect the United Army? His family was in Winterfell. His cousins that he grew up with were his siblings. Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon were ground level. Hopefully, Sansa and Rickon were secured in the Great Hall. Hopefully, Arya will find a safe location to fight. Hopefully, Bran will be ready for this ordeal.
Most of all, he hoped Imogen was prepared for this.
For over a decade, Imogen has been preparing for this. Jon must have faith that she can do this. However, he was worried about what she and Boudica had said. Magic has a price, and the spell that Imogen must do may cost her life or her sanity.
Jon mentally shook his head, needing to have faith and trust.
Time continued onward as Daenerys and Jon watched.
Jon glanced at her for a moment. Daenerys…his aunt. Practically the same age as him, who went through hardships because of their families. A part of him wanted to tell her that she was not alone. That she was not the last Targaryen. However, his instincts told him to let it lie. They may share the same blood, but they were not family. As he told himself, he would be Jon Snow.
Suddenly, a massive wave of fire consumed the Dothraki horde. Daenerys gasped, as did Jon, yet there was no panic as if the Dothraki were fine. Jon glanced at Daenerys, wondering if she knew about this. But the look on her face told him she didn't.
This was fire magic.
Jon tried to grasp this until he could only think of one person who was capable of doing it.
Melisandre.
The Red Woman had returned.
Jon wasn't sure if he should be pleased or not.
Either way, he hoped this was an advantage.
Not long after, the trebuchets and catapults were firing the burning missiles. The balls of fire flew across the sky, over the fortification, and into the dark abyss. On impact, there were loud collisions as shrieks echoed into the night of wights being destroyed. Many more followed afterward, sounding like banshees that Old Nan used to talk about.
With each impact, Jon could see the number of wights in the darkness as the flames engulfed the fiery missiles' wake.
"The dead are here," Daenerys announced, no longer having the patience.
Jon complied as the two got on the dragons. Once on Rhaegal, Jon took several deep breaths as he felt the bond between him and the green dragon. Rhaegal gave a chur, assuring him he was safe.
Except it was not his safety that he was worried about.
They waited until the projectiles ceased before taking to the sky. Confirming the Army of the Dead was here, they took to the sky, going to the darkness near the fortification before chanting the words;
"Dracarys."
Jon felt warmth in his body as a vibration went through Rhaegal before breathing fire on the wights. Drogon did the same under Daenerys's command. Until the Night King reveals himself, with Viserion, they will do what they can to limit the enemies' forces. Back and forth they went, breathing fire from the sky. Many wights rushed in, trying to knock down the fortification. Jon tried to burn many in an attempt to stop the stampede. The fortification was the only delay they had before all Seven Hell broke loose.
As Rhaegal continued to burn the wights, Jon kept an eye out for the Night King. Rhaegal turned to make his way back when Jon noticed the White Walkers at the forest line. Jon mentally told Rhaegal to go there, and the green dragon complied. Remembering the expedition and that the White Walkers can resurrect the dead, Jon thought that if he burned them, the majority of the undead forces would drop.
The Valyrian word was at the tip of his tongue when, all of a sudden, a wave of a blizzard came crashing down through the Wolfswood. The gale thrashed in as the density of the clouds made it impossible to see. Jon's hands tightened on the spikes, grabbing on for dear life while Rhaegal was consumed in the storm. The snow and hail were scratching his face, nearly blinding him. All sense of direction was lost, making it difficult to see where he was going.
Until the tops of trees were bashing against them. Jon groaned, trying to force Rhaegal up. Rhaegal complied, moving upwards. Then, out of nowhere, a dark mass approached, colliding with them. It was a dragon, but he couldn't tell who it was. All he can do is figure out a way to get back to the battlefield and burn as many wights as possible. If only he knew which way to go.
Suddenly, there was a massive thud.
Jon only assumed the fortification had fallen.
He prays that he and Daenerys burned enough wights to give their men the advantage.
After ordering Rhaegal to turn back, Jon had to see what was happening.
.o0o.
Imogen's POV
There was a change in the wind as the blizzard swept in.
Not long after, a massive thud could be heard. The Karstarks, Theon, and Bran stared ahead as we all knew the battle had begun. We had heard the shrieks, and after some time, the battle had begun. There was nothing we could do but wait. Undoubtedly, the Dothraki have taken charge, while the Free Folk, Northerners, and Unsullied are claiming any that passed through.
I continued to mentally pray to the Old Gods, begging that this would not be humanity's last night, nor would it be the Second Long Night that would last another generation or more. Only there was a problem. The Children of the Forest were no longer here. Magic has dwindled near nonexistence. What the ancestors have, we do not have to our advantage.
A dragon came into view, emerging from the clouds. I adjusted my spear in case it was the Night King on Viserion. However, my runes, though active in sensing the Army of the Dead, did not freeze, indicating it was not him. I could not tell if it was Drogon or Rhaegal as the dragon flew overhead and landed on one of the castle's battlements.
Please be safe, I thought, hoping it was Jon.
The battle continued onward, as we can hear it.
Until I felt another source of magic. I had felt it earlier, but it was happening again. It felt like Melisandre's aura. The Red Woman must be here, or someone with fire magic. The dragon on the battlement shrieks, jumping off and swooping down, going back into battle.
Skadi nudged against me, sensing my worry. I leaned against her, taking deep breaths. Ghost came over as well. I glanced over to Bran as he had one hand combing through Summer's fur. Carefully, I made my way over to them with Ghost and Skadi.
"Are you nervous?" I asked, seeing his hand shakes through the furs.
Bran gulped and nodded.
"It will be alright," I assured. "All you have to do is transfer the Raven to me."
"What if I can't?" Bran mumbled.
I knelt down to his level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Then we can try together."
Bran took a deep breath and nodded.
"You are the next greenseer," I murmured. "I wish we had enough time so I can train you."
Bran stared at me with those dark eyes, "You no longer have green sight."
I paused, staring at him.
"It was the price you paid to keep him locked away," he explained as he glanced at the Heart Tree where the Raven was kept.
I blinked a few times, grasping this.
I hadn't had a chance to test that theory. But if what Bran says is true, then the visions and seizures are no more. Mixed emotions filled me, for what was supposed to be a gift became a curse for me. In the end, it does not matter for what is to come.
"Do not speak more of the future," I warned. "For the future is never set in stone, and you are a Greenseer, can negate it from happening."
Bran opened his mouth to speak, except he sighed but nodded.
I stood up, adjusted my mask, and looked at the sky. In the distance, I saw one of the dragons breathing fire.
"Bran…" Theon said as he came over.
Bran turned his attention to Theon.
The Ironborn was nervous yet spoke with much remorse, "I just want you to know…I wish…The things I did –"
"Everything you did brought you where you are now," Bran said, yet his eyes glossed. "Where you belong. Home."
Theon stared at him, swallowing his guilt, and nodded.
Bran turned his attention to me, "I'm going to check on the battle."
I nodded since I had to preserve my energy.
Bran took a deep breath and warged, his dark eyes rolling to the back of his head and turning white. Theon stepped back, not expecting that, but I assured him it was alright. Up in the sky, countless ravens and crows flew around, entering the storm.
Time passed until my runes throbbed. The marking was blazing as the numbness became burning hot. I clenched my spear, trying to regulate, sensing a strong presence. One I haven't felt since Hardhome. Skadi whimpered as she came to my side.
I looked up, staring at the sky to make out a dark shadow in the clouds.
The Night King was here.
.o0o.
Jon's POV
Rhaegal had landed on a battlement to catch himself. Jon panted as he watched the trenches set ablaze by those who sacrificed themselves in the outer rings to the inner. Although their forces were strong, many of the wights had broken through the Dothraki charge. Daenerys had vanished, lost in the blizzard, and Jon had no choice but to proceed to burn the enemy in the outer ring.
It wasn't until the trenches were lit that Daenerys found her way back as she had Drogon set the battlefield on the enemy side ablaze. Jon looked around, trying to find the Night King. Time seemed to vanish, and Jon didn't know how long the battle had been going on. The White Walkers were hidden in the blizzard, and the Night King has not shown himself.
Jon flew across the Godswood when he soared, seeing that Bran and Imogen were all right. The castle had yet to be breached, yet many of the soldiers were being retreated inside. Jon cursed, for he needed to find the Night King. Although Imogen told him, dragonglass will not kill the Night King, for his heart is made of it. There has to be a way with dragon fire. A way to weaken him before he gets to the Godswood.
Loud pounding sounds of wings flapping caught Jon's attention. Drogon was across the battlefield, yet the sound he heard was nearby. Staring up, Jon could make out a dragon in the sky. Nearly blending with the blizzard, two livid blue dots glare down at him.
Viserion, Jon thought.
The dead dragon turned, flying away. Rhaegal shrieked as Jon ordered him to chase after them. Rhaegal took off chasing after Viserion in the storm. Deep inside the blizzard, the Night King led them high into the sky. Jon held onto Rhaegal tightly, cautious of where the enemy was taking him. The moment Jon thought he reached him, only to break through the clouds. The only dragon other than Rhaegal was Drogon. Jon didn't realize Daenerys had followed him.
Jon was confused, for the Night King and Viserion were just in front of them. Beneath them was a storm of clouds, like the grey waters of the ocean, swirling around beneath them, blocking the stars and moon. Jon wondered if the First Long Night was a never-ending storm that blocked the sky.
Jon realized this as well as he glanced around, checking their surroundings. Somewhere in the clouds was the Night King…. and they were in the open.
A growl could be heard below them as the blue fire came in their direction. The dragons tried to dodge the assault. The Night King appeared; Viserion opened his mouth and breathed frozen fire directly into Rhaegal's face. Jon could feel the temperature of the blue flames that were past the arctic. The air vanishes to nothing. If not through the bond, Rhaegal falls, practically stupefied. Jon cursed as he tried to get Rhaegal to wake, trying to hold on for dear life as the dragon spiraled. Meanwhile, Viserion went after Drogon.
Rhaegal! Jon thought.
That snapped the green dragon into place. Rhaegal corrected himself, making a sharp turn and soaring back up. Back into the opening to see Viserion vanished and Drogon coming down. Jon panted, staring around with the crescent light of the waxing moon.
Jon turned his attention to Daenerys, barely making her out in the night. So far, she seemed alright. Jon took several deep breaths, waiting for the next strike. Except it did not come. After another moment, Jon cursed, realizing the Night King had gone back to Winterfell. Ordering Rhaegal down, the green dragon dived.
Desperately, with Daenerys having Drogon following them, they rushed back to Winterfell, except when they reached the Castle, the Viserion breathed fire, destroying a part of the battlement and buildings. The result of the destruction allowed more wights to enter the Keep.
.o0o.
Imogen's POV
Blue flames danced along the sky as the battlement and parts of the castle were destroyed—especially part of the gate to the Godswood. I cursed, securing my spear, as Theon and the Karstarks grabbed their bows and nock arrows. They all got into position, circling around Bran and me. The wolves are doing the same as well.
I placed a hand on Bran, digging my nails into him to break the connection.
Bran snapped out of it as he stared at me before looking ahead to see movement in the Godswood. Everyone could hear the chattering, with starburst blue orbs moving amongst the shadows. They were here—the Wights in the Godswood.
Several wights made their way, in which the archers fired dragonglass tip arrows that were on fire. Quickly, they fell to the ground. I ground my teeth, wondering where the Night King was, for it was too soon to cast the spell. I drew my spear, stabbing any that had broken through the defenses.
There were too many of them, as several came down by the archers. Meanwhile, the wolves and I continued to take those that were getting through. A swarm was coming in, and I cursed, for there were too many of them.
Suddenly, there was a howl as Valko and Fenrir appeared alongside other direwolves and Dires. Relief filled me as they continued to fight. Slaying any wights that had breached the Godswood. The archers pulled back, formatting the ring again, shooting any wight that came near.
A shriek could be heard, and I glanced up, seeing the dead dragon of Viserion. And on his back was the Night King; my runes burned, yet I was vulnerable since I was on the ground and he was in the sky.
Until Rhaegal swarmed in, tackling Viserion.
.o0o.
Jon's POV
Rhaegal was the first to collide with Viserion, sinking his talons in the dead dragon's frozen flesh. A shriek could be heard as Rhaegal tried to bite Viserion's neck. The dragons swirled around, entangled in one another, necks smacking on one another while each tried to bite the other's head off. Claws thrashing, striking each other's, slicing flesh. Both dragons swirl around, biting and slashing from one another. The dragons were roaring and shrieking. They were in a deadlock.
Jon held on, trying to avoid Viserion's teeth. No doubt, the Night King ordered the dead dragon to eliminate him. Blue eyes lunged forward as black teeth snapped at Jon. Jon ducked his head, trying to avoid the strike, only to feel a strangle as his cloak was being torn off. Quickly, Jon ripped the clasp, saving himself from being tossed off -Rhaegal shrieked, snapping into Viserion's head, attempting to break it.
However, Viserion blew that suffocating fire, breaking the hold. Jon closed his eyes, yet Rhaegal turned them, except Viserion slithered his head towards Jon, trying to bite him once more. Rhaegal attempted to disengage, but Viserion kept a hold on him. There was nothing Jon could do but hold on tight while dodging the strikes.
Rhaegal and Viserion had the upper hand, outnumbering it. That is until the dead dragon slashed at Rhaegal's chest and turned its head, biting towards Jon.
Then, out of nowhere, Drogon attacked Viserion and separated the two. Rhaegal fell, and Drogon shoved Viserion away. The dead dragon shrieked, disappearing into the clouds.
Jon screamed, trying to get Rhaegal to stabilize. Rhaegal shrieked, managing to turn himself so as not to fall in near death, except the speed was not on their side. The dragon tried to land correctly, but the speed at which they were falling was rough, crashing into the snow and running to slow down before the utter exhaustion took Rhaegal.
Jon was tossed into the air, falling beside Rhaegal. He groaned as he landed roughly on the ground. He tried to breathe, but just like being bucked off a horse, the shock knocked the wind out of him. A sharp pain could be felt in his ribs; no doubt some have broken. Ignoring the pain, he got up, glancing at Rhaegal, seeing his dragon was unconscious, as he felt Rhaegal's pain through his own.
Everything was spinning, the throbbing pain in his head, until he saw the Night King off in the distance. Only a blade of fire could defeat the Night King. Jon debated this: Should he take the risk and kill the Night King now while letting the Three-Eyed Raven exist, trapped in the Heart Tree, or continue as planned? There was conflict, for Jon wanted to end it all.
Jon held tightly to Longclaw's pommel while his other hand held his side. He ran, holding his side, heading straight for Winterfell. The moment he got there, he caught sight of the Night King standing in the center of the battlefield. Above him was Drogon. The Night King was staring at Drogon, not at all afraid.
Drogon, under Daenerys's command, breathed fire onto the Night King. The enemy vanished within the flames. Jon limped his way over to get a better view. He was about fifty feet away from the swirling fire that might put an end to the enemy or weaken him.
By the time Drogon ran out of breath, he had continued to hover over, watching the fire burn everything in its path. Jon watched, waiting and praying to the Old Gods and the New that this plan would work out. All the years of fighting the Army of the Dead are finally coming to an end. All his friends who died on the Wall, those who perished in the expeditions, to now at Winterfell can finally rest in peace.
They have finally won.
That is, until a gust of wind extinguished the flames. The Night King stood there, staring at Daenerys's direction. His frozen lips were turning into a mocking smile.
Never has Jon seen the Night King smile.
The Night King knelt to grab his spear and threw it at Drogon. Remembering the last ice spear killed Viserion, Daenerys and Drogon retreat. The ice spear barely missed. Afterward, the immortal being started making his way to Winterfell.
Jon cursed, staring at the Night King. Therefore, he unsheathed Longclaw from its scabbard and chased after the Night King. Jon's legs were sore, his head ached, and his blood was cold from the winter. The smoke and blizzard made it difficult to see, yet Jon continued running towards the Night King.
All that Jon could think about was protecting his family and his people.
The Night King kept a steady pace, not rushing as he made his way towards Winterfell. The majority of his army had been slaughtered, as many of those in the inner trenches were still fighting. The Dothraki and Free Folk who did not make it inside the Keep continued to fight. However, the Night King continued onward, not caring how much he had lost. He had one objective, and that was to collect his soul in the Three-Eyed Raven.
Bran, Jon thought in panic. Imogen.
Then, a memory filled him. The image on Imogen's back that the Children of the Forest left behind. The Dragon, the Raven, and the Direwolf at the Heart Tree. Imogen was the direwolf, Bran was the raven, and the dragon…Jon was the dragon. He had to be there. He had to be there to fight the Night King. Cursing under his breath, he secured his grip on Longclaw and ran more than ever before. He needed to get to Godswood before the Night King did.
He was about a hundred feet away when the Night King stopped, turning around to face him. Jon hesitated, wondering if the Night King would fight him on the battlefield. A battle between them. The Night King did not draw his falx, which was strapped to his back,
No, instead, he slowly spread his arms out. Jon's eyes widened, realizing what the Night King was about to do. The immortal was going to resurrect the dead. Even though many had the rune of protection, the Dothraki, Unsullied, and those who did not get the mark would be resurrected.
Quickly, Jon ran for dear life, trying to reach the enemy before the dead rose. Except he was too late. Just thirty feet away from his target, the resurrected human soldiers surrounded the Night King. The fallen Dothraki, Unsullied, and those not marked and had fallen in battle stood up with livid blue eyes.
Silence engulfed the field, and everyone was petrified of seeing their comrades rise from the dead.
Jon stopped, for he was surrounded.
The Night King stared at Jon. The immortal creature bowed his head as a sign of respect before turning around and heading towards Winterfell, allowing his new additions to deal with Jon and the others. The Night King was joined by his children, walking in with ease.
Jon growled as he ran in for the attack, reminding himself these men were dead. The wights gathered around, making the area dense for him. They were all getting too close, in a swarm. The fire drew down from the sky, not expecting it, burning the wights behind him. Jon looked up, seeing it was Drogon. Jon sighed in relief, glad to see the two were working together despite their differences.
Drogon landed in front of him.
"Go!" Daenerys shouted.
Jon nodded as he ran after the Night King.
.o0o.
Imogen's POV
The Night King was here, in Winterfell. I stared at Bran, who was clenching his marked arm. He, too, can sense it. Sense him. He turned his attention to the Ironborn.
"Theon," Bran called out.
The Ironborn turned around to face Bran.
"You're a good man," Bran said. "Thank you."
Theon swallowed and nodded as if that was all he needed.
I glance over to Fenrir, spotting his weapon being taken yet held onto Valko, who gnaws his way through the chaos. Fearing for my father, I handed Skadi my spear. She took it in her mouth, leaping over to the archers and into the swarm. I could just make it off her handing the spear to Fenrir, who took it—sighing in relief.
Knowing the Night King was here, I walked over to Bran, facing Ghost and Summer.
"Don't let anyone near him," I ordered.
The two direwolves nodded.
I turned my attention to Bran, who looked at me.
"Just as we practice," I told him.
Bran nodded.
Pulling out my dirk, I removed my glove and stared at the somewhat healed wound. I took several deep breaths, comprehending what I was about to do and that I was about to die. To die for my family, the man I love, the people, and for Westeros. Bran stared at me, then his hand wound.
"We can do it," he assured, though voice was slightly shaken.
All around us, people were dying. There was no time for hesitation, so I cut my hand, reopened the wound, and did the same for Bran. With both bloody palms placed on the Heart Tree, I cast the spell that would release the Three-Eyed Raven. Immediately, Bran began to warg, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and turning white.
I continued to chant the spell, turning around to face the swarm, seeing the wights had diminished, yet the White Walkers appeared. In front of them was the Night King, his starburst eyes focused on me. I drew Dark Sister, preparing for what is to come—waiting for Bran to Warg into me. The words continue to leave my lips in the language of the Children. As I cast with all my might, will all I have felt since I was ten.
The Night King made his way over while the White Walkers were drawn to battle with the Dires. The archers fired their arrows at the Night King. Even though the dragonglass tips struck weak spots, they did not hinder him in the slightest.
Suddenly, the world swirled in darkness, being taken to the void that a warg does when controlling a human. Yet the darkness does not take me. Instead, a running sound could be heard as I turned around to see Bran making his way towards me, holding something in his hands. Once he was in front of me, I saw Bran had scratches all over his hands and face. The source of it is being locked in his hands. A raven with a third eye on the top of its head.
"You did it," I praised. "Hand him over."
Bran did so as I grabbed the Raven, roughly, holding him, mearing at all three eyes.
"It's time," I seethed. "To end it all. To end the cycle."
The Three-Eyed Raven cawed at me; words of speech were gone since he had no host.
"Go back," I told Bran.
"No," Bran argued.
"Bran," I heaved.
"I want to help," he pleaded. "Let me help."
Cursing under my breath, I did not argue, casting the spell again. I felt my soul split in two as I could see in the void and what was in front of me. Seeing the Night King standing in front of me. Before I could react, the Night King shot his hand around my throat, lifting me in the air. I gasped, trying to keep hold of the Raven spiritually and Dark Sister physically. The coldness of his skin drained the warmth out of me. The air slowly left my lungs. My legs thrash, my body going into instincts as I try to get away.
Realizing my fate, glancing over my shoulder to see Fenrir stabbing a White Walker, shattering him to pieces, while Skadi and Valko pounced on Wights, ripping their heads off. Gasping for air, I forced out the incantation once more, placing my bloody hand onto the Night King's face. The coldness seared my skin, yet I ground my teeth, muttering the words, warging us into the Night King.
We were back to where it all began.
Back in the Heart Tree with the spiral rocks.
An icy cold noose tightens around my neck. The dizziness took hold as I tried to ground myself. I must do this quickly, or I will die before finishing. Bran stood by my side, securing a hand on my arm.
The Night King Stood there; his blue eyes widened, yet his face was unfazed. The Three-Eyed Raven stabbed his beak into my hand. I winced, tightening my grip, ready to snap this nuisance. The Night King scowled at this, reaching his hand out, yet Bran and I stepped back.
"You want this?" I sneered.
Those haunting eyes narrowed even more.
I chanted the spell once more in the language of the Children. Slowly, the ice and stone melted away, revealing the once greenseer—the man who was sacrificed to be a beast, a weapon. However, this was the body, the instincts of the once greenseer—a man made of flesh, as his eyes still illuminated in those livid blue.
"I will not spend eternity in this forsaken time," the Night King said, his voice deep.
My eyes widened as he spoke for the first time.
"What do you want from us?" Bran asked.
"I want it to end," The Night King answered. "Aren't you tired? Wouldn't it be great to be free of all this?"
"The extinction of man is not worth it," I snapped.
"Suffering," the Night King said. "All is suffering. To end all the fighting."
"Then end it for yourself," I seethed.
He did not grasp those words.
Was this about suffering?
This broken soul is trying to end all the suffering in Westeros by killing everyone. I know the Night King was made to end the war between the Children of the Forest and the First Men. But this…. The Night King had stolen a generation. He has tormented my people for thirty years.
How does creating suffering end suffering?
"Why?" the Night King asked, his rage exposing itself.
I glared at him.
"Why are you still fighting!"
I bowed my head.
"Give what has been taken," he demanded. "And I shall end it all."
He raised his hand, clenching his fist.
I choked. No doubt his vessel was strangling my own. There was no point; I had to end this. I repeated the spell one last time, in which the Three-Eyed Raven cawed, thrashing in my hands, until his eyes illuminated before yanking out of my hands and tossed at the Night King. Before the Last Greenseer could react, the raven collided with his chest. The Raven cawed as the feathers fused into his flesh, trying to break free while the Night King cried out in agony.
I continue to chant the spell, ensuring that the two are one entity.
While my soul was split in two once more.
.o0o.
Jon's POV
Jon ran for his life. The adrenaline rushed through his veins. The pain was replaced with a searing heat. All he could do was run, slashing through wights that were in his way. He needed to get to the Godswood. He needs to be there for his brother and lover.
Meanwhile, the Keeps courtyard was chaotic as the wights were coming in rapidly along with the new additions of fallen men. Jon rushed in, seeing the utter chaos as his fellow friends and men fought for their lives. He saw Gendry and Tormund smashing away on a pile of corpses, Ser Jaime, Ser Brienne, and Podrick cornered to a wall. He heard shouting, one familiar, seeing Sam pinned to the ground by wights. Jon debated saving him, a cross between his best friend and the greater good.
Cursing under his breath, Jon ran over, striking down a wight, and ran to Sam's aid. He killed another that had tackled Sam, getting it off, before grabbing Sam by the collar and forcing him up. Sam's eyes widened, yet no words were exchanged as Jon ran again. Running towards the Godswood.
He saw Grey Worm easily fighting, as the Unsullied were trained to never give up. Suddenly, a swarm of fresh wights came Jon's way. Jon gasped, making a sudden turn and entering the inner curtain. There were wights in the way, yet Jon used Longclaw slashing and thrashing through in order to get to the Godswood. The moment the Valyrian blade broke the skin, the wights dropped dead.
Jon managed to reach the gate, stabbing a wight as he yanked it closed and latched it. He knows it will not last, but it gave him enough time. Countless arms and skeletal claws broke through, trying to grab him. Jon stepped back, catching his breath, before running again.
He made it to the next courtyard.
Many of the Free Folk, specifically Dires, were there as they had managed to maintain this location. Jon realized that the Godswood had been breached. He continues to run when Viserion crashes into the inner curtain, destroying it, breathing the blue flame in his wake. Jon ran back to the other side, barely making it, as the blue flame crossed through the opening. Jon covered his face back to the flames as the air vanished, and the chill consumed the open corridor. Hearing the cries and agony of the men and women who had succumbed to the blue flame.
Jon tried again to go out, killing a wight in his way. However, Viserion turned his head, breathing fire once more. Jon got inside between the pillars, barely able to breathe. He can't get into the Godswood with Viserion in the way.
As if the gods heard his prayer, another roar filled the area. Jon glanced over to see Rhaegal charging in, tackling Viserion. The impact caused both dragons to destroy the parapet of the inner curtain. The ruble fell on top of them. Jon feared for his dragon until he saw an orange flame directly on the dead dragon before Rhaegal latched his mouth onto Viserion's lower jaw and ripped it off. Viserion gave a piercing cry, yet Rhaegal continued to tear his once brother apart.
Not wasting time, Jon took the distraction and went to the Godswood. Many wights have invaded, yet lie dead on the ground or crawling without lower limbs. Jon runs, reaching the center of the Godswood, where the Dires are fighting the White Walkers. The Karstarks and Theon were dead, and Fenrir was dueling a White Walker, as the Othersl had created a wall that separated anyone from the Heart Tree.
Jon rushed in, trying to see between the cracks, fighting alongside Fenrir.
"He has her!" Fenrir yelled.
Jon's eyes widened as he tried to see through the cracks. Seeing the Night King had Imogen in the air by her throat. She was warging, with one bloody hand on the Night King's face while the other still gripping Dark Sister. He didn't know if she was dead. But they seemed to be in a deadlock. Meanwhile, Ghost and Summer are fighting a White Walker trying to get close to Bran, who is also warging. Blood drenching their furs.
Furious, Jon swung his sword, destroying the White Walker's blade in front of him. Before the Other could retaliate, Jon thrust his sword into the entity, shattering him to bits. Fenrir managed to stab the one in front of him with the dragonglass spear. A high-pitched whimper caught their attention as Valko was slain by a White Walker, in which Skadi tackled him, gnawing and thrashing on his head.
"Go!" Fenrir yelled at Jon as he went to aid the wolves.
Jon took the opening to get through, yet the White Walkers were occupied with the Dires and their familiars. Men and beasts were trying to save the Warg Maiden. Focusing, Jon rushed in, not sure who to save: his brother or his lover. He was stuck, for one choice would kill the other.
Suddenly, a gust of wind passed him. Arya ran in all bloody and worn, charging at the White Walker, who was after Bran. She jumped on the White Walker's back, stabbing him with her dagger. The dagger must have been Valyrian, as the White Walker screamed out and shattered.
Quickly, Jon ran towards the Night King, Longclaw ready to cut off the arm. When suddenly, the arm flecked, tossing Imogen at him. It happened fast, and Jon managed to lower Longclaw as he caught her. Both fall to the ground. Pain consumed him as he stared at Imogen. The wolf mask was torn off. She grasped her head and then looked up; one eye was still solid white, while the other was silver. Her neck was covered in frostnip, red, with bruising forming. He then glances at the Night King standing there, confused. One eye is solid white, while the other is an icy blue.
"The two… are… merging, "Imogen panted, her throat raw. "We need… to strike… them."
Jon nodded as they were able to get up, though they struggled. Imogen coughed, rubbing her neck, and winced. They managed to get the first half done. Now, they must end the Night King.
Jon glanced over his shoulder, seeing Bran gasping and returning to his body while Arya stood in front of him with Ghost and Summer. Knowing Bran was in good hands, he adjusted Longclaw and saw Imogen doing the same with Dark Sister.
"Pincer," Jon seethed.
"Got it," Imogen heaved.
Staring at each other one last time, they rushed in in a pincer move, taking each side of the Night King. The immortal's daze vanished, and he drew his falx and blocked Jon's attack. If Jon can strike once more on the ice falx, it will shatter, leaving an opening. Imogen came in, hacking her sword down and aiming for the arm. The Night King pulled away just in time as Imogen tumbled over. She corrected herself, adjusting her grip.
This does not stop Jon and Imogen from continuing to fight as they thrust and slash their way towards the Night King. However, the once immortal had skills in managing to dodge and block their attacks. Dark Sister crossed blades, and the Night King used his strength to toss Imogen down. Jon rushed in, only to be hit by a kick. Imogen got up, and she attacked as their blades locked. The vibration echoed as the ice in the falx conflicted with the Valyrian steel. But this being the Night King, his blade was stronger. Being in a deadlock, Jon ran in, ready to strike, except he was too late, as the Night King rotated, forcing Dark Sister down along with Imogen while blocking Jon's attack. Jon swiped hard, shattering the falx.
The Night King's eyes widened.
Jon panted as he saw Imogen thrust Dark Sister into the Night King's back, penetrating deep, almost straight through—right into his heart. The lone blue eye that was a starburst dimmed to that of a mortal, and the white eye also returned to normal. He stared down at his chest and then over his shoulder, where Imogen held her sword. Jon watched as she gave a battle cry, thrusting deeper, shattering the Night King.
Within the shatter, a pulse of a wave appeared, soaring across Winterfell as it knocked everyone down in the Godswood. The remaining White Walkers, still in battle, shattered as well. All the wights that were old collapsed into pieces, turning to dust. Meanwhile, those freshly resurrected had dropped dead.
Jon panted, realizing they had done it, as he faced Imogen, knowing she had done the killing blow. However, Imogen lay on the ground, both eyes white. Her body tensed, and she shook slightly, recalling one of the Night King's eyes was white…
She warged into the Night King and killed him while doing so.
She was experiencing death.
Cursing, Jon forced himself up and tried to get to her.
"Imogen!"
He fell onto his knees, grabbing hold of her arms, "I'm here."
There was no response.
Jon panicked as he took her into his arms. Trying to ground her while she was trapped in her body. Even though her body was not thrashing, it still violently shook. He held her close, telling her to come back to him that she was safe. That the Night King was no more.
Jon glances at Bran, "Do something?"
Bran stared in their direction, warging as his eyes turned white for a moment before returning to dark grey. He blinked, confused, trying again, only to return to his body.
"I…I can't get in," Bran said. "There is nothing there."
Jon shook his head, resting his forehead against hers. He can't go through this pain again. Not like Ygritte. Not the woman he loves dying in his arms once more. This past year, he fell in love with the Wildling Huntress. The Warg Maiden. A stubborn woman who claimed his heart by being the most selfless person in all of Westeros.
A part of him wished he had told her his feelings.
That he loves her.
Caressing her face, he kissed her, trying anything to bring her back. Yet her lips did not respond to his. They were as cold as ice. Jon ignored them, whispering sweet nothings to her. Tears filled his eyes, and a sob escaped.
"I love you," Jon told her. "I should have told you."
But she did not respond.
A painful whimper came as Ghost, with a torn ear, came over. He nuzzled against him, sensing the struggle. Another whimper joined in as Skadi limped with Fenrir leaning on her. Fenrir had a hand on his torso covering a wound. Jon's eyes widened as the blood drenched the snow. This man was barely alive as he came over.
Once near, Fenrir collapsed onto his knees, ignoring the pain while covering the wound. He yanked off his dark wolf mask, staring at his daughter.
"Did she warg into the Night King?" Fenrir asked through gritted teeth.
"Yes," Bran confirmed.
Fenrir cursed, "She killed him with a part of herself inside. She is experiencing every death from this battle."
Jon's eyes widened.
"Her heart won't last," Fenrir added as his other hand cradled his daughter's face.
Jon froze when hearing this.
Fenrir then looked at Jon, an expression he had not seen in a long time. The one Ned Stark gave on the Kingsroad. Of true love and devotion.
"Tell her she is not at fault," Fenrir murmured. "That I chose to be the lone wolf."
Before Jon could grasp what he meant, Fenrir warged.
.o0o.
Imogen's POV
I was back in the darkness and cold as if I were in the land that is always winter. The screams and cries of the dead bellowed in my ears. Everything hurt as I felt my body shatter repeatedly. Feeling blades stabbing and slicing through my flesh. On a repeated cycle of endless torment. My head hurts as if it is constantly struck. With all the deaths consuming me, all I can do is huddle into a small ball and try.
Magic always had a cost.
That was what the children warned me about. To them, it came with ease. But to a human, a price had to be paid. Whether it is the person who cast the spell or a sacrifice, I couldn't put Bran through this torment. After all he went through, being a boy who lost so much, I just couldn't.
I spent nearly a decade on my own demise. I knew I was going to die. At least I took the Night King with me. Saving my people.
Another shattering went through me, and I sobbed.
I need to bear all these deaths.
All these deaths before finding peace.
The tears continue to fall. Soon, I will have eternal peace, able to roam with my ancestors and the Old Gods, able to be with Ygritte again. There was that one solace of death: to be with my spiritual sister. Even if it meant leaving my family behind so they could be safe, to leave…Jon behind.
A voice could be heard. A male voice, but it was muffled. Drowned beneath the sorrows of the dead.
A cry left me from the physical and the emotional trauma as I felt a stab through my back.
Those who survive are safe.
The Free Folk are safe.
My family is safe.
Another slice in my chest, near my neck, cut deep through that I gagged.
It's too much.
All of it was too much.
Just let me die.
Just let me die.
Suddenly, a pair of hands wrapped around my head, forcing me to look up gently. There before me was Fenrir, staring at me with a proud smile. I was confused, wondering if he, too, had died or….
Fenrir kissed the top of my head, wiping the tears away.
"No more," he murmured.
I was confused, wondering what he meant.
"This is my last act as a father," he murmured. "The burden I will carry."
I didn't understand until he pressed his forehead against me. Instantly, the agonizing pain vanished, and my eyes widened, seeing his face contorted. Before I could stop it, Fenrir grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing a smile as his eyes said it all, and then shoved me out of the darkness.
.o0o.
I blinked, staring at the whiteness before my eyes adjusted. I saw something in front of me. I realized I was in someone's arms as they called out my name. A leather hand held my face. I blinked a few times, trying to ground myself to see it was Jon.
"Jon," I choked.
Even with the haze, I can make out his face. His eyes were glossy as he expressed many emotions. Emotions I have not seen from him. He pulled me close, kissing my lips. Feeling them tremble and the little warmth they had. I cling to his arm as the tears fell that we were both alive. That we both have survived.
A thud could be heard.
My eyes widen, and I try to sit up. Jon helped me as I saw the source of Fenrir lying on the ground with a pool of blood. I shook my head, and I nearly threw myself onto him. Checking his wound to see a massive stab wound in his torso. A lethal one that secured death. I stared into his eyes, seeing he was warging, yet he was not breathing.
I sobbed, hunching over my father, that he died to save me.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
As the warg's eyes return to empty pools of death.
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