Hello !
Here comes the 27th chapter of the story!
This is probably the most important chapter, the one who took me the most time. I spent weeks on it,and I hope you will enjoy it.
Et merci Yen pour le temps et les corrections !
Thanks for all the people who left review, fav or favorite this story after such a long break!
More than 450 followers, you guys are awesome. Shall we keep on this trend ?
Obviously, I'm not M. Paolini or GRR Martin hence, I own nothing of this story !
Enjoy and see you next week !
At first, there was nothing. And suddenly, death came in. In the depth of the night, there had been no warning for the sudden onslaught. There was no warning, no war horn, no war cry. But there was no point denying that the battle had started, and they had to fight. The wights had waited during the whole day, at a safe distance from the castle, restless. Now that the sun had disappeared behind the hills, the battle could begin. In earlier battles, hundreds of wights came on them per wave. This battle wasn't going to be like any battle before, now without any wall to stop them, thousands of shrieking wrights were running madly in their direction;
The only barrier between the castle and the seemingly endless army was a thin pack of Unsullied. It seemed to go on and on, never to stop. And they knew that it was but a small part of their army.
Some had voiced the idea of letting the Dothrakis charge and take down the first waves. However, the combined voices of Eragon, Jon and Daenerys had allowed the idea the remain as it was: an idea. This was one of the first rules Eragon had learnt of warfare back in Alagaësia: when possible, fight on your ground, not your enemy's.
From the top of Saphira, Eragon couldn't help but be pleased about this decision. This would have been a slaughter and not a positive one. Nothing but the strongest barrier would be able to stop this, and a thousand horsemen wouldn't have stood a chance.
Big and wide tranches had been made with the notable help of Saphira. This would cut the progression of the wights and force them to enter a few bottlenecks, carefully placed. To prevent them from stopping this issue by filling the holes with wights, dragonglass fragments littered the ground and would kill all the wights who'd jump inside. But this strategy also prevented the use of horses to attack forward, not that it mattered to some Northern Lord when it came to foreign soldiers.
Daenerys and Eragon stood side by side, in the southern part of the castle, where the number of soldiers was minimal. Atop their dragons, they had no trouble watching the battlefront.
This was a unique situation, a battle with the most mind-blowing configuration. A battle where a tireless and endless enemy would clash against the ingenuity and bravery of men.
It wasn't a fight motivated by power-hungry leaders sending their soldiers to fight their battles. The faces around him weren't of soldiers. The soldiers were already outside the protection offered by the thick walls of Winterfell, by their own choice. Eragon was surrounded by farmers, smiths, cooks or even green lads. They were here to protect their children, their family, just like it had been in Urû'baen.
Watching the frantic run of the wights brought more stress than Eragon had thought. But the plan designed by Randyll Tarly was sound and they had to believe in it. They had given a lot of thought, tried to find the pros and cons, and tried to find all the loopholes until the plan looked optimal. If they disrupted it before the battle even started, it would be disastrous.
However, for Eragon, watching a battle unfold from a distance was a new and certainly unwelcome experience. He had scarcely been in a position of spectator before. Drogon was also more unruly than usual, watching and sensing the start of the battle. But Saphira and Daenerys' presences were enough -at the moment- to stop him.
Now, they just had to wait for the army of the dead to get closer to the old walls of Winterfell, where the Unsullied would defend it against all odds. The fight hadn't even started yet, but Eragon had chills watching the battleground. He could see the first lines of wights, running madly to reach the castle, but it was impossible to see the end of it. It seemed to go on forever, an endless moving pool of enemies, bringing in cold and death.
After what seemed like an eternity but was in reality only a few minutes, the first waves crashed into the lines of Unsullied. So far, it looked like the enemy was moving as expected, going through the path they had devised. Already some were dying, stabbed by shards of dragonglass. It was far from being a majority, a hindrance amongst them.
From a distance, it looked like a slow wave, gently rolling and crashing against a thin black wall. But he knew that in the middle of a battle, it was anything but elegant. With his enhanced senses, he could follow the battle. The noises, or more surprisingly, the lack of noise was unsettling. He had heard about the military prowess of the Unsullied, but Eragon had never expected such a strict level of conduct. The only one who seemed to be talking amongst the soldiers was Grey Worm, guiding the lines. He could feel the Eldunaris interest and curiosity, which was high praise since dragons rarely focused on human matters. Wars were always a loud affair and in all the years of the Alagaësian, no army had ever reached such a level of conduct even with the Ancient Language at the disposal of the leaders.
The wights didn't bother with any discretion, and he could hear their eagerness to rip, tear and kill whatever they could reach.
For now, they just had to wait and hope that Grey Worm and his men would be able to keep this chimaera at bay. Because for every enemy they slew, ten more would appear. They hadn't seen any of the White Walkers or the Night King himself, which was a clever and expected move. The Night King had an almost limitless army as long as the White Walkers and himself remained alive.
Bran was confident the vast majority of the White Walkers would remain close to their leader, who would go to the Sacred Wood. He still didn't perfectly understand the unique relationship between these two, but from his previous discussions with the boy and what he had seen, Eragon was ready to believe him. Nevertheless, it would be impossible to protect the small forest with the same quality as the walls, they lacked the infrastructure and numbers to do so.
A few Ironborn had been dispatched to protect Bran. Randall, Jon and Eragon had been incredulous to learn Bran's rebuttal for increased protection. They all knew this reduced inner circle would be helpless to stop the Night King and yet, the young Stark insisted on having them close.
"We have to get ready" started Daenerys, interrupting Eragon's train of thoughts.
She was right. He could see the different bottlenecks getting filled. As they had thought, the wights were starting to jump into the trenches to fill the void. Many fell and instantly died, wounded by one of the pieces of dragonglass which had been dumped the previous weeks. But unsurprisingly, it wasn't enough. It took hundreds of wights to fill a few feet of trenches, a sacrifice they were more than willing to do. At an impressive speed, they were starting to cover the whole trench. This was an inhuman tactic, something that shouldn't be possible. It felt wrong to witness these inhuman creatures jump to their second death.
He wondered how the soldiers on the battlefield felt, watching deceased Brothers of the Night's Watch or Wildling charge and go on a suicide mission. Eragon knew this battle would leave scars on everyone if they survived to bear them.
Nevertheless, Saphira and Drogon swept into the air, followed closely by Rhaegal. Without losing any second, they spread their wings and took the direction of the North, where the fights were going.
They didn't have to wait long. Time was the essence. If they waited too long, the Unsullied would be overwhelmed and defeated. If they attacked too quickly, they wouldn't get as many wights as they would like. A few seconds later, they saw the signs they were waiting for. Most of the holes were filled with wights and the new waves were coming on the Unsullied.
"You know what to do," shared Eragon to Saphira through his bond.
They had prepared this with Daenerys, who was currently guiding Drogon and Rhaegal, on the other side of the castle. Flying above Winterfell, he saw Randyll Tarly's head, guiding the men. He raised his head, watching the dragons take off and fly in the direction of the enemy.
They were close now. He could discern the sea of arms, pushing to their limits to scratch some skin. So far, the lines were holding, but they were on the brink of collapsing.
For a short moment, the long night disappeared. During these few seconds completely out of time, the lights were switched on, for the dragons had joined the battle, and the skies had opened. Fire met ice and life melted death. Drogon, Rhaegal and Saphira were creating a deathly ballet, and Winterfell was their stage. Flames of several colours were licking the ground, purging the soils and cleansing Earth with the warmest and loudest ballet of Westeros' history.
The wights were now trapped, surrounded by a ring of fire and a row of Unsullied. The outcome of the first part of the battle was turning.
The dragons had trapped the wights between a ring of fire and a row of Unsullied, and they couldn't turn back. More importantly, for a short moment, they were deprived of all their reinforcement waiting behind.
For the side of the living, this was an opportunity they couldn't ignore.
"Dothrakis hatif" screamed Daenerys atop Drogon.
And life surged once again on this battlefield. Dothrakis, in tight packs, surged from the inside of Winterfell. Atop of their horses, their arakhs made of dragon glass raised proudly in the air, they went to the battle, fearlessly and loudly. They had to be swift. And swift they were. Without losing any seconds, they started galloping in the direction of the dead, swinging their arakhs, not leaving any chances. Eragon saw Khal Rheja mounting a tall black horse and leading all the other Dothrakis. He was one of the few with two arakhs, one in each hand. Each swing was a clean execution for several wights. Their horses had also been clad in armour to protect them.
He could feel and see several Dothrakis fall under the clutches of some wights, but the number of dead dying to never return was much more important. And within a moment, they completed their lap around the castle, going back into the safety offered by the ancient stone walls, their task done for the moment.
With these recent developments, the Unsullied got some respite. The number of opponents opposing them had been greatly cut down and it became much easier to bring forth their unbreakable shield, and to resist the waves of enemies. These few seconds of reprieve were enough for them to get into position and prepare for the second wave from the Army of the Dead.
The three creatures fire made flesh lived up to their name. It was a slaughter. Caught between two fires, the wights had no way to escape and no way to retaliate.
Nothing at this moment could stop them, not the hundreds of thousands of wights under them nor the harsh cold. This first wave of frozen wights had been completely obliterated while they suffered minimal losses. The wights were unable to attack, stopped in their advance by a wall of fire, restrained in their retreat by another wall of fire.
"The King is on the move," whispered Umaroth, relying on what the other Eldunaris had felt.
He focused his attention on the place spotted by the dragons. True enough, the unmistakable silhouette of the Night King could be seen atop a small hill. The Eldunaris had kept track of his movements, an easy task for them since he was at the centre of the most complex network of connections they had ever seen.
But the most worrying point was the frozen and deadly javelin in his right hand.
"Daenerys, the Night King is here, he's aiming for the dragons," said Eragon to the woman through her mind.
Both had trained together in the past weeks. And while the young woman still couldn't properly formulate or project her thoughts, she was able to properly understand people inside her mind without losing touch with reality, which was already a big step forward for Eragon.
Her eyes widened, and she immediately started to look around, trying to find the Night King. Understanding her fears, Eragon raised his hand to point in the direction where the Night King stood. She followed his hand and her eyes quickly found the king, standing next to this dead horse.
And soon enough, as predicted, the weapon was thrown in their direction with unnatural speed, faster than any human or some elves could have done it. But the dragons and the riders had been warned of this and managed to avoid it without much trouble.
Nevertheless, Eragon still felt the unnatural cold coming from the weapon as it flew a few dozen feet below Saphira's chest before resuming his position above the first waves of wights.
The dragons had left the safety of the walls of the castle barely ten minutes ago, but it had offered a great success for the Winterfell's defenders. They had managed to create a small space where the Unsullied could properly showcase their military prowess and discipline. Now that the threat of the Night King was gone for a least a few minutes, the dragons had free reign to completely free the Unsullied by burning the last wights present on the field.
Thousands of wights had met their end in a few minutes, and their defences had barely been damaged.
It had been a risky move, but all the people defending Winterfell had managed the first step of the plan. Now, they only had to hope the dozen following steps would take the same pattern. But as expected with plans, failures were bound to happen.
The next events brought a sudden end to their slaughter. Eragon felt it before it happened. Some magic was at work, something ancient and powerful. A feeling that gave him the creeps and which he hadn't felt for a long time. Soon enough, the winds started to turn, stronger than ever, fiercer than anything they had ever felt before, cold and harsh. There wasn't any doubt left. Winter was here, and they'd have to fight to survive it.
Saphira had trouble flying properly. Whatever the Night King had done, it was effective. The winds were strong and difficult to navigate, and they were wasting precious energy navigating. Drogon and Rhaegal weren't faring much better. They were moving their wings but obvious difficulties and Daenerys's grip on Drogon's spikes was much tighter than usual.
The fires the dragons had ignited were dying, extinguished by the sacrifices of hundreds of wights and the magic-infused wind. Eragon couldn't understand how such a feat was possible. Manipulating elements was a daunting task, something Eragon wouldn't dare to try in the middle of a battle, especially at such a scale
They had made a dent in the army of the dead, without any scratch on the castle. But they knew they wouldn't be able to repeat this process forever, they had lost the advantage of surprise.
Already, Eragon could see giants making their way toward the castle. And if the boulders he saw in their hands was any indications, they would have to be stopped before reaching the castle. Their defences were already stretched thin, a gap in the walls would be a disaster. Winterfell's thick walls were their biggest advantage, they couldn't afford to lose it.
Unfortunately, these projectiles meant that Daenerys wouldn't be able to take them down with her dragons. The possibility to be crushed by one of these boulders was too important to be ignored. Saphira and the Eldunaris had been very adamant about that point. Daenerys' dragons lacked the skills to keep track and avoid several threats.
The wards around the dragons were strong, but he didn't want to try if test their abilities to survive a dozen boulders the size of a small horse launched at their fragile wings.
Archers would have to take them down and Eragon could see that elves were already on it. One of them, the closest to the castle, had already fallen, struck down by an arrow in his right eye socket.
Blödhgarm, Eragon felt, was communicating the latest development to the others. It would be a strength match. The one with the most strength would be the one who'd be able to overcome the other without getting hit. Arrows against boulders, giants against elves, nature against death.
The wind was still hurling, freezing the soldiers to the bones and deviating the arrows. For most, it wasn't an issue since there wasn't any space wightless, but when it came to the giants, precision was the key. Maudria and his companions hurried to the Northern part of the castle to take the position. They would be closer to the giants, but also more exposed if the wights were to succeed in climbing the walls. But the elves couldn't afford to miss too many times the giants. Eragon dreaded to think about the consequences if some boulders were to impact the fortress. Without a single doubt, the consequences would be disastrous.
Saphira was carefully flying above the battlefield, swiftly joined by Drogon and Rhaegal. Their altitude offered them enough protection to take a small break from the fights. But it also meant that for the moment, no dragons were helping the defenders. They'd have to make a decision soon.
"Her dragons aren't ready; they can't fight the giants" stated Saphira, resuming the discussions held before the battle.
More than this statement, Eragon was still surprised by the conviction behind Saphira's words. Dragons were prideful creatures, so he knew her statement was probably backed up by long and sensible arguments and not out of cowardice.
"I agree with you. What can we do then?" enquired Eragon.
What followed was a quick analysis of the battlefield along with some short but helpful comments from the Eldunaris, especially from Glaedr who had taught Saphira and knew how she flew.
They concluded that Daenerys would wait until the giants were cut down to help. Her dragons weren't ready to properly fight this enemy, having a minimal connection with the Eldunaris and having no real training in the air.
Eragon would take down some of them while Saphira would properly bath the wights with her fire. He readied himself, knowing the next moments would be difficult to stomach. It was a dangerous move, but there were hundreds of giants on the move. Some had already been taken down, but many were still getting closer and there was only so much a dozen elves could kill with their arrows.
Once Daenerys was made aware of the plan, they acted on it. There wasn't any second to lose. Plummeting to the ground, Saphira and Eragon managed to eliminate a handful of giants who were getting too close to the castle in a few seconds. Saphira had come out of nowhere and they never got a chance to respond. Immediately after, she went up, in a straight line. There hadn't been any miss from Eragon's arrows shot during that frame.
And so began a dangerous and awe-inspiring dance between a dragon and its riders and the giants. Eragon and Saphira were in their place, their mind entwined. Such merging was impossible outside of a battle and yet, it offered them a strong edge. Eragon could feel and know how she would adapt to the winds, while Saphira knew when her rider was ready to fire. Her wings were his arms, her arrows were his fire. The giants tried to stop them but it was a complicated task. Their movements were slow and the only projectiles they had at their disposal were the heavy boulders that would inevitably fall on the wights if the giants were to throw them. Nevertheless, Eragon felt his stomach starting to protest. They were alternating sharp dives and powerful ups, at a very quick pace. Never before had they done this at such a quick pace, but they could see the results of their actions. Their actions were having some effects on the enemy too. They were more daring and more careless, ready to throw the heavy stones even if it would crush dozens of wights after. The Night King had also taken notice of the situation.
"Up now Saphira!" said Umaroth hurriedly.
Not questioning the Elder, she immediately complied. Moments later, a spear passed where her left-wing had been a mere second ago before finishing its path inside the chest of the giant they had decided to attack. The Night King was on the move and if the path of the spear was any indication, they were getting closer to the wood.
Looking around, Eragon and Saphira noticed the state of the battle. The large majority of the giants had been slain but the wights were now close to overtaking the castle. Focusing the attention of the dragons at the edge of the battlefield hadn't been without consequences. The wights had taken the opportunity to cross the distance and overcome the Unsullied.
The few Unsullied outside of Winterfell now bore deathly blue eyes, a clear sign that the events had taken a turn for worse. Their first line of defence had fallen, overcome by the sheer numbers of wights. He just hoped that the majority had been able to get inside the castle. Drogon was already on the move, cleaning the path, trying to kill as many as possible now that the giants were gone.
They knew that outside of the castle, their defences were now mostly gone. On the field, nothing was stopping the wights anymore, the different trenches filled to the brim with wight remains, something they'd struggle to clear.
"We have to protect the castle," said Eragon to Saphira. They hadn't expected to be overwhelmed that quickly. The giants had been far more important in numbers than what they had considered, and most had worn armours that protected them from the arrows. Eragon had used most of his arrows to bring them down.
"You know that we can't let the Night King alone with Stark boy and the few defending him," said Saphira
"But if we don't stop the dead, the whole castle will be overwhelmed before we get to the King!"
"This is just like Urû'baen Eragon. You have to trust the different armies and the plan we made. It was and still is sound. Now isn't the time to change everything you discussed in the room with the others."
And he knew she was right. But it didn't make it any easier.
"Saphira and I will go fight the Night King in the Weirwood"
"I'll fight the wight and defend the castle," said Daenerys
There wasn't much to add, everything had been discussed before. Eragon took a last look at Daenerys and her dragons, and made sure the wards were still strong before turning his eyes on the grim-looking forest bordering the Castle; This was their destination. The dragons finally left and went in their respective direction. Saphira flew in the direction of the forest while Drogon and Rhaegal turned back towards Winterfell. Both knew the task awaiting them.
When Eragon arrived above the woods, he knew the Night King was already there. There was a heavy atmosphere, an unnatural cold and a feeling of death deeply rooted, in the tree, leaves and all the small little animals still alive. Eragon had been here before, not later than the day before. But it felt like a lifetime ago if he considered what they felt.
They had to set on the ground to continue their advance. For a moment, they stood still, listening to their surroundings, but the only thing they heard coming from the forest was this unnatural silence.
Further away, the noises of the battle could be heard. Cries from Dothrakis, soldiers and in between, the unmistakable roars from Drogon and Rhaegal and even Viserion. They were all fighting, pushing to cleanse the waves of wights trying the overcome the stronghold of Westeros.
They walked for a few minutes, none willing to break the silence. Nothing had changed. The trees were still here, with wide branches, full of snow and without many leaves. But the atmosphere was much darker, a mix of the night and the ambient and oppressing magic. Each touch made by the Night King seemed to absorb the life from the very ground he walked on. The earth remembered its passage with a shudder and a deep fear. Even if Eragon didn't know the place selected by the Stark seer, he would have found it rather easily. He simply had to take the opposite direction of all the small animals trying to flee this place.
Eragon and Saphira kept walking slowly, making sure no ambush was waiting for them behind the thick trunks. They weren't far from the clearing Bran had chosen. Coincidentally, this was the same place where Jon had been attacked months ago. But knowing Bran, he knew this wasn't a coincidence, though Eragon hadn't given too much thought about it. He had spent more time studying the environment, the weaknesses and the strengths he could get in the field.
The young seer had been adamant about his position during the battle and wouldn't accept any other idea. Even Sansa's or Jon's pleas couldn't waver him during the long days spent preparing for the battle.
Only Theon's pledge to protect him had reluctantly stopped Sansa. But Eragon dreaded to think about their own arrival. He couldn't feel nor hear anything ahead of him, and Saphira only smelt of death.
They had to carry on, quickly, but with precaution. All the noises were dimmed by the snow and as an additional safety, Eragon quickly set up a spell to cover more of their noise. The explanation behind this spell had been rather esoteric, but its usefulness couldn't be denied.
Finally, he spotted the first red leaves from the Weirwood. They were close, but already they knew they had arrived too late. The Night King was already here. The leaves weren't the only touch of red littering the landscape. Blood was now darkening the snow.
Theon and his men had fallen, killed by the legendary creatures.
But Bran was still alive, Eragon could feel it. How he didn't know. But there was no time to ponder his.
"Take right, I take left," said Eragon to Saphira.
Knowing she understood and sensing his agreement, Eragon didn't lose any second. He quickly fired an arrow and before the first one even reached its target; his hand was already aiming for a second arrow.
Saphira, with a mighty roar, jumped, and with some speed, no one would expect from such a large creature, did a small jump before swiftly battling her tail.
Caught completely by surprise, three White Walkers took the blow of her strong tail. But the most surprising part was their sudden disappearance, as Saphira's armour was covered by tiny spikes of dragonglass. Her tail had suddenly become a very dangerous, agile and powerful weapon.
In a mere second, the two had killed five White Walkers. Eragon managed to fire a third arrow, bringing the count to six before they were interrupted in their slaughter.
A mighty roar answered them, and it didn't come from Saphira. Angered by the loss of six of his lieutenants, and probably thousands of wights, the Night King was letting his anger out. There was something primal in this cry. And his anger was taking shape, blowing the winds around them. A blizzard was brewing, powerful, icy and harsh. There was something akin to a dark and cold aura around him, almost palpable.
This was also their first close encounter with the Night King, and they took the opportunity to have a closer look. He didn't look very different from the other White Walkers surrounding him. All their blues eyes were set on them. But they were several differences between the leader and the rest of his army. His eyes were of the same unnatural blue but also reflected a deep and malicious intelligence. His body was for a lack of better word ice made flesh. and he appeared to be wearing an extremely light armour that was almost fused to his body. For some reason, the patterns on this armour looked oddly familiar and with some stupor, Eragon could spot some similarities between his own elvish armour and the Night King's.
He knew where he had seen this and with some wonder, Eragon understood with some wonder he was probably looking at one of Rhunön's oldest crafts and that Eragon's and most of the elvish armours had probably derived from this structure.
The sword hanging at his back gave the impression to be extracted from an unbreakable block of ice. Some blood was tainting its blade.
Bran laid a few feet away, alive, but with his eyes blank, lost in his world and probably completely unaware of his surroundings. At least, he didn't appear to be wounded.
Not losing any second, Saphira let a powerful burst of flames toward the Night King, hoping to create a reaction. They got one, but not the one they expected.
Without any warning, Bran suddenly started to scream in absolute pain. He hadn't been touched by Saphira's flames but it was obvious that there was a direct connection between the way the Night King was bathed in her flames and Bran's pain. The blue dragon was quick to stop her attack. From the corner of his eyes, he saw burns spreading on Bran's face. Eragon frowned, not understanding what was happening. Bran hadn't been closer than 5 feet away from the blue flames and yet, the snow was melting under his body and his skin looked charred. And while it was worrying, there was nothing they could do for they were separated from him by the Night King and his lieutenants.
The whole sequence had barely taken more than a few seconds, and the remaining White Walkers, more than two dozen of them, were starting to move in their direction with a simple objective: to kill them. Saphira and Eragon had lost the element of surprise and would now fight an enemy greater in numbers.
There wasn't any time to lose. If they wanted to survive this, they'd have to dispatch them quickly. Saphira had her fire and dragonglass claws but she clearly lacked some agility and her size would be a strong weakness. If she were to strike, she wouldn't get a second opportunity and the more she waited, the more exposed she'd become. Eragon would have to protect her.
And so, he did. With inhuman speed, he launched himself on the first White Walker, Brisingr in his hand. Surprisingly, the dead man managed to raise a shield to protect himself from the blow. The momentum pushed them both. However, unlike his enemy, Eragon was able to use his left hand during the small drawback.
Snatching his dagger, he threw it in the direction of another White Walker standing close. This time, his speed paid off.
But he had felt Saphira's troubles. She too had managed to kill one of her opponents but a spear was already buried in her left leg. What bothered Eragon the most was the apparent lack of usefulness from the wards he had powered during the previous weeks and enhanced with the Word.
In the meantime, the Eldunaris were pushing their minds together to control the remaining White Walkers and stop them from moving. The exercise was particularly difficult since the icy creatures had no mind, to begin with.
Surprisingly, the Eldunaris weren't completely hopeless to deal with this pellicular situation. At their arrival in Westeros, they probably would have been, however, they had taken it upon themselves to lean to contain mental space. Eragon didn't properly understand the way it worked, but instead of entering the mind and breaking the barrier, the Eldunaris were building barriers all around the minds of their opponent, to keep them trapped in their own mind, blind to their surroundings. It had taken them a lot of time to properly master this, but Eragon could now properly see the value of such a power.
All the Wight Walkers were still, frozen in place and had their eyes closed in concentration. Deep frows could be seen amongst their endless rows of wrinkles. It was easy to perceive their anger while they were pushing hard to break. All the Eldunaris were at work to contain them.
Eragon rushed to protect Saphira. He was worried because he could hear wights coming in. Their screams were getting closer. This shouldn't have been possible but it was too late to worry about it.
They were too close; he could feel it and hear it. If they didn't end this soon, they'd be overwhelmed and would have to fly back, leaving Bran who was completely unreachable at the mercy of the dead.
"Finish the last one Eragon, I'm alright," whispered Saphira.
He could feel her pain as if it was his own, but he knew it would be useless to protest. For once, she was right, it wasn't a mortal wound. Furthermore, she was stubborn and there was no time to lose to change her mind in the middle of a battle.
Acting quickly, he made his way to Night King, killing all the White Walkers in his path, liberating some tension. Saphira was also cautiously destroying some of them with her tail but she wasn't moving her legs. The Night King had his back turned and his hands around Bran's neck.
Eragon was too busy fighting his own opponents. Three White Walkers had managed to get free and were now surrounding Eragon. He knew it would have been foolish to expect the Eldunaris to keep hold of the hundreds of White Walkers. And the three Eragon was fighting were fast and quick to parry each stroke. Lastly, they were definitely stronger than most humans and even some elves. He was trying his best to finish this as quickly as possible, to save Bran and to leave the place before it got swarmed by wights.
Finally, it was Saphira who gave him the opening. She directed him and suddenly, a jet of flames erupted from her maw. Two White Walkers were immediately burnt to crisp. The last White Walker was quick enough to avoid the path taken by the flames. But the distraction was just what Eragon needed. Without losing any second, he jumped in the direction of his left side, which was now completely exposed and brought Brisingr in the direction of his opponent
His aim was proven true and seconds later, the ground was covered by small particles of what remained of the White Walker.
The Night Kind stopped his movement, his left-hand mere inches from Bran's unconscious face. His face was just as blue from the cold as the long fingers of the Night King.
But it wasn't the loss of another lieutenant which made him pause. He had stopped to care the moment his hand had laid on Brain. Just like Eragon, he had felt the presence and the arrival of someone.
But it was impossible since he couldn't hear any dragons and they couldn't hear the characteristic sound of boots crushing snow. Nevertheless, less than a second later, a lone figure seemed to fall from the sky. He thought it was a bird at first, but within a second, he was proven wrong.
The night was dark but there wasn't any place for mistakes. It was Arya Stark who, for some reason, had decided to attack the Night King, jumping from a tree she had silently climbed. He couldn't dare to think about how she had reached this place without being swarmed by wights.
But just like Eragon, the Night King had felt her arrival. And without batting a sweat, he stopped her momentum. A cold hand was wrapped around her neck and her feet were now helplessly kicking the air. Bran was dropped to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. But there was nought Eragon could do. Four more White Walkers had joined the battle and he was constantly dodging their blows and most of his attention was spent on his own fight. How many more were present, Eragon didn't know. The Eldunaris were doing their utmost to stop them, burnt quickly by Saphira, but more were coming. Eragon could only wonder about the number of White Walkers still alive. For some reason, only White Walkers were coming from Winterfell so far, and no wights yet.
However, from the corner of his eyes, he saw the evolution of the altercation between Arya Stark and the Night King. A glint of silver caught his attention and he was almost stabbed in the guts by a White Walker for his lack of attention. He narrowly parried the frozen sword and, with a quick and brutal mental attack, stopped his enemy just enough to kill him. He was keeping an eye on Arya but there was nothing he could do. He was seconds away from reaching them, but there was much that could happen with such an opponent.
She had tried to switch the position of the dagger, from one hand to another, only for the Night King to stop her right hand with his own. The delicate dagger fell with a soft thud on the thick layer of snow and Arya was now completely powerless. Her eyes went wide, betraying the fear she was feeling. She had had one plan, and it was now lying hopelessly on the ground. Her feet were helplessly kicking the air, losing strength quickly.
Eragon and Saphira were both making their way toward the Night King but they were dealing with their own share of enemies. The Eldunaris too were working, trying to control the situation as much as possible. Several White Walkers could be seen frozen in place, and they would be quickly slain d by Eragon or burnt to ashes by Saphira. But they would inevitably be replaced as more White Walkers kept coming.
He just needed a small opening to help the young girl.
A deep and loud scream from the Night King stopped them in their tracks. Turning, he saw the reason of the scream. Two arrows were buried on his shoulders, launched by Eragon after Saphira had managed to burn eight White Walkers with a well-aimed burst of flames.
These arrows had been carefully crafted before the battle, sung during long hours in dark and cold nights preceding. Magically enhanced, they were meant to pierce through all the wards erected by the old foe and to ignore all the winds. However, the arrows weren't made of dragonglass. They had found out that if they were to push too much magic in this material, it would simply shatter. Nevertheless, the elves had turned to their old craftmanship and so they had sung and created deathly arrows, arrows that could now almost be compared to the Dauthdaert given how dangerous and deadly they had become. Thus, the Night King was angry, wounded, but definitely alive.
In his anger, he had dropped Arya who was now on the ground, liberated from his deathly grip. However, she remained unmoving in the snow. She was alive, but unconscious just like her brother. There could already spot blue marks on her neck where the Night King had held her. She was clearly in deep need of some medical treatment.
Fortunately for her, the elves had arrived. With the death of so many White Walkers killed by Eragon and Saphira, the situation had evolved around the Castle. Many wights had perished, a direct consequence of the connecting process in the Army of the Dead. While the battle was still waging, the defenders were now able to properly resist and some of the elves had decided to join them against the core of the cold army.
Nonetheless, they hadn't come alone. Hot on their heels, wights were following them, having sensed the damages done to the Night King and the death of several White Walkers. Their screams could be heard, echoing in the forest and promising a thousand deaths.
The last battle was starting now and would decide the outcome of the war. Winterfell had held, now, they'd have to finish this. They wouldn't get any second chance but they had known this for a moment.
He could feel his body growing tired. His arms were getting heaving, after fighting and parrying strong blows, just like Saphira. Her body was sore, after long hours wearing her armour and she had a few cuts, mostly on her wings. It certainly looked impressive, as usual, but it was still a minor cut for a dragon. The only major wound she had sustained so far was the javelin stuck in her leg.
With more people around him, Eragon had more freedom to advance toward the Night King. Saphira was staying behind to kill the wights. He knew he wasn't leaving her defenceless with the elves in place. Against such a foe, her flames were their best weapon available. There was no need for precision, she would always be able to touch at least a few dozen of them.
As it happened, this new situation had created a small circle around Eragon and the Night King. Only Bran and Arya, who were both lying unconscious a few feet away from Eragon, were inside that circle. Unless the elves were defeated, no one would be able to break Eragon's concentration.
With inhuman speed, Eragon was forced to parry. The blow had more strength and speed than what he had expected. But his mind was still sharp and was suddenly completely focused on the fight. They started to exchange blows, to parry and duck. Neither was holding back. The intensity behind each move was staggering.
The snow was making it harder to move and Eragon was noticeably more static than usual.
Like Glaedr had advised him a lifetime ago, he could see his opponent. Nothing else mattered at this stage, he trusted Saphira and his friends to protect him from the others.
His mind was hyper-focused, preparing each hit, each feint while trying to surround his opponent's mind. Brisingr in his hand was aflame. He had pronounced its name at some point, but he wasn't sure when. His sword was just a blur in the cold night, moving
But the Night King was just as reactive, moving very quickly and matching every hit. His mind was an ice fortress, with slippery walls unable to break while fighting and Eragon was kept on his toes. There was no pattern he could find, each move was different from the previous ones. His arms were getting numb and his sword was getting heaving in his right hand. Each blow was felt through his entire arm.
But he kept going, trying every trick in his book to gain some ground to no avail.
A sudden feeling of despair coming from Saphira stopped Eragon in track. It had been sudden and she had quickly retracted behind her own shields when it had happened, but he had felt it nevertheless.
This small distraction cost him as the Night King landed the first wound, on his right leg. The fight suddenly got more difficult, as he couldn't move his left side as freely as he would have liked.
Surprisingly, the Night King didn't push his advantage. On the opposite, he was also slower, tacking a few seconds between each stroke. They were evenly matched, but Eragon kept worrying about Saphira's reaction.
The Night King changed the tempo of his attacks and Eragon was put on the defensive. After a quick succession of feints and botte, Eragon fell to the ground with a surprising kick in his stomach which left him panting on the ground, with Brisingr raised to protect him from the impending blow. But it never came.
Instead, the Night King had decided to thrust his sword inside Bran's stomach, who, unconscious, didn't offer any resistance. He felt the life escape the young man's body. As soon as it happened Eragon knew there was nothing he could do. He could already feel Bran's mind weakening, his energy fleeing his body, and yet, there was some unexpected energy, something he couldn't understand fully.
Bran's mind had always been an oddity, akin to a book screaming to be read. But in his last moments, his mind seemed to shift. Something that was beyond words. The change was violent and unexpected from Eragon's point of view. Bran's mind had decided that he would be reached, something Eragon wasn't aware of until he felt the flow of information reaching his mind, which was supposed to be impossible. But somehow, Bran had managed to break his defences or had found a way to share memories of his last heartbeats without entering one's mind.
The latter seemed to be the case since Saphira and the Night King were also frozen in place, under the load of information they were receiving. Images from the past or a future that had yet to come were flowing in their mind, without any apparent logic. It lasted a lifetime and was gone in a split of a second. As quickly as it had started, it was over. Bran's presence was gone, and so was his understanding of all this knowledge he had apparently shared.
During these everlasting seconds, the battle had been on hiatus, a nightmare distanced by a thin and fragile bubble. And like each bubble, it was bound to burst.
It was the Night King who decided to break it. Following the death of the young see, he seemed to get a new burst of energy. raised his hand in the air and Eragon's eyes widened in understanding. Jon had shown this in his memories and there was no way Eragon would let this happen. If the Night King were to bring back all the dead back to life, defeat would become unelectable.
But he could feel the first waves of the new spell already, the web of emptiness he could feel from his mind, expanding, looking to grip on new wights. The process was inhumanly fast. It was sickening just to feel it happening. He couldn't even fathom how he did it, since the dead didn't leave any mental offprint except for Eldunaris. And no one was able to stop it, the White Walkers had also felt the tides were changing and were fighting with a newfound energy the elves and dragons.
With a wince, Eragon put himself back on his two feet and healed the wound on his leg with a few words in Ancient Language. The tingles quickly spread and managed to stop the bleeding. It wasn't perfect, but it would stop him from bleeding too much.
Around him, he could see some movements already. The dead were also rising in the forest and would soon be onto them. The grounds were shacking, moved by an invisible enemy.
Was there fear he could feel coming from the Eldunaris and the elves?
With a wince, he pushed himself to his feet, only to be almost knocked over immediately after.
Saphira had taken charge of the situation in a fit of anger and urgency.
With a speed unexpected for someone so large, she surged from behind Eragon, breaking the lines without any apparent care for the elves and White Walkers alike. No one had time to react while she surged and hit the Night King with her right paw against Winterfell's Weirwood with a loud thud.
Unfortunately, this part of her armour no longer held Dragonstone, the fragments were long gone and dislodged after the several fights Saphira had been through.
Ignoring the pain, Eragon jumped with Brisingr ablaze and ran in the direction of the Night King, who was still stunned from Saphira's stunt. He could feel that moment, where Brisingr's tip touched the frozen armour of the Night King, tearing it, burying itself inside the Night King's chest.
It happened instantly.
At some point, they were all fighting against a deadly and immortal army, composed of hundreds of thousands of foes. The next one, nothing was left but a few ashes on the ground, and a blazing sword, stuck in the bark of the old Weirwood.
The magical backlash washed over the whole country and Eragon couldn't believe what we feeling. He stood, frozen for a few seconds as he felt the power of the Night King fade away, melting like snow under the blazing sun. Only now did he realize the true impact and the scale this immortal threat had presented. He could have stood over a sheet of paper for hours, and still, he wouldn't be able to properly explain the changes he had felt at this moment.
His mind was cold and numb, exhaustion catching up on him. The sun was rising on the horizon, meaning they had fought during the whole night. The adrenaline of it was leaving him. He sat on the muddy ground. The snow here had since long melted, under Saphira's influence. He was still catching up with what had just happened. This was the second war he ended in a few months' time.
This is the end of the chapter! I hope you've enjoyed it! Please, don't hesitate to comment, review, fav, this gives me a lot of motivation to keep this story and update quickly !