章 1633: 49
Chapter 49: When Night Falls, Fires BurnChapter Text
49.
When Night Falls, Fires Burn
The Neck
The rippling shapes of dragons skimmed the skies as they soared overhead. Arya trotted through the throng of rushing soldiers, hurrying to form ranks, prepare the flanks, say their farewell if they could, feeling her own heartbeat hammering in her chest as she exhaled icy gulps of air.
The wind already carried with it the stench of death. The dead were near. And as clouds obscured what little moonlight there was, plunging the night into darkness, torches were lit in preparation for battle.
Arya searched the crowd for her only friend still standing. She saw him at the front of the smiths, raising his warhammer and looking up at the sky with the same expectant expression of dread.
Arya advanced toward Gendry without hesitation, grabbing him by the cords of his jerkin.
"Don't die," she commanded angrily, glaring at him with wide-opened eyes.
Then they pressed their lips together in a kiss, lingering and searing, suddenly pulling away and trotting away from him.
***
As the night turned into a dark abyss, the only light came from the burning torches and the trench burning between the edge of the swamp and the first line of defense formed by soldiers serving under different banners.
In front of them lay the thick, snow-filled obscurity.
Jon led Rhaegal to a hill above the front line while Dany ended up with Brandon in the rear.
Daenerys did not miss Jon's attempt to keep her out of harm's way and out of battle, even though he knew it was not possible. But near the time of confronting the Night King again, she was grateful to have one last moment with Bran to make a special request of him.
He was still convinced that the Night King would come for him. After all, Brandon was the one with the power he craved. Young Meera Reed was there to lead the archers who would guard him.
"We have to balance each other out," Bran explained, unbidden. He gazed at Dany intently. "Everything can happen now."
"Is that a statement or a warning?" Dany asked him.
"Perhaps both things," he replied, "I wish I could do more, but it seems I am at my limits."
Daenerys recognized some emotion in his voice as that of the young man who would come to seek her aid in Essos...years from now.
A soft squeak came from behind the grove and they both looked up. Viserion flapped his wings and shook his neck, echoing the mixed feelings within his mother.
A heavy sigh escaped Dany's lips as she placed a hand over her heart.
"Viserion is my sweetest child," she said with a trembling voice, "He doesn't deserve to fall because he's riderless."
First, he blinked with a blank stare. Then he understood.
Bran looked at her with sympathy in his eyes.
"It's not common to warg into a dragon," he admitted.
"But is it possible?" she pressed.
He remained silent only for a moment.
His eyes turned upwards to the golden dragon. The creature gazed back into his eyes and Bran only knew for certain that if anything went wrong, either he or the beast would lose its mind in the other's.
***
He breathed slowly, holding it. The haunting moans of the dead echoed louder and closer. His eyes narrowed and he saw the exact moment when the clash took place.
Jon shook out of his astonishment and Rhaegal beneath him rolled out a thunderous shriek. The she-dragon spread her wings and lifted her chest into the air, gliding down gently.
With the biting cold wind on his face and the scent of death in the air, Jon charged into the gloom.
The Night King's army brought their storm...thick, steep clouds that covered the sky and loom over them.
It was already a difficult perspective on a dragon, but once he ordered a "Dracarys" to rain down fire, he saw in all its clarity the wave of bodies bearing down on the greatest army in history.
***
He was tired and old and sore, but for some reason he kept on fighting.
Davos noted that it was no longer the same army that they faced at Winterfell, if you could call the monsters bearing down on them an army at all. Their blue eyes glowed in the darkness, betraying their coming every time one, two, three, even four of them lunged at his sides, groaning with desire for life. Human life.
The men around him fight vehemently, and some fall in spite of it, the murky waters of the swamp sloshing beneath their footsteps, making combat even more difficult.
When in his field of vision he sees the young Lord Aemon Charlton, wielding his sword with desperation and zeal, Davos rushes to his side to lend support.
He will not let him fall.
***
A powerful bellow like brittle ice echoed through the dark skies, familiar yet unknown. The soldiers turned wildly to look up, where the curtains of cloud in the sky parted to reveal a crystalline shadow. An elongated shape plunged them even deeper into the pitch-black night, freezing the air and sending a blast of sweeping wind through the struggling army below it. On top of the beast, mounted was the Night King, who, looking down, began to rain its frost fire.
Jorah found himself among the unfortunate under the withering wrath of the enemy but was quick to roll himself to the ground beneath his copper shield. He waited there until the threat soared elsewhere. Then he stumbled up and found himself in the middle of a field of fire, the air charged with the scent of charred bones and smoke. The gelid cold seemed only a memory now.
His eyes searched the sky for the beast. Jorah saw when Daenerys' dragons met him and the thunderous clash ensued, two fire dragons against one ice dragon. And though at first, he watched as Drogon took advantage by surfing over the other, much larger creature, with one graceful movement the beast the Night King rode began to rise.
Jorah did not hesitate, raising the Valyrian steel sword that was bestowed upon him, he charged.
***
The undead pushed her with raw strength and she fell into the mud. Frozen.
Water and ice seeped into her mouth as the thing tried to drown her. Arya saw in the enveloping darkness a swift beam of fire. And then the force that held her down weakened and disappeared. Instead, she was grabbed and pulled upwards, drawing a loud gasp of air.
"Are you all right, child?"
It was Beric Dondarrion. And though Arya could not see him clearly, she recognized his voice and his battered figure.
"Yes," she said once breathlessly, "Yes," she repeated, more assuredly.
Arya lifted Needle as another dead lunged toward them, cutting him down the middle as Dondarrion set him alight with his flaming sword. For a moment the darkness gave way, exposing them both to the dim light of the fire, enough to illuminate their faces.
They saw each other with haggard faces and continued to fight.
***
Jaime wielded and stroke Widow's Wail into the bodies thrown at him, swiftly and sharply, the blade cutting through decaying flesh and brittle bones. One after another, the undead fell before him, their eyes devoid of life. He glanced around, his gaze falling upon the brave soldiers who stood side by side, their faces scrunched up with weariness and pain as the surrounding tide of bodies seemed to engulf them whole
He took a moment and looked down to see blood staining his armor. He felt the pain searing through his body, and the realization dawned on him that he won't survive much longer. Contrary to all other times, he was not resistant. He was not afraid. Jaime once feared he would never see those he loved (Cersei and their children), but now he was at peace with all that had been in his life up to that point.
Yet he would not go down without a fight.
And he would not go without fighting to his last strength to serve under Brienne.
Jaime's heart swelled with pride and love, at the thought of her as he fought on.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, she standing alongside her men with Oathkeeper held aloft, as a silent exchange of understanding and farewell passed between them. The odds were set against them from the beginning, they knew. But that didn't mean they would back down now.
They reunited and unleashed a barrage of attacks, their blades weaving a deadly tapestry against the ever-advancing horde.
A wight's blade grazed his side, cutting through his armor and drawing blood. Jaime stumbled, his vision blurring as pain surged through his body. He could feel the life slowly ebbing away.
***
A flock of crows flew over the battlefield and up to where the dragons were dancing. Behind them a winged shadow roared and Viserion joined his brothers in the struggle against the ice dragon.
Gusts of frozen wind surged with each flap of its great wings, intending to quench the dragons' fiery assaults. Flame and frost combined and over the scaled, spiked bodies of their mounts, the Night King, Daenerys, and Jon looked at each other, each determined to finish the other off.
As Drogon held his scorching breath on the beast commanded by the Night King, Rhaegal and Viserion thrust their razor-sharp mouths into its sides and began to tear it off, eliciting a shout of pain from the other animal.
But suddenly it wasn't just the ice dragon shrieking.
From below came the ice spikes that had pierced through her sons earlier, and with horror, Daenerys watched as one of them stabbed into Viserion's side, shooting her son out of the air.
Screaming in desperation Daenerys made Drogon rise and push the Night King from his mount, sending him sprawling into the void.
***
Bran shouted.
The pain was as real as when he felt the Night King's mark on his arm.
The dragon's mind gave way after much prodding but now that connection was slipping away, the pain of his wound making him recede into his savage instincts. Before he lost that tether entirely, Bran had Viserion land on the slopes, away from the battle and away from the water where he could drown and lose more blood.
After that, he returned to himself.
Meera was calling him out and shaking him.
It is happening. It is happening again. Bran thought, upset. Too much change, our world is altering and drifting far too different from reality. He knew that if the change was too great, the forces of time would compulse an alignment.
They had to kill the Night King.
***
Jon flew Rhaegal away and dismounted him with a forceful jump before he had landed, receiving a screeching complaint from the she-dragon. Not now, he responded. Longclaw drawn, Jon marched towards the walkers. A lined group of servants, were waiting for him as if they knew he was coming for them.
In the distance, he heard the distant howls of wights and the haunting cries of the fighting soldiers. They have brought the ice with them, and he stood firmly, Longclaw gripped tightly in his hand, as a chilling fog enclosed him, obscuring his vision.
Until he saw the piercing blue eyes of the Walkers locked onto his and he trudged across the snowy field to them with a powerful battle cry.
***
Arya and Gendry reunited on the battlefield and though a surge of relief at seeing him alive passed over her, her heart quickly leapt when the Night King's ice beast descended again.
She ducked in time before the beast's icy breath reached her and rolled down a hill.
Arya glanced around and noticed that the Night King was no longer riding him and the beast was disoriented, attacking instinctively and defensively.
Arya crawled to her feet and looked for Gendry. They found themselves amidst the chaos and she grabbed him down just in time as another breath of frost showered over them.
"We have to kill it!" Arya shouted over the deafening roar of the dragon and the freezing wind swirling around them. "Remember Viserion? We-we have to try it again!"
Gendry nodded, gripping his warhammer tightly.
The two got up and ran across the marshy ground, dodging the lethal reach of the ice dragon's attack. When they had found a blind spot, Gendry nudged her determinedly to continue, and he lunged for the beast's hind legs, swinging his warhammer with all his might and slamming into them.
Arya felt a flicker of fright but but she plucked up her courage and began to climb the beast's back with all her might as this wiggled desperately, praying that Gendry wasn't down there anymore.
Closing her eyes, she reached into her belt for the obsidian dagger.
***
Tyrion crouched behind a boulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the fight kept on unfolding beyond and behind him. The sounds of the shrieking dead, cracking ice, and steel clashing against steel would make him startle in dread, his heart hammering violently in his chest, as he clutched a dragonglass dagger tightly in his hand, dreading the moment they will find him.
He knew he couldn't stay hidden forever.
Gritting his teeth, Tyrion drew in a deep breath. Glancing back, he saw a soldier trudging through the snow as a dead clambered over him, latching on as if he were prey. The image was terrifying, gut-wrenching.
The man's face contorted in anguish as the corpse, its icy eyes fixed, crawled over him as if he were nothing more than a lump of meat.
Swallowing hard and with trembling resolve, Tyrion stepped out from behind the rock, dragonglass dagger clenched in his fist.
With a force of will that surprised even himself, Tyrion lunged forward, the dagger finding its mark in the chest of the undead man.
The creature let out a guttural, sharp shriek, its frosty body convulsing before crumbling to the ground in a pile of icy fragments.
He helped the soldier up, but as soon as he did they heard movement behind them. Tyrion turned slowly and his expression fell when he saw a group of wights staring back at them.
So this is it, he thought.
Holding the obsidian dagger, he accepted his fate. And with a resolve that surprised even him, he did not wait for the beasts to come upon him.
Not with the dexterity of a soldier, but with the skill of a person of small stature, he succeeded to duck and weave between their sluggish attacks. He struck out with his dagger, landing blow after blow against their cold, unfeeling bodies. For a brief moment, he felt a surge of triumph, the rush of battle filling him with a raw energy he had never experienced before.
But it was not meant to last and as the wights closed in, their assault overwhelming, Tyrion's strength began to wane. Despite his best efforts, he was eventually surrounded, their relentless attack proving too much for him to fend off. With a final, defiant cry of war, he swung his dagger one last time before succumbing to the unbeatable force of the horde.
***
Longclaw slid in cleanly, cutting through the Walker's icy form which crumbled as Jon stumbled back, his chest heaving. He looked around him and saw a desolate ground strewn with the remain of the fallen. His body ached and burned but he had to gather his strength and carry on.
He stood up and behind him landed Rhaegal.
She let out a sound of comfort as Jon pressed his face against her warm scaled skin. The she dragon lowered her shoulder and Jon mounted her again, commanding her through their bond to go to Bran. They crossed over the extent of the marshy field and noticed that the ice dragon was nowhere to be seen. If Jon had to guess based on the past, he knew the Night King would seek out his brother.
However, Jon descended the hill where Bran and his guard were stationed. His brother and the archers were unscathed as if waiting for something to happen, which was not happening.
"Bran!" Jon called him out, feeling the apprehension seizing him.
"He's not here," Bran simply said, as though he was confused as well.
It took him a moment to realize what was happening and the next his heart skipped a beat.
"He's not coming for me," Bran breathed out in realization just as Rhaegal let out a screech.
An unmistakable sound thundered in response and Jon's mind raced with the thought of her.
Dany.
He was going after Dany.
***
Dany landed with Drogon where Viserion lay wounded as a horde of wights were rushing at them. Her son breathed fire to allow her to go down and tend to her other incapacitated child, her chest heaving. She felt her heart coil at Viserion's moan, blinking slowly in pain. But in the enveloping darkness she could not assess the extent of his wound, only see the spear thrust into his side.
"Ȳdra daor pendagon tolī olvie, ñuha tresy, ao sagon sȳz," she tried to reassure him through her own despair.
Viserion gave a faint whimper in response.
Behind them, Drogon continued to hold back the dead.
Her fingers brushed gently the deep gash in Viserion's side; her wounded son made a dull, pained sound as his eyes narrowed; her touch soothed him as she murmured words of comfort.
Then Daenerys felt a shift in the air, a tingle on the back of her neck that made her startle. Slowly, she turned her head and her violet eyes snapped open when she met the Night King.
Time seemed to stand still as they looked at each other, and a cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach.
Her children sensed the threat too, Viserion's wounded form straightening as he let out a warning growl.
Dany's breath caught as an icy mist began to swirl around her, and the air grew colder. And then he raised his arm, a shard of ice toward her and the dragons.
Dany reacted quickly. She threw herself face first to the side as the dragons breathed their fire at the enemy, though she knew it would be useless. With what little clarity she managed, she sent a command to the dragons to fly away and remained there, propped up on her elbows, watching him rise from the flames, unscathed.
"You won't have them," Dany said to him, her chin up in defiance, "You can't have them."
He raised his arm to unsheathe his sword behind him. Dany prepared herself for whatever was to come without flinching. But then hells fell upon them and she instinctively ducked, hearing the unmistakable roar of her children.
***
Dragonfire would do as much to destroy him and yet Jon felt all his despair and fury unleashed upon the Night King as Rhaegal bathed him in it.
Daenerys at a short distance, shielded herself as she scrambled to her feet.
Jon took advantage of the short distance between him and the ground and hopped off. He reached out to Dany and assessed she was alright before they watched as the Night King walked away from the fire, staring gravely at them.
"He knows," Dany said, as Rhaegal took off a flew over to be with the other dragons. "He knows if he kills me, it's over. All it's over."
Jon looked down at Dany, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Bran and I, what we did..." she answered and realization dawned upon him. The Night King had come for Bran for the first time, to erase the history of the world with him. But now he had to come for the last hope for humanity.
For reality itself as they knew it.
"Leave," Jon stated, blinking at the advancing form of their enemy. "Have the dragons take you away."
"But..."
"No," he said, more forcibly, "Don't argue now, just leave!"
Dany nodded, reluctantly.
Jon stood firmly in place, unsheathing Longclaw from his belt, exhausted but determined to finish him off even at the cost of his own life.
***
Longclaw's Valyrian steel and the ice blade of his adversary's sword clashed, causing a sound that could be described as a thin, taut thread being shaken. Time stood still, both looking into each other's eyes as on that distant day of a long lost time when they first met and marked opposite purposes and interests. And though Jon had finished with his servants already, the Night King's power was different: his strength was another. And when he pressed to make Jon push back, he first held back, until his joints burned and he gave way, but only to recharge and strike again.
The Night King had the skill of a gifted soldier, the persistence of a seasoned warrior, and the strength of a god. Jon keep up with him even when he went to great lengths to tire him out with otherworldly speed and precision.
Jon felt his muscles aching as the swords clashed and sang, the might of the wind on his face, searing the skin of his cheeks. He and the Night King locked swords and held, Jon, going so far as to place his hand on the other's arm only to feel a tear and a heavy pressure. Still, Jon held on.
"You. Won't. Have. Her," Jon groaned with the struggle.
Jon found himself slowly being pushed back, his footing slipping on the snowy ground. His breath came in ragged gasps, the cold seeping into his bones as sweat mixed with frost on his brow.
The Night King's expression darkened at the defiant statement. With a surge of strength, Jon summoned all his might, driving forward in a desperate lunge. He started parrying, each strike purposeful.
***
Dany looked back, feeling her heart heavy with regret.
She could not leave him behind.
As she mounted Drogon and flew over the battlefield, she surveyed the chaos unfolding below.
Her gaze fell in a sudden burst, a flash of violet light.
Among the ruins lay the ice dragon, weakened and struggling to get to its feet, while beneath it there were two bodies.
Arya and Gendry.
Dany gasped and urged Drogon into a dive. She got closer and saw with relief that they were both alive, barely. The ice dragon's eyes watched as she descended with Drogon and started writhing with fury.
Drogon landed on the other's body and with his claws held him down, and when the icy beast tried to breathe his frost, his son's fire breathed on his, creating a convergence of orange and blue. Ice and fire.
The two dragons clashed, their screeching roars shaking the very earth beneath them.
Dany's grip tightened on Drogon's reins as she urged him forward. Its weakened resistance was nothing to her child, who overpowered his adversary and cut him down to a ruin of smoke and stone.
***
Jon found himself struggling to keep up as the Night King's sword came crashing down and he barely managed to parry the blow, the force of it nearly knocking him to the ground.
He gritted his teeth and pushed back. Eye to eye, they saw each other in the struggle. The other in one swift movement gave in and charged so hard that it sent Jon to the ground.
Behind the Night King, another sword came wielding against him. That of Beric Dondarrion.
Beric held his flaming sword high.
The Night King's attention shifted, his cold gaze now fixed on the fiery soldier before him, casting an eerie light upon the battlefield with the fire of his weapon.
"Ahgrr!" Beric grunted as he swung restlessly.
The Night King deflected Beric's blows, forcing him to backpedal.
Jon watched as he regained his footing and lunged forward without a moment's hesitation.
The living men together, they fought pushing the Night King back step by step. The clash of fire and ice, steel and ice. The frozen ground beneath them cracked and groaned under the pressure of their battle.
But just as hope seemed to surge, the Night King's strength proved overwhelming. With a swift, brutal kick, he sent Jon sprawling backward, his Valyrian steel sword skidding across the ice and out of reach.
Beric tried to keep the Night King's attention on him however, the icy blade found its mark, piercing Beric's side with a sickening crunch. As the Night King withdrew his blade, dark droplets of blood stained the snow beneath their feet.
Jon's heart raced as he attempted to reach Longclaw, which lay just a few feet away. He pushed through the pain, crawling toward the fallen sword but just as quickly the Night King turned his attention back to him.
***
"Daughter of death."
Daenerys heard the faintest gasp and her breath caught. When she turned back, it was as if a force was compelling her. Pushing through the death-laden darkness, she stood stony, trying to identify the sensation. A whisper. Many voices. She closed her eyes and lost track of space and time.
"Bride of fire."
When she opened her eyes again, flashes of light in the darkness caught her face-to-face. Then something was pushing her backward. A weight on her, claws clinging to her body.
It was the dead that had found her.
But the screech of a sword cut through the air.
Dany snapped out of the haze and found herself lifted by a familiar grip. It was Jorah speaking to her through the deafening cries of the dead.
"Stand behind me, your Grace, stand behind me!"
Jorah used measured brute force to push her behind him, while she felt time stand still as she watched the stampede of bodies over him. Trembling, her eyes searched the ground for a sword and when she found the semblance of one, she did not hesitate to hold it aloft.
But fear gripped her chest.
Memories of another time flashed before her eyes like a warning.
Then Dany lashed out in fury, startling even Jorah.
***
Jon's hand was just about to grab Longclaw when the Night King caught with him and pushed him away again. Grabbing the handle with both hands, he rose above Jon ready to finish him, when he flipped violently, grabbing Arya in mid-air.
Jon's eyes widened, breath caught in his throat.
In her left hand, Arya held a dragonglass dagger, which her hand dropped only to be caught by the Night King, who plunged it into her side before she could use it against him, a triumphant grin on his monstrous face.
But his victory was short-lived.
Jon pushed himself up and pulled out Catspaw, driving it into his enemy's skull.
Right in the eye.
Both Arya and Jon were hurled away as thousands of ice shards exploded in the air.
***
"Daughter of death."
Daenerys continued to strike, above the whispers
"Bride of fire."
A dead man lunged at Jorah, knocking him to the ground on his knees.
She watched as it raised its weapon to pierce his armor, aiming to kill.
"Daughter of death...Bride of fire."
Dany raised her own sword, dodging its lunge, as Jorah reached up and grabbed her from behind in a last attempt to pull her back again.
But she wouldn't let him.
She shouldn't have let him the first time.
When the dead man, in his savage attack, returned to wield against them, he did not find Jorah serving as a shield against her.
And then the end of the Night King was announced as his puppets all fell dead, truly dead, on the snowy ground.
***
"Gotta admit the bastard did hold a grudge..." Arya said as Jon helped her to her feet, the dragonglass dagger still at her side. She was trembling, not from the pain, but with the full weight of the battle just bearing down on her now.
They had won. At last.
The Night King was no more.
The Army of the Dead was no more.
And though they had lost most of the North, Arya was relieved that her family was safe. What was left of it.
"Stay still, we'll fix that," Jon muttered.
Her brother was holding her almost as if she was going to break. It was the protective side of him.
Arya dismissed him in response, assuring him that she could stand on her own.
They both turned at the sound of a faint groan.
At a distance from them lay the dying body of Beric Dondarrion.
Arya felt a pang in her chest.
When both siblings reached out to help him, both hampered by the pain of their own wounds, Beric shook his head and waved a hand, letting out a weak laugh.
"Let me die like this. Watching the darkness fade and give way to light," he said.
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