Chapter 34 - Chapter 23: The Battle of Winterfell Part Two

The Wolfswood 304 AC.

Dany.

It was worse for him when they stopped to rest, she could see it in his eyes and though he did all he could to shield her from his worries, he wasn't a true mummer. Something she'd been most grateful for since she'd met him if she was being honest with herself. She'd known far too many men whose intent she had later found out wasn't as true as she'd wished it to be. Leal and true men like Jorah and Barristan who'd played a mummery too. Men like Hizdahr zo Loraq or Xaro Xhoan Daxos and since then men like Tyrion who'd abused her trust. Baelon was honest to a fault and with her, he had always been truthful. The closest he got to lying to her were lies of omission and they were ones that he sought her to be comforted by.

Looking at him now as they sat by the fire, as he laughed and japed with those around them in an effort to keep their own worries at bay, his eyes told her the truth of him once more. So she waited until they were alone in their tent, spoke not until he was in her arms, and then bid him share with her his true concerns. At first, he did his best to shake them off and say he had none, that they'd make it in time and end the Night King and his army. The truth of his fears was then laid open in front of her and it was not with words that she sought to offer him the comfort that he always offered her. She believed he welcomed it, the distraction and the intimacy of it. To be able to shut out the world outside their tent even for the briefest moment of time. Dany was certain it made him feel as it did her, and as they lay there regaining their breaths, Baelon told her as much.

"I… I could not do this without you. Were I to face this alone then I'd not have the strength to do so. After I…"

"Baelon?"

"After I fell. When I died… I saw nothing, Dany… the world beyond here was just darkness and I actually welcomed not being able to feel anything anymore."

"Oh Baelon," she said as she brushed his hair from his face, the look in his dark grey eyes catching her by surprise for it wasn't sadness or fear that she saw reflected in them, it was something else completely.

"When I came back, I still felt the same. Oh, don't get me wrong there was anger there too. Anger at those who betrayed me and took my life, yet it was but a fleeting thing. Even when I killed them I felt little. Sansa's arrival allowed me to begin to feel again, but it was my brother. It was Rickon, seeing him when he ran to me, as I….When he fell, I'd never felt that way before. Not hearing of my uncle's death, my brother's, not even when I heard what had supposedly happened to him and Bran, it was…"

"More real," she said and Baelon nodded.

"It was more real. I couldn't let him just go, I had seen what awaits us when we die and he deserved to know as much of life as he could before that was to be his fate. But it was….I didn't want to be alone, Dany. I couldn't face the things I knew came for us all, not alone. Had it not been for Lady Melisandre bringing him back, I know not the man who'd have traveled to Dragonstone and how that man would have looked upon you? I fear that he would have been a far lesser man than you deserved. " Baelon said and she leaned closer to him to place a kiss on his lips "But the man I was, the man I am, he is only here because of you."

She felt herself choke up as Baelon rolled over so he was looking down at her, his eyes were now full of something she could name as true. For the love she saw in those eyes was the very same as she had seen in her own each time she looked in the looking glass and thought of him.

"I may seem worried or lost in thought and even fearful. I'll not lie and say I am not, but for those I care about, Dany. For Arya, Sansa, Rickon for Davos and Tormund, for Jaime Lannister and Ned Dayne, and for you, for you and our babes most of all. For our future, Dany, for our children's future. For I have no doubt that we are destined to have many children, you and I, and so I'll not lie to you and say I don't fear for that more than anything."

"I fear for it too, Baelon." she said and saw him nod "But I look to you and see my strength as I hope you do with me."

"I do." he said so assuredly that it brought a smile to her face even though they spoke on such things "I do," he repeated and she kissed him far more deeply and truly than she had intended.

They lay together again, unrushed, unhurried. Both of them looked deeply into each other's eyes as they felt their releases come upon them. Baelon fell to sleep before she did and she found herself looking at him as he slept. He looked so at peace that she wished they could just forget about the rest of the world and stay here forever. She wanted to just stay awake and look at him all through the night, but she knew they'd be riding hard after they broke their fast and so reluctantly she closed her eyes, and soon enough she too was sleeping.

He woke her far too early, she felt, her sleep having barely taken hold, and even after breaking their fast, she could barely keep her eyes open when they set off. At what point she felt him take the reins from her, she knew not, but she heard his whisper in her ear that told her to close her eyes and get some rest, something she did gratefully. That she slept the entire day was something she was embarrassed by later on, though Baelon told her that other than he, no one would or could have known.

When they set up camp that night, she walked with him to the dragons. Rhaegal, Drogon, and Viserion all wished to fly to Winterfell as they could sense the worries that she and Baelon had for those who were there. It had taken both her and Baelon to convince them that it was not yet the time to do so. Then to convince them that they would need to feed only on things behind them and not in front. Neither she nor her husband wished for the dragons to fly ahead of them without them on their backs and at least on this, they faced little disagreement from any of her children. Tonight though it was at the cost of them flying on their backs as they sought their meals and Dany was suddenly glad that she'd slept most of the day.

"Sȳrje, īlon'll sōvegon, yn arlī daor naejot." (Very well, we'll fly, but back, not forward.) she said as she rubbed her hand down Drogon's neck.

"Kessa, aōha muña iksis iā indigontoliot." (Yes, your mother is a pushover.) She heard Balon say amusedly to Rhaegal and then she heard her husband's laughter ring out loudly as she pretended to glare at him.

Soon enough all three dragons were in the air and they flew low over their camp so that everyone knew it was not a fight that they flew to. Once out of sight of the camp, it was higher in the sky and then to the sea and with a nod to Baelon, she bid Drogon to seek out the dragon's meal. The Whale was large and had picked the worst possible time to come to the surface. Drogon's flames were followed by his talons and then he was joined by his brothers. Beneath her, the whale was torn asunder, each of her children gorging themselves on its flesh and while to some it may seem barbaric or disgusting, to her and Baelon, it very much did not.

The dragons were their greatest weapon against the Night King. They needed them to be as strong as they possibly could. Well-fed and rested and ready to bring the fight to the Army of the Dead was how they wished them to be. A meal such as a whale that they'd just enjoyed went a long way to seeing that so, especially since they'd not really had to fly for long or hunt for true to find it. Once her children had eaten their fill, she bid them take whatever remained and fly it somewhere for later. They landed at some caves that lay a few miles from their camp. Dragons could cover the ground their horses took days to, in mere hours, and so they had made lairs that would last them a week or more.

As she climbed down off Drogon's back, she looked to see the scattered bones and remains of meals they'd already eaten. Dany was pleased to see it wasn't just this hunt that had been successful. After praising each of her children, in turn, she moved to Baelon and felt his arms wrap around her and his head rest on her shoulder as they watched the dragons rest. Both of them would fly on Drogon's back to their camp in a few moments, to give the other two dragons even more time to sleep, it was something that they now alternated between Drogon and Rhaegal from time to time.

"They seem at peace, well-fed at least," Baelon said and she nodded.

"You truly believe what we're doing with them is for the best?"

"Aye, I do. I felt it the right plan when we marched to the Wall, Dany and while I worry about Rickon and my family, I worry about them too." Baelon said and she smiled at that, he loved them as she did, as no one else could, for only a dragon could love a dragon after all.

"How long?" she asked.

"A week, less. I know that we have time, how much I know not, for I can't see him or his army. Nor can Rickon."

"You've tried?" she asked surprised he'd warged into anything other than Ghost.

"Aye. Birds, some elk, a rabbit. It's much easier once you've practiced and with Ghost's help, I've become better at it. Rickon leaves me in the shade though." Baelon said proudly.

"And yet neither of you can see him? What of Bran?" she asked to a shake of Baelon's head "You think he's hiding his movements?"

"I do. He's far smarter than I gave him credit for. The feint alone proved that."

"It wasn't your fault, Baelon," she said, turning to him.

"Aye, I know, but I blame myself still and will until I've put him in the ground for true." she felt his lips on her neck as he kissed her softly "Come let's go back, I feel a hunger for more than just food."

"You're insatiable." she japed.

"You're irresistible, my love, I blame the gods for making you so."

She pondered on the Night King as they flew back to the camp. The idea that he was smart had for some reason not truly entered her head before Baelon had brought it up. Knowing he was, it now placed the task they had in defeating him in perspective. If he was simply a brute, then it would be easier, but the fact that he thought things through and planned them out had changed things drastically. It made her somewhat relieved that they'd not just flown to attack him right after Baelon's uncle had arrived. The thought was now stuck in her head that he may have wished them to do so and planned accordingly and it wouldn't leave for days after she'd first thought it.

They marched, ate, and spoke with the men when they rested, though mainly they simply got their few hours of sleep and rose to repeat the previous day's activities the next day and the day after. Though they were making up ground and getting ever closer to Winterfell, each day they traveled didn't seem to comfort Baelon any. Not even when she bid his uncle speak to him did it seem to have any effect on her husband's mood. As for when she spoke to him about it, he'd not deny it, yet he did his best to wave off her concerns. He even managed until she woke to find him almost atop Rhaegal's back and ready to fly to Winterfell without her.

"What in the seven hells do you think you're doing, Baelon?" she asked angrily as Jaime Lannister, Tormund, Brienne, and Benjen Stark among others looked on.

"I need to….I have to go to them….Dany I…."

"No." she said firmly and she hated how he looked at her "We made a plan, remember. Your plan."

"Fuck my plans, I need to go to them now," Baelon said angrily and with a glare at those nearest to her, she waited until they'd moved away and then moved closer to her husband.

She took his hand in one of her own and brought her other to his cheek. Baelon closed his eyes at her touch. The soft stroking of his face that she did seemed to calm him somewhat and when he opened his eyes to look at her, the worry and panic that she'd seen in them just a moment earlier, was now lessened she felt.

"Speak to me, my love? Tell me what drives you so?"

"They're under attack, Dany. He arrived and they're under attack. We can't… we won't… I fear we'll be too late. I can't, Dany. I can't be too late, not again. I almost lost him once because I wasn't…"

"It was not your fault, Baelon. Nothing you could have done would have changed what happened and it was what you did afterward that truly mattered. I fear for them too, for all of them, but your plans were sound were they not?" she asked and he nodded slightly. "Then we have to hope that they can hold on."

"I think we need to go, Dany, truly I do. I feel it….I feel it here." Baelon said moving the hand she held to his chest "It calls me and I feel if I don't answer the call then I'll not be able to live with myself."

"How far are we from Winterfell?"

"Four maybe five days."

"We fly now but only to see, Baelon, we don't attack unless the keep itself is falling. Give me your word that this is so and I'll agree, otherwise I swear I'll make Rhaegal listen to his mother over his rider."

"You have it. You have it, I swear it on the Old Gods and the New." Baelon said relieved.

They took flight an hour later, Baelon with Tormund, Benjen Stark, and Jaime Lannister behind him on Rhaegal's back while she had Jorah, Brienne, and Ned Dayne. What they saw as they neared where Winterfell was, showed that the dragons could fly no further. The storm was large and they could see nothing through it. It covered the lands in front of them as far as their eyes could see, both ahead of them and to either side. She looked to Baelon and saw the resigned look on his face as he bid Rhaegal turn back and she bid Drogon and Viserion do likewise.

It was at a small stream that they had landed near that she found Baelon standing alone. Jaime Lannister stood guard somewhat, though he stood some feet from her husband who was kneeling in what looked to be prayer, yet there was no Weirwood in sight, nor even a tree of any description. When she moved to him, she found he wasn't praying though, he was warging and she saw his lips move as he seemed to be in a conversation of sorts. Deciding it was better not to disturb him, she stood and waited until he was done.

"Baelon?"

"They're holding them back, Dany. I spoke to Rickon through Ghost and told him we were coming. Five Days."

"Five days?" she asked while looking to see if her husband was despondent or resolved, glad to find it was the latter.

"Aye, I told him that on the fifth day to look to our coming, look to the North," Baelon said determinedly.

"We'll arrive in time, Baelon, we won't be late."

"No, we won't be."

Five days later.

They had not increased their pace, nor exerted themselves more than they already were. Baelon once he'd resolved himself that they'd arrive in five days, had then made it clear that they needed to be ready to fight once they did so. That once they arrived, the battle would take place with no orders, no delay and so they had to be prepared for it before then. He'd made his plans based on what he believed they'd be facing, had looked through Ghost's eyes, and watched as the keep held despite the attacks it faced.

As they crested the hill, their army was full of the Dothraki and those they'd brought with them. They found to their horror that their army was still far smaller than the one they faced. As she and Baelon moved toward the dragons, she watched her husband turn and look at the men with them. Never before had she seen him look as he did right then. It was more than a determination that she saw, more than resoluteness, it was confidence, surety, and conviction and his words only proved that even more true.

"We are the Swords in the Darkness. The dragons are the Fire that burns against the Cold. The Light that brings the Dawn is the one that burns in all of us, for we are the Shields that Guards the Realms of Men." Baelon said before he then turned and kissed her deeply, and she, he, and her children took to the sky and readied to bring this war to an end, one way or another.

The Battle for the Dawn.

Ser Daven Lannister.

They'd rested well, mayhap too well some of his men had said, yet he'd not been one of them. Given what they'd faced already and knowing that it was just a part of the Army of the Dead, Daven felt the king had been right in his plans. While the dead had no need to worry about fatigue and required no sleep, the living certainly did. Their horses too needed to be well-rested and with most bearing two men, some in full armor, they were tired enough from the fast pace of the ride as it was.

Both the king and queen did their utmost to keep their spirits high. Though truth be told, there had been some despondency when they found out the truth of the Night King's plans. They'd gone from the euphoria of victory to almost the resignation of defeat in the blink of an eye, only for Baelon Targaryen's words and conviction to make them focus on what they needed to. At night, they'd been so tired from the day in the saddle, that most had simply eaten and sought their beds. Those who had not were soon to find themselves in the company of a king or queen who spoke to as many of them as they could possibly do.

It was a different experience for Daven. He'd marched with Tywin Lannister and the Lord of Casterly Rock would never have deigned to sup and speak to common soldiers. The King and Queen of Westeros did so as if it was second nature. Both of them treated Lord, Knight, Soldier, or Wildling as if they were equal and while at one time, Daven would have bristled to be thought of or named as such, now he welcomed it. He'd heard Baelon Targaryen say that they found their true friends on the battlefield and it had always been something he'd believed, even if he'd not been able to name it so before now. Here and now, he could. These men were his true friends and brothers, and some of them would not see the morrow.

Daven listened as Baelon spoke words that were answered in cheers. He watched as he and Daenerys climbed upon their dragon's backs and all three mighty beasts took to the sky. The sound of their roars reverberated across the ground in front of them and quicker than he thought possible, their flames were soon being laid down. It was an awe-inspiring sight and it needed to be, for the army they laid those flames down upon was vast. It stretched as far as the eye could see and right to the walls of the great stone keep some distance away.

He'd thought to himself upon first seeing Winterfell that it was a keep that wouldn't fall easily. Even if somehow Theon Greyjoy had managed to take it during the War of the Five Kings. Casterly Rock too had been taken once by stealth and subterfuge and so he'd not hold that against it, instead, he'd thought that just like the Rock itself, any army that sought to sack the keep, would find it a nigh-on impossible task. Looking to the army in the distance, his only thought was, how had it not fallen yet.

"We Ride! For the King, For the Queen, For the West, For the Living!" he shouted, and then he heard the sound of thousands of horses forming up, a sound like thunder as their hooves cracked the ice-covered ground beneath them.

Never in his life had he seen a sight like it before. They'd split into three groups. The Dothraki on either side and he and men of the West in the middle. Ride, engage, retreat, repeat. Simple tactics and not ones he'd ever have believed he'd be a part of. Yet they were the only ones that could be brought to bear on the enemy they faced. A double envelopment with his men as the hammer that would then crash and break through, that was the plan he'd given to the King when they'd marched to the Wall and it was one that had been rejected out of hand.

" When you see our enemy, Ser Daven, then you'll know why that plan won't work as you believe it will and why this one will," Baelon said.

Seeing the red priestess as she moved in front of them, hearing the sound of her chants even over the sounds of horses readying to ride, Daven chuckled. He held his lance in his hand and watched as the flame appeared on the end of it. His sword was sheathed on his hip and yet he knew without needing to check that were he to bring it to bear, it too would be aflame. What magic Melisandre could summon was beyond a simple man such as he, but he was most grateful for it. As he was the arrows that now flew through the sky and lit it up for once.

He and every single man there looked on as the flaming arrows flew and then there were loud cheers as they hit home. Though these died down some as the flames that took hold of the dead who'd been struck, showed the truth of the army they faced even more clearly. Closing his eyes, he offered a prayer to the Seven who are One and asked them to keep his mother and sisters safe should he fall here today. He prayed for a chance to see them again but offered his own lives for theirs if that's what the gods required of him.

"For the Dawn!" he shouted loudly and then he and the men of the West, the Dothraki and men of the Watch, the Free Folk and men of the North, all rode down into the valley of death.

Ahead of him, the dragons went about their deadly work. Their flames seemed to be never-ending. The dead who'd been facing the keep now turned to look their way and Daven watched as more and more arrows flew. Lines of dead men and women fell and yet those lines never thinned. To his left, the Dothraki began to arc as they did to his right and yet his men rode straight and true. They'd not cut their way through these lines and break through to the other side. They were far too dense for such. What they would do though was cut down as many as they could before turning to regroup, he only prayed they'd not lose too many while doing so.

Five hundred feet, four, three, beneath him his horse was as resolute as he was. Two hundred and more and more arrows flew and Daven had he the time, would have admired how the Dothraki were able to do so while ahorse. Again and again, the sky above them was lit up. By the arrows that flew, the flames that came from the dragons, and once or twice by what looked to be a great ball of fire. With a hundred feet left to ride, he looked on in amazement as once again it seemed to appear out of nowhere and hovered above a large group of dead men before then plunging down and engulfing them all.

Which god's work it was, he knew not. Be it R'hllor's hand, the Old Gods of the North, or even his own Seven who are One. In the end, it mattered little as whatever help they could garner, was more than welcomed. Fifty feet to go and spears began to be thrown at them, Daven hearing some men fall from their horses as they were struck. It pained him to know that these were good men and true. They were men of the West and he'd led them to their deaths. Though there was not a single one of them who'd wished to be elsewhere when he'd asked them. No, that wasn't quite the truth. They'd all wished it, they'd just not sought it or asked for leave to desert. Instead they, like him, wanted to see their families safe and to see the dead fall.

Ten feet, he raised his lance and then felt it as it struck home. Once, twice, thrice, it crashed against dead man after dead man and none were a match. How many he'd taken down before he lost it, he couldn't tell, but when he pulled his sword from its scabbard, Daven promised to at the very least match the number. As he'd expected, the sword lit up when it was bared and he began to slash left and right. The flames took hold easily and more than once he saw a dead man he'd caught with his blade and set alight, crash into another and soon he too was covered in flames.

He bid his horse turn, felt little room to do so, and then he heard the roar of a dragon and ducked his head as Rhaegal flew over him. The flames that came from the green dragon's mouth cleared a path for him and those nearest him. With another slash of his sword, he turned, and soon they were riding away from the ranks of the Army of the Dead and not into them. Few men still bore their lances and they'd suffered far too many losses, yet they were still intact, still a large force and when they reached the hill they'd set off from, he turned and they formed up once again.

"For the Dawn!" he shouted and the charge began anew.

Grey Worm.

They'd doubled up on the backs of the Dothraki horses, he and his Unsullied refusing to be left behind while his queen and king fought these dead things. He'd worried too about Missandei of Naath, but both the queen and the king had told him that she'd left to go further south. They would reach the wolves' keep and beat the dead army there. Long before they ever had a chance to catch up with those who'd been sent to safety they would face his spear and his wrath. For it was wrath he felt for these dead things, wrath he'd not felt since leaving Essos.

Just like the Masters, this Night King as he'd heard him named, had wished to enslave people. Worse even than they, he wished to enslave them in death itself. Something that he found to be even more abhorrent than what had been done to him and the Unsullied at Astapor. For so many years, he'd known what his fate was to be and he'd not truly cared much about it. The Unsullied knew no different, not until Daenerys Targaryen freed them and gave them the first choice that any of them had known. Before his queen, you served until death and then death was what freed you. To find out there was something even worse than that, that someone sought you to serve them even in death, that sent a shiver down the spines of even his men. It was not something that any of them would see come to pass and so he'd gone to the king and made a request of him.

" Should this one fall, should his men….You will burn I, they?"

" You won't fall, Torgho Nudho, my wife would be distraught to lose you and so I shall do all I can to ensure she does not," Baelon said and he nodded.

" If…"

" Aye, if."

When they'd then faced the dead for the first time, they'd seen the true horror that awaited them should they fall. They'd fought even more fiercely and had lost few or their number. Just as he'd been promised, those who fell were given to the dragon's flames and it had relieved him and the Unsullied greatly. After they'd found out that it was but a battle and not a war they had won, as they'd then ridden hard to win that war, his fears were no longer for himself, nor even were they for his queen or Jorah the Andal, though he worried for them too. His true fear was for Missandei of Naath. So much so that just as he had with the king, he then did so with the queen. Asking for and receiving his queen's promise when he did so.

" For Missandei of Naath," he said, handing his queen the letter he'd written.

" You shall give her it yourself, Torgho Nudho."

" If…"

" You will not fall. I will not let you fall." his queen said determinedly before nodding and taking the letter from him "You will see her again, but if…..she will know."

" It has been the honor of this one's life to serve you, my queen."

" It is I who has been honored, Torgho Nudho, and your service to me does not end here in the North. Together we'll see warmer lands once more. You, me, Baelon, Jorah, and Missandei, our lives don't end here on that I vow."

He looked out as the horses charged. Watched as the arrows flew and the dragons laid down their flames. Grey Worm stood on the hill with the Unsullied, Free Folk, with Men of the North and of the Night's Watch. Their weapons lit up after the Red Witch had spoken her words and they watched as the first line of horses crashed into the lines of dead men. Even from this distance away, the sight of dead men burning could be seen.

In the sky, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion laid down wave upon wave of flames and beneath the dragons, the dead burned. Lances hit dead flesh and soon it caught fire. Swords and other weapons crashed down upon dead men and they too were ablaze. After some time, the horses returned and formed up once again and he looked to see how many had ridden and not returned. It was more than he'd feared and fewer than he'd hoped for. The Unsullied crashed their spears against their shields in a sign of respect and the horses rode out once more.

Again the sky was lit up by the flames from the mouths of the dragons, by arrows, and by what looked like large balls of fire too. Grey Worm looked to see Melisandre kneeling on the ground and chanting to herself. Once again the horses returned and once more the Unsullied showed their respect. This time the Free Folk and Men of the North added their own loud calls and cheers. As before, they formed up and rode again and this time, he moved forward as did Jorah the Andal and Jaime Lannister, Ned Dayne and Brienne of Tarth, Tormund, and Nessa.

"Syt Dāria Daenerys, Syt Dārys Baelon, Iksi Dāez se Ilon Maghagon se Nāqes!"(For Queen Daenerys, For King Baelon, We are Free and We Bring the Dawn!").

They began to move forward. The horses who'd ridden on ahead of them had already engaged the dead once more and yet they marched toward them regardless. While they did so quickly, they didn't run or charge for full as of yet. Only once the horses had ridden back out from the dead did they do so. He saw the looks on some of the horsemen's faces as they rode past them. Weariness, hunger, sadness at the losses of those who'd ridden with them and had fallen, all were present in their expression, along with something else too. Resolve. There was a resolve there which meant they would form up yet again and ride once more and Grey Worm felt true respect for these men of Westeros now.

As they closed the gap between them and the dead army in front of them, he saw the ranks form up. Then he and all those who charged looked to the sky at the sound of three dragons roaring loudly. To the left Viserion flew riderless, to the right, Rhaegal and the king readied to let loose their flames and in the middle, Drogon and his queen looked majestic. The ranks in front of them were soon engulfed in flames and he would wager that the dragons let loose their flames for longer this time than they had thus far. His queen's words along with his king's now coming back to him and though he rarely did so, he smiled now.

He saw spears of ice fly in the sky and each of the dragons easily dodged them. Any that came too close were soon hit by what seemed to be small balls of fire and had he the time to wonder, he'd question if it was Melisandre and her red god that was providing them. All the while, the three dragons let loose their flames on the dead below them, and then he and others looked on as one by one, they flew to rest or bring their flames to bear elsewhere.

The sight that presented itself to him once the flames were no longer being unleashed was one that gave him pause, for it seemed that little if any damage had been done to the lines in front of them. True he could see burned and still burning bodies, but the lines had reformed somewhat and it was only when his spear made contact with the dead thing in front of him did he realize that true damage had been done. There were still many dead to contend with, but they were indeed lesser, they had suffered losses and as he, the Unsullied, Free Folk, and Men of the North went about their work, more and more were being inflicted upon them. Hearing the sound of the dragons in the sky once more, his spear was a blur as he again saw flames loosed on dead things.

"For Missandei of Naath," he said as yet another dead thing fell.

Ser Jorah Mormont.

He unsheathed his sword, Longclaw back in the hand of a Mormont and in his own for true for the first time in more than ten years. It felt lighter than the blade he'd wielded while in Essos, and it moved through the air much swifter too. Yet he was glad that he'd done right by the blade even after his shameful descent into being a slaver. Had he brought it to Essos then he'd mayhap have sold it or lost it, and it wouldn't have served Baelon Targaryen as it had, which was yet another reason he had made the right choice in leaving it behind.

" Your father was one of the very best men I ever knew, Ser Jorah. He was my Lord Commander and a man I respected completely. When he gave me this blade, I tried to refuse it." Baelon said, holding Longclaw in his hand.

" He wished you to have it, your grace. I can fault him not for his reasons."

" Aye, but he did so not knowing the man his son had become."

" Your grace?"

" The man who left the sword and shamed his house died long ago, Ser Jorah. Take it from a man who knows what it feels like to feel the pain of death. And while mine own was more literal, yours was no less a death. For it's not Ser Jorah Mormont a man who sold slaves that I see afore me, it's Ser Jorah Mormont, Queensguard to Daenerys Targaryen, Kingsguard to Baelon Targaryen. A man who helped my wife free a city full of slaves, who guarded her back and was and is willing to die for her."

" Not just for her, your grace," he said truthfully.

" Aye, I know. And I am most grateful for it, though I'll say as no doubt my wife would. I seek you not to give your life for mine own, but to serve as truly as you have thus far. This blade served me well, Ser Jorah, but it was never my blade, I know that now. I would bid you wield it and may it protect you as it has me."

" Your Grace, I cannot."

" I have my own House's ancestral sword, Ser Jorah, wield yours with the honor you've earned by my wife and mine own sides and wield it well," Baelon said handing him the sword and Jorah actually felt somewhat worthy of it when he took it in his hands.

Wielding it now, cutting down the dead things in front of him, not only did he feel worthy, but he felt powerful too. Valyrian Steel was like no other, it almost sang as it moved through the air and it killed these dead things for true. Around him, men and women fought against things that were no longer either. In the sky above, the dragons rained down flame upon flame and behind him, men on horses readied to ride once more.

Somewhere to his right, Ned Dayne swung Dawn, and just as with Jorah himself, he cut through the dead as if they were butter. Tormund and Brienne fought side by side and he could hear the red-headed wildling's voice even over the din of swords, maces, morningstars, spears, and countless other weapons crashing against bone and rotten flesh. Jaime Lannister may only have one hand, but it stopped or slowed him not, and around him the dead he'd dispatched piled up.

Jorah heard a loud cheer rise up and at first, he turned to the sky only to find it was what had happened on the ground that the cheer had risen for. A White Walker had fallen to Ned Dayne's blade and with its fall, a large number of dead things had fallen too. His distraction almost cost him his life and was it not for the arrow that protruded from the dead thing's neck, then it would have. Jorah was torn between looking at the falling Wight or in seeking the person he owed his life to, the latter winning out. Meera Reed stood some distance away with the white bow in her hand and it was to her that he owed the last few breaths he'd just taken and all those he would take from this moment forward. A small nod of his head was the only thanks he could offer her from where he stood and one that she acknowledged but briefly.

Swinging his sword once more, he cut down more and more dead things. These Wights were everywhere and one on one or even more than one on one, they were not a match for even some of the greenest boys in their army. In the numbers they had however, they were more than a match and Jorah heard the screams of yet another one of their men falling. Again he heard some cheers and yet this time he didn't look to see who had taken down the White Walker, he was far too busy with the one that now moved his way.

"For my king and queen." he said moving forward into the empty space the White Walker had cleared for itself "For Lyanna," he added, naming his cousin as his Valyrian Steel sword crashed against an icy blade.

Tall, thin, covered in armor that was forged by ice, its vivid blue eyes were trained on Jorah's blade and not on his face, and the White Walker was as elegant as it was deadly. One of the Free Folk had come to try and help him and though he'd waved him away, it was not to be. The White Walker ended him as if he was a fly being squished. Jorah was outmatched, embarrassingly so, and yet he fought on and Longclaw blocked the blows aimed his way. Again it was an arrow that saved his life, the White Walker moving out of the way of its Dragonglass tip and Longclaw instead being what hit home.

Jorah watched it explode into who knew how many pieces. He heard the sound of dead things falling all around him and then he moved and was back amongst men and women he now named brothers and sisters. Those he'd bled with, fought with, the true friends he'd found on this battlefield and each of them fought as fiercely as he did. He sensed the fatigue settling in more than he felt it. Then he saw it when around him people's spirits began to wilt. Moving forward, he slashed left and right and then spun around catching one, two, and then a third dead thing with Longclaw's deadly blade.

"HERE WE STAND!" he called out loudly

"HERE WE STAND!" he heard the reply, Jaime Lannister answering his call.

"HERE WE STAND!" Ned Dayne shouted out and then his House's words rang out loudly as thousands of voices joined in unison to proclaim their intent.

Again and again, the dragons flew overhead, and once or twice he felt the heat from the flames that Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal unleashed. More cheers went up as yet another White Walker met his end and yet the numbers didn't feel like they were thinning much. What made him look back to the horses he knew not, only something called for him to do so and then he knew exactly what they needed to do.

Calling out to those around him, they began to disengage from their fight against the dead. Jorah found to his utter shock that the dead seemed to fall and tumble over in places and it took him a while to realize that they'd been pressed up so tightly against them that their movement had been the reason. With a loud cry to move slowly back, Jorah waved Longclaw in the air and it was his queen who seemed to notice it, and then Drogon was soon flying his way. Again he felt the heat of the dragon's flames as they were unleashed and waving his sword in the air once more, he directed his queen to the men on horseback.

The sound of the horses as they charged almost resounded across the open ground they did so upon. Around him, gaps had formed so they could ride through and in front of him, the ranks of the dead were trying to reform after both their fall to the ground and facing the dragons' flames. He and the rest of the army looked on and regained their breaths somewhat as the horses crashed into the lines of the dead and then as they had before, they turned and rode away from them. More flames soon followed and though it had only bought them a brief respite, it was one that was most welcome.

"FORWARD! FOR THE QUEEN! FOR THE KING! FOR THE LIVING" his words rang out and with Longclaw in hand, he led the way and the battle began anew.

Gendry.

He had to get to her, to get to the keep. She needed him, he needed her. Gendry felt like a fool, a complete fool for marching with the army when his place was by her side. She needed his hammer and his strength, she'd told him so, and fool that he was, he'd not listened. Arya had not asked him to stay, that was not her, but she'd all but done so. Yet so wrapped up was he in marching and playing his part, in trying to earn some renown and a name for himself, that he had mistaken her words for something they were not.

Ahead of him, he swore he could see the grey walls of Winterfell, and somewhere behind those walls was the woman that he was now certain he loved. He was no more than a mile away, a mile that he could run in mere moments, and were he able to do so then run he would. Life was never that easy though and between him and those grey walls, covering most of that mile was an army of dead things. An army that attacked both Gendry and the army he was a part of, and those grey walls themselves.

"I'm coming." he whispered "I'm coming"

The hammer he wielded was one he'd made himself. As was the helmet he wore on his head. Robert Baratheon's bastard son he may be, and the hammer would name it so, but he was now and had always been a Stupid Bull to her. So it was no stag's antlered helm that he wore, but a newer version of a helm he'd made many years earlier. In his hand, the hammer was tinged with Dragonglass that he'd melted into the steel spikes, and heavy though it was, he swung it as if it weighed nothing at all. Though given how dense the ranks of the dead army were, swinging it was not as easy as it could have been.

Still, he was full of resolve, full of purpose, and he'd managed to find ways to use his hammer effectively. He swung it as hard and fiercely as he could, when he could, thrust it and used its spikes when a full swing of it wasn't possible, and just crashed it against any dead thing he faced when that was all he could do. More than once he'd lost it, felt it fall from his hands and had relied on two Dragonglass daggers to be what ended the dead before they could end him. Then he'd regain his hammer once more and in his rage and anger over losing it, he'd take down more dead things than any man around him.

To his great annoyance, nothing he did brought him any closer to Winterfell. The dead just kept coming, reforming their lines, and never once did it seem like anything he or anyone else did was having even the slightest effect on their numbers. Not even the dragons who flew overhead and unleashed wave upon wave of flame upon them was enough to thin their ranks. Were this the fight that had happened near the Wall, then Gendry was sure his resolve would be broken by now. Had it been there and not here that he fought, he may even have decided that this was not a fight he could win. Seeing those grey walls in the distance, knowing that she was in there, nothing could shake him from his task and nothing would.

He almost didn't retreat when the call came. Almost named them all as cravens and cowards when around him men and women began to move not forward but back. Had he not turned to shout out such words to them, then he may have been left alone against the dead as the gap between them and the living formed. Gendry did turn though and when he saw the horses line up, he smiled and then moved to join those he'd been fighting side by side with just moments earlier. Soon enough he was biting into some bread and washing it down with cool water as the horses crashed against the dead. Their doing so allowed those who'd been fighting hand to hand against them to now get a few moments of much-needed rest. The tiredness came over him all of a sudden and then he felt a hand on his chest.

"Retreat when the others retreat. Or find there is nowhere left for you to run," Melisandre said to him and Gendry angrily knocked her hand away.

"I need no words of advice from you witch."

"Do with them what you wish, I speak only the truth," Melisandre said almost resignedly, and then thankfully she was gone and he was alone once more.

A shiver ran down his spine and made him shake a little. Tearing one large chunk of bread, he put it in his mouth and moved forward once more. The horses passed him by and he heard the order to charge forward. Barely had it been given, then he was running ahead of any of those with him. The swing of his hammer and the effect it had on the dead in front of him, was a thing of beauty to behold. More than seven or eight fell at once and for the first time in hours, Gendry truly had the room to wield his hammer how it was meant to be wielded.

He knocked down another dead thing, then another, and then another. None of them a match for his ferocity nor for his hammer's design. At the Wall, he'd been told stories of his father by Thoros of Myr, tales of the battle of Pyke, and of his father wielding his own hammer as if it was an extension of his arm. Now, here today, Gendry too did so and as the thoughts of his father filled his mind, the words came unbidden from his lips.

"OURS IS THE FURY!" he shouted as he crashed his hammer against the skull of another dead thing, another Wight.

Again and again, he swung, overhand, in a circle as he spun, then from left to right and back again. He felt it when the line began to thin, when the gaps began to form, and between those gaps, he saw the grey walls bidding him forward. Bringing his hammer down once more, he saw the path and swore he heard her voice. Yet it wasn't that which made him run. It wasn't truly that the path had opened up before him or that he believed he'd heard her call for him in his head. Instead, it was a sense that she needed him, that she was in danger, and that without him by her side, she'd fall.

With two more swings to clear his path even more, he finally felt ready. Holding his hammer in one hand and taking a Dragonglass dagger in the other, he ran. Hands reached out to grab him and found either the Dragonglass tipped spike of his hammer or the dagger to be what it earned them. Then the path began to open up, even more, no hands reached for him and the gap between him and the dead proved that he had been right to make this move, right to take this one and only chance to reach her. The distance between him and Winterfell began to shorten. A mile, half, that, a quarter, and then he saw the path to the keep itself. Though this path was not one without obstacles and none bigger than the White Walker that stood in his way.

"YOU'LL NOT KEEP ME FROM HER! OURS IS THE FURY!" he shouted as he readied his hammer for its truest test.

Hammer met an icy blade and was brushed aside. Yet Gendry was quickly back on the attack, though he found no purchase and soon it became clear that he was being toyed with. With everything he had, he put in one huge effort, and as he crashed the hammer against the icy blade, he saw the opening. Bringing the Dragonglass dagger up in an arc, he watched on in horror as the White Walker simply moved its head to one side, and then it brought the icy blade in its hand down on his hammer's wooden shaft, cutting it in two.

The sound of the hammer's head hitting the ground was as loud as the cry that came from Gendry's lips when he felt the icy blade strike him in the chest. So quickly had it happened that he'd not even seen the blow that had ended his life. Falling to his knees, he looked to see the grey walls were almost close enough to touch and as he felt the cold envelop him and his eyes began to grow heavy. As his eyes closed, he offered a prayer to any god that would listen, and even R'hllor he beseeched.

' Protect her as I could not'

Images soon swirled through his head, images of a girl he'd thought at first to be a boy and of travels by her side and through harsh lands. Of her telling him that she could be his family and of him being taken away by Melisandre and thinking that was to be the last they'd ever see each other. He saw them meeting again at Winterfell and of a life that was now to never be. Arya Stark as his wife, their children, and the happy days that he'd never know, but ones he'd always wished for.

"Arya," he said as he breathed his last breath, his words heard only by the gods and the dead.

Dany.

The storm felt lesser to her, much lesser than it had been the first time they'd seen it. Both Drogon and Viserion flew through it with ease as did Rhaegal and it gave her some pause. Not that she'd not felt pause enough upon seeing just how large an army stood between them and Winterfell. She looked for and eventually found her husband. Baelon had taken Rhaegal some distance from her and the green dragon's brothers and Dany felt some trepidation at that. She knew though that they had to cover as much ground as they could when they let loose their flames, which she now readied to do.

"Dracarys," she said loudly, her voice carrying over the falling snow and the winds that blew it against her face.

Two wide arcs of flame hit the ground beneath her, both Drogon and Viserion answering her call immediately. Off to her left, she could see that Rhaegal was answering Baelon's call too and while she would feel more comfortable with them closer to her, for now, she felt relaxed enough to not allow her worries to be overwhelming. Over and over, she spoke the words and the dragons responded with their flames.

They swept over the army of dead things below them and burned any in their path. Each arc of flame took down Wights in their hundreds. After what felt like hours, but was in truth only moments, she looked back to see the cavalry begin their charge. She heard a roaring ring out from close by and turned away from the cavalry charge to see Rhaegal fly her way. Before she knew what was happening, Drogon and Viserion began to fly high into the sky after Rhaegal and in doing so, they managed to avoid what looked to be spears of ice coming their way.

Far below them, the cavalry had crashed into the lines of the dead and had turned to ride away. Baelon had planned for them to be used as a battering ram to create gaps in the enemy's lines. To attack and disengage and at least for the first attack, it had seemed to work. She felt Rhaegal as he flew close by her and so she looked to her husband. Baelon was pointing down below them and shaking his head, then he was making a throwing motion as if he was wielding a spear and Dany nodded to him. Once again Rhaegal flew close to her and though she wished to make sure her son was unharmed, it was again to her husband that she looked.

"WATCH FOR THE SPEARS! " Baelon shouted and Dany motioned that she would.

Closing her eyes, she sought out her children and though she couldn't warg how Baelon or Rickon could, she soon felt them. Or Drogon at least. She prayed her words got through to him and bid him tell his brothers what she'd said, his loud roar soon sounding out in the emptiness of the night's sky. Baelon she knew would tell Viserion and Rhaegal and with it coming from Drogon too, she hoped it'd be enough. When she felt that they'd stayed away from the battle for as long as they could, it was her that led them back down and this time Viserion followed after Rhaegal while she and Drogon flew to the left.

"Dracarys."

Her son was fierce and though he was tiring, his flames had not wavered in their ferocity. Each time she bid him let them loose, let them loose he did. Hundreds, thousands, she couldn't count that high as the number of dead things that fell to her and Drogon mounted up. Whatever losses they inflicted upon them, Rhaegal and Viserion matched and she was so very proud of all three of them. Twice more spears had come their way and twice more she and Drogon had managed to avoid them. Both Baelon's warning and her own experience facing the Lannister army on the Roseroad now proving to be invaluable.

Hearing a roar from her son, she looked to see Viserion flying her way and when he turned, she bid Drogon follow. In the blink of an eye, all three dragons were united once more and she looked on as Baelon pointed to a line beneath them and then to the cavalry who were readying to charge. As one, the three dragons descended on the line and the flames they unleashed were glorious. They merged almost into one huge wall of fire and Dany would later wager that in that single attack they'd burned more dead than each dragon alone had done in all the ones up to then. It allowed their cavalry's charge to be even more impactful and she looked on to see that the infantry was now being brought to bear.

Dany offered a prayer to gods she'd not believed in until she had arrived in Westeros. To R'hllor who had given her husband his favor and to the Old Gods that Baelon named his own and under whose gaze they'd been wed. She prayed for those who fought below her that she cared about, those that Baelon cared about and she hoped she'd see them all once this was done. They'd flown high once more, Baelon bidding her eat and drink and once she saw he was doing the same, then and only then did she do likewise. Their respite was not to last long, however, for no sooner had she drank down the cool water than they were dropping low once more.

This time they brought their flames closer to their own men as the attack and battle were now in full flow. By the god's favor, good luck, or mayhap just because her children were so well practiced now, they caught none of their allies with the flames they unleashed. Again they cleared the way and allowed for gaps to appear and Dany swore she felt the storm begin to lose even more of its power and purpose. Flying became easier, her view of the battlefield that much more clear and there were gaps now where there had been none before.

' We're winning. We're actually winning.'

Turning with a smile on her face, she looked on in shock as an ice spear barely missed Rhaegal and then heard a loud pained roar as Viserion cried out. Drogon and Rhaegal both flew to their injured brother and she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw it had just grazed Viserion's scales and not caught him flush. She saw it then, long before her injured son did it and she cried out with all her might. Baelon thankfully heard her and together they dissuaded Viserion from seeking the vengeance that he felt was his due.

"Aderī, ñuha jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio." (Soon, my love. I promise.) she closed her eyes and spoke softly and she was stunned when she was rewarded with what sounded like a trill.

Dany then opened her eyes to see Viserion fly almost over her head and his golden eyes looking directly at her as he did so.

Once she knew he was in no true danger, she looked to Baelon and the nod of her head was enough to let him know that all was well. It was with a renewed sense of purpose that they dropped from the sky this time, a wave of anger that though she and her children all wished to let loose, was being held in check for now. Calmer heads would win them this day, anger was not their friend, and so she spoke the words softly.

"Dracarys."

"Dracarys."

"Dracarys."

The Three-Eyed Raven.

He was impressed by Rickon and the others' resilience. They had been fighting for almost five days and had resisted the Wight's relentless attacks. The Night King sent waves after waves of his puppets to test the morale and measure of Winterfell's defenders and found those who were on the opposing side to be unwavering in their rebuttal. Bran knew his foe had more in store for them, as he hadn't yet sent the giants nor the dead spiders to breach the gates of Winterfell. What he didn't know was what he was waiting for. Was it the dragons? Did he still plan to get one of them under his thrall to allow him into Winterfell as he had in his vision? Was he toying with them until Jon arrived so that he could end them all at the same time?

The incertitude unnerved Bran as much as the people surrounding him. Arya and Nymeria were standing guard with Theon in the Godswood and once again Bran felt the control of the situation slip from his grasp.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

He suddenly felt a switch in the atmosphere and focused on the cause of it, internally growling as he realized what it was.

They're here. The dragons are here. Jon is back, which means…

"Where is your dagger?" he asked his sister, who was keeping her form by practicing with her staff.

"Hmm?"

"The Catspaw. Where is it?" Bran insisted.

"Oh. I gave it to Sansa."

"Why would you do that?" he said, trying to hide his annoyance as images of new outcomes for the battle flashed through his mind.

"She needed something to help protect her, and she's actually gotten much better at handling it, so I thought -"

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, his head pounding. "It could have been useful against the Night King."

"We have Dragonglass. You said Dragonglass would help -"

"I saw you kill him, you know?" he cut her off before continuing when he saw her frown. "You were holding the Catspaw and drove it straight into his heart. Now, this possibility is over. Everything I have seen so far is once again useless."

"I… When did you see this?"

"Before our talk with Rickon and Sansa." he lied.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why bother? You would have done things your way in any case. I'm going to go now."

"Go where?" Theon asked.

He shut himself off from the world closest to him and sought the world some distance away. Bran ignored his sister's calls as he imposed his will on the minds of the surrounding ravens. He had work to do, things he needed to see and he would be damned if he spent more time conversing with fools. Not when his life was even more in danger thanks to Arya and her short-sightedness.

The flock was completely under his dominion and he didn't need to do much to order them all to fly over Winterfell so that he could monitor the fights. The storm now didn't bother him as much as it had been, which meant the Night King had reached his limits and his powers were weakening. Something which brought him the comfort he'd not felt due to Arya's actions.

From the sky it was an impressive sight, Winterfell was completely surrounded by the dead. It was even more impressive to see none of them were able to breach the walls thanks to Rickon and Sarella Martell managing the defenses of the keep. He could see the dragons raining fire from above, thinning out the ranks of the enemy. While the Knights of the West and the Dothraki rode and successfully played the part that the Knights of the Vale were supposed to.

This is not how things were supposed to be.

Daenerys was supposed to lose her army, to have the Dothraki and the Unsullied decimated by the dead. She was supposed to go south with a much-depleted army and to have grown resentful of the North.

Now Westeros was united and she was leading them as a Queen, with Jon standing by her side as her King.

This was not supposed to be the way! he thought angrily as he then began to focus on the future outcome of the war.

He saw them win. In a much different way than they would have. Bran would be saved from the Night King's wrath, and yet he'd rather be killed than face the future he saw. A future that made him sick to his stomach, a future that now played out in his visions as if it was set in stone.

He would be sent back North of the Wall, even though the Wall was no more. He would be exiled back to the cave that Bloodraven had been sent to, his powers all but gone as they would be transferred to Rickon. He would become nothing but a sore memory to Westeros, a stain of history instead of the King he was supposed to be, while Daenerys and Jon would rule together, surrounded by their loving family. With dragons by their side and the new Three-Eyed Raven at their beck and call, there would be nothing that would be impossible for them to accomplish.

This cannot be my fate! This will not be my fate!

You let your feelings and your ambitions cloud your mind. You have been chosen to be a vessel for the Old Gods magic, not to use it to your gain. I learned this the hard way and you shall come to understand this too. Bloodraven's voice rang out in his mind as the memory of their last conversation now played out once more.

Weak. All of those who preceded him had been weak. They could have prevented wars, could have done things to make the world a better place, yet they refused to interfere. It seemed that Rickon would now follow in their footsteps and Bran would not let this happen. He would set the world straight, with no more wars and nothing but prosperity under his rule. For as long as he would live, he would show the Old Gods that their power should be used for the betterment of the world and of those who believed in them. That it should not simply be stored in vessels as something shameful to use.

Part of him was hesitant in putting his plan into motion, especially at this time of the battle, but his talk with Tyrion before he had run to hide in the crypts had strengthened his resolve.

" Queen Daenerys has been accepted by everyone because of her strength and her dragons. They fear her and they admire her. You said it yourself, her only weakness now is her love for Jon Snow. If you cannot break her away from him, then you have to break him."

" He is Baelon Targaryen now."

" And you are the Three Eyed Raven. You know everything, don't you? If someone is able to find out someone's weakness, that someone would be you. Find it, and use it to your advantage, Your Grace."

He had sought out Jon's weakness and had found it easily. Though it had then taken some convincing on his part to move the pieces to where he wanted them to be. Bran came back to his body and almost balked as his sister's worried gaze looked straight into his unfeeling eyes.

"What happened? Is Jon here? I think I saw the dragons, but…"

"They are. Though I worry about their safety," he said, making Arya frown.

"Why?"

"The dragons are tired. They will need to land soon, and when they do, they will have to face the dead."

"What can we do?" Arya asked concernedly.

"The wolves. They will need the wolves to clear the way for them. Soon the dead will breach the gates and they will then have their chance to get to Jon and Dany."

Arya turned to look at Nymeria, a silent conversation taking place between them, and Bran sighed with relief when he saw the Direwolf running out from the Godswood and towards the keep.

He looked to his left where Theon stood, and then he nodded in his direction.

"You're a good man. Thank you," he said, sealing his fate and hoping for the best of all outcomes.

Baelon.

Rhaegal was tired, he was tired, and below them, the men who fought were tired too. The dead were not, they didn't tire nor thirst or hunger. They just kept coming and despite the flames that his dragon, Dany's, and Viserion all unleashed upon them, little seemed to have an effect. More than once they'd needed to fly higher into the sky so the dragons could rest somewhat. Had he not been so worried that taking any longer than they did would be devastating to their forces, then by now he'd have bid all three dragons to rest up. Soon he knew he'd have no choice but to do so.

Despite his fatigue, not once did Rhaegal's flames diminish in their intensity. Baelon warged somewhat so that he could tell the green dragon just how very proud of him he was. He knew that Dany was saying the same thing to her other two children and the link he'd forged with Viserion was still open somewhat, which had allowed him to praise the golden dragon too. It had allowed him to stop Viserion from what he'd intended to do after he'd been injured as well, thanks be to the Old Gods.

After completing yet another sweep over the dead below them, Baelon knew that they had no other choice. To keep flying without allowing the dragons to eat and drink, without giving them some time to rest on the ground, was folly. So with a look to Dany, he pointed to the walls of Winterfell in front of him and it was there that he flew. How he fought the instinct to land behind those walls, he knew not. The part of him which wanted nothing more than to see his family was safe was fought down by the part of him that knew he had others to worry about too. So instead, he and Rhaegal unleashed flame after flame at those nearest the walls. They burned as many of the dead as they could and he then had Rhaegal roar out loudly.

It would buy those defending Winterfell some respite. While knowing that they were there and trying to get to them, may give them the strength to hold on. As he was doing that, Dany had Drogon and Viserion do the same to those nearest their army. It would buy them some time and for now that was the best they could offer them. He bid Rhaegal to fly, to seek some water and some food, and as the green dragon did so, he was joined by his brothers. All three dragons flew to the edge of the battlefield and it was to be horsemeat that they dined upon. Some of their horses had almost succumbed to wounds they'd received during their charges and they'd not be recovering nor rising from their injuries. Once he'd landed, Dany did so too and though they were some distance from the battle, they weren't completely out of sight of it.

"Baelon?" Dany asked worriedly wondering if he'd been injured and whether that was the reason they were now on the ground once more.

"They need to rest, Dany, to eat and drink."

"I know but…"

He moved to his wife, taking her in his arms and hugging her tightly to him. Her own tiredness was clear in how she leaned against him and though he knew she'd eaten a little when they were high in the sky, it was her hunger that he now saw too. Horsemeat he found to be far more appetizing than he'd imagined it would be and yet mayhap that was simply because it had been cooked and was warm. All three dragons ate heartily, and he thanked the gods somewhat that they'd lost so many horses while trying not to wonder too much about the fate of their riders.

Dany ate even more hungrily than he had. Though his wife had once eaten a raw stallion's heart, so eating a cooked one was little trouble to her. Baelon kept his own meal to the more fleshy parts of the horse and once he'd eaten his fill, he then moved to the small stream to fill up his and Dany's water pouches. It wouldn't be the last time he'd do so before they flew back to the battle as both of them had a thirst that matched their hunger.

"I wish they could rest for longer. That they could sleep as they wish to do." Dany said sadly.

"As they deserve to do," he added to a weary smile from his wife.

"Are we having any effect at all?" Dany asked after a few moments.

"We must be," he replied.

It was Dany that kissed him, her lips seeking out his own and he very much welcomed the feel of them. It felt as if the weariness that he had been feeling was being taken away and a strength that he'd need for the fight to come was soon filling his body once more. When the kiss finally ended, Dany looked at him almost in disbelief and it was clear she'd felt it too. They spoke no words to each other though, instead it was to the dragons they went and after he'd spoken to Rhaegal and Dany to Drogon, they both met up in front of Viserion.

"I know you want to burn them all, my love. But you must be careful, be wary and be as your brothers are." Dany said as she leaned against the golden dragon's head.

"Do as your mother bids. We will see them all fall, on that I vow," he said firmly and Viserion let out a loud roar of approval at his words, it was one soon joined by two more and with a softer and much quicker kiss to his wife's lips, they both then moved to begin the battle anew.

It wasn't just him and Dany who'd gotten a second wind. The Dragons had needed the food and water just as he'd known they would and it now helped them greatly. Baelon was sure that the flames themselves were stronger and more powerful and he began to believe that the tide had finally turned. When the spears came their way, each of the dragons easily avoided them and answered with more and more flames.

The cavalry had charged once more and he was sure that he could see gaps appear in the enemy's ranks where once there had been none. Closing his eyes, he sought out Ghost and found him by Rickon's side, though before he could speak to his brother through the white wolf, something forced his eyes to open and made him look below. He saw it before it happened and though he tried to get to the dead that surrounded the group of Free Folk that had been cut off from the rest of the army, he knew it was to be in vain. From atop Rhaegal's back and flying as fast as he could towards them, he watched as men and women he'd fought side by side with at Hardhome, now met their deaths at the hands of the dead.

The last of these to fall brought a tear to his eye. Nessa had been someone he'd been happy to name a friend. She'd spoken up for him often and had wished him well when he and Dany had announced they were to wed. A fierce and true Spearwife if there had ever been one, she reminded him of Ygritte in many ways. Proud, loud, and full of good humor, and to his great horror and sadness, he now had to watch as she was almost ripped apart by the Wights that surrounded her. It made him feel like a failure, useless, a king undeserving of his crown. She had knelt and named him as his king and what had it gotten her but a death that should have been avoided. A death that placed even more blood on his hands.

"Dracarys," he said and Rhaegal felt his sadness and his fury, his flames covering every single Wight that had played a part in Nessa's death and in the deaths of those she had fought with.

Baelon took no comfort in their falling. Nor in ensuring that Nessa and the Free Folk who'd died with her would not rise again. As Rhaegal listened to his words and brought flame after flame to those beneath him, Baelon took no comfort at all. At what point he heard the voice in his head, he knew not. Only that he felt it taunting him, naming him the failure he was, telling him that this was a pointless war that he was fighting and that he was fighting on the wrong side.

Join Me.

Unite with me and together we'll right the wrongs of a millennia.

Join me and save some of them.

Join me and I'll allow some of them to live.

I'll allow her to live.

He looked below him and saw more and more of their army fall. Ahead of him, Winterfell looked as if it was ready to be breached and Dany was nowhere in sight, which for the briefest moment made him panic. It was Rhaegal that removed that panic from him. The Green Dragon showed him that his wife and her children were safe and well and were bringing the fight to those below. When he banked to the left, Baelon felt his hand fall to his sword and for some reason, he felt the need to unsheathe it.

Dark Sister was a thing of beauty. Its slender blade rippled and seemed to be aflame until he realized that it was Rhaegal who was bringing the fire to bear on those beneath them. Holding it aloft in his hand though, he felt something call to him. An image came to mind of the sword being wielded and of his ancestors as they did so.

Visenya beating Aegon in a spar and the Conqueror accepting his loss with grace.

Maegor cut down any who stood in front of him, long before he became the cruel king he later turned out to be.

The Conciliator who rarely wielded the blade for true and yet who wore it as proudly as any.

His namesake Baelon the Brave as he cut down a thousand Myrish men to avenge the loss of his brother.

The Rogue Prince waited at Harrenhal and cut a sash in the Weirwood for each of the four and ten days he stayed there. Then he jumped from Caraxes' back and drove his sword through Aemond's blind eye.

The Dragonknight wielding the sword as he fought for his sister's honor and as did so when he died saving his brother's life.

Finally, he saw Bloodraven and though he bore the sword on his hip, in his hand he carried the Weirwood bow.

" This was my weapon of choice." Bloodraven said holding up the bow "This I bore knowing that I was to protect it for you. Bare the steel, Baelon Targaryen! Lead your men forward! It's not atop a dragon you'll win this war!"

His eyes opened and all else was lost to him but the thoughts of what he must do. Rhaegal knew his mind and was more than reluctant to take him where he wished to be and yet he did as he bid. They flew to where Dany was and he pointed high in the sky, Drogon and Viserion soon followed when Rhaegal began to climb high. Whether she heard his words or not, he couldn't tell, but she did watch him as Rhaegal landed and then flew back to her. That she didn't immediately land to scold him or to demand he not do what he was about to, he hoped meant that she had understood what he'd said.

It was Benjen that came his way first, his uncle wielded a flaming Morningstar in one hand and held the reins of a spare horse in the other.

"I heard you call for me, nephew."

"It's time to end this war, uncle," he said as he climbed up on the horse's back.

As he rode he felt it, the call coming to him from further away and it almost stopped him in his tracks. He looked to the grey walls in the distance, closed his eyes, and offered a prayer to the Old Gods and to R'hllor to protect his pack. Baelon hoped that would be enough to stop the worry that he now felt growing in his heart for his kin. There was a danger to the pack, more pressing and true than the danger they all were facing and though he wished to protect them from that danger with all that he had, his place was not there.

"It takes a king to kill a king and so it falls to me. I'm coming for you and I will end you," he said under his breath and then he bid his horse charge as he rode into the battle itself.

Arya Stark

A fool. She was a damn fool.

She should have known, should have seen the signs and pieced things together.

She had felt uneasy in the Godswood and was too distracted to listen to her instincts. Arya had put her uneasiness down to Theon's presence, knowing that the fight was getting closer and that her family was being targeted.

She also could feel Nymeria's emotions, her desire to protect her pack as much as her sister who only had two feet, and it echoed her feelings so much that she almost thought it was the same. She was scared for the wolves, scared for her family, and scared for the Stupid Bull that she had fallen in love with.

She hadn't dared ask Rickon if Gendry was unharmed. For she'd not wished to show more of her involvement with him to her little brother who would no doubt pester her with questions that she wouldn't be able to answer. She didn't want to think too much of him either, as a distraction would make her lose track of her mission and have dire consequences for her or Bran.

But distracted she had been and she was now paying for it.

Theon. He had taken Theon's face to get closer to her and her family. The Faceless man had bided his time to strike the moment she was at her most vulnerable. How long had they been there? she wondered. She cursed that she had been too lost in thoughts of the upcoming war to realize the threat Theon, or the Faceless Man wearing Theon's face, had been. She hadn't seen the danger he posed, as her feelings for the man prevented her from spending time with him. They hadn't been near Ghost and Nymeria either, and Arya had previously mistaken Nymeria's discomfort near them for the one her wolf always had when she was too close to Bran.

"Now that we know you are not Theon, you can show your true face."

"Does his face disturb you? A man thought so," he smirked and Arya shivered as she realized now who it was that was facing her.

She had feared it would come to pass, that they would send Jaqen H'ghar after her to punish her for leaving the Order. She had prayed she would not see him again, for she had no desire to end his life after he had saved hers all these years ago. She had felt indebted to him for a long time and so it had then been a weakness the Order had sought to exploit. Had she been the same person that she was before going back to Winterfell, then it might have worked, but she wasn't and she had much more to lose now.

"Well played. Very well played." she spat as she parried a blow to her side with part of her staff while detaching the other part to strike back at him.

"Impressive weapon. Was it a girl's idea, or her lover's?" Jaqen asked, making her lower her guard as her thoughts immediately went to Gendry.

The pain in her jaw quickly put her focus back on the fight, and she rolled to put as much distance between them as she could.

I cannot let myself get distracted…

"Why? Why now?"

"A girl has stolen from the Red God. A girl has taken faces that were not hers to take, used magic that she forswore the right to when she stopped being No One. A girl owes the Many-Faced God and he demands his due." Jaqen answered simply, his voice sounding as monotonous as Bran's while Theon's face that he wore bore no expression.

"Couldn't you have waited for us to win the war against the dead before you sought to kill me?" she yelled, angry at the man who had been her mentor and frustrated at the situation she had found herself in.

"A man cares not for this war. Only his mission, no matter the cost." Jaqen said, turning to Bran and nodding in his direction, making her move to her brother instinctively to protect him.

Images of Theon talking to her sister and to her brothers came to her mind, and once again she wondered how long it had been since the Ironborn had passed. Seeing Bran from the corner of her eyes watching them impassibly, she felt a pang in her chest as he nodded back to the man.

He knew.

Why? Why would he let it happen? Why didn't he warn her?

The reason was obvious and it broke her heart. Her little brother wanted her dead.

She narrowly avoided a slash to her torso and quickly stopped thinking, focusing instead on the threat to her life that was Jaqen H'ghar.

"Doesn't the Many-Faced God see the dead walking? Haven't you seen them? Is not your duty to give them the Gift?"

"These dead things are truly dead, Arya Stark. They are with the Red God already. Their bodies are mere puppets to the thing you call the Night King. Empty vessels. This thing's war against you doesn't concern the God of Death."

"How about the many lives he has taken? Were they on His list? Those who died today?" she asked, rolling away from another strike that would have gone straight to her gut had she not done so.

"You will have to ask the Red God when you stand face to face with him."

She quickly realized that she had never truly fought Jaqen before. Not even during their spars had he been so relentless. He was clearly driven by his mission and she could feel herself grow tired. Being on the defensive never went in Arya's favor, whether it had been with the Waif or in life in general. Running away only ever made her more vulnerable to attacks whilst facing her foes head-on had always worked best for her. She needed to be the one in charge of this fight and not wait for an opening to strike.

If only she could destabilize him like he was doing…

"Why did you let me go? You had to know that someone would have to kill me sooner or later. Why didn't you do it back in Braavos?"

"Because it wasn't your time yet."

"Or you don't want to do this. You wanted me to go home. You knew about my list, yet you said nothing. You did nothing."

"Small talk will not distract a man, Arya Stark."

"Aren't you a bit frustrated? Disappointed? You brought me to become No One, you trained me, and you failed." she tried to rile him up.

"I didn't fail. My mission was to make sure a girl would be safe and brought to the House of Black and White. What a girl decided to do after was always of her own volition."

"Your mission?" she frowned. "So you were there on purpose?"

"Why else would a Faceless Man let himself get captured?"

"It was all a ruse? A game to get to me?" she insisted, feeling her anger grow.

His smirk made her understand that it was exactly how he expected her to react. He knew her well, too well, and her desire to know the truth about her place in the world would lead her to lose focus.

She thought about calling Nymeria, but she could feel the Direwolf's anguish from afar and knew that she would be by her side if she could. She then remembered her brother and what he was capable of. She could not beat Jaqen fair and square and she needed something to distract him. Anything.

"Bran! Do something!" she pleaded. "Help me!"

"I'm sorry, Arya."

Tears blurred her vision as she realized what her brother's words implied.

" I will stay and protect Bran in the Godswood while you and Arya -"

" No. You should go with Sansa, brother."

Bran knew everything and he had played her so she could be alone with him. He knew what would happen and deliberately told her about Jon so she would send her companion away. There was no way that Jaqen would have risked fighting her if Nymeria had been there by her side and so Bran had made sure that she would not be.

Why? Why would he do that to her? Was it because he hated her and he wanted her dead?

A stabbing pain gripped Arya's flank and she gasped before kicking her opponent and putting more distance between them. Panic began to overwhelm her as she felt blood flowing out from the small gash that Jaqen's dagger had left on her side. She was truly alone and she was surrounded by enemies.

Rickon was right. That thing isn't our brother anymore.

Her feet touched one of the weirwood's roots, making her almost trip while Jaqen advanced on her.

"You fought well, Arya Stark, but the time has come for you to accept the Gift. Do not fight it. Embrace death as your punishment for the sins you have committed, and as a reward for having served the Many-Faced God well."

Arya's panic was getting uncontrollable. She looked around desperately, searching for a means to get away from Jaqen, from Bran, and from the fate they both wanted for her. She had so much to live for, so many things to do for herself, for her family, she could not just give up on life.

What do we say to the God of Death? she heard a voice in her head as a calming breeze caressed her cheek

"Not today…" she whispered instinctively, glaring at Jaqen before seizing the root and feeling her mind fly away from her body.

It was different from when she shared Nymeria's mind, but she welcomed it all the same. The animal had answered her cry for help as Rickon had told her they did when he needed it. That it was a cat, only added to the irony and it wasn't lost on her either. She quickly ran and jumped on Jaqen's back, pleading with the cat to hold onto him for dear life while she would end her mentor thanks to her help. She could feel his surprise as he struggled to make the cat move away from his back and Arya smirked as she got back to her own body Once there, she wasted no time in taking the hidden dagger she had in her boot and aiming it straight into his heart.

It was Jaqen's turn to gasp as she relentlessly stabbed him. Her only goal was to make sure that he would not survive the wounds she inflicted on him. Her stare never left his face and she could read surprise, sadness, and resignation in his expression. It was too much for her and she grabbed his face when his knees buckled before he then fell to the ground.

"You won't need this anymore." She spat.

"I will… See you… Soon…" he managed to say before breathing his last.

All the emotions swirling into her head made her feel weak. She had so many questions, so many thoughts in her head now that Jaqen was dead. The threat from the Faceless Men was far from gone, she knew that, but first, she had another enemy to deal with.

"You…" she growled as she walked toward Bran who was staring at her with something akin to fear.

"You don't understand."

She was about to yell at him when she felt it. The cold was seeping through her and embracing her as a voice, though not the same as before, rang out in her head.

He betrayed you. He will do the same with the others.

"I had no choice." Bran's voice sounded distant to her.

End him…

"Had you stayed how you were supposed to, then none of this would have happened!" Bran yelled as she got closer.

End him now and join me, Arya Stark.

The cold was too hard for her to fight. Not even her freshly fueled anger could keep her from being consumed by it.

"ARYA!" Her vision blurred and she collapsed as she heard the anguished voice of her little brother. Her true one and not the thing that wore Bran's face as wrongly as the servants of the Many-Faced God wore theirs.

Memories then flashed through her mind of her loved ones, and of the good times she'd spent with them. She saw herself playing around with Rickon. Laughing with Sansa when they had finally reconciled. She could almost feel Jon's comforting hugs and how he mussed her hair. While her lips tingled as she felt Gendry's kisses. She knew what it meant and it broke her already bleeding heart.

Rickon… Jon… Sansa… Gendry… I'm sorry…

A heartbreaking howl rang out across the grounds outside Winterfell. Loud and haunting and it shook her to the core as she breathed out her last word before she finally surrendered to the cold.

"Ny… me… ria…"