(The first pov takes place before the events in the Godswood with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Before Dany was saved by the wolves. The others after it).
Winterfell 304 AC.
Lyanna Mormont.
Her heart felt heavy, her arms and legs ached, and she could clearly feel the exhaustion winning over her mind. Yet she could not yield her position. Not because of some misplaced pride as some would probably think, but because she had to be there. She would not, could not rest knowing that her friends were fighting, that her king was fighting. So she might as well stay and be useful.
Reluctantly, she gave her place and her spear to Talia Forrester at the front of their lines, while she lit those who had fallen from their ranks on fire. Once they were ablaze, she pushed them back over the wall that the dead were trying to climb, seeing that her friend lacked the strength to do so herself. Their side was weak and they knew it, felt it more clearly as the hours went by, yet they stood unyielding facing the enemy who piled on top of each other to get to their targets. For she was now certain that it was Rickon that the Wights were trying to reach.
The King in the North stood and fought by their side. Rickon was fierce and unwavering, with the presence of the dragons undoubtedly helping to boost his and their morale. No matter how many times the waves of the dead came crashing at their feet and climbed to their walls, they had been able to repel them. Even when she had at first feared that the pile of corpses would help their foes climb more easily. All it had taken was one round of dragon flames to be enough to render them to ashes.
She knew it would be hard, she had been warned by Rickon and Lord Davos many times, yet the reality of this war was much more horrible than in her wildest nightmare. When she saw the horde of Giants tearing through the Wolfwood with millennial tree trunks in their hands as if they were the sticks she used while sparring with her friends, she feared they were done for.
"Brace yourselves," Rickon said through gritted teeth. "These fuckers won't be easy to kill."
When she was younger, she always wondered why the walls of Winterfell were so high. Higher than any other keep she'd seen anywhere in the North. That had been before she had met WunWun, the giant who was following Baelon Targaryen when he was still Jon Snow. She remembered the ease with which he broke the gate to get inside Winterfell. How many arrows had been shot at him until Ramsay Bolton managed to put him down for good? She knew not. The ground shook the closer they advanced on them, and nothing they had tried to stop that advance was working.
"We're screwed," she whispered.
"Whatever you do, stay on this Wall," Rickon yelled to their party before addressing those in the courtyard. "If a gate is breached, climb to the nearest parapet and fight them from above! The Walls have been built for this!"
The men nodded to their King and she focused her attention back on the upcoming giants. The curse Talia let out would have made her laugh in normal circumstances if she hadn't been contemplating cursing too. There were at least a dozen giants and no amount of arrows shot at them slowed their pace. Worse, they were quickly running out of Dragonglass and ironwood arrowheads.
"We'll try to get these fuckers when they'll get closer. Brace yourselves, it won't be as easy as what we've done before." Rickon said.
"Easy? This was the easy part?" Ned Umber whined. "We've been fighting for days!"
"Now's not the time to complain, Ned. We need to stay focused."
"Aye. I'm sorry, Your Grace."
She felt the cold getting stronger as the storm over them intensified and then the flames from torches made of ironwood started to flicker.
"Make sure we have all the fire we need to fight these things!" Rickon ordered and she watched as Talia and Ned ran to the main fire with a few torches to see to their king's will.
The violence and shock of the collision between the first Giant and the gate made her knees buckle. She watched helplessly as some of her men fell over and got trampled by the giant corpses. Then in horror as the rest of the dead swarmed inside the keep. Her instincts kicked in and she grabbed her bow. Using the last of her arrows, she had to aim at those she knew would fall and she prayed to the Old Gods to be given more strength.
Chaos surrounded her, the controlled environment of the siege behind the closed gates was all but forgotten as each and every one of them now truly fought for their lives. Panic swept her heart when she realized that she couldn't see any of her friends. Each moment she tried to look for them was a moment she risked her life in doing so. So for now, she resolved herself to speak another prayer to her gods for their safety.
The only thing reassuring her was the voice of her king rising above the chaos to give their men courage.
"Keep fighting!"
"Do not give up!"
"Let these fuckers do what they want to the Keep, but do not let them approach you until we find a way to defeat them!"
His last order was relayed through her to the men who were further away, and she was pleased to see them get out of the way of the giants who were destroying some useless settlements. Throughout the fight, she noticed something strange. While the mindless horde of human Wights was fighting them, the giants only killed those in front of them. They seemed to be focusing instead on the walls and hurting those who stood in their way.
What in the seven hells are they doing?
"They're trying to open the way up to more Wights!" One of her men said out loud.
"No, these walls don't lead to the outer parts of Winterfell." she pointed out before her blood ran cold. "SHIT!"
The Godswood.
Dread washed over her weary body as she realized what they were doing. They were trying to get to Bran Stark, as Rickon had told her a few days prior.
" If they manage to get inside, there may be a chance they try to get to the Godswood. We have to protect it as much as we can." he had declared while they ate together, taking a few moments of respite before resuming their position.
" Because your brother said they would be after him?"
" Because I saw that it is the truth. The Night King can sense Bran. He is obsessed with him."
" Why is that?"
" I don't know, but as much as I hate it, leaving Bran in the Godswood might be our only chance to draw the Night King out in the open for us to kill him.
" So, we'll have to protect him until the Night King decides to come out?"
" That is the plan."
"Rickon! They're making for the Godswood!" she yelled, not waiting for an answer to spring into action.
She ran towards the roof and leaped, barely keeping her balance on it as she could feel the effects of the giants ramming onto the wall ring out through her whole body. She thought about finding a way to distract them, to capture their attention, yet once again her king had her beaten. She watched in wonder as some of the wolves, led by Ghost, rushed to push the giants further away from the walls. They didn't stay in place long enough to give their foes time to hurt them, but enough to keep them busy and prevent them from reaching their target. Soon more men from the North, to Lyanna's relief, decided to join the pack and the tactics they'd set in place.
She glanced at the situation from above and stifled a relieved sigh when she spotted the Knights from the Riverlands join them in battle. Lyanna knew about Lord Edmure and his men staying to protect Sansa. Although she hadn't bought into the horseshit that Rickon had served her about the Lady being his heir should something happen to him as the others had. If Rickon and Bran were both targets for the Night King's minions, then all who got Stark blood would be too. She skilfully jumped to the group, grunting with pain as it took her two times to get back on her feet, and then she joined the line in pushing back the giants, using the wolves' tactics.
She heard her king curse once again and turned to him to see that Nymeria had come to him. She knew what it meant, someone from their family was in danger and it was more than likely Arya. With a look at Ghost, she watched as he and Rickon nodded to each other, and then, much to her surprise, they both ran in opposite directions.
"Rickon! What is it? What is happening?" she said, rushing to his side.
"Jon and Dany are in danger. The wolves will be protecting them, and I need to relieve Nymeria from her duty so the wolves can help Jon and Dany," he answered between two fights.
"Let me come with you."
"You can't. I need you here to watch over our men."
"But I'm not the King, Rickon -"
"Aye, You are Lyanna fucking Mormont, the She-Bear of Bear Island, the truest Lady in the North and the only one I trust in keeping me and the North safe. I trust you with my life, and I definitely trust you with being able to lead the North as my second in command," he said, his bloody face close to hers and his hand on her shoulder making her shiver.
"But"
"Promise me not to get yourself killed, and I promise to do the same. When all of this is over, I'll make it up to you."
She wanted to deny him, but she also couldn't. She knew they were friends, but he clearly said she was the person he trusted the most in keeping his realm safe. There were no words, no compliment stronger than the one he gave her, and the flutter in her weak heart almost made her rage at his hold on her.
"You always say that," she grumbled.
"And I always mean it! I" he yelled back to her before running to the Godswood, making her roll her eyes.
"This, my friend, this is the highest praise a king can give someone." Ned Umber butted in. "If I didn't know better, I would think he was courting you!"
"Oh, fuck off, will ya?" she groaned, not in the mood for more teasing and focusing back on the giants, even though she could feel the flutters still there. "We need to eliminate those bastards, and fast! For our King, they shall not pass our ranks, do you hear me?"
"AYE!"
"FOR KING RICKON!"
"FOR THE NORTH!"
The wolves weren't there to protect them anymore, nor was Rickon and his magic, and they had slashed and stabbed at the giants as much as they could, to no avail. They were getting exhausted until they felt the soil tremble and a cheer rose from behind their ranks.
"He got it! The Lord Edmure got a giant!" someone claimed, making her frown.
"How? How did he do it?" she asked breathlessly.
"We don't know, my Lady. Just that he did it."
The answer annoyed her greatly. She needed more than that. She needed to find out quickly how to end them. For she felt her men would not last long circling their enemies.
Her body moved mindlessly, fighting twice a battle, slashing at the Wights who dared to slow her progression to the answer she needed so much and willing her exhaustion to go away.
"LYANNA! WATCH OUT!"
She didn't register the pain until she stopped tumbling and her mind finally focused back on her surroundings. Her head and back hurt, and one of her eyes could barely open. She could feel blood sipping from the corner of that eye, obstructing her view even more.
Then she saw it. The beast she was trying to defeat, and her heart almost stopped when she heard the scream of the one who it seemed had saved her life.
"No… No! Leave him alone, you fucker!" she yelled as despair took over and she used her daggers, hoping it would make it loosen his hold, to no avail.
Tears flowed from her eyes as the scream became excruciating and unbearable. She could imagine his bones cracking under the pressure of the giant's hold.
I have to get him out of there!
She resolved herself to climb onto the thing, hoping her two daggers would be solid enough to do the trick and that her friend would hold onto life just a little longer.
She was halfway through her plan when he looked at her and shook his head, his painful smile hurting Lyanna even more than the screams he had let out before.
It should have been me.
If only I had minded my surroundings…
She could see from the way he was squeezed that he had no time left. She saw him use the last ounces of strength he could muster to hold his dagger firmly in his hand. His arm lifted up shakily and with another yell, a resolved one that broke her heart, he stabbed the giant thing right in its eyes.
" If I die, I hope that it would at least be while making the North proud" she could remember him saying as she grabbed her daggers and jumped away from the falling giant.
You did, my friend. You gave the North a chance to survive…
"The eyes! Aim for the eyes!" she yelled with renewed vigor, taking no time in searching for a bow and arrow from the battlefield.
She bit back her tears, knowing she couldn't dwell on his death. She had lost far too many people she cared about already. Yet there were still more that depended on her to be strong.
The North remembers. It will remember Ned Umber's sacrifice. And I will remember how my friend saved my life. She thought as she saw another giant fall.
"FOR NED UMBER! THE GIANTSLAYER!" she cried out loudly as she lined her shot up and let the arrow fly.
Sansa.
They had entered the courtyard into a scene from the seven hells. Around them, it was chaos as men and women fought things that could no longer be named as such. While they'd faced few true fights on their path through the crypts, once they left them, they very much did. In front of her, Sandor fought like ten men and his fury and anger were a righteous thing to see. Behind him, she'd not been idle and had taken down more than one Wight. Yet still, they came and their numbers seemed never-ending to Sansa's eyes. Never tiring too, much to her horror.
For while she felt the sweat on her brow and her arms grow weak, the dead just carried on with nary a thought to rest or respite. Eventually, through some combination of effort and desire or mayhap more truly to simply good luck, the numbers thinned and she was able to take a breath at last. She used the time to look around and search for her brother and sister or even a familiar face, only to find no sight of the former and few sights of the latter. When Sandor handed her the water pouch, she drank from it thirstily and welcomed the coolness of it as she swallowed it down. No sooner had she done so than the fight was upon them once more. This one looking to be even more beyond them than the last.
Again and again, she drove the Catspaw into whichever part of a Wight's body she could. The Valyrian steel seemed to need even less purchase behind its blows than the Dragonglass dagger that she held in her other hand. Once more the numbers thinned and she welcomed the respite, brief though it was to turn out to be. At what point she heard the sound of the footsteps that were like thunder or heard the shout that named those who made those sounds as giants, she knew not. Only that it was true and there were giants among those they fought against and death loomed largely over her.
"We need to fucking move now!" Sandor shouted and she didn't argue with him for once, instead doing as he bid while shouting at others to do the same.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
Despite there being nowhere for them to retreat to, she called out for them to do so regardless. At what point she saw the horses and who was on their backs she wasn't certain. Nor did she truly understand what it was that her uncle and his men had meant to do. She and Sandor along with some others had managed to move some distance from the fighting and path of the giants, though they were far from being in a position of safety. It allowed them a more clear look as Edmure led those with him on a charge through the dead things' lines and then came out unscathed on the other side.
Sansa wished to cheer loudly and felt a sense of pride in her uncle that she'd not felt thus far in her time knowing him for true. Yet the dead allowed for no such moments and soon enough she was once again in a fight for her life. This time it was a far shorter one than before as Edmure and his fellow Knights of the Riverlands charged through the dead and to her rescue. It was as far from her dreams of a gallant knight unhorsing his opponent in a tilt while wearing her favor as could be. Yet her heart soared as she watched her uncle prove himself just as true and noble as she once thought the knights at the Tourney of the Hand to be.
She offered him as much as she could with a look that she hoped told him that she was both proud and grateful for his help. Then she looked on as he formed his men up to ride once more. It was as he was in the midst of doing so that she saw the giant move her way and felt Sandor grab her by the arm. When she saw her uncle ride towards it, she called out for him to retreat to safety. Her words went unheard in the din of battle and as she was half dragged away by Sandor, she watched as her uncle was unhorsed with a sweep of the giant's hand. To her shock, the giant itself fell with her uncle's lance buried just shy of its knee.
"UNCLE EDMURE!" she called out as her tears threatened to fall.
"Has ridden his last ride, Wolf Girl," Sandor said and though she wished to go to him and prove her protector wrong, she knew the words he spoke were true. Most of all, she knew that now was not the time to mourn for that last child of Hoster Tully.
Truth be told, seeing Edmure fall only made her worry even more for the rest of her kin. So with Sandor and the few others that had gathered around her, she now moved off in search of Arya and Rickon or someone who could tell her where they were.
Somehow they faced fewer fights as they moved through the grounds of her family home. They kept to the shadows and fought only when they needed to or if they could offer some aid that wasn't a pointless endeavor. At one point, they passed the scorpions to see them unmanned and surrounded by the dead, Sansa was certain that she saw Lord Davos Seaworth laying amongst them and she tried not to be overly emotional about the older man's death. He'd been a good friend to both her brothers, a true ally to them all, and he would be missed by Jon and Rickon most keenly. She feared he'd not be the only recognizable face that she'd see had fallen here today and now feared even more so for her brother and sister.
When they reached the front lines where the fighting was at its fiercest, they were once again forced to fight for their lives. Sansa found that even as she drove her Catspaw deep into the neck, head, chest, or whichever body part she could reach of those she fought against, her eyes looked both to the sky and to the ground around her. There was no sign of the wolves, none, which worried her greatly as it had been a wolf's call she was sure she'd felt deep inside of herself. In the sky and off in the distance, she could see all three dragons laying down their flames and this both comforted her some and yet worried her too.
For if they were still doing so and things were still so desperate, then did their presence make any true difference at all?
It was a thought she shook from her head when she finally saw someone she felt would be able to tell her where her brother was. Lyanna Mormont fought like a true warrior lady and not the false one that Sansa felt she was. Moving to the younger girl, she had to lash out more than once with both her daggers to clear a path, as Sandor was busy fighting his own fight just ahead of her. Once she was close enough for the other girl to hear and things had calmed enough that the distraction of her voice wouldn't put Lyanna at risk, Sansa called out her question.
"RICKON. Where is my Brother?" she shouted.
"The GODSWOOD!" Lyanna shouted back and Sansa nodded, before stabbing a Wight that moved behind the younger girl and then not seeing the nod of her head that she was given in thanks.
An hour, two, mayhap even three it took before things calmed enough for them to leave the front lines behind and it was only her and Sandor who did so. That they were still holding firm was a remarkable thing and a testament to those who fought there. Lyanna Mormont, Howland Reed, and other good men and women of the North, along with the Princess of Dorne, her sister, and their own men, all held the line. Should they win, they would be hailed as the true heroes and heroines that they were. Should they win that was, as Sansa refused to consider the alternative.
Their path to the Godswood was to their disbelief, one without a single enemy for them to face. She felt a sense of foreboding and would have given in to it were it not for Sandor making her both eat something and drink some water as they moved with nary an obstacle in their way. Surprisingly to her, she was ravenous and she was far from ladylike as she wolfed down the bread and cheese. So much so that she heard Sandor's chuckle and she snorted at him in response.
"The Lady of Winterfell." Sandor japed, bringing what may have been the first true smile to her face since they had left the crypts far behind.
When they reached the gates of the Godswood, that sense of foreboding only grew and looking at Sandor, it was clear that he felt it too. To her relief, he never tried to stop her nor did he let her walk the path alone. As they moved through the Godswood, she wondered why there was no fighting here. Where were all the Wights? The Giants and other things that attacked each and every other part of her family's keep were all nowhere to be seen and while it made their trek an easier one, it created a knot in her stomach that refused to be unwound.
She and Sandor entered the glade to see the giant Weirwood and the dark pool that her father would sit by as he cleaned Ice and contemplated the things that would be on a lord and father's mind. Other than two figures, one sitting in his wheeled chair and the other kneeling over a fallen form, she and Sandor were the only other inhabitants of Winterfell's Godswood. It took her far too long to realize what that meant and as she rushed to her kneeling brother's side, the tears she'd held back until now could be held back no longer.
"NO! NO! NO!"
"ARYAAAAAA!"
She cried out in such pain that she felt the Old Gods themselves could hear it wherever it was they named their home. On the ground beside Rickon lay their sister, blood pouring out of her side and a look on her face that broke Sansa's heart even more. In her chest, near where her heart would be or mayhap exactly where her heart would be, a Dragonglass dagger protruded and as she looked at her brother, she knew what he'd done. Rather than see her rise again, he'd made sure she would it had fallen to a boy as young as he to be the one to do so, further proving just how cruel and unforgiving their lives had become.
"GO! Rickon shouted as she neared him "GO NOW!"
The angered response was on the tip of her tongue and had at least fought away her sadness even if it was but briefly. Yet something about Rickon's eyes and how they glared at Bran, allied to a quick glance to the left of him where she saw what first looked to be Theon and yet upon looking closer, was clearly not, was enough to get her to move away from rather than towards her fallen sister and rising brother.
"GO SANSA! THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU! Rickon shouted and despite wishing to grab him and take him with her, something inside of her made her instead do as he bid.
As he moved towards their other brother, the sky was filled with a thousand ravens and the sound of them cawing made her fearful for Rickon's safety. Yet almost as soon as they did so, as one they quietened and stilled and the air around her and Sandor began to feel charged somewhat. It was his hand grabbing her that truly hurried her away from whatever was going on in the Godswood. Then the sight of Nymeria and Ghost by the gate itself gave strength to her feet and allowed her to race towards them.
Leaving the Godswood and her brother behind, she stepped back out into the grounds of the keep. In her hands she held both her daggers and by her back, Sandor stood ready for her command. They were surrounded by a pack of wolves and on either side of her stood a grey and a white one. Gripping the daggers even more tightly in her hands, she looked first to Ghost and then to Nymeria. The red eyes of one and the golden brown of the other both showed the same resolve she believed was reflected in her own.
"FOR ARYA!" She shouted loudly as she, Sandor, Ghost, Nymeria, and the Wolf Pack all descended upon the dead.
Benjen Stark.
He swung his chain and the lantern at the end of it caught the Wight hard across the chest. The flames took hold immediately and he again thanked Bloodraven and the Children of the Forest for their ingenuity. The larger the group that came near him, the more the flames took hold, and not only did they offer up some heat on this coldest of nights, but some light too. Though to Benjen's eyes, this was a good and a bad thing as it showed the truth of just what it was that they faced.
He was in the thickest of the lines, yet had room to maneuver, for it was needed if he was to use his weapon to its greatest strength. He fought with men of the Watch once more, though there was Free Folk too amongst his ranks and he felt that to be a good and true thing. They never should have been their enemies and against the dead, the only ally that was needed was one that breathed still. Men he'd once have seen dead in the blink of an eye were now men he'd helped save from certain death here today. The Weeper with his long scythe, Tormund Giantsbane with his Dragonglass axe and daggers, and others whose name he knew or cared not.
Yet he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't feel something even more right about fighting with his former brothers in arms. Men like Dolorous Edd, the last ever Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, for he was certain that once this battle was done, so too were the Watchers on the Wall. This had been what they were to truly guard against after all, not Wildlings. Win or lose, the Watch would end this night, and he felt that was how it was supposed to be.
In time, should they be victorious, then his nephew and new Goodniece may seek to create a different order or mayhap they'd not need to do so at all if the threat was truly ended. Swinging his chain once more, he caught a group of Wights and watched them go up in flames, and moved towards Dolorous Edd. who now wielded a Valyrian steel sword with far more skill than he'd known the man to have. He'd told him it had been a gift from his nephew and that had brought a smile to Benjen's face. As had seeing just how happy Jon was in his new life, if not in the circumstances that they found themselves in. In how capable and composed he was as he led men in the war to end all wars.
"How many fucking more of them are there?" Edd called out as he took down yet another.
"More than us, but less than afore," he replied as he moved to stand and fight by Edd's side.
The cheer that went up took them all by surprise and he was thankful for the brief respite in the fighting that allowed him to look for the reason for that cheer. It took him more than a moment to see the three dragons in the sky laying down their flames and a moment longer to realize that only one of them was mounted. Before he'd even had a chance to worry about either his nephew or Goodniece, Edd called out happily and told him what had occurred.
"He's leading a charge. The mad fucking bastard is leading a charge." Edd cried out, the smile on his face a far truer one than Benjen ever remembered seeing there before.
Narrowing his eyes and trying to get them to see in the darkness of the night, he finally sighted the charging horses. At the head of them, Jon rode and rode hard and despite wishing he was still on a dragon's back, Benjen had only ever once before seen anyone ride so well. Memories of a day racing through the Barrows of the First Men soon swamped his mind and of being left in the dust as his sister proved herself to be better than any of them while ahorse. His own smile came unbidden now as he watched her son prove himself to be her match. Though he tried and failed to fight down the sadness he felt that he never got to see them race each other.
"Our King rides to Bring the Dawn. I say we go to him and clear the path." Edd shouted to loud cheers.
It gave them extra strength and motivated them to fight when some of them were probably already on their last legs. Like a wave, they pushed through the dead as they moved to where Jon had ridden. He swung his chain like a man possessed, its flames catching more and more Wights and setting them alight. Beside him, Edd thrust, swung, slashed, and stabbed at anything that came his way. Dead flesh was no match for Valyrian Steel and as they moved, their group became larger and larger. Where once they had been pushed back or held at bay, now it was the dead that gave ground and Benjen finally realized why his nephew had truly left a dragon's back.
They needed this.
They needed to see him fight alongside them.
To see him lead from the front.
To fight with them rather than above them.
To be in as much danger of falling as they were.
While the queen's men would take heart from her bringing the dragons to bear, the armies of Westeros needed a king to lead them from atop a horse or fighting on foot. It was what they were used to, what they knew, and looking around him, Benjen could see that Jon's ride had the desired effect. Morale had been lifted and resolve strengthened and that, as well as Jon's own skills with a sword, was what they needed to win this day.
He'd only just come to this realization when he felt the air begin to chill and looked to see the White Walkers move towards them. These things needed no morale boost or strengthening of their resolve. They simply did as they did and he felt their line now begin to weaken as they cut through men and women as if they were nothing at all. He, Edd, and to his surprise somewhere way off in the distance, Meera Reed, were the ones to step forward and bid the line to hold.
An arrow soon flew from Meera's Weirwood bow and a White Walker fell. Edd pushed forward and ducked as an icy blade tried to take his head from his shoulder, his Valyrian Steel sword hitting home and the ice exploding as the White Walker fell. He moved and swung his flaming lantern, the flames having no true effect on the White Walker that he now fought against, and yet in truth, they were having exactly the effect that he wished for. They allowed him to get closer and closer and when he was finally within reach, he threw the broken Dragonglass at the White Walker's head.
In its panic to not be hit, it moved back and Benjen briefly dropped his chain and took his Dragonglass dagger from his belt. He drove it home and as it had with the White Walkers taken down by Meera and Edd, as it did with others taken down by he knew not who, it took down numerous Wights at the same time. Picking up his chain, he moved to the pile of broken ice and took his Dragonglass dagger up from the ground. After placing it back into his belt, he rejoined the line and listened as Eddison Tollett spoke with an authority that he didn't know the man possessed.
"Our King Leads the Line, We Fight the Fight. Together We Will Bring the Dawn!"
Somewhere ahead of them, her son led the fight that he'd been born to lead. In the sky above, the wife that Jon was never meant to have, led her own armies and brought the flames to the dead below. Off in the distance, his nieces and nephew fought to hold his family home from the dead who wished to take it and their lives from them. As they moved once more into the fray and as the dead reformed ahead of them, Benjen closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the Old Gods. He prayed not for himself nor even for those nearest to him, he prayed for them all. Benjen Stark firstly prayed that they'd Bring the Dawn, then and only then did he pray that he and his family would see the sun rise once more. Swinging his chain once more, no longer waiting for the dead to come to him or them, he spoke so softly that none but those closest to him would hear.
"You'd be so proud of him, Lya. You'd be so proud of your son," he said as they and the dead clashed once more.
Brienne of Tarth.
All her life she'd wished to prove herself in a true fight. To be seen to be the warrior that she so longed to be and to earn her place among those she worshiped. She'd been brought up on tales of great knights who served good and bad kings, who fought against worthy foes, and she had longed to be one of them. It was why she'd put so much time in the yard, why she had left her home and her birthright in search of adventure, and why she'd continually found herself in service to others.
Firstly to Renly Baratheon and though she'd thought him to be a good man and that he'd have made a good king, the more time she'd had to consider things since he passed, the more she was certain he'd be the wrong one for what they now faced. Catelyn Stark was a good woman or so she had believed, yet the more she'd heard about how she had treated Jon Snow, the more she began to wonder just how true that was. Sansa Stark had seemed just as true as her mother and then she'd begun to have her doubts about her too. Though she was relieved to find that those doubts had not been because of a lack of character from the young woman, but because of how confused she had been. Something that was more than understandable given both her age and what she had gone through.
Now, right at what seemed to be the end of days, Brienne finally found herself in service to an honorable man and a just woman. Baelon and Daenerys Targaryen were exactly who the realm needed to guide it through the darkest days it had ever faced. Dark both in tone and in truth, she thought wryly as she glanced at the moonless night's sky above her head. Together they had gathered the largest army the world had ever seen and brought them to face the greatest threat it had ever known. An army made up of people from every region in the realm and one that even had Wildlings, Free Folk as she too had come to know them, fighting with them.
As she cut down yet another dead thing with Oathkeeper, she smiled both at the thought that she had finally gotten all she'd ever wished for and that she had found love along the way too. It was not a thing that she had ever imagined would come to pass and certainly not with a man like Tormund Giantsbane. Yet with her hand on her heart, she could truly swear that she loved the man with all she was and she believed that he loved her too. Cutting down yet another Wight, she looked off in the distance to where her love fought just as fiercely as she did. They'd been parted and she liked it not. So with a new resolve, she began to fight with more ferocity and moved closer to where Tormund was doing likewise.
"The King." She heard a call from behind her and seeing a hand point to her left, she turned her attention in that direction.
Leading a charge on horseback was Baelon Targaryen and it was a glorious sight to see. It invigorated those with her and seemed to give them the energy they had not had. A loud cheer rang out when the three dragons flew in the same direction that the king had ridden in. Their flames cut a swathe through the ranks of the dead army as they did so. Again and again, all three of the dragons passed over the dead army's lines and laid down their flames and the numbers that were ended by them must have been substantial. Still, the dead came forward and she and those she fought alongside readied to meet them.
Moments, Hours, it mattered not as time was irrelevant when you fought in a never-ending night. All you knew was the darkness that was occasionally brightened by the dragon's flames or by the dead catching fire. One moment you'd be fighting against an unrelenting wave and the next you'd have some respite as a White Walker fell or as the dead's lines overstretched themselves somewhat. There was no true rest though, certainly no sleep, and if anything it wasn't the number or the relentlessness of their foes that was the true danger to them losing this battle and this war. It was tiredness that they needed to overcome most of all and that was a foe that none of them was truly a match for.
With yet another brief moment of rest, she drank and ate heartily and looked to see where Tormund was. They were no more than two hundred feet from each other she'd wager, mayhap even less than one and she could see him clearly. For some reason, she'd been able to see him clearly even when they were further apart than that and she knew not why that was. Eating the slightly hard bread, she looked on as her love swung his ax and took yet another Wight's head from its body. Uncouth, somewhat unclean, though he bathed far more regularly since they had become a thing, he was everything she should be repulsed by. Smiling to herself as she drank her water, she soon began to laugh over the fact that where once it was Jaime Lannister that filled her dreams at night, now it was a red-headed Wildling.
"Come, there are dead things that need a true killing," she called out as she and those nearest to her finished eating and drinking their fill.
Where the king was, she knew not. The dragons were much easier to see and as she saw them lay down their flames she realized they were now closer to the walls of Winterfell than they'd been since they had marched out weeks before. They'd made ground, she suddenly realized. Where once they had simply held their line, somehow over the course of the battle, they had gained ground. It made the swings of her sword that much firmer once more and before she knew it, she, those with her, and Tormund were no more than twenty feet or so from each other.
The air turned cold and she, like all of those with her, knew what that meant. Her eyes began to search for the icy figures in the darkness and soon she caught sight of the first of them. To her horror, there was more than one, and as they moved it seemed to be a concentrated attack on their lines. As far as the eye could see in either direction, White Walkers and what seemed to be a sort of guard to guide them to their targets had now begun to move against them.
She heard a cheer ring out as one was taken down by what seemed to be an arrow. Then another as one fell to a sword. Glancing to see where Tormund was, she saw one move towards him and though she wished to rush to his aid, one now moved toward her too. Readying Oathkeeper, she prepared herself for a true fight. Unlike the Wights, their masters had skill and moved as swiftly as any opponent that she'd ever faced before. As her sword clashed with the icy one that the White Walker held in its hand, the night's sky seemed to brighten a little, and had she been able to look to see why that was, then she'd have seen the dragon work as a triumvirate as they laid down their flames as one.
There was no chance for her to look anywhere but at her opponent though and so she focussed all her attention on it. It was not the first White Walker she had faced and as their two swords clashed and each of them parried the other's blow, she vowed it would not be her last. Brienne ducked under a blow aimed at her head and almost caught the White Walker with a quick riposte. She danced out of the way of a particularly vicious strike and came within a whisker of ending the fight as she spun and lashed out.
On and on the fight went with neither of them getting the better of it. She tired, while her opponent did not. Her sword felt heavy in her hands and her steps were more labored and yet she fought on. Out of the corner of her eye, she believed she saw red hair and she then heard a loud cheer of her love's name. Tormund it seemed had won his own fight and she'd never live it down should she not do the same. Forgoing skill for a moment, she began to use pure brute strength and even managed to knock the White Walker back with a shoulder charge. Then she saw the opening and felt the moment her sword took the day, though her victory was short-lived.
"NOOOOO!"
The pained sound came from behind her and it took her more than a moment to recognize the voice that made it. As she fell to one knee, she felt him grab her and stop her from crumbling to the ground. Looking into his bright blue eyes, seeing the concern and hurt that he had for her in them, for a moment she couldn't understand why that was. Only for the pain in her side to then decide to rear its ugly little head.
"NO! NO!, You'll not….I'll not…."
"Tormund….I'm sorry."
"No! NO!" he said and she felt the tears that were falling from his eyes as they landed on her cheek.
"I….I love you."
They were the last words she spoke and she thanked the gods that he repeated them to her before she breathed her last. She had so much that she wished to say to him, to tell him, to do with him, and yet their time together had been brought to an end. There were few regrets that she had as her eyes began to close, few moments that she'd wish for a chance to redo. Seeing a light shine in the distance and hearing the loudest cheer she'd ever heard before suddenly rise up, she was at peace or as close to it as she could be.
'Goodbye, my free man, my love' she thought before she thought no more.
Tormund.
He'd always loved to fight. To fight, to fuck, to drink, and to tell tall tales, that to him was a good a true life. At different times during that life, he'd probably changed the order in which he enjoyed those things, yet the things themselves had never truly changed. So much so that when he wasn't actually busy doing one of them, he was certainly busy trying to make one of them happen. Be it in trying to get between some beauty's legs, searching for Goat's Milk or some other drink to quench his thirst, seeking out a fight, battle, or even a war so he could swing his ax and spill another's blood.
As the fight against the dead entered its who knew what number day, he found that he'd long since passed the point of no return when it came to fighting. It no longer stirred his blood or was something he longed for. If anything, he found he finally wished to know what it was like to know a peaceful life. The dead were relentless, they offered little respite, and other than a few stolen moments to eat, drink, piss or shit, all he'd been doing was fighting. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than a few moments. Tormund was now afraid to close his eyes in the event that he'd find they'd not be opening again. As for the last time he'd fucked….No, he thought with a bright smile on his face, that he still remembered.
"Thank the fucking old gods, Har," he said as he took down yet another Wight.
Above him, the dragons still laid down their flames and the dead beneath them still burned. It gave them some light to focus on and allowed them to see their enemy from further away rather than from close up which had been their only way of truly seeing what it was they faced. The darkness of the long night was not something he'd recommend to anyone and not the best conditions to fight for your very life in. Glancing up, he sighed. Three dragons flew overhead but only one of them was mounted and the truest friend he'd ever known now fought down here with them.
Not with him though and he hated that with all he was. As he hated the fact that it wasn't only Jon Snow who fought without him by his side. For far off in the distance, his beauty fought without him too. Was someone to ask him as to which of them he wished to be alongside, they'd find for the first time in his life that Tormund was somewhat torn. He'd fought with Jon Snow for years now. Had been by his side as much as he could and more than any other than his great white wolf. He still believed to this day that had he been by his side in Castle Black that night, then the cunts who'd killed him would have been the ones to fall. So a large part of him wished to be by his side now too.
Taking down yet another Wight, he looked and finally saw her once again. His beauty, his love, the one-day mother of their giant children. It brought a manic smile to his face and filled him with an energy he knew he had not. His blows became firmer, faster and the dead things that met him or his ax, soon found themselves more than outmatched. He knew it then, knew it for truth in his heart and he felt no shame about it. Knowing how his truest friend felt, he believed that Jon would understand, and not only that, he believed that he'd demand it of him.
" Go to her, be with your love, my friend. Protect her as you would me and know that I'll be there on the day you wed."
" I'll name my firstborn after you, Jon."
" Name him Bael, Tormund."
It was a conversation that took place only in his head. They'd not spoken the words and yet, he was certain that those were the words they'd have shared, had they but the chance to do so. Swinging his ax, he began to move in Brienne's direction. The going was tough and more than once he felt as if just the attempt to reach her would bring about his death. To his great relief, not only did it not, but the lines he'd left behind still held. His absence mayhap missed but not something that had caused them to collapse.
When he felt the cold chill, he knew what it meant and he moved even more hurriedly. His path was blocked by a White Walker and in the distance, shorter now though it was, Brienne too was facing one of them. In this, she was not alone, as it seemed that along the lines more than one of their commanders now faced off against one of the White Shadows. Be it a ploy, a plan, desperation on the Night King's part, or something else, it mattered not. You win or you die, there is no middle ground when it came to a battle, and he had no intent to die here today. Nor to see his beauty fall.
"Come here you fucking ugly white cunt." he shouted loudly as he moved to the White Walker.
Speed and precision met righteous fury and anger. Was this simply a battle of skills, then Tormund was outmatched. Jon could win such a battle. The young Dayne lad too and his Beauty was both skilled and powerful. He was naught but a man who loved a fight and was this all this fight between them was, then he wager it to be one he'd lose. It was not. This thing wished to stop him from reaching his love. It wished to take him from her, to deny him the true happiness that he felt with her and that was his just reward for all he'd lost in this cruel and unforgiving world.
"No, not this day!" he shouted as he ducked a blow aimed at his head.
The White Walker played with him. It had him beat and knew it and so it played with him. They'd moved some and he was closer now to Brienne than he had been and he felt that the thing in front of him wished for her to see him fall. it inflamed his anger even more and he began to swing his ax more ferociously, catching the White Walker somewhat by surprise. Then for some reason that he could not understand, Tormund dropped his ax and ducked down as if to pick it up. As the White Walker moved in for the kill, he grabbed his Dragonglass dagger from his belt and thrust upwards.
"Didn't see that coming did you fucker." he said as the White Walker exploded into a thousand small pieces and somewhere to his left, a number of the dead fell to rise no more.
Picking up his ax, he looked to where Brienne was and saw her as she pushed the White Walker back. Hurrying to offer her any aid he could, he was no more than a few feet from her when he saw the icy sword hit home. In front of her, the White Walker exploded just as the one that Tormund had faced had, yet it brought him no relief. He cried out in a pained shout as he rushed to her side and was soon kneeling by her as he laid her gently down on the icy ground below. He barely heard the words she spoke, knew not what words he answered her with and as he saw the light go out of her bright blue eyes, he felt his heart shatter just as truly as the White Walkers had.
This was not the fate she deserved. They should have taken him and not her. Tormund cursed the gods and their cruelty and held his love in his arms as she breathed her last. His whispered words of love were ones that he wasn't certain she heard and his promises to avenge her were ones she certainly did not. Within moments the dead were upon them once more and while he almost wished to let them take him, just so he could be with her, he wished for vengeance for her more. Picking up Oathkeeper and with his ax in his other hand, he stood up and faced the dead.
"DIE!" he shouted as he lost himself to his rage and agony.
None joined him in his fight, for none could get close to him. He moved like a tornado as he cut down the dead things without mercy. Oathkeeper and his ax both took down Wights equally until there was none close to him. Had it not been for the movement behind him and the man with the torch in his hand, then Tormund would have more than likely charged forward into the lines of the dead, such was the bloodlust that was upon him. That these dead things spilled no blood mattered little to him, for he'd see them all dead for true before he and Brienne were joined once move.
"GET AWAY FROM HER!" he shouted as the torchbearer moved to Brienne.
"We must…"
"GET AWAY FROM HER!" he repeated just as loudly.
Somewhere in his mind, a voice that sounded so much like Jon Snow's told him that this was what had to be done and yet Tormund listened not. He couldn't see her burn, not her, and not like this. She deserved to be honored more. To be treated with all the grace and ceremony that a true hero had earned. Not to be burned by some fool with a torch on a battlefield. That may have been good enough for Tormund Giantsbane, but it was not good enough for his Beauty.
More and more dead arrived and he cut them down as if they were nothing. He was no longer fighting to Bring the Dawn, to save the world, or to see those in Winterfell safe. Jon Snow and his cause were no longer something that he considered as he cut down Wight after Wight. Their numbers may have been unending and relentless but they were no match for his fury and grief. The tiredness and fatigue he'd felt just some hours before was now something that bothered him not. No, he fought for her. Both to avenge her and to protect her body from those who wished to desecrate it. Living or dead, he'd not let any of them near her and so he stood in front of her, ax in one hand and her Valyrian steel sword in the other.
"YOU'll NOT HAVE HER!"
He didn't see her when she rose, as he was in the midst of cutting down those who dared come near her. When he turned and saw those bright blue eyes staring at him, he smiled broadly. The pain when it came was one that took him some time to understand the reason for it. Looking down to see the Dragonglass dagger that had been used to open up his stomach and to see her hand as it gripped it tightly, he knew his end was upon him. Yet as he stared into those blue eyes, he saw not the dead woman she now was but the living one she had once been.
The opening of her door to allow him inside.
The first time they lay together.
Their talks on the future they'd know when Jon Snow and the Dragonqueen beat back the armies of the dead.
The first time she told him that she loved him.
He saw all of this and more, other memories soon coming to him and other faces too.
The She-Bear.
The Young Wolf King.
The Dragonqueen.
Mance.
Ygritte.
Jon Snow.
Yet it was her and her alone that he wished to see and so as he fell to the ground and as the rest of the dead reached him, he pulled her with him. She fought against him and was just as fierce in death as she had been in life. His ax had fallen to the ground and yet his other hand still bore a weapon, one he used not to fight off the dead things that had reached them both.
"I love you, my beauty," he said as he drove Oathkeeper through her back and felt its Valyrian steel blade as if passed through her heart and pierced his own.
Nan.
She could feel him coming, the one who brought the storm. She felt it in her bones, making her tears for her wild girl's demise dry up. He was getting closer to his target and Nan would have shivered if she hadn't known what she had.
Since the moment the magic of his kin touched her, she knew that the Old Gods were watching over this particular line. Mistakes had been made, by men and Children of the Forest alike. Things of which the Gods had disapproved and arranged for justice to be done. The Children of the Forest had paid for their sins, as they should have long ago, and Nan for one would not mourn them. The Bloody Blade's curse was deserved, but his brother's fate was very much not. He had tried to warn them of what would happen if they didn't forget their prejudices against the realms of men and they punished him for simply telling the truth. It was not supposed to go this way, they were never intended to use the power bestowed on them by the Old Gods in ways other than to protect and defend themselves. What they did to Rickon the Pure-Hearted was ungodly and so they had finally reaped what they sowed long ago. The force they unleashed into this world and that would not stop until he had modeled it to his own image still had to be stopped, with or without them.
They had tried to use her Brandon to erase their mistake, but even though his heart was hardened by all the battles he had to fight to unite the North under his leadership, her little boy was not a fool. He had no desire to become a kinslayer and he had hoped that time would make his kinsman see reason.
As for the Children, they went into hiding, hoping that their new Raven would be enough to protect them. They had been unaware that their hubris would create something even more dangerous for the world of the living.
Her heart clenched as she remembered the sweet Bran Stark she'd once known. The one before the bitterness of his condition had made him resent everything and crave more and more power. He could have been a driving force for the North, someone to remind them of who they were when dark times fell over the First Men's legacy. He was to lead the dragons to prosperity. Instead, he chose a path that would lead Westeros to its destruction. Rather than helping, he pitted man against man, kin against kin, all for his enjoyment and his own profit.
She felt the shift in him after he had woken up from his fall. It was not the fact that he could not walk again that had changed him, but rather that his father hadn't waited for his recovery. Ned Stark had decided to take Bran, Sansa, and Arya to the South, to the Red Keep. He'd done so despite the Old God's warnings that had resulted in her daughter getting killed and the gift of her grandsons and granddaughters being bestowed upon his children. She had tried more than once to make Ned see reason and to protect them all from the curse of the South, yet it had been in vain. The Old Gods had then given the Starks a final warning by taking away Bran's use of his legs, but it had been for naught.
Unfortunately, all the boy had in his head was about knights and the opportunity of earning glory in the South. All the while ignoring that he and Rickon had been chosen by the Old Gods to fly on a far different path.
She had blamed herself once, for not being able to prevent his turning. She had done all she'd been able to see him safe and protected, by both of her kin, who had given their lives for him and whom she mourned still. Neither Wyllas nor Summer had deserved their fate. Now she blamed herself for having been fooled by the creature who had stolen their lives so that he could tap into a power that had never been his to take.
He had chosen his own path and had condemned so many innocent to die because of him, including his own sister. Arya's fate was even less deserved, and Nan hoped that this would be enough to show the wolves the truth of things.
Brandon Stark's heart was as dark as the ravens he so loved to force his will unto, and it was long past the time for that heart to stop beating.
"Where are you going?" the dwarf asked her as she walked away from the protective barrier.
"Where I will be of use."
"But the battle -"
"Is about to end soon. Best pray for mercy, my Lord, for you will soon meet my Gods. One way or another, judgment will be passed and the sword will be swung."
She smiled as her answer silenced him, knowing that he would soon need to answer for the crimes he had committed. Her mind wandered to the Dragon Queen, to the other dragon from her pack, while she was making her way from the crypts.
Daenerys was safe, flying on her dragon, seemingly away from any kind of danger, and Nan was relieved to see her do so. Her kin had protected her as they should have, even though Nymeria felt guilty for leaving her sister's side. Nan had needed to point out that they would have stood no chance had it been Daenerys who would have met her end. It did not ease her girl's pain but she didn't blame the Queen either. Instead, her ire was on the one who betrayed them all.
Flashes of their fight to protect Baelon's mate made Nan proud, both of the wolves and the woman. She was as fierce as she should be, fiercer than Nan had ever expected. Her fiery blood mixed with her training by Arya and the people of the North's sides had made her more robust, and Nan could think of none more suited for Baelon Targaryen. Together, they would defeat the Night King and Bring the Dawn, she was certain of it.
She felt the pack coming closer to her and focused on the one with them. Nan looked at Sansa as she walked with the wolves through the courtyard of Winterfell. For so long she'd been anything but a wolf. The North that flowed within her veins as much as it did her sister or her brothers' had been ignored and put aside, all so she could embrace the southern heritage of her mother. Now, here on this day, there was not a single trace of her mother in her other than in her looks. Sansa Stark was finally the wolf she was always truly meant to be and as Nan looked at her, she smiled warmly.
In one hand she held the Catspaw dagger, a long forgotten Targaryen heirloom and even that felt right to Nan's eyes. The Dragonglass dagger she held in the other too was a welcome sight to see. For too long the power contained in the black volcanic stone had been forgotten, not just in the North, but in the South as well. Behind her, Sandor Clegane, The Hound, stood like a sentinel ready to strike down any who came too close. While surrounding them both and led from the front by the white and grey wolves, Nan could see her pack.
While a part of her mourned for the wolves who'd fallen and for the wild wolf girl that had known the ultimate betrayal, Nan knew she could reflect little on their losses. Not unless she wished to see more of her pack fall this day. Closing her eyes, she sent out thoughts of comfort to the youngest amongst the pack. She shared the grief that the white wolf felt about the loss of the girl that his bonded loved so much. To Nymeria, she sent only one message, one word and she knew by the howl that came from her and then from the others in her pack, that she'd been heard.
"Protect" she whispered as Sansa, Sandor, Ghost, Nymeria and the pack tore into any dead thing that dared come near them, Nan leaving them behind as she continued on her path toward the Godswood and the battle within.
She'd reached the gates and now hesitated before deciding whether or not to enter. The darkness contained in the Godswood could be felt from even here and yet, Nan had other things she needed to see. Around her, the battle raged on, though she could feel it coming to its natural end. Victory, defeat, one way or another the next few hours would see one of those things realized. Nan believed it would be the former, that her boys were more than capable of winning their own personal battles and defeating their foes. Baelon and Rickon were true wolves, even if one was just as much of a dragon as well.
It was to Baelon, the Song of Ice and Fire, that she now looked. Her eyes sought him out across the battlefield and she tried not to look down at the dead below. Far too many of the true sons and daughters of the North had fallen here today and more would before the fight was done. Yet as always it was to those with wolf's blood that Nan felt worried the most about it. Though she'd be a liar if she said that she didn't feel comforted to see the young girl of the crannogs wielding her Weirwood bow and taking down both the dead and their masters.
She glanced at Benjen Stark, the Wolf who fell behind the Wall, and felt sad that the last of Rickon and Lyarra's line had come to this. What was to become of him when the Night King's magic was finally extinguished from this world, she knew not. So for now she simply offered up a small prayer that his fate would be a better one than he'd thus far known. Eventually, she saw him as he moved across the field, sword in hand, two protectors at his back, and even from this far she could sense no fear or doubt within him.
He'd come so far from how he'd once been. Had gone through more than any should ever need to go through and yet mayhap it had been what was needed. She believed it not. Nan was certain that had he been given a better life. Had he but known his mother, his true father, then she believed that Baelon Targaryen would still find himself here on this day and would still be the man he needed to be. He was the Prince that was Promised and today that promise would be fulfilled.
An image of his mother came to mind. Lyanna was as fierce and unyielding as any woman she'd ever known. Nan did all she could to channel that fierceness now, to send it to her son, to help him in the fight that was just about to begin. It was a fight that was millennia in the coming, one that no effort of hers, the Old Gods, or anyone else's had ever been able to stop. King against King, man against man, prophecy against prophecy. Only one would walk away from this particular fight and though she felt some sympathy for Rickon the Pure-Hearted, her favor should she ever have been someone who gave one, would always rest on the arm of his opponent.
"Fulfill your destiny, Baelon. Bring the Dawn," she said before she opened her eyes and stepped into the Godswood to seek out the other wolf that held a place deep in her heart.
She could feel the tension in the air as she carved herself a way between the dead ravens, the seizing birds showing her how violently they had met their end and she smiled upon seeing them powerless. They were agents of the Last Raven, unwilling ones, but still under his thrall, and to see them down meant he had found his match.
"It doesn't have to end this way." she heard Bran say.
"You killed Arya! You killed our sister! All for what? For power? To become… King?"
"It was for the greater good. All the Targaryens have done so far is to create more chaos in the Seven Kingdoms. The moment Aegon Targaryen set his sight on Westeros, he doomed our forefathers to a path that led us to be unprepared for the Long Night."
"Baelon is not Aegon Targaryen! He is our family! And we are about to end it! To end the Long Night!"
"The future is unwritten and Baelon is already blinded by his family heritage. He is a dragon now."
"Is this how you want to convince me that Arya's death was necessary? Because I have seen what's in your head, and this is horseshit!"
"No. Arya's death was to happen, but only after she would set out to find what was West of Westeros. That it happened now is an unfortunate consequence of you being alive.``
"Do not put this at my feet! I did not push you to kill her!" Rickon yelled, rightfully outraged.
"You standing in front of me has changed everyone's fate. Had you stayed dead, then Arya would still be alive and our family wouldn't have suffered as it is about to do."
"If you wanted me to die, you should have done so instead of taking Arya!"
"Cursed is the kinslayer, brother. You ought to remember that."
"You are not my kin. Not anymore." Rickon spat, clenching his feet.
"Good. It means that the Gods won't punish me for what I am about to do."
All of her senses were on high alert as she felt a voice in her head, calling for her.
Old Gods, forgive me for breaking the rules, and give me the strength to do what has to be done… Help me avenge my sister and put an end to his machinations. Shall I fail, protect my family and my pack.
As she was about to shred her human skin to answer his plea, she found herself unable to do so. Petrified, she watched as a smirking Bran looked straight into her eyes.
' Oh, no. None of that, Làthair.' he said in her mind, making her shiver. 'It is between my brother and me. The Gods have no place here.'
The pressure in her mind was so strong that she knew it would not take long for Bran to have the upper hand and control her.
She felt a nudge in her mind. A warm and comforting embrace as she was about to give up, and the relief she felt when she found herself free of the pressure in her head was priceless. Looking up, still dizzy from her latest experience, she saw Rickon stand in front of his brother, both of their eyes lost to this world.
"And so it begins… The Second War for the Dawn… May the Old Gods help you, Rickon the Undying. May they help us all."