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RestoredvirgineaChapter 36: Dark WingsChapter Text

36.

Dark Wings.

Winterfell 

Sansa cursed under her breath and let out a weary sigh. She was having trouble with the figures in her book of accounts. No matter how much effort she put into it, she knew that the North was at its weakest. Food stocks were meticulously rationed for the winter ahead but with the coming of the dead, roads and fortresses would be compromised. The North would be reduced to a wasteland. Everyone was taking for granted that Winterfell would fall. What purpose served to keep fighting against the odds when everyone else had already given up hope?

What an utter waste of time, she thought, looking around at the walls of her chambers. 

It was almost the hour of the wolf and three knocks on the antechamber door startled her up. She frowned and thought it strange, if not out of place, to disturb her this late at night. Fraught with worry, she remembered the reckless endeavor in which Jon and Daenerys have once again engaged. Sansa staggered to her feet and tied up her cloak tight, hoping that no further trouble was being caused by those two injudicious fools.

It was not so.

As soon as she was told of it, Sansa rushed into proper garments and hastened a quick pace to the great hall. She felt her heart ball up in her throat in a hard, sharp lump. More emotion swelled within her at that moment than had ever since they'd taken back Winterfell. There in the center of the room, there was a person armored, with his back on her. Her lower lip was quivering and she had to swallow hard.

"Theon..." Sansa said.

***

In what little time he'd spent at the North, Gendry came close to bonding with the folk. They were a stubborn and harsh lot but they were a thought-working people.

Most of his days he'd spend them amidst soot, iron, and fire, but in the late evenings, when he allowed himself to do so, he wandered around Winter Town, mingling among its people. They all have been somewhat on the lookout for the dragons; people who expressed that they feared for their and their family's lives, and those who were eager to have a closer look at them.

A lad whose name he could not remember and who had claimed to see that every waning evening a flock of seven to eight sheep were led down the path to the wolfswood, had said that was where the beasts made their nest, near an abandoned turret. 

That was the passage he decided to explore that night, knowing that King Jon and Queen Daenerys rode two dragons to the Wall. The most beautiful one, the golden one, remained behind. 

Gendry got to see its out-of-the-word beauty under the moonlight. He hadn't expected to also see a little shadowy figure also there, one he was very familiar with, walking toward the beast with a strange if not deranged intent to...hurt the beast. 

He didn't even need to think about it. He stepped up and shouted, "Arya!

***

The dagger slipped from her grip and fell with a muffled thud cushioned by snow on the ground. The dragon let out a noise like a gasp and looked first at Gendry, then at her, and finally at the dagger glinting on the ground.

For a heartbeat, all three stood frozen in time.

But in the blink of an eye, the beast shook off, shrieking and enraged. His glistening gold spines stood on end like her own hair. His maw approached Arya menacingly, his eyes narrowed on her, and as his muzzle began to open to reveal a ring of fire at the back of his throat, Arya swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

Just as she thought the god of death was finally coming to collect his due, then a gust of wind blew across her face and the beast screeched again, this time plaintively. 

Arya opened her eyes and saw that Gendry had climbed onto the dragon's back. As impressive and disconcerting as it was to see him up there, the dragon gave him no chance. 

Shaking like a wet dog, the dragon sent the diminutive form of Gendry yards away from her. Arya rose to her feet at once, without further concern for her own life, and likewise, Viserion turned away, perhaps sluggish from the recent dinner, and sat down again, his back to the meddlesome ones, unconcern for them and their lives.

***

The moment of simple security and happiness she enjoyed in Theon's arms was short-lived, for as soon as they started conversing about his sudden appearance, Maester Wolkan stormed into the Great Hall, reporting that Bran had awoken.

Then Sansa found herself once more running through the castle corridors to her chamber, pausing only for a moment with a starting halt when she heard one of those beasts roar astoundingly. But there was no time for that, she told herself, still staring at the ceiling. No, now she had to make sure Bran was all right.

When she entered her younger brother's quarters, he was already seated and propped up on the cushions. His unperturbed face was tilted toward the fire in the hearth while a servant girl was placing a bowl of hot soup in his lap. Bran acted as if he wasn't really there conscious at all. 

But then he turned to look at her, and Sansa swore she caught a glimpse of emotion in the gesture on his face as if he'd wanted to let her know that she no longer needed to fret over him, that he was all right now. It was reassurance. Void, but it was there nonetheless. 

"Has Theon Greyjoy returned?" he asked her matter-of-factly, giving no further indication that he was well.

Sansa nodded, still dumbfounded. 

"Good. It's happening. The pieces are coming together." Then his countenance darkened with the shadow of emotion. "Although Jon and Daenerys are gone."

Of course, he was already aware of it, she thought. 

"Both should be warned about something. I must tell Jon," he announced, still with her absorbedly standing in the middle of the room. Bran wasn't having a conversation with her, or even addressing her. It was as if he was thinking out loud. "He must know. He must know the truth. But not now. They are not here now. They'll return soon." His eyes fixed on Sansa as if recognizing her for the first time. "Have you seen Arya?"

***

This is by far the stupidest thing she had done in the relatively short span of her life, Arya thought. If she were to find Gendry dead and his body parts scattered in the snow, she would fall on her own sword Needle as punishment for his fate in trying to save her. 

But luckily the snow helped to cushion the blow. His face was stubbly from the blistering cold. Internal damage made the return to Winterfell a real nightmare, and Arya didn't find her own voice nor the voice to explain the actions that started this. 

Occasionally, as a healer stitched up the bleeding wounds that opened up on the skin of his torso and arms, her uneasy gaze would meet Gendry's pain-struck eyes, but no word passed between them. It was like this until a particularly painful stitch made him hiss and shot his hand to grip her arm. 

"Fuck Arya, what a stupid creature you are!" Gendry cursed her, causing the healer in the room to open her eyes wide. Arya, on the other hand, began to laugh.

***

"What does Jon need to know?" Sansa asked Bran, once she had cleared the room and sent Maester Wolkan to make inquiries regarding Arya. Now she lay seated beside Bran with a straight back, her hands folded in her lap and her head held high.

Bran gave her one of those stern looks.

"It's about the Night King. He's changed his plans. I thought I knew about it, but I was wrong," he declared, ever the ominous one.

"Wrong about what?" 

"About his interests."

"And what are those interests?" Sansa pressed a little harder.

Bran took a moment of silence, then spoke again.

"It is not worthy enough matter for you to make your concern." 

Sansa scoffed and looked away. She stood and turned her back on him for a moment, before turning back around and telling him, "You don't trust me either," she asserted, swallowing hard, "None of you do."

"You are the Lady of Winterfell. The only person who cares about the North that will remain if we win the war," he replied.

She drew in a sharp breath but resisted indulging. 

"Now you tell me what I want to hear?"

The knock on the door obstructed his reply. It was the Maester bringing his report on the situation.

"Arya is fine. Not her friend Gendry, the blacksmith, it seems. There may have been an incident with the only dragon outside our walls," Sansa commented aloud, though she took it for granted that Bran was aware of it. "I had better go take care of this matter, it seems its relevance is of sufficient worth to make it my concern," she said, still letting bitterness drip from her words.

"Sansa," Bran stopped her, and for a heartbeat, she thought he would trust her with that secret. But then Bran said, "Rest tonight. The days ahead will be trying."

Castle Black

The mighty winds broke like the shrieks of a beast, swirling the falling snow around them as a deep blackness engulfed them like shadows. Jon had already experienced this sort of relentless inclemency, yet up there on dragonsback, the chilling air dulled him to a dazed state.

Waves of tingles ran down his back as he felt adrenaline coursing through his body, bursting all over. Rhaegal, Jon recognized immediately, was trying to convey his strength and spirit through the rekindled bond between them. When Daenerys and Drogon plunged further down, Jon and Rhaegal followed suit. 

Having agreed to follow her in her impetuous venture, Jon flew to the Wall with a stern foreboding. As they shoved further into the dense mist, they could see the flicker of a small fire growing brighter. The dragons roared and veered off course, crashing down in a hard landing that pushed all the air out of Jon's lungs.

With his vision blurred he could barely see the stark-contrasted figure of Daenerys draped in her white cloak against the black scales of Drogon, gliding off without hesitation, and losing herself in the whiteness of the landscape.

Jon gasped out a curse. 

Daenerys trudged along in silence, with only the crunch of her footsteps in the snow and the cry of the wind in her ears. When she was nearly there she stopped and looked around carefully. Jon hastened behind her in no time.

"This is your plan? To run straight to the Night King?" Jon questioned, obviously irritated. She understood. She herself had been so when they had undertaken that foolish undertaking beyond the wall. Who was she to judge now? falling into the same folly.

"He'll come," Daenerys assured him.

"How can you be sure?"

She looked up apprehensively at her children.

"Because he'd want to collect what it is due," she replied, certain, with her eyes fixed on the dragons. Indeed, Dany believed the Night King would try to get a dragon just like the last time. And it was now that she could get an advantage and catch him unawares. 

But that was a hasty rationalization, she would learn that much later. She and Jon turned to get a closer look at the growing fire in the distance where Castle Black supposedly stood. Not supposedly, Jon thought. It was Castle Black, and it was burning to the ground. 

***

Jaime, a pair of surviving sworn brothers who managed to escape the castle in time, and Tyrion who they were dragging along like dead weight, fell into the thick, white, cold, wet snow as Castle Black burned behind them, the blinding glare of the great fire almost as unbearable as the smoke they coughed out of their lungs. 

Jaime knelt down and looked around. In the distance, he could hear the wails and shrieks of the burning undead. In front of him was the half-scorched body of his little brother. Death and destruction once again enveloped him like a snake trying to choke him to death in order to swallow him whole. 

In desperation, his mind chose to cling to something. Myrcella, Tommen, Joffrey, he thought. Myrcella, Tommen, Joffrey, he repeated again in a soft prayer to himself. Myrcella, Tommen, Joffrey. And so he went on until, looking around, he remembered the names of those with him.

Harnl, Garred, Wessel, Borros, Tyrion. 

He had to save them. He had to fight to his last breath, even if death was inevitable, it was inevitable for everyone. 

Rising to his feet, with a voice shrill with coughing and dryness in his throat, he shouted a command to his men; together, they set off through the forest, away from the fire, away from death.

***

Daenerys understood the risk and still decided to go ahead.

The dragons moved in a subtle sway through the air to Castle Black, or what was left of it, braving the cascade of snow and mist rising in their wake. Her cheeks burned with the kiss of the winter wind, while Jon glanced sideways at her from time to time wondering what was on her mind. 

They risked a landing and Jon watched in bewilderment as the place he had called home for many years burned to ashes before his eyes, dark reflecting the color of the fire.

Daenerys narrowed her gaze in search of movement through the thick dark smoke rising into the sky as opposed to the snow drizzling in the opposite direction. Drogon and Rhaegal shrieked, moments before three shadows came sharply into view.

White Walkers.

Jon and Daenerys drew a breath and the dragons crouched. They rose, taking flight and blowing fire on the walkers as behind them the undead stormed in like a rising wave. 

Fire is not enough, fire will not kill them, Daenerys thought, watching again in horror as nothing happened to those beings. The wights, however, did burn and collapse.

Nevertheless, more and more were coming after a fallen batch. As if their control was merely instrumental, with no independent will.

Slaves. That is what they were.

Then came those bloody ice spears, one of which thrust into Viserion, killing him. Dany's hands closed over Drogon's spines as bubbling rage rose within her.

Drogon's maw opened and he caught one of the spears in time and crushed it between his fangs. Jon, far from lagging behind, dodged one of the making Rhaegal's body swerve up. Dany gave him a quick glance. His eyes widened and she followed his gaze.

The Night King stood firm at the head of his infantry in the center of the field.

***

The raven had to flap with all its might through the thick mist and deep darkness, soaring through low clouds bathed in the faint moonlight. It was the light of the fire that guided the bird, otherwise, it would be as dark as the sea on a moonless night. 

The bird flew over the woods between snow-heavy canopies where it heard the moans and groans of people. The raven perched on a branch, ruffling its feathers, screeching once, and looking down at the men lying there on the ground. Alive. 

One of them looked up and squinted his eyes at it. It quickly took flight and continued its journey to its destination.

The ground was littered with undead and fire. In the air, two beasts shunned the attack of the White Walkers. The bird shrieked louder and rushed with violence over the rows and rows of dead.  Nothing and nobody stopped it, it was just a raven after all. Or so it seemed. 

The White Walkers glanced at him with those brilliant blue eyes that hid dark and lost magic, but none of them made a move. When their king stepped forward, the raven cawed loudly and they looked at each other with understanding. 

***

"Dany!" Jon shouted the moment he saw her rush at the Night King. Even with a dragon — one he wasn't sure he knew how to control yet — Jon would not have risked such a move.

The way Daenerys was determined already bordered on the irrational. A flip of his stomach told him how terrified he was, and not of the dead or the walkers or the Night King. He was terrified of losing her. At the same time all his precautions were in the control of Rhaegal who also shrieked and shivered in response to the unconscionable actions of his mother and brother. Jon could swear there was more than terror coursing through him. It was Rhaegal's anger boiling inside him. 

The Night King walked forward with his spear at the ready as Dany and Drogon rose above him, but distance and strength gave him no chance of bringing them down. Instead, Daenerys dodged him with masterful dexterity and began raining fire down on him — not, around him. 

Only then did Daenerys feel certain enough to climb down and leap off Drogon's back.

What was she doing?

Jon followed her unquestioningly and they were both left in that circle of fire, surrounded by the screams of the dead trying to cross it and dying trying. He did the same in Fist of the First Men, but he knew it would soon not be enough.

Jon drew Longclaw, as he watched Dany hesitantly do the same with her sword. The image of her holding the sword made no sense even if he was watching it right there. He wasn't sure that she knew to master one, and the very idea that she would want to use it...Jon took three long strides and lunged at the night king, Longclaw not even whistling in the wind as she collided with a terrible screech against his adversary's ice blade.

At last, face to face, Jon and the Night King clashed Valyrian steel against ice.

***

His sight was into the dark sky, but his ears... oh his ears were still listening. 

Tyrion searched for his voice through the searing pain of his body scorched by the fire he himself had lit. He moved his unbroken arm, made a sound that caught his brother's attention, and spoke in a broken voice, "Dragons," he groaned, "Dragons...we must go to the dragons."

***

Dany struck her blow each time Jon couldn't, she lifted and swung the weight of the sword, taking care of her wrist, and deflecting with all force. She did not possess the same habit on her. Her body did not respond to her mind's command, as if unaware of it. The impotence made her more furious, her anger more stubborn. Jon went so far as to push her aside to get her to safety when she couldn't get it for herself.

Longclaw, his sword, the Mormont's sword, she recalled, dodged, swung, deflected, and at a certain point began to break the ice sword of the Night King, which she supposed was not just ice, for the magic in it chanted in response every time it took a blow.

But it wasn't unbeatable, she observed, little ice crystals cracked and split with each blow.

"Aaaagr!" Jon growled impatiently, gaining courage the more he lashed out and the less affected the Night King responded. Like Dany, he was beginning to fight with the passion of a man affronted and not that of a warrior. 

Her heart pounded and she pushed herself back into the fight, trying to end it before it could hurt Jon, the dragons, or herself. But their combined strength was not enough. As soon as he caught Daenerys out of the corner of his eye, the Night King swung in such a way that he threw Jon yards from them and grabbed Daenerys by her throat. 

The air caught in her throat, and the Night King's eyes locked on hers. A half-smile creased across his face. The hand on her neck closed tighter, sharp nails digging into her flesh. Jon was soon there but the Night King raised his sword in an implied threat.

Although her senses started to slowly fade into a haze, images crossed her sight — of a great fire, of Rhaegal and Drogon swaying above them, of the despair on Jon's face as the Night King's hand closed around her neck...And then, a winged shadow descended upon them and hovered over the Night King's face.

Dany collapsed into the ground, unconscious.