2 A Bastard

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Children of the forest,

Warriors of men,

A pact made and land to defend,

Together a dawn they bring,

To herald the song they sing…

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Chop, chop, chop.

Jon went ahead and prepared the rabbits for the two of them while Ghost went for a drink in the pond. Jon had five rabbits to cook thanks to the traps he placed all over the island—as well as Ghost's powerful sense of smell.

Having a pair of eyes in the sky hadn't hurt their hunt either, but one side of Aegon Island was already beginning to freeze, and the birds were traveling away to higher points, searching for warmth.

With the loss of Glare, Jon had no other willing to stay with him and would lose control of any wild one as soon as he slipped out of them.

Jon started the campfire, stuck two rabbits with sticks, and placed them against the fire to cook. He continued skinning the rest properly for Ghost, who preferred his meals raw and furless.

He could hear the loud gulps when he looked over, seeing his direwolf get his fill.

They could have followed them up those mountains, but what would that achieve? He and Ghost had already previously made their decision.

They were done with running.

He finished skinning the rest and placed it on a piece of bark just as his meal started to blacken.

"Come and get it!" Jon yelled to the snow-white behemoth.

Ghost came running, his tongue sticking out, drooling, clearly ready to eat.

Arrf, he barked.

"Aye, it's your favorite, 3 of anything." he japed. "Quite decent for a simpleton cook, is it not?"

Arrf Arrf, Ghost yapped happily as I placed his bloody share underneath him. He gorged on the rabbit legs first, as they were his favorite. The blood smeared his lips and nose.

'Perhaps he was jealous…'

"Well then, I best take out the last of the wine. We can't celebrate without it."

Jon went into his sack and took out a wineskin of something that honestly looked like piss.

Sam had made it from apples, though he had never seen an apple look or taste as it did.

But who was he to complain? Jon had never known how simple it was to make wine; though it took some time, they eventually concocted enough to drink to their heart's content.

That night, he and the crew drank until they forgot all about the war and their past.

His attempts at brewing never tasted as good as his friend's, but he cared not. Anything would do as long as it dulled his senses and helped him sleep soundly, bereft of nightmares.

The crew made Sam out to be a god when he first brought out the finished product—come down to relieve them of their memories and sorrows.

"Fuck the gods." They were the ones who decided to do battle in the lands of men. They chose his people as their pieces on a board.

"They're the reason for all of this," he mumbled.

The games of man could never prepare them for the games of gods.

The God of Ice-and-Night. The God of Fire-and-Light.

'God, not lord...'

The two gods who brought about all others; the old gods, the Great Other, Rho'llr, Mother Royne, the sea god, the Black Goat, the Lion of Night, the Seven Gods if they even existed—he had yet to see proof of his aunt's idols—were all begotten by the two.

And all ll fought for one master or the other.

The dreams he has had where he stabbed both of them with Longclaw and Blackfyre as he twisted them in their guts, enjoying the pleasure of their ungodly screams and their blood drenching his hands, couldn't be counted.

He would then give Darksister back to Arya to finish the deed. His sister was the embodiment of the Valyrian blade he'd gifted her; it fit her stature and style seamlessly.

She was his dark sister.

Jon sat beside his direwolf, near Sam's grave, with his meal and wine and decided to give Ghost a drink also. He removed his dragon-bone dagger, made a shallow cut on his palm so that he bled, and covered Ghost's portion with it.

Ehh Ehh, Ghost turned to him and whimpered when he saw the blood dripping from his hand.

"Not to worry, boy," he said, squeezing a bit more over his food. "I won't be doing it again," he solemnly said. "You deserve a final drink, same as I."

He held up his wineskin and shook it to prove his point.

Ehh Ehh, Ghost didn't seem to like it but accepted it as he began eating.

He stared up at the clouds and smelt the burning of trees and carcasses. The air felt sticky with water, like warm sap was pressing against his skin and lungs in equal measure; if it were any other, they might have found it harder to breathe.

'It's almost time…will you all forgive me...or condemn me…tell me you love me? For I have never stopped loving you all. Are you all safe up there? Will you hate me for what I've done?'

Jon's thoughts were getting darker but eager all the same. He was exhausted from merely trying to survive.

He only had one wish now.

"We are not the only ones who deserve a drink, are we?" Jon asked his companion as he raised the skin to the heavens.

He poured a little on the ground for the first sibling he had known and lost. "You were the best brother a man could ask for, Robb. You would have made a great king…and an even better father…."

He took another gulp before pouring more on the ground for his sister kissed-by-fire. "Sansa…no matter our differences, no matter the words unsaid between us, you will always, and forever be, my family."

Jon drank some more and rained down a decent amount, "Arya…I lived for as long as I could, little sister, now…I only look forward to seeing you again..."

He drank and poured more on the ground, "You were the finest three-eyed crow in history, Bran. I could never live up to the legacy you left behind."

He poured a little on the ground for the baby, "I'm sorry, Rickon. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry we left you all alone. Bolton is dead and burning in the seven hells as I speak. I only hope you're safe up there with everyone," he said to another brother he was late to save.

He poured a little on the ground, "Uncle—Father…thank you…for protecting me…," he whispered.

There wasn't much to say about Eddard Stark that Jon hadn't already shouted to the heavens and his statue in the crypts. His uncle was much like him; honor-bound, naive, and willing to sacrifice himself.

And neither of them could protect their family.

Jon sighed as he thought of the man whom he still considered a father.

He poured a little on the ground, "Lady Catelyn…I know...I know I will receive no absolution from you. I…only hope you have finally found peace with your children," he said honestly.

He could hate Lady Catelyn, her treatment of him, despise it even, but it was trying to hate a dead woman. And she was still their mother.

Besides, what little was left of her was buried deep inside the Lady Stoneheart and entombed in the sparse soul that remained…. Only her children could bring out the love that had yet to fade.

They had all changed much in their time away from Winterfell, for good and bad, her most of all.

The last time he was together with her was the day before the first battle of the Long Night.

In her husband's solar, she grabbed him by the cuff, stared deep into his eyes, and pointed out the window.

He saw Bran and Sansa watching Arya spar with Brienne in the field.

She gave him an intense look without blinking or a murmur from her mouth. Her speech was gone when her throat was severed, yet he understood her meaning.

It was the only time she had sincerely asked him for anything.

"I'll protect them, I swear it," he told her.

She died in that battle before she could witness him becoming another oathbreaker…

They had to abandon the North soon after, following the Battle of Winter's Fell.

The name was fitting.

Only then did all of Westeros, and some of Essos, realize that the whole world would soon be at war and not just the North.

He poured more on the grave beside him, honoring its creator. "You were a maester among maesters, Sam. We would have never made it to Essos or this far into the Sunset Sea or even survived this long war without your mind. Thank you for teaching me and for being the voice of reason…."

He sipped some more before continuing, "Ha, thank you for being my brother." Anyone could call Samwell Tarly a coward, and they would speak the truth, but call him a dimwit, and he'll be the one to teach you the difference between a maester and some half-learned lord…if he could stop his stuttering.

He poured some more for those he never had the chance to meet. "Mother, Rhaegar… I will finally get to meet you both. I hope…I pray you are proud of what became of your son…," Jon mumbled quietly.

He paused momentarily to stare at the dark sky, then poured a more significant amount on the ground, "Dany…mayhaps in another life," he wiped the tears that broke free from his eyes and took a large gulp. "I once prayed for your forgiveness, but no longer. It is not something I deserve. You were a pain in my ass, women, but you were always my family, just as much as the Starks, more even in some ways... It took me time to understand…but I'm slow and stupid and realized it too late… I just…I wasn't fast enough."

They needed him on the frontlines when Yi Ti was under siege, then he went further west for an ambush before he had to race back again for the breach and then finally back to her.

"Where I should have been," Jon whispered.

He was fast but never to the point of being everywhere at once. He was forever late when his family needed him most.

He poured a bit more for the rest. "Edd, Grenn, Pip, Tormund, Davos, Grey, Asher, Torrhen, Master Lin, Yu Yin—ha, how many have I lost to name you all?" he grieved. "You were all the finest of soldiers, even you two…fucking Lannisters," he chuckled.

Tyrion and Jaimie were widely hated and a complete mess…but they did good work before their end.

"You all put your trust in me. Every time I was saved—everything you taught me, everything we discovered was in the hopes to end it all. To finish what our brothers and SISTERS STARTED!" Jon roared to the skies.

Owooooooo, Ghost howled his agreement.

Jon patted his wolf's head, "But we couldn't," he whispered to Sam's grave, "and if I am to die, then I will die like all of you…."

Looking up, he thought he saw a falling star flying west in the direction of Yi Ti before disappearing into the dark horizon.

He shook his head and took a deep breath, "I expect you all to be watching and cheering me until the end," he chortled before taking another swig.

Arrf, Arrf, Ghost barked at him as he swallowed.

"My heart will hear them," he replied, looking at his only friend.

Arrf, Arrf, his direwolf questioned.

"Aye, they could hear us. Why else would I be talking to them? You think me mad?" Jon defended with a raised brow.

Ghost tilted his head in confusion and then gave him a toothy grin

Owooo, he whined lowly, covering his eyes with his paws.

"Ahahahaha." Jon laughed, spilling some of his drink. One last jape from Ghost was well worth it.

"Aye, boy, it's what I believe. I trust our whole family is up there. Everyone we've lost is waiting," he begged it to be true. "Waiting to see us again," he told him while playing with his fur. "Greywind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, Shaggydog, you will see them again, perhaps your mother as well." His wolf moaned as he hugged him tightly.

'Please let it be true… Why are there so many tears today…'

Arrf Arrf, Ghost interrupted his depressing thoughts.

"No, I saw nothing, for I was never meant to stay on the other side. Though I have a feeling…this time will take," he murmured, but Ghost clearly heard him from the way he nestled closer to his side.

They sat and continued eating and drinking in silence. The quiet allowed him to immerse himself in his memories of the past. So much had occurred in his short life.

He almost hoped the end would be quick…

Arrwoo, Arrf, Ghost howled.

"A song, truly?" he asked, puzzled by his request.

Arrf, Arrf, he barked, causing Jon to smile at him.

He couldn't hold in the laugh that escaped him. "Aye, boy, it would make for a worthy parting gift," he agreed, taking another gulp, hoping the wine would dull his memory.

He went through his sack and brought out the harp Sam had made out of cheap wood and wire from their ship when his friend had time to spare.

"I miss the music," Sam would say.

Jon couldn't blame him after all the losses they had to endure. With each passing day consisting of bloody battles and fighting for survival or searching for a new refuge, songs, and books were their only reprieve from the madness haunting them.

Sam also got interested in alchemy when they reached the Golden Empire, but when Yi Ti was lost, so was its stockpile of art, music, and libraries—thousands of years of well-preserved history vanished in a day.

Singing was Sam's way to lighten the mood. It was his pastime, something for them to endeavor together when they required a break from ancient scrolls and alchemist chambers.

Jon was more like to be found reading than training after Master Lin was killed.

Then he saw the rolled-up parchment he kept hidden and brought it out as well to lay on his lap.

Jon plucked the strings, recalling a song Sam and he had created together. It was one of his favorites, for it was written with his mother, the first she-wolf, in mind. Nonetheless, it reminded him of all the Starks whenever he played it for himself or for Sansa and Arya.

Jon began singing slowly while tugging the first string, Ghost lying beside him with his paws supporting his head like when he sleeps.

"The young wolf thinks there is always a morrow.

I miss your touch on nights when I'm hollow.

Oh, without you, my life becomes fallow

I see your face in the stars and the shallow

I know you crossed a bridge that I cannot follow."

He bared his soul to anyone who was listening. His shoulders felt heavy, and his body itched as he sang the words that summoned his oldest of memories.

They had all departed and left him behind. The emptiness was getting to be too much, and… the bridge…was just within reach.

"Since the love that you left is all that I get,

I want you to know that

If I can't be close to you,

I will settle for the ghost of you."

Awooooo, Ghost cried along.

'I would as well,' Jon thought. Anything was better than this.

"I miss you more than life.

And if you can't be next to me,

Your memory is ecstasy.

Fills me with love and remedy.

I miss you more than life.

I miss you more than life."

Awooooo.

What would they give for their return? Their life—anything. The thought of them would bring his spirit down and raise it all the same.

"Young wolf thinks there's always tomorrow.

I need more time, but time can't be borrowed.

I look inside, and my soul has hallowed.

I'd leave it all behind if I could follow."

'I will…just…a little longer… I'm right behind you...'

"Since the love that you left is all that I get,

I want you to know that

If I can't be close to you,

I'll settle for the ghost of you."

Awwoooo.

Jon smiled, 'I should have sung more. He almost forgot how his direwolf loved hearing his name in a song.

"I miss you more than life

And if you can't be next to me,

Your memory is ecstasy. (Awooooo)

Fills me with love and remedy.

I miss you more than life.

I... Miss... You... More... Then... Life…"

Awwoooo

'I miss you all so much.' He wasn't cold, yet he still shivered.

He unfurled the scroll to reveal a drawing he had made with the last of the parchment and some charcoal he found. It depicted all the Starks grouped with their wolves in the snow and with him and Dany smiling beside them.

'Wait for me… I won't keep you much longer.'

Jon rested there on the grass with his direwolf by his side, singing and watching the black clouds covering the gloomy sky, fantasizing that they were dragons or giant stars and recollecting all the memories they made with one another in this life.

None of the bad this time; only the good would fill his mind tonight.

Jon thought of Winterfell, of a time when he and his family lived peacefully together—before Theon came. A time when he and his siblings—for that was what they were to him—were safe and secluded in the tranquility of the North.

He and Robb would play with sticks every morning when they were children, imagining them swords, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, in the yard, in the godswood, or, at times, playing knights in the gardens and crypts, waiting to be found.

He was King Daemon the Young Dragon, and Robb would be Cregan Stark. Oh, what fools they were as children.

A few times, Sansa would try to join them before Lady Stark forbade her, and Septa Mordane poisoned her against him and kept her away from the bastard.

He recalled the day Arya named him her favorite brother when Jon gave her his word to train her some—in secret, of course. No matter what was said about him, Arya and Robb always had a place for him within their hearts.

It reminded him of the last time he and Robb instructed Bran with his bow; his young brother would have made an honorable knight. More so than the ones he came across, thinking of Slynt and so many others.

That invoked the memory of his baby brother; Jon pined over the little time he managed to spend with little Rickon…

He thought of the jokes he and Robb would play on their younger siblings, his secret jests with Arya, the name day feasts, the simple suppers with his family, the lessons with Luwin, the spars, and hunts with his brother and father.

Jon understood too late how blessed his life in Winterfell was. A life of safety and naivety was much preferred to the one he currently had.

Honor be damned.

Jon would like to believe he never took it for granted, but he wouldn't deceive himself, not now.

How many other bastard children would call him selfish? How man of his sworn brothers joked at his expense when, in truth, secretly resentful and envious of his upbringing.

Few bastards were recognized by their sire.

He was sullen as a child and ignorant of the broader world outside of Winterfell and its hardships. The Wall was nothing like what he had been told or how Old Nan's stories went.

His mind then went to his other family. He grieved the death of his great-uncle Aemon, dejected that the man never knew of him—knew for true he wasn't alone in this world.

The man was his rock at the Night's Watch.

Jon imagined the life he would have lived had fate not been so cruel.

He imagined the Starks visiting the Red Keep. He and Aegon and Robb would spar in the yard of the Targaryen castle, under Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur, while Bran and Rickon were far to the side, watching and jumping excitedly.

Both Rhaenys and Arya would complain, desiring to join as well, leaving Sansa to watch from the balcony with Elia and Lady Stark, praying that one of the princes would take notice of her.

He chuckled, the ludicrous image compelling him to grin. He wasn't sure, but he hoped Elia would have come to accept him. He'd like to think she would….

Then Jon remembered the first time he met Dany, the first time he humiliated himself in her presence, the day she taught him how to fly on Rhaegal…and the day they fought.

He shook his head. It was challenging to think of his past without focusing on all the death; his new life was nothing compared to the one he led as a child.

But he could no longer reminisce when he felt a gust of wind, colder than those that blew through the lands beyond the Wall, hit his face, arousing all his senses.

His nose twitched, and he snapped open his eyes and breathed out, only to see the cold air escaping his mouth. He rose to his feet from the now ice-cold ground.

Arrf, Arrf, Arrf, Ghost barked as he jumped up beside him.

"Aye, I know…I know," he bemoaned.

Jon had understood for a long time now; he just wasn't sure which of the two would do it.

"Get the bags," he called.

He stared at the path leading to their camp as Ghost ran into the cave and, moments later, came back, hauling four sacks in his mouth and dropping them gently at his feet.

Jon knelt, took out the Valyrian steel claws, and strapped them tightly to his paws before fastening Longclaw and Darksister to his hip on the left and right, respectively.

Blackfyre was left inside, preferring to fight with Arya one last time.

The clouds overhead darkened from stark grey to coal black. Jon saw the flashes of lightning rolling through the skies and heard the loud cracks of the thunder that swiftly followed.

Rumble, Rumble, Rumble.

If he had not known better, he might have expected rain to come pouring down on them soon.

…But he did.

The air blew colder and harder. He heard the leaves and branches rustling as the warmth fled away.

"Seems the white winds are the first to arrive," he chortled, gripping his swords tighter.

Grrrrrrrrr, Ghost growled as he bent his knees and leaned forward. The Valyrian claws dug deeper into the ground while a visible, blue breath seeped from his maw.

"Ready yourself," Jon warned as he saw the trees in the rear turning to ice, "it's time we finish this."

Boom

Boom

Boom

Fire and dirt blew through the air as the wights tripped the first layer of traps. He could see parts of the forest being destroyed in an instant.

The wights who were blown closer from the blast were frantically running into each other, while some didn't care and left their burning limbs behind and continued crawling his way.

They had prepared for the eventuality that they would be found and set up an inflated number of snares, tricks, and devices that would cut the enemy numbers some.

"Go, boy," he commanded.

Without the need to explain, Ghost complied and ran to the borders of their camp and ripped as many tied-up ropes around them as Jon cut the ones closest.

Boom

Boom

Boom

He could see the release of the large tree trunks swinging against the enemy flank, taking out an unsuspecting group in the back.

He cut more ropes, freeing the bloodbursts and the rest of his reserves of dragonglass from their nets, impaling the wights in a rain of black death.

"Ghost," Jon called, gesturing to the incoming wights.

Mayhem took over as he and Ghost killed those nearest who escaped their traps.

Jon dropped his swords, grabbed one of the bags on the ground filled with clay jars containing all that remained of the bloodbursts, and tossed them at the army.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom

The jars burst into the center of the crowd, scattering them. He reached in for more, only to find his satchel empty but more of the dead on their way.

He raised his right foot and stomped heavily at the area underneath him, launching his all in and aiming for the foot soldiers.

Crack, Crack, Crack

His step immediately froze the ground around him. The earth split, spiderwebbing across the field, bursting out spikes of pure ice from its cavities in all directions, obliterating a cluster of them and impaling some to the sky and trees until they were destroyed or returned to lifeless limbs.

Though one was noticeably unharmed.

A blue-tinted shadow emerged from the thick smoke and ice of the battle. Taller than him, lean but still resilient, with flesh pale as eggs and long, thin hair so clear-white he could almost see through it.

Its armor continued to change color when the fire's light bounced off, from black to the grey-green of the trees, to the now blue-white with the rippling black patterns he was accustomed to.

The Walker made no moves as its glowing azure eyes gazed at him. It stood there, not moving while staring into his eyes as its army slowed, blocking their escape.

Not that he had any plans of doing so.

Grrr, Ghost patronized.

"Aye, I remember. No ice on the Others," he said, irritated. Fire still wasn't his greatest strength.

Jon picked up his swords and repositioned his stance as he lit them, Darksister pointing directly at the Walker. The sharpened, silver steel shimmered with waves, changing from black to red swirls and igniting in a dark flame as he held them, waiting for the inevitable.

But the White Walker hadn't taken a single step from its spot.

"You wait your master?" he asked in broken Old Tongue. "You weak? Why not you fight me, little one?" he taunted, not caring when this one was born.

"You scared?" Jon mocked.

Arrf, Arrf, Arrf, Ghost barked his support.

The White Walker mirrored his direwolf and snarled at them but stayed in place, refusing to charge.

The wights stopped their approach and instead gathered around their leader.

It stayed quiet as the wights screeched; still, none attempted to continue their attack.

But Jon knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.

This was his last chance. And it would be the last time he could ask.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to leave?" he said, hoping for a particular response. "Run fast, and I'll bloc—"

Awwooo. Arrff, Arrff, Arrff, Ghost howled at him, nipping at his trousers in annoyance.

He sighed and shook his head while rubbing his boy's back. It was always the same with Ghost, but Jon thought…that maybe…

The mountains could be safe… If some birds could survive…

The enemy cared not for Ghost but for him.

Jon exhaled and resigned himself. He was thinking too much again.

'No…matter…'

The trees shook fiercely in the wind, ripping at each other as the windstorm around them grew more violent. Jon heard the thunder crack closing in before he caught sight of the galloping in the distance and, to his surprise, a crude and rabid shriek from above that followed them.

CAAW CAAAAAAAW

He looked up and shuddered when he saw a most recent addition to the Night King's army in the distance, speeding towards them.

A wight wyvern

He saw the black peeking through, mixing with the blues and whites of its new scales. It was a shadow-wing, he was certain.

They only came out at night, but when the night was all they had…

He turned to his companion, but before he had the chance to speak…

AwwooOOOO, Ghost's body enlarged as he howled with his might to the heavens, initiating his awakening, as they had come to call the change in all of them when magic returned in full.

Jon's lifeblood had not gone to waste.

There was no point in hiding it anymore when the enemy had already found them.

The sounds of marching ceased, and the additional wights held their positions for some inexplicable reason.

…Then Jon felt his approach.

A thick white mist rolled through the field, extinguishing most of the fires about them as it covered every corner of the clearing and parts of the surrounding forests.

The world was silent, the wights stopped their screaming, and the Wyvern slowed its descent and hovered high above the army.

All was quiet except for the cracks of frost overtaking his own and spreading from the back of the crowd to the dirt ground, stilling just before reaching his feet.

The wights separated, and from the haze, a host of Others slowly revealed themselves in their blue and silver armors carrying long ice swords.

How many of them were of Craster's blood, he knew not, but the aged ones were his most like. The little ones were born only after the Night King began his conquest.

PURRRRR PURRRRR PURRRRR

The ground vibrated, and in the back came the rest, riding low on their giant ice spiders, with eyes so blue they looked black, with frozen hairs, sharp pincers, and eight long legs that could climb anything.

They spread out, creating a wall against him.

And leading them…was the bloody Night King.

There, facing him, was the monster he hated with a burning passion, who killed Bran, Sansa, Arya, and a million others. The being who razed every home he had ever known, who followed him from Westeros to Essos and across all lands, known and unknown, only to repeat his senseless slaughter.

He should have known the monster could freeze more immense seas than just the Narrow.

His nightmare had grown taller and replaced his old armor for a new silver set and a grander, frozen crown of blue and silver barbs pointing upwards.

The Night King leered at him with his frigid and sapphire eyes, observing the last remaining of his continued genocide before…smirking?

…

Jon could almost hear glass shattering from his anger within, nearly bursting out like a fire mountain searching for an escape.

He looked as the reds of his swords grew darker and his body hotter, reading for battle.

His thumb rubbed against the hilt where the letters 'AS' were carved.

The skinny rapier was singing to him its deadly tune.

"Fight… or run…?" he asked Darksister. His hands quaked as he thought of her.

He turned to Ghost and said, "One last time, boy. UNTIL THE END!"

AWWOOOOOO

The Wyvern immediately came diving down, aiming for Ghost as its opponent.

"Ghost, Bitter Blare, now," he ordered.

A dim blue light covered in a pale smoke seeped out of Ghost's massive throat, coalescing into a white orb that only grew larger before being released, flying through the sky like a swarm of arrows.

BANG

His ice attack blasted the Wyvern out of the sky, crashing it into the ground before them in a shower of hail rather than a solitary piece of ice.

A mob of mayhaps twenty or thirty wights came charging at him with the first Walker he caught sight of, slowly trailing behind.

He ran along the edge, cutting the few ahead until he reached their vanguard. Jon kicked off a nearby tree, leaped over them to avoid being surrounded, and slashed off the heads of the screaming wights underneath him.

Seeing the Night King content to remain where he was, Jon's goal remained the closest White Walker surrounded by his soldiers.

A group of wights turned around and came at him like a barricade of bodies. He used Darksister to absorb his fire, and with a slash in the air, a crescent-shaped cascade of fire erupted from his sword, rushing to the wights and igniting them on fire.

They writhed all together as the magic that kept them alive departed from their exposed bones, turning them back into lifeless corpses.

When he saw that more was to come and replace the fallen, Jon hurried to the small trench bordering the camp and quickly immersed Darksister into it.

The strong, clear wine lit in an instant, burning all the kindling he placed inside as it followed the trench to surround the area in a ring of blaze.

The liquid worked best in the cold when they added kindling; the heat would have caused it to evaporate in no time if it was too hot.

The fire darted through and circled their camp, separating the Night King from the small force ahead of him.

'We have to hurry...'

He took care of the foot soldiers and came face-to-face with the White Walker, parrying its magic sword with Longclaw and engaging in battle.

The sky rumbled as thunder and lightning danced in tandem high in the dark clouds.

The fires weakened as the Night King stepped over the trench and through the flames unharmed, creating a safe path for his slaves to run through.

Gales of wind howled as they blew across the fires, putting them out and touching everything in their path. The breeze was so fierce that the thick trees of the forest were wobbling and dancing to the wind's tune.

But the Night King kept his position and continued to watch Jon's struggle against the monster's 'son'.

Its strength was immense compared to ordinary men, but Jon was just as strong and much quicker than it, and with two swords aflame, he could keep it at a safe distance as it tried to pierce through his defense.

He took a step closer and spun to dodge its attack, its sword melting a little with every parry against his own.

Jon ducked while the Walker's attack flew over his head and, as fast as he could manage, stood up and blocked its return attack with Longclaw. He saw the opening and swiped Darksister up.

From its frozen cock, through its chest, exiting its head, Jon cut the White Walker in half, and in a blink of an eye…

POOF

It shattered into a thousand chips of glowing ice. They were stronger than before; now, they lasted a whole second before instantly fracturing into pieces like glass in the wind.

Jon wheezed, catching his breath.

'That took far too long.'

He wondered why their king sent his soldiers in groups instead of all at once. He and Ghost would be overrun in little time if they attacked in unison.

They had the numbers.

Jon caught sight of Ghost tearing off a wing of the wyvern, but the main body was still intact—that's where he needed to aim to kill it unequivocally.

He noticed the Night King sending in another horde of wights heading to the scuffle before, from the corner of his eye, he saw the wyvern's tail rising and swinging hysterically.

His head quickly whipped around, "Ghost, behind—NOOOOOOO!" his screams tore at his throat.

ARHWOOOoooo, Ghost cried out in pain.

The wyvern's spiked tail had crashed against Ghost's back, launching his bloody body across the crowded clearing and landing in front of the mob of wights.

His last remaining hindleg wedged to the Wyvern's tail like an ornament as it stormed toward his injured wolf.

Jon went numb as pure fear coursed through his cold veins when he saw it and the wights rushing his friend.

"AHHHHHH," he wailed, forcing out all the power left within. His hands and arms caught fire, melting parts of his guard without harm. A fissure of fire burst out of his swords and coalesced around the horde, killing half of the Wights in the center.

He slashed and hacked anything that walked on two legs or crawled on their stomach.

Jon jumped and kicked off one of the wights, catapulting himself as high as he could over some crawlers, and stabbed his swords into the belly of the wyvern.

Its screech could be heard from miles before the invisible magic seeped in, and it shattered into a rain of ice that showered him.

Seeing the rest of the wights closing in, Jon turned around and stabbed his swords into the ground, and a trail of fire came roaring out of the cracks in the ground, melting some of the ice, and burning them completely.

Nothing was left as his wrath turned them all to ash.

Ghost to his back, Jon stood between him and the army, blocking the rest from their advance…but they didn't continue…?

Rather, he saw them halting…as if waiting for something.

They remained where they were, watching him. They ceased their ungodly shrieks, allowing him to hear his boy whine in agony beside him.

The Night King observed from behind his army, obscured by the dancing smoke between them.

He couldn't see clearly, but Jon was sure the monster was smirking again

With no care of their plans in mind, Jon ignored them and hurriedly knelt to Ghost and held him by his head, listening to his soft whimpers.

"No, no, no, no. Stay with me, stay with me, boy."

Ghost was covered in red with very little white fur unstained by blood. A gaping hole where his last back leg used to be.

Ehh Ehh Ehh

"It's all right. It's all right. You're fine, boy. I-It's just a scratch. Nothing big, just a scratch. L-Look, I'll fix it for you. I'll close it up and carry you back inside to heal. Y-You're going to be just fine," he said with misty eyes, grabbing what was left of the stump and attempting to cauterize the wound.

Nothing came out…

"No, no, no! Work, damn you, work!" He kept trying, but his hands were shaking and cold, and his breathing labored from all the fighting and magic he exerted. He was just too worn.

Ehhh, Ehhh

'No, no. Please!'

He ripped off part of his tunic and wrapped it around the wound, tying it twice, but it was swiftly soaked in crimson.

Jon couldn't stop the bleeding.

"I-I'm sorry, boy."

Ehhmm, Ehhmm

"No. I don't­–,"

Ehhmm, Ehhmm

Ghost cut him off, but Jon forced his lips to tug and answered.

"A-Aye… You'll…you'll see them again. A-All of them will be happy to reunite with y-you," he choked on his words.

Eh, Eh, his voice quieter.

D-Don't worry about me… I'm not scared… I-I promise…I'll be right behind you. You'll see," he assured him, though unconvincingly.

A storm of tears poured from his eyes like a river, aware he had made another promise, uncertain if he could keep.

Ehhh, Eh…" his voice silenced, and his head staggered into Jon's lap, motionless as his final words were cut off.

"I…love you too…," Jon struggled to whisper into his ear while he hugged him tighter.

He was late…again.

He wanted to scream—to cry, to curl up in a ball and lay beside his wolf, but most of all, he desired revenge.

To kill them—all of them...every last monster that hurt his friend and took away the last of his happiness.

His breathing was frantic as he released Ghost from his shaky grip. He patted his boy and concealed his vacant, red eyes.

He could not handle looking at them. The screaming that grew louder behind him did not help.

This was it…he was alone.

'All of them will die at my hands before I join you...,' he promised.

The shrieks from the wights began again and grew louder this time. They couldn't even give him a moment of peace to mourn.

'For everyone we lost...'

He turned to face the army with fury coating him.

"I'll kill—"

SHINK…

'—you,' he meant to say.

Jon was entirely beside himself with grief that he had never sensed or even heard the Night King closing in.

The monster's iced sword skewered his belly from tip to hilt. He could feel the pierce exiting his back as the ice magic spread through to consume him.

He looked up and beheld not the Night King's emotionless eyes but the grin that formed on his lips, relishing his win.

Jon inwardly screamed, 'No, not like this. NOT YET!'

Lighting flashed in his eyes as he glared at him with murder.

"AHHHHHHHHHH," Jon screamed as fire emanated from his mouth fingers, covering parts of his torso and arms before it covered the rest of his body, forcing the Night King to leap back and away from the igniting heat as it coated all of him for a single moment.

Rumble Rumble Rumble

The thunder cracked closer, and Jon widened his eyes before they started to drop when he saw what came of his final attack.

'…missed.'

His fire went out, burning all his clothes away, leaving him bare as the day he was born.

And with no support holding him up any longer, Jon fell to his knees. The ice sword penetrating his gut was gone, but the wound was ever-present.

He searched out into the battlefield, where the army held their position and where their king looked down upon him.

Knees giving out, he turned his head but quickly collapsed on his belly, facing Ghost as they both lay frozen on the bloody ice-covered ground, so far from him his reach.

Rumble Rumble Rumble

He felt his beating heart slowing with each passing moment as blood poured out. His eyes were getting heavier and tired, and his body was unresponsive.

He lost…

They were wrong. All of them were wrong. He warred and warred and never won.

Never so much as a true victory in a battle.

Jon stared at Ghost and attempted to adjust his arm from underneath him, struggling to crawl in the hopes that he might embrace his friend as he left this world.

Rumble Rumble Rumble

But he couldn't move, not so much as a creep. His body was going numb as the pain began to dwindle.

Just the frozen grass and mud pressed against his face as he gazed at the dead body before him.

Boom Boom Boom

He felt the rain break on his head, poring like a waterfall on top of them, washing away some of the blood from his direwolf.

'…huh. Wrong again…'

Ghost had perished following him and his stupid plans and fucked up destiny.

His eyes were closed with his paws awkwardly tucked underneath his head like he was resting.

'He looks...peaceful.'

They fought as one for all those years… The shield and sword against their countless enemies.

Jon hated his life and himself so very much.

'I'm...'

He didn't want this, he wanted to be home.

He knew this was how it would end, he thought he was resigned to their fate, but now he was fighting to reject it.

If he could just reach him, maybe he could hold him and light them on fire before it was too late… They would go out together.

Jon could feel the life slipping out of him. The agony in his gut wanned. The blood pooling around him tasted of dirt and iron when it reached his mouth as he wriggled in a futile struggle to shake free.

Yet his attempt sapped him of what was left of his strength as it faded completely, leaving him only enough to barely keep his eyes open, let alone crawl or reach out his hand.

It was fitting. His ultimate rest would be in the mud where he belonged…

A king, a savior, a hero…he was none of those…they were fooled.

Because…in the end…he would die…as he was born…as he lived…

Jon Snow took one last look…shut his eyes…and finally…let go.

He was simply…

'…a bastard.'