To answer the Question of a single reviewer by the name of ZenJack "Is a few days a euphemism for a month?" Hehe….Ehhhhh….Sorry, This is what I get for promising a quick upload, My bad.

Oh well, live and learn eh? At least this chapter came out quicker than the last one?

I may be grasping at straws but hey ho, at least it's out and in my defence this chapter is longer than I originally intended.

Also…funny how the release of this chapter is on the year anniversary of the God awful garbage pile that was the finale of Game of Thrones season 8….the wounds still haven't healed and I doubt they ever will, I'm just glad I'm doing my part in the ongoing healing process.

Hope you guys enjoy.

On with the chapter.

GoT Rewrite 18

The Beginning of Night

Daenerys wanted to remember Viserion as he was; as the majestic dragon he had been in his final days, soaring the skies above Dragonstone, his scales shimmering in the sunlight, she would always remember the tiny thing that nuzzled against her during particularly cold nights.

Her baby boy.

But the things staring at her right now; with tendons and muscles fibres hanging out of its shredded hide, devoid of that same glimmering sheen that made him so beautiful, his once vibrant eyes now a cold and dead blue. His maw now full of jagged and broken teeth as his face had lost all symmetry due to Drogon's jaws splitting it. Flame barely able to leave his chest and enter his throat as it leaked freely from the claw marks left by his brothers and the hole left by the spear of the Night King.

This thing was no longer her son, it was an insult to the proud creatures on the sigil of her house.

It was exactly what people ignorant of dragons thought they were, it was a mindless killing machine with no soul inhabiting its bloodthirsty hide.

Benjen's breath rang in her ears, the oldest living Stark using his body as a shield against the colossal husk that slowly but surely dragged itself closer. Running was not an option at this point, the moment they would take an opportunity to run then Viserion would lunge like a Cobra.

Benjen knew what must happen, when Viserion was busy tearing him apart it would give Daenerys a chance to flee.

For her to live, he had to be torn to shreds.

Not the end he envisioned, but one certainly worth it.

"When he is killing me, you run…you understand?" Benjen got Daenerys' attention away from Viserion.

"I'm not leaving you to die!" Dany spoke back harshly. As far as she was concerned any family of Jon's was her family too.

"You must…you have to live for all our sakes" Benjen hissed back.

It was at that moment that Viserion's jaws widened and he lunged forwards; Benjen putting himself completely in front of Daenerys with Dark Sister in his hands. But Viserion did not get the chance to sink his teeth into Stark flesh as a white flash whizzed past both Dany and Benjen and clung onto the dragon's face.

Dany could not believe what she was seeing.

It was Ghost, the pure white Direwolf had leapt onto the face of Viserion was sinking his fangs and claws deep into the jawline of the dragon. No blood spurt from the wounds but flesh, hide and tendon were ripped asunder like paper in the jaws of the Direwolf.

Viserion let out a screech as he shook his head back and forth, Ghost being hurled violently into the snow, the Direwolf letting out a pained yip as he landed roughly on one of his front paws.

"Ghost!" Dany called out, Benjen's arm being the only thing keeping her from running to the Direwolf's side.

Viserion's attention went right back to Dany as she called out to the Direwolf; at this point Viserion was no more sentient than a rabid beast, sounds and moving targets attracting his attention. Ghost noticed the Dragon's gaze go back to Daenerys and sprung to his feet, dashing over to Benjen and Dany.

Despite the pain running through the Direwolf's front left leg, he stood in front of the Stark and the Targaryen and snarled viscously at the looming dragon. The red eyed Direwolf would not back down from the larger dragon as he bared his teeth.

Viserion looked even rougher after Ghost's attack, the muscles and tendons keeping his jaw attacked had been severed and torn open on the right side, leading to a slack jaw of sorts. The Dragon was looking worse and worse, less and less like the kind-hearted creature that Daenerys saw as a son.

Ghost knew what was growing within Daenerys as well as Benjen did; and the Direwolf would die before allowing their lives to come to harm. His master trusted him, trusted him to protect his mate and Ghost would not let his master down.

*AAAAAWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!*

The howl that echoed through the air was not a howl that came from the mouth of Ghost, it came from the nearby treeline and it attracted the attention of the undead Viserion away from his previous targets.

From the treeline came hundreds of small forms, dashing across the snow in packs. Wolves of all shapes and fur colours and at the head of them a massive grey furred Direwolf.

A Direwolf that Ghost had not seen since he was still the runt of the litter.

Nymeria ran at the head of the pack; hundreds of Wolves that dashed towards Viserion at breakneck speeds, the snow kicked up by the wolves creating a cloud of white as they leapt towards their enemy.

"Bran…you did it lad" Benjen couldn't help but smile in relief.

Within seconds Viserion was swarmed with the bodies of gnashing and growling beasts; Wolves sinking their teeth and claws deep into hide, ripping off chunks of flesh and hide with a bestial ferocity.

Nymeria latched onto the still functional side of Viserion's jaw; growling and snarling as she ripped and tore at the tendons still holding his lower jaw attached to his head. The undead dragon let out a long and loud snarl as he began thrashing like crazy; wolves being flung to the snow, many yipping in pain as they landed violently.

Nymeria was a strong and powerful Direwolf; but she was still only a fraction of the size of even a wounded Viserion. She was flung away just like every other wolf that tore and bit at Viserion's hide, but not before she managed to tear and gouge at his left eye.

Nymeria let out a loud yip of pain; she may have been bigger at birth, but she was not wearing the protective jacket that Ghost had adorned. The Direwolf however, once back on her feet, rushed over to Ghost and stood beside him, growling and snarling at Viserion as did every wolf present.

The horde of Wolves, while formidable were not enough to bring the undead dragon down. Viserion snarling as drool and bile dripped freely from his broken maw; broken and jagged teeth sticking out at all awkward angles. His one completely broken wing and the gaping holes in his mid-section.

He was barely a Dragon anymore.

Viserion let out a loud snarl as he reared back to lunge. But before he even had a chance to sink his broken and crooked fangs into flesh; a powerful set of jaws closed around his neck. Flesh tore and ripped as a huge emerald shape landed down right beside Viserion and latched onto its neck.

Rhaegal was back; and he was going to put his brother out of his misery.

Viserion let out a high pitched screech as Rhaegal twisted and ripped; his need to defend his mother filling his resolve as he thrashed his head like a Crocodile, the rotten and decaying flesh yielding under the superior strength of the living Dragon as Viserion's head was separated from his neck.

Viserion's body twitched and thrashed as his head was dropped into the snow and to Daenerys' horror the single eye on the head of Viserion was still moving. Despite everything that had been done to him; he was still not dead, his suffering would not end at the claws or fangs of dragons or direwolves, only two things could release him from this suffering now.

"Stand back…I'll take care of thi…" Benjen began until Daenerys cut him off by grabbing his arm.

"No…I will" she whispered with tears welling up in her eyes. Benjen could only watch as Daenerys pried Dark Sister from Benjen's loosening fingers.

Every step towards Viserion came with another painful memory.

His hatching at the funeral pyre of Drogo.

Him mewling at her soft touch as they found safety within the walls of Quarth after so long wandering the red wastes.

Him and his brothers rescuing her from the warlocks.

The crystal blue seas on the journey to Astapor.

The many, many times he and his brothers played on the roads to Yunkai and Meereen. The ways they would fly and play and eat like kings of the skies, the way that Daenerys would always make time to show them how much she loved them.

When she had to lock him and Rhaegal beneath the great Pyramid because of what Drogon had done in his rebellious and wild youth whilst disconnected from his destined rider. That memory took a toll on Daenerys as Viserion had found himself in a new prison.

A prison of the flesh, both rotten and decaying as the only signs that could be confused with life were the twitching corpse and the single wandering eye on his broken and battered head.

His head could not even move; the sheer weight of his skull impossible to move with his broken and disconnected lower jaw, no neck to shift the weight. His only action available being the movements of his single ethereal blue eye.

Daenerys' breath fogged the air around her as she lifted Dark sister up and placed the tip against a nasty looking fracture near his orbital cavity. Dany could not help but let out on painful gasp as she gripped Dark Sister in both hands.

"Forgive me…Viserion" she whispered before putting all her weight into the sword and letting it pierce flesh and find what was left of his brain.

Blue eyes widened suddenly.

A long and loud exhale filled the air.

The eye ceased glowing.

The eye closed.

Rhaegal whimpered.

A Mother let out a sob of anguish as she put her boy down like a rabid dog, one of the most beautiful and unique creatures to ever live; one of the first three dragons to live for hundreds of years since the last whimpering wretch passed away no bigger than a cat. A wonder in the flesh, magic given form, the living incarnation of Targaryen fire and wrath.

Now reduced to a decayed corpse that had to be put out of its misery by its now grieving mother.

Daenerys let the tears flow freely as Rhaegal craned his head down to his mother. The green scaled dragon was still here, he was still alive and breathing, he may have been wounded and would scar, but he was here.

He shared his mother's pain.

Ghost nudged his head against Dany, Nymeria tilting her head at Ghost's affection for this stranger that smelt more like a Dragon than wolf, despite a slight scent of Wolf lingering about her. Nymeria however did not have the luxury of letting up as she ran with her wolves towards the battlefield, the other wolves had been commanded here by some force and the female Direwolf knew that in some way her human was involved.

"Daenerys" Benjen called her to attention as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We have to go…" he continued as she let out a deep breath before standing back up and handing Dark Sister back to Benjen.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he noticed how natural the Targaryen Valyrian Sword looked in her hands.

"I'm not touching this thing again until this battle is over" Daenerys replied as she looked at the bits of Viserion's brain matter clinging to the blade. Benjen could only nod as he took Dark Sister away from Daenerys' hands. The time would come when she would embrace her ancestral blade, but that day was not now.

"Thank you, Rhaegal, Ghost" Daenerys put a hand on Rhaegal's snout and a hand on Ghost's head. Both the Dragon and Direwolf giving out a nurturing snort of huff of relief that both Daenerys and the life within her were safe.

"We have to go…Jon will be needing us" Benjen said as he sheathed Dark Sister.

"Rhaegal, can you fly son?" Daenerys asked.

Sandor brought his axe down on the skull of a Wight, the blade lodging deep into his victim. The axe had been buried so deep that Sandor abandoned the weapon before drawing his Dragonglass sword and going back on the offensive.

The Hound was brought out of his battle trance when a huge black furred form leapt at him with its teeth bared and drool leaking from its mouth.

"AGH FUCK!" Sandor found the undead Direwolf's jaws latching around his steel vambrace, the stench of the creature's breath stinging his nostrils.

The Hound drew a Dragonglass dagger from his belt and drove it into the Direwolf's throat, the creature letting out a yelp before it dropped dead on top of him. The Hound used ever ounce of strength he could lift the corpse from him; a deep and rumbling growl earning his attention before he could.

Sandor looked down to see a hulking mass of white fur and fangs stalking him. One of those Sabre cats that Tormund had warned them of.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Sandor grunted.

Suddenly a 10 grey, white and black furred forms tackled the sabre cat, ripping and tearing at its throat and vital areas. The undead abomination tried to fight back but was quickly overwhelmed and ripped to shreds.

Wolves…Sandor had been saved by wolves.

Whatever apprehension Sandor may have felt was quickly overtaken by confusion when one of the wolves looked to him to reveal it had snow white eyes.

"Ah…ah why should I fucking bother?" Sandor grunted before picking up his Dragonglass sword and standing up.

Bronn swung at the Walker; Widow's wail in hand as he used every ounce of speed, power and experience he had gained in his long life as a Sellsword. The Walker's power however was like nothing Bronn had felt before as every sword swing only hammered in the inhuman nature of his opponent.

"Gagh!" Bronn yelled in pain as one powerful strike sent him backwards. The Sellsword falling roughly into a pile of fallen defenders and wights with a rough thud.

The Walker was not free from attack however as many gathered fighters tried throwing their hat into the mix. Jon's instructions to kill the Walkers ringing true in the memories of those defending Winterfell.

A Vale Knight clashed his Dragonglass sword against the Walker's blade, the icy demon grunted before it reached forward with its freehand and wrapping around the steel helm.

"AAAAGH!" The Vale Knight screamed as his head was crushed within the helmet by the sheer power of the Walker.

'What the fuck am I doing?' Bronn questioned himself.

A Wildling took his chances to run at the Walker, only for the icy wraith to drive his sword into the man's gut, spilling his intestines all over the floor when he tore his blade free.

'I should be in a castle…getting fucked by a highborn wife whilst drinking Arbor wine' Bronn rose to his feet; using Widow's wail to balance himself.

The Walker squeezed tighter; blood running freely down the Vale Knight's face as his skull was crushed like glass.

'Fuckin Lannisters…I should have just left this fucking place before the war started, I wouldn't be here if not for that Tully bitch…or the fucking dwarf' Bronn spat out a glob of blood into the snow before holding Widow's wail tight.

The Walker swung its blade downwards, bisecting a glover bannerman down the middle.

'A simple fucking end…a boring fucking end is all I wanted. Dying of old age and watching my little shits fight over my fortune…instead I had to throw in with those two…those two fucking Lannisters' Bronn lunged forward and forced the Walker to defend itself; Bronn's skill greater then the average bannerman.

'Then again…Bronn Wightslayer has a nice ring to it…much better than Blackwater…fuck it' Bronn smirked.

'if I die here…might as well make it fuckin memorable!' Bronn grinned like a madman as he attacked the Walker; Widow's wail grinding against enchanted Ice.

The Walker growled and with a sudden burst of energy it grabbed the hilt of Widow's wail and tore it from Bronn's grasp, now without his blade Bronn was open to attack.

*SHINK!*

Ice sliced through flesh as the Walker's blade plunged deep into Bronn's gut. The cold pain coursing through Bronn's system as a spurt of blood shot forth from his mouth. The Walker grunted and brought Bronn close, wanting to see the fear in his eyes.

Bronn looked into the blue eyes of the Walker, the creature expecting him to shit himself. But instead, Bronn winked.

*SHINK!*

The Walker had no time to react as Bronn had driven a Dragonglass dagger into the Walker's neck. Bronn let out one last blood laugh before the Walker let out a long and pained screech as it crumbled and shattered into a thousand pieces.

About 3 dozen wights at that moment collapsed into the ground; giving many of the defenders a second wind to rally and form up.

The patch of broken ice lay before Bronn who simply smiled and spat a glob of blood into it.

"Icy fucking cunt" Bronn chuckled before he felt lightheaded and collapsed to the floor.

Jaime scrambled over to Bronn; his flesh hand finding the bloody wound; the way the blood was flowing onto the snow was worrying. There was no coming back from a wound such as this, too many organs had been pierced, Jaime himself had put away many opponents with an attack to such an area.

"Get a Maester!" Jaime called out in vain.

"What's the matter Sisterfucker? You not feeling well?" Bronn chuckled with a bloody cough.

"Why…why did you do it?" Jaime asked.

"Suppose I'm fucking crazy…Why did you do this? Eh?" Bronn threw the question right back at the Lannister.

For his entire life Jaime had been judged wrongly for an action no one understood when his blade pierced Aerys Targaryen's back he had been marked for life. Since then he chose to play a part, not care, be what they all thought him to be, until Brienne saw through the act he had created. Bronn had always been that man that only cared about money and profit and nothing else; but Jaime always saw a spark of something.

Loyalty.

"I can't thank you enough" Jaime whispered.

"Shove your thanks, I didn't do it for you…just make sure I get a fuckin song at least eh? Didn't kill a White Walker for nothing" Bronn asked weakly.

"I'll…do my best" Jaime replied.

"One more thing…slap that short arse brother of yours for me" Bronn smiled as he began to go pale.

"I will" Jaime let out a weak laugh.

Bronn smiled before his body went limp; his eyes glazed over, and his arm dropped into the snow.

Jaime laid Bronn down gently as he could; that shit eating grin still plastered across his face even in death. Brienne's hand touched Jaime's shoulder as the Lannister stood up, reclaiming Widow's Wail as he did.

Brienne held Oathkeeper tightly as both she and Jaime exchanged a nod before looking to the ongoing battle and with a simultaneous battle cry, charged into the fray.

The cold, that was all Bran could feel.

Then suddenly, his head was filled with images, some he had seen, others he had never seen in his life before or even in previous visions. Between the images it felt like a blizzard; static noise filling his ears between every change.

Ravens flying overhead.

Closed eyes opening to a glowing blue.

An Aged Targaryen King sitting on throne; his fingernails long and his hair unkempt "BURN THEM ALL!" he shouted.

An old decrepit Dragon screeching at the top of its lungs before a Young Lion wrapped its jaws around the dragon's throat from behind. A Stag driving its antlers into the dragon's chest and a Direwolf gnawing on the dragon's wing. The Lion, the Stag and the Direwolf ripping the dragon to pieces.

An Ironborn king with sea-drenched hair standing in a sea of blood; his one hand outstretched and closed tight as he raised his head slowly. His left eye was missing, a gaping bloody socket in its place as he opened his hand, his eye still dripping blood and eye fluid. He smiled before the socket began to glow an ethereal blue.

The Ironborn king's form was replaced by shimmering visages of another Ironborn man, clad in heavy plate armour. The man's eyes could not be seen from behind his kraken shaped helm, kraken tentacles emerging from the gaps in his armour.

Two Krakens; one missing an eye as both tore and ripped each other to shreds until the seas ran red with blood.

'The cycle must be broken'

A City on fire, green fire consuming the guilty and innocent alike as they screamed; a Golden rose burning to a crisp under the roar of a Lioness.

A field of men on fire; Lion roars to turning to screams as they burned. The entire field filling the air with smoke as the men were turned into statues of ash, statues that fell to pieces when a massive black shape flew low overhead.

'The cycle must be broken'

A Stag impaling the chest of a Dragon, which morphed to the forms of a full armoured Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen at the battle of the Trident.

A Forge; Valyrian steel hardening to a pristine edge.

A Mangy Lion cub, pathetically mewling as a pack of rabid dogs ripped and tore at a lone Direwolf, the image morphing to the sight of Bran's father with his hands tied behind his back and his own blade dropped onto his bare neck.

'The cycle must be broken'

Bran falling from the tower.

A circular pattern made of limbs.

'The cycle must be broken'

Another pattern made of Horse heads.

'The cycle must be broken'

The Pattern made of stone surrounding a Heart Tree.

Children of the Forest chanting in a circle; around a circular pattern of fire in the dead of night.

Dragonglass; an entire mountain of it shimmering before it turned to pure shadow.

Bran falling, this time into the darkness that replaced the Dragonglass.

A circle of people in red robes; tattooed pattern adorning their faces as they chanted in a foreign tongue, a long dead tongue as they raised their hands to a colossal bonfire.

An aged human king, dressed in an armour that Bran could not recognise; sat on a throne of pure ice and grasping a longsword in both hands as the steel slowly froze, the King looking up and his eyes turning icy blue.

'The Cycle must be broken'

The Bonfire surrounded by humans in red robes, the chanting ceasing and the robed humans recoiling in horror as the bonfire turned blue, the flames taking the form of a snarling skeletal face.

A Child of the Forest watching their hand as it turned blue and translucent like ice as opposed to their earthy skin tone.

'The cycle must be broken'

A Giant roaring into the skies, his breath turning icy as the skies went black and his skin turned an icy blue.

'The cycle must be broken'

A Valyrian Steel blade meeting a blade of pure ice.

'The cycle must be broken'

The form of Alden stark wielding his Valyrian Steel sword against an unseen foe, Alden's form morphing and being replaced with Jon.

'The cycle must be broken'

The form of Rhaella, the wife of Alden, riding on the back of a colossal red dragon, larger than even Balerion the black dread, her form slowly morphing into Daenerys riding on the back of Drogon.

'The cycle must be broken'

Images of Alden tied to the tree and Benjen Stark lying prostrate on the ground with a gaping wound in his gut cutting back and forth as a Child of the forest slowly plunged a dagger of Dragonglass into their chest.

Alden and Benjen screamed as the dragonglass cut into their flesh.

'The cycle must be broken'

The screams of Alden and Benjen being replaced by the screaming of a woman. Rhaella laying on her back; Alden standing beside her holding her hand as she delivered their son.

Brandon Stark.

'The cycle must be broken'

A man stuck in the roots of a tree. A man that Bran recognised as Brynden Rivers, the three eyes raven before him. Brynden looked up and spoke those same five words.

"The cycle must be broken"

Bran dropped down to his knees; gasping for breath as he could see naught but white snow and hear naught but a howling blizzard.

"What…where…what?" Bran asked as he felt everything change in that mere instant.

He…felt different.

He felt…he felt.

Bran could feel his self-return.

He could…he could feel his thoughts as he did years ago.

He could not explain it…but he felt as if the veil had been lifted, as if the numbness had ceased. Like he could breathe within his own skin again.

But then the emotion of fear struck him when he looked up to see the form of the Night King; standing there, staring at him.

Bran recoiled and tried to flee like he had so long ago.

But like then, same as before the Night King grabbed his arm, refusing to let him leave. But unlike before he did not wake up, he did not feel the icy chill, and the Night King simply stood there, not tightening his grip of appearing aggressive in anyway.

Bran struggled against the Night King's grip "Let me go! LET GO! NGGH! NG!" Bran shouted as he tried to pry the Night King's hand from his arm. Seconds passed as Bran stopped and realized he was still alive, but not only that.

He could feel emotion, he felt fear…and then…confusion.

"What…what are you…what are you doing?" Bran asked as the Night King just stared at him.

"Aren't you going to kill me? Isn't that what you want!? To kill the Three Eyed Raven?! Well I'm here…why aren't you…" Bran stopped in between his questioning.

"Unless….you…don't want to kill me" Bran's breathing slowed.

The Night King let go of his arm and dropped his to the side.

Bran rubbed his forearm.

"Then…then what do you want then?" Bran asked.

The Night King raised a single hand and pointed, as the blizzard began to fade and fall away.

From there Bran could see a lone man on horseback; long dark hair and a beard adorning his face as he rode forwards. As he came closer; Bran could make out the man, it was none other than Alden Stark with the first incarnation of Ice strapped to the side of his horse.

"Alden Stark…" Bran commented as he realized who it was.

As Alden rode past Bran and the Night King; Bran could finally see what he was riding to in the middle of this icy tundra.

An army; thousands…tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands…millions. Rows upon rows of bodies far beyond what the eye could see. Screeching and snarling and the very gnashing of teeth one would expect to hear upon arrival in the deepest circle of the coldest and darkest of hells.

An army of the dead.

It was the Long Night; the first Long Night.

The First Battle for the Dawn.

"You…you are allowing me to see this?" Bran asked the Night King who was stood calmly beside him.

The Night King only stared ahead as Alden approached the army with no fear in his eyes. Every other time Bran had tried to look back at the events of the first Long Night the Night King was always there to stop him…but now, it seemed he was being forced to watch.

Bran no longer had any say in the matter, right now he was little more than a witness.

Snow crunched under Horse hooves as Alden rode towards the hordes of the undead. Even as his mount began to whiny and panic; Alden stroked its side before halting.

"Easy boy…I can go the rest of the way" Alden whispered as he reached down and retrieved Ice from his horse's side before hopping off. The Horse gave a snort before Alden slapped its rear end to send it away. The Lord of the North held his sword close and continued to walk, the blistering cold not affecting him as it would a normal man.

The dead stood in lines; unlike the dead that Bran had seen, these ones were dressed differently, very differently. Instead of the black of the Night's watch he saw armour comprised of bones, stone, wooden splints and leather in different styles than those he had seen before.

The dead stared at Alden as he approached before suddenly looking up and screeching in mass, hissing and crouching as if bracing themselves.

Bran had not noticed because of the blizzard; he had not noticed the giant form soaring above them as it swooped in and landed with an earth shuddering thud. The form of a dragon, the same size as Drogon but red in colour, on its back he familiar form of Alden's silver haired wife Rhaella.

"Rhaella, what are you doing here?!" Alden shouted angrily as the Valyrian dismounted her dragon.

"I'm not going to sit aside in that dammed castle whilst you do this!" the silver haired dragon rider walked up to her husband and threw her arms around him.

Alden could not help but wrap his free arm around her and bury his face in her beautiful silver locks one more time. He inhaled her scent deeply, that lavender scent that he would remember until his dying day.

"You cannot be here…I must do this alone" Alden replied.

"I can't let you be alone during this…please…just…let me stay" Rhaella begged with tears welling in her eyes.

Alden brought a hand up to stroke the hair from Rhaella's cheek and caress her soft skin one last time "All right my love…but please…whatever happens…do not interfere"

Rhaella only nodded before pressing her lips to Alden's one last time; slowly and painfully Alden had to tear himself from Rhaella's side. Those steps towards the hordes of the dead were the longest and most painful of Alden's life, every step was one away from the love of his life and a step towards his inevitable fate.

A fate he accepted when his son became involved.

Now standing a mere 10 feet away from the army of the dead; Alden steeled himself and unsheathed Ice. The gleaming edge of Dragonsteel stood to attention and found its razor edge shimmering in the snow as Alden planted it into the floor in front of him. With both hands clasped around the hilt of the sword Alden called out in a loud and authoritative voice.

"LORD OF NIGHT! I ALDEN, SON OF THE NORTH DO HEARBY CHALLENGE YOU TO SINGLE COMBAT! LEAVE YOUR HORDES BEHIND AND FACE ME! THE CYCLE MUST CONTINUE!" Alden yelled out loud; remembering the words he was told to recite.

As his words echoed; the blizzard ceased. The harsh snowfall replaced by a light peppering of powder snow; the screeching and growling of the wights ceasing as they all went rigid before parting like the red sea.

Alden took in a deep breath as he saw the figure approaching him.

Bran looked to his side as the Night King watched the events unfold "Your grand entrance I presume?" Bran asked; the Night King turned to look at Bran and his eyes narrowed before returning to the sight before them. Bran watched as he heard the footfalls approached Alden, the Lord of the North shrugging his cloak from his shoulders as he watched his opponent got closer and closer.

Bran's eyes widened when the Night King arrived, standing 10 feet from Alden.

This…this was not the same Night King that was observing these events beside him.

Nor was this a regular White Walker; the icy crown of spikes protruding from his head were unmistakably those of the Night King. This Night King had a long flowing beard, stood at a full 7 feet wearing a suit of ancient iron armour, a black cloak flowing from his shoulders and a longsword of Ice in one hand.

Those glowing blue eyes were the same however, those same ethereal blue eyes that would pierce into your very soul.

A Flash appeared before Bran's eyes, a split second of an image; Jon and Daenerys standing in a cave made of Dragonglass lit by torchlight. They were looking at the image of a cave drawing, of three figures, two White Walkers…and a bearded Night King.

Bran had not even gotten over the general shock when Alden kicked the tip of Ice up and held it in both hands.

The Old Night King reached up and took off his cloak and threw it into the winds; now revealing his huge yet lean frame much like the frame of the Night King that Bran knew up to now.

Bran felt the tension in the air as the two began to circle each other, the countless Hordes of the Undead watching on one side and Rhaella with her dragon on the other. The red dragon gave snort as its eyes narrowed at the Night King; its master being the only thing keeping it from lunging or letting loose a gout of flame.

Valyrian Steel met Condensed ice.

And the battle for the dawn commenced.

Arya's face dripped sweat as she shivered in the unbearable pain coursing through her body; Melisandre keeping a firm yet gentle grip on the broken arm, the flesh surrounding the break caught between blistering heat and deathly cold.

The young She-Wolf had done her ancestors proud; she didn't flinch in the face of death and night that was currently stood a mere 10 feet away, it was a miracle that she was still drawing breath, if not for the Red Priestess she would be a frozen husk of a corpse by now.

"Breath little wolf…you still have a part to play" Melisandre whispered as tenderly as she could, hoping Arya could hear her over the pain.

The Night King hand remained clasped around the head of Bran; eyes now black whilst the young Stark's eyes rolled back white. The White Walkers stood by their king as he did what needed to be done; Wights and undead beasts now laying dead beside the Unsullied and Crannogmen that were fighting them, the snow stained red with blood as the Night King, his two Walkers, Arya, Melisandre and Meera now the only living creatures in the Godswood.

Meera had used the remainder of her strength to let that last arrow loose, now she lay unconscious by the body of her father. It was a miracle that the Young Reed had managed to stay conscious as long as she did after the vicious way the Night King had batted her to the side, but after expending the last of her energy she lay prostrate, no longer a threat.

The Walkers stood to attention as they heard the footsteps approach in the snow.

The shimmer of Valyrian steel could only mean one thing; he had arrived.

"BRAN!" Jon shouted as he broke out into a full sprint with Longclaw firmly grasped in his hand.

The Walker began to approach Jon with their weapons in hand; but promptly stopped in their tracks and turned to see their King looking in their direction, his black eyes slowly going back to their ethereal blue.

The Night King gave the two Walkers a quick head tilt to the side; gesturing for them to step aside. The Two Walkers bowed and veered off to the sides leaving a wide space between Jon and his adversary.

The Night King reached behind him and unsheathed the sword on his back; the hardened ice letting out a long and shrill hiss as it left its sheath. The Lord of the White Walkers and the Son of Rhaegar slowly began to close the distance between each other, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Jon couldn't help but grimace as he passed the bodies of the slain unsullied and Crannogmen, these were men loyal to both his houses, the Crannogmen viciously loyal to House Stark whilst the Unsullied were loyal to the death to the woman he loved.

Their deaths would not go unavenged.

Jon held Longclaw in both hands and with a growl that would make Rhaegal proud he lunged at the Night King. Ice met Valyrian Steel as Longclaw collided with the Night King's blade; Jon with an overhead swing as the Night King simply raised his sword one handed to block it.

The impact reverberated through the air; snow fell from the trees surrounding them and Melisandre flinched at the visceral sound of two mighty blades meeting.

Jon swung Longclaw with every ounce of pent up rage and aggression he could muster, the Night King only blocking each strike with what could only be described as disinterest on his face. Jon understood how important killing the Night King was, as far as he knew if he killed the Night King then the army would fall.

It was the best chance to end the battle, and Jon had to take it.

Jon's ragged state did not make for the image that songs would tell of; his brigandine gone and dressed only in his sweat soaked tunic, the battle had taken its toll and the pure adrenaline rushing through his system was the only thing keeping Jon standing upright.

The Night King's movements were reserved as he adjusted his footwork with the skill of a master, making sure not to waste any energy on unnecessary attacks or manoeuvres. If Jon were not filled by hatred and rage, then he would have been impressed by the masterful movements of his opponent.

Jon's movements slowed and weakened with every new swing and lunge, the Night King was still fresh compared to the rough and ragged Jon. The lord of Winterfell now tired and beginning to lose what stamina he had saved for now.

One downward swing was batted away by the Night King's ice sword: the frozen blade planting the Valyrian steel of Longclaw into the bloodstained ground. The Night King then wrapped his free hand around Jon's neck.

The pain was instantaneous as the searing white hot chill began to burn. Jon had never felt a pain like this before, eagle claws, steel blades and ice-cold water were nothing compared to the icy touch of the Night King.

Blue ethereal eyes glared straight into Jon's soul as the Night King brought Jon's face closer to his. Jon grasped the Night King's wrist with one hand whilst bringing up Longclaw with the other; the Targaryen bringing the Valyrian blade up and driving it through the Night King's gut.

The cold steel edge of Longclaw didn't have any effect on the Lord of the Walkers as he didn't even flinch, Jon's eyes widened in fear, shock and searing pain as the cold chill began to creep up his face. The Raven-Haired Targaryen let out a long and shrill cry of pain as he was forced to relinquish his grip Longclaw and grasp the Night King's wrist with both hands.

The Night King's once neutral face turned into a scowl as he raised Jon from the floor, his feet dangled in the air; Jon squeezed his eyes shut in pain as his breathing became ragged and choked.

Jon's face began to chill, his beard hairs freezing solid as the icy chill creeped up his face, the air escaping his lungs as the Night King's grip tightened.

"STOP!"

The Night King turned sharply to see Bran, his eyes open and a look of fear on his face as he leaned forward. The young wolf's eyes full of concern for Jon as he gripped the arm rests of his wheelchair until his knuckles turned white.

After giving Jon one last disdainful look like he was the lowest scum, the Night King dropped him to the floor where he began to writhe and squirm in pain as the cold continued to spread.

The Night King looked at Longclaw; still protruding from his gut and without a word simply pulled it free and held it in both hands. A look that could be recognition flashed in the Night King's eyes before his face contorted into what could only be described as fury.

The Blade of Longclaw, the sword of House Mormont, was broken over the Night King's knee before the handle and broken tip were dropped besides Jon's quivering form.

"Stop…please" Bran begged as tears began to form in his eyes. The Night King slowly walked up to the young Stark and leaned over to him, one hand resting on the back of the wheelchair.

The Night King leaned into Bran's ear and after a few seconds passed he pulled back.

Bran's eyes had widened in shock and horror; what he had just heard had shocked him to his core.

"No…No…never" Bran gasped.

The Night King simply looked to one of his Walkers and nodded. The Walker approached Jon and held its Ice spear over him; ready to plunge it into flesh.

"STOP! Please..." Bran yelled, the Night King holding his hand up to the Walker, a signal to cease.

The Night King slowly smiled before offering his hand to Bran.

"…Alright" Bran's tears rolled down his face before he took the Night King's hand.

"NNNGH…AAAAGH!" Bran yelled in pain as he felt his forearm burn, the same forearm that the Night King had grasped before. He felt flesh and skin twist and turn and rearrange like he was being flayed by a knife of pure ice.

A few seconds of this pain passed before the Night King relinquished his grip on Bran's arm. A smile of satisfaction plastered across his icy visage as he slowly stood up…

And began to walk away.

The Night King passed Jon and the bodies of the Unsullied and Crannogmen as well as the desiccated remains of his own soldiers. The Night King approached one of the walls of the Godswood and placed his hand against the wall; ice slowly crawled up the stone wall and overtook it.

Within seconds the wall was frozen solid and began to creak and crack, where once was a wall of solid stone was now replaced with a fragile wall of fragile ice. One palm thrust from the Night King was all it took to completely shatter the wall.

But before the Night King had time to cross the wall; the ground beneath him shook.

The deep bass of a rumbling growl was hard to ignore, the Night King turned to see what could only be described as the angry visage of the Black dread. Drogon had small cuts littering his hide and his eyes burned like the fiery crucible of his ancestor.

The White Walkers held their weapons but instead of advancing on Drogon, chose to stand behind their King who simply glared back at the colossal black drake.

Drogon opened his maw with a roar that would have made Balerion proud; but that didn't move the Night King that simply stared right back at the Dragon with his eyes narrowed.

However, when the Night King held his hand up to Drogon, the dragon flinched.

Drogon still felt the faint freezing sensation he had felt when the Night King had touched his snout during battle, the Pavlovian pain still ringing within his mind as he recognised the very real danger of the being standing in front of him.

The Night King smirked as the area behind him became enshrouded in a harsh and damming blizzard; the wind's howling louder than Drogon's roars as the Walkers retreated into the frosty tundra.

The Night King simply smiled before he turned his back in the most blatant display of disrespect to the mighty Valyrian dragon.

And without a word, the Night King disappeared into the Winter shroud.

The battle within the walls raged on as the living fought against the dead, living wolves tearing at the Wights, Northerners and Southerners, Westerners and Essosi all fighting together in a desperate attempt to survive.

Lyle Crakehall found himself under the massive weight of an undead bear; its claw raking over his helmet and opening a gash around his left eye before the spear of Grey Worm found its mark in its head.

Jorah found himself fighting beside Free folk warriors as he and Tormund fought back to back. Giantsbane and Mormont fighting in an almost ironic battle for survival.

Ghost and Nymeria fought amongst the Wolves as they ripped and tore their way through any Wights that stood in their way. Direwolves desperate to make it to the Godswood, bolting past the crowds when a path was clear.

Sandor Clegane and Gendry Waters, hacking and slashing and snarling like beasts to try and stay alive against the seemingly endless hordes of the dead.

All seemed inevitable as the dead did not cease.

*SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!*

The tell-tale screech of a White Walker pierced through the air, ringing in the ears of every combatant on the field. Every single wight, both human and not stopped dead in their tracks, beasts unbarring their fangs and wights lowering their weapons.

Lyle Crakehall scrambled to his feet, a couple of Unsullied helping him right himself as he held Tusk in his hand as the air went still. The defenders of Winterfell all staring with wide eyes and bated breath as the Forces of the dead slowly began to back away, step by step retreating and…

Ignoring the living.

"What…in the seven hells?" Jorah panted as the Wights seemed to have lost all interest in the living and simply…abandoned Winterfell. All the snarling and growling undead beasts ceased their growling and simply scampered out of the broken open gate, all Wights of all shapes and sizes lumbering away into the blizzard that awaited them outside.

The defenders of Winterfell stood with mouths agape and hearts racing, sweat running down flesh and blood saturated with adrenaline. Wounds dripping fresh blood and minds slowly easing from panic but riddled with confusion.

It was if every single man and woman present had the same thought.

Did…did we…did we win?

Jaime however was the one man whose eyes widened further in realization, before any cheers or revelry was even considered he remembered what they had seen. He had seen the Night King pass by every single one of them and head towards the Godswood.

The Stark Boy, Bran.

"THE STARK BOY!" Jaime panicked and borderline sprinted towards the godswood. Northerners, Westerlanders, Essosi and Free Folk all following, not knowing yet if they had fought in vain. If their comrades had died for nought, if they had won the battle but lost the war.

Drogon growled defensively at the hole in the wall of the godswood before his attention was drawn to the skies above him; a familiar form descending into the surrounding area as a dragon of emerald scales landed close by.

Daenerys and Benjen leapt from the back of Rhaegal and upon inspection of the surrounding area, Daenerys' eyes could only be drawn to one place.

"JON!" Dany almost screamed as she dashed to her fallen love.

Jon was shivering almost violently as his teeth chattered and his fingers curled in sheer pain. His black beard now chilled white with frost and his eyes squeezed shut.

Dany cradled Jon in her lap, ignoring the chill she felt against his bare flesh as she began to panic.

"Jon! Jon what's happening?! What do I do?!" Daenerys panicked as she saw the ice crawling up his face.

Benjen knew what was happening, the icy touch of the Night King had taken hold.

"You know what must be done Daenerys" Bran called to the Dragon Queen.

Dany looked up, teary eyed at a now human looking Bran. Now clutching his forearm and tears running down his face Bran repeated himself.

"You know…what must be done. Only one fire can fight back the darkness" he repeated.

"What…I don't…I don't understand" Dany gasped in panic.

"You do…you've done it before…now Jon must feel it too…the fire within" Bran replied between pants.

Daenerys' eyes widened as she remembered the fight in the sky when the Night King had touched Drogon and she saw that same icy chill crawl across his flesh. Dragonfire was the only thing that had countered it, Drogon's fire, Valyrian light had fought back the darkness.

But Jon was not like her, if Drogon or Rhaegal drenched him in flame then he would be reduced to cinders, he would not survive.

Benjen put a hand on her shoulder.

"Only dragon fire can save him Daenerys"

"But…I can't…I can't" Daenerys stuttered in fear.

Hundreds of voices could be heard as the defenders of Winterfell came pouring into the Godswood, many looking with sheer shock at the sight of the bodies of Bran's protectors. The Crannogmen immediately rushing to Meera and Howland, a few Northmen and Gendry running over to check on Bran and Arya.

Melisandre's guards helped her to her feet as she passed the now stable Arya to the Northerners, the young wolf's consciousness slowly coming back as she leaned on Gendry's shoulder.

Benjen leaned into Daenerys once again.

"You must do this Daenerys…Jon has been half a man for too long…the Bastard must die…the King must be born" he whispered to her.

Daenerys had no reply to that as the Northerners approached Jon, many looking with shock when they noticed their lord and his sorry state.

"Stand back" Benjen said sternly to the Northerners that came too close to Jon and Daenerys.

"But milord! He needs a Maester!" one of the Stark Bannermen shouted.

"A Maester can't help him…now stand back!" Benjen's voice got louder as attention was drawn to him.

One of the Northern Lords, Lord Flint looked with disdain at Daenerys holding Jon in her arms, he thought Benjen had taken her side and was willing let his own nephew die so she could take the throne when he was dead.

"We aren't going to let him die now stand as..."

*TWACK!*

Benjen punched Flint so hard that he would probably have another black eye to match the one that Jon had already given him.

"YOU WILL ALL STAND BACK!" Benjen roared as he drew Dark Sister and ignited his flail.

What few Northerners still thought they could dissuade the Lone Wolf were quickly reminded of their place when faced with two growling Direwolves and two full grown Dragons right beside him.

Everyone stood back as Benjen ordered them, Nymeria padding over to Arya and Gendry, recognising her mistress' scent amongst the strangers. Ghost looking at his master and his mate before padding over towards a face he recognised in the crowd; Davos, who stood by with a look of confusion on his face.

"What's going on Lord Stark?" Davos asked as he approached Benjen.

"You will stand back Ser Davos…this must be done" Benjen pointed Dark Sister's tip at the Onion Knight.

"You…You are going to burn him…ARE YOU INSANE!?" Davos almost yelled.

"YOU WILL STAND BACK!" Benjen roared like a Direwolf, he couldn't hold them back for much longer.

Daenerys could see this; the situation was beginning to deteriorate and soon no matter how loud Benjen shouted or what weapon he bared he would be overtaken.

'Please let this work' Daenerys looked up at Drogon and Rhaegal before breathing in slowly.

"Dracarys!"

Drogon and Rhaegal lifted their heads in synch and simultaneously brought their heads down, their maws open and out came two gouts of flame.

One Yellow with veins of Emerald Green and one Black as Midnight.

"JON! NO!" Davos screamed as he lunged only to be grabbed by Tormund, the Wilding not wanting to see the old smuggler throw himself into the crucible.

Every eye was turned to the two dragons unleash their flames upon Daenerys and Jon; the forms of the two rulers disappeared in the colourful display of yellow, green and black flame.

Arya barely had the strength to yell or cry, as she stared wide eyed at the display in front of her. Inside she was shattered like glass as she watched her brother disappear into the burning light of dragon fire.

Davos let out a hopeless sob as he felt his heart tear in two. In yet another cruel twist of fate he had witnesses another son die in fire.

The gathered men were already gasping in shock at what had transpired in front of them. Already concocting the ways, they would tell this to their children, of how the mad Dragon Queen had succumbed to madness and burned herself and the Lord of the North alive. A dark and tragic tale during what was supposed to be a victory, of how the Targaryens went extinct in the flames of their own dragons.

Melisandre, Benjen and Bran however looked with different eyes as the flames began to subside.

Silence fell when the fires subsided, only a small crackling of fire could be heard.

Not a single man or woman could look away from the sight in front of them.

Jon and Daenerys, alive and bared on the burnt ground. Daenerys' white dress and Jon's black tunic burnt away into ash and scattered to the wind.

Daenerys looked upon the face of the man she loved, and tears came to her eyes as she cupped his cheek. The smile on her face and the tears in her eyes couldn't be mistaken for anything other than pure unadulterated joy.

The icy touch of the Night King was gone, and Jon was alive.

Grey eyes slowly opened and gazed upon what could only be described as the heavenly visage of a Valyrian goddess as Jon had sworn, he had died and been taken to the highest of any heaven imaginable.

"Dany?" Jon whispered.

Daenerys didn't reply and instead brought her lips to Jon's, not caring about her state of nudity in front of every face in Winterfell. All that existed in this moment where herself and the man she loved with every ounce of her being.

That was until one sound echoed and broke the silence that cut through the air.

Metal impacting upon the ground.

Jon and Daenerys looked over to the gathered crowd and saw none other than Lyle Crakehall knelt in the snow, wide eyed in awe at the sight before him.

Another figure dropped to one knee, then another and another. Within seconds every single defender of Winterfell dropped to one knee in utter reverence to the sight they had seen before them.

Jaime dropped to one knee, something he never thought he would do again. His hope for a just ruler had died with Rhaegar…but it had been rekindled.

Melisandre smiled as she dropped to both knees, her guards dropping in reverence to what was before them. The Tales and teachings they had been led to believe now laid bare in front of them, reborn amidst Salt and smoke. The salt of freshly fallen tears and the smoke of Dragonfire.

Arya felt the tears running down her face as she hobbled forwards; Gendry supporting her before she broke off.

Benjen walked over to the now kneeling and ashamed Lord Flint and tore the fur cloak from his shoulders.

Davos took the cloak from his own shoulders and rushed over to the still prone Jon and Daenerys.

Benjen and Davos covered the young Targaryens, Davos laying his cloak around Jon whilst Benjen put Lord Flint's around Dany's shoulders.

"I don't…I don't believe it" Davos stuttered in awe as he looked upon the two.

The two young people he had once thought would make a great future for the realm, had become so much more than that. Every single defender that had witnessed the events that had just unfolded no longer saw a Bastard Lord and a Foreign Queen of a long dead house.

Where the Night King had left nought but death, destruction and darkness in his wake…Jon and Daenerys…had left one thing that everyone in Westeros needed to get through the Long Night.

Hope.

The Battle of Winterfell is over...the Long Night...has only just begun.

I know…quite a lot to unpack there, may questions asked and many answers hinted at (I did promise that unlike D&D that the Long Night stuff and the Night King will be further elaborated upon)

Before you ask…yeah, Human Bran is back. The way I look at it is that since his transition into the Three Eyed Raven was rushed when he was unprepared it basically fucked his head up into turning him into a robot…tree…thing.

Remember, Bloodraven in the show said that Bran wasn't ready to become the Raven (and Bloodraven still had his emotions). What Bran needed was another Greenseer jolting his system back into working order, the Night King needs a Stark for what is coming…not a Tree in a wheelchair.

AS FOR JON, yeah, I know, before anyone comments "But Jon isn't unburnt, he burned himself in season 1" yes, I am aware of that.

BUT I counter with this reasoning, since that time Jon came back from the dead and bonded with one of the last 2 Valyrian Dragons birthed with magic. See his becoming Unburnt as a metamorphosis, notice I had Jon striped of his Stark armour in this chapter and had Longclaw broken…Metamorphosis guys; you'll see where I'm heading with this.

Yeah, I know the show fucked it up, but like I said in the very beginning of this story I want to prove that D&D COULD have made something somewhat good with what they already had.

Please let me know what you thought, Review, PM me your questions and queries.

Let me know what you thought!

ALSO, another important note, to any Star Wars/Sci-Fi fans amongst you guys, My Star Wars Prequel rewrite series is going under some BIG renovations so please give it a read and review when you have the time. Trust me, it will help pass the time in this ongoing Quarantine we are in.

Stay clean, Stay Safe and have a great day everyone.

Dakkaman777 OUT!