Chapter 4:

Crystalline silence replaced the cacophony of battle. The very air around Winterfell took a cleansing breath and stillness reigned.

Once the idea of victory solidified in the minds of the survivors, they reprioritized saving the many wounded scattered about. Falcon and War Machine flew over the battlefield looking for incapacitated survivors and carried them back to Winterfell for care. There, Samwell Tarly led a force of men and women capable of basic wound treatment. The number of people who'd been struck by undead swords or were otherwise injured was staggering, and the makeshift field hospital bustled with endless activity.

~0~

Once they stopped laughing, everyone in the crypts was eager to escape their stony prison. Tony intended to let everyone else get out before he did, mostly because he was too dizzy to move. However, his companions had other ideas. They recognized that their stalwart protector needed immediate help, help which they were not equipped to provide. Two of them gently pulled Tony to his feet and helped him up and out of the crypt.

He breathed a massive sigh of relief and drank in the fresh air when they finally reached the surface. He hadn't realized how bad it smelled down there. Or maybe it was just that he'd come disturbingly close to many rotting corpses and their scent stuck in his nose. Regardless, it was great just to be able to see the sky above him instead of oppressive stone.

He didn't know his way around Winterfell at all; he'd just arrived last night for goodness' sake, so he had no idea where these people were leading him. But he couldn't exactly go another direction because he doubted he'd even be able to stand without their support. They took him to a large room that had been hurriedly converted into a hospital of sorts. Tony bit his lip. In medieval times, infection of non-lethal wounds killed just as many people as fatal wounds did. He wondered how many of the injured before him would still be alive by the end of the week. Hopefully Samwell remembered what Strange had told him when he stitched up Tony the first time.

~0~

Jon Snow remained on the ground, staring at the spot Viserion had vacated. Above him, Captain America blanched at the steadily growing red stains on the snow. He surveyed their surroundings, noting their isolation from all the other pockets of people. He had enough experience in war to know this was a definitively bad situation.

"Come on. We need to get you inside," he said authoritatively. Jon offered him no response. Cap looked at him again and barely caught him before he pitched forwards. "Alright, we'll do it this way then," he muttered. He bent down and grabbed the younger man around the waist, hoisting him up over his shoulder. "Do they feed you enough around here? You're so little," Cap remarked. He told the joke merely to distract himself from the blood now dripping down his hands.

About halfway there, Jon started to shiver. Cap felt the vibrations resonate through his shoulder and down his back and he picked up the pace a little bit. "Just hold on a little longer," he pleaded, not knowing or caring if Jon was conscious enough to hear him. He was not letting another friend die on his watch.

~0~

Peter emerged from behind his snow drift, staggering unsteadily on his feet. The landing from Hulk's Olympic-caliber toss had not been kind to his ankles. Regardless, he needed to get back to Winterfell so he could make sure all of his teammates were okay. Dr. Banner had perished, but he hoped that was the only casualty.

He made it back to the keep despite the throbbing of his right foot and left shoulder and searched the courtyards for familiar faces. The Guardians of the Galaxy and Thor had escaped unscathed, Peter was glad to note; they sat clustered together sharing tales of glorious victory. Rhodey and Sam flew back and forth above his head, ferrying the injured from the fields. He caught sight of Natasha, Wanda, Bucky, and T'Challa, and they all seemed thankfully alright. But there was no sign of Captain America, Doctor Strange, or Mr. Stark.

Peter forced his brain not to jump to disturbing conclusions. Winterfell was pretty big, and it was likely that they were just somewhere out of his sight. He set off towards the entrance to the crypts, knowing that would at least be the direction Mr. Stark came from if he left. There were people pouring out, but none of them were Mr. Stark.

Suddenly, a voice called his name. "Peter, are you alright?" He turned around and found Doctor Strange.

"Yeah. Have you seen Mr. Stark?" he asked, worry just starting to slip into his tone. Strange shook his head. "Okay." The sorcerer walked away and Peter decided just to follow the crowd. Most were moving in and out of a large room across the courtyard, so he set off in that direction. He entered a room busier than his home streets of New York. People ran this way and that, carting supplies to staunch bleeding, set bones, and who knows what else. Peter was almost knocked over multiple times by someone passing by him in a rush. Someone brushed harshly against his left shoulder and Peter bit the inside of his cheek to avoid screaming. Hulk had definitely damaged something when he slammed him against the ground.

He meandered his way through the crowd, searching for more familiar faces. He glimpsed Samwell Tarly, the maester they'd met earlier, looking severely overworked. He'd probably never had this many people to treat at once.

The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up, but it wasn't his spider sense alerting him to danger. It was a different sensation entirely. He turned, and his gaze landed on Mr. Stark. A potent combination of relief, joy, and fear swamped him. "Mr. Stark!" he cried, hurrying over to his mentor, who was leaning heavily on the people beside him. Correction: they were literally holding him up. He hadn't been this pale even after Thanos ran him through. His stitches from last night had clearly torn open, and his jacket was dark with blood. Twin gashes ran across his cheek, as if someone had dragged their fingernails across it. But when he caught sight of Peter, all traces of pain drained away.

"Peter!" he called back. He mustered the strength to stand alone long enough for the teenager to rush over and embrace him. The motion killed Peter's shoulder, but he didn't care in the least. "You're limping," Tony immediately pointed out.

"It's nothing," Peter assured. How could he possibly be worried about Peter when he looked ready to pass out at any second? Seriously, the man had no sense of self-preservation. Then again, this was the same man who'd flown a nuclear bomb through a wormhole. "I'm not a zombie," Peter reminded him.

"You kept your promise."

"Yeah." Silence for a beat. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Peter?"

"For saying you wouldn't be any help on the battlefield. I was the one who wasn't any help. You were right; I should've gone to the crypts."

"Bullshit," another voice punctuated their conversation. Natasha explained: "Stark, the spider boy killed a giant and saved a little girl's life. I saw the whole thing."

"You—you saw that?" Peter had thought he was alone. Then he remembered that she'd slain the White Walker that turned Banner, so she must've been in the area. She nodded earnestly.

"You killed a giant?" Tony didn't believe it. He laid his hand on Peter's shoulder to congratulate him, but he picked the wrong shoulder. The boy whimpered like a kicked puppy. "What's the matter?"

"Just my shoulder. I, uh, fell." He omitted the part about being hammer thrown by the Hulk.

"Like hell you did. You need—what did they call them?—a maester," Tony insisted.

"So do you!" Peter retorted.

"Fine." The two headed towards the rows of other wounded, all in various states of bleeding out. Samwell and his many assistants seemed to have everything as under control as it could be, with a pseudo-triage system in place. He took one look at Tony and delegated all his other charges to lesser healers.

"Lie down before you pass out," the maester instructed. Tony didn't need to be told twice. He half fell, half lowered himself down and the resulting jolt shot bolts pain through every cut.

"Got any more of that milk of the poppy?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Not at hand," Samwell answered matter-of-factly, working Tony's shirt off for access to his reopened and fresh wounds.

"Mind if I pass out, then?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Not sure I have any say in the matter at this point." Tony gasped as Samwell wrapped his torso to staunch the bleeding, tying it off tightly enough that he struggled to breath properly. He clenched his eyes shut and drew a stunted inhale, releasing only when he felt a hand on his wrist. Peter sat beside him, the teen's eyes shining with concern. Though he sensed the tantalizing promise of oblivion in the back of his mind, Tony wrenched himself away from it. Going to sleep now would only worry Peter more, and if his current appearance was anything to go by, he couldn't handle any more stress.

Two high-stakes battles fought within hours of each other were not beneficial for anyone's state of mind.

~0~

Samwell tried his best to keep up with the ever-increasing workload, but he only had two hands and they were running out of supplies. Doctor Strange offered every insight he possessed, which Samwell was thankful for, but a lot of what he said was very confusing. Some of the words sounded entirely made up, though he presumed they described things that didn't exist in this dimension. He could sense the man's frustration at not being able to help physically heal people, but he couldn't focus on pitying him in the face of so many tasks.

He bandaged Stark up as best he could. The only severe wound was the one he'd already had beforehand, which had torn open. The rest were relatively superficial; it was their sheer number that had rendered him so weak. Samwell didn't want to imagine what had transpired in the crypts to put him in such a state.

Samwell sent the spider boy away to get himself checked out while he finished with Stark. "You don't look so good yourself," Samwell told him when he protested.

"I heal fast," he insisted. The maester didn't question him. He'd briefly seen the boy on the field; he moved with an agility that should not be humanly possible. And the web things were simply mind-boggling. Samwell wouldn't be surprised if multiple of their guests had some form of super healing. But Samwell persisted, and the boy eventually relented and headed off to find Doctor Strange. He returned fifteen minutes later with his left arm in a makeshift sling.

"Mr. Stark, what would Aunt May say if she knew I broke my collarbone?"

"You did what?" he said, his voice marginally stronger than it had been before Samwell's ministrations.

"I broke my collarbone," Peter repeated sheepishly. "And probably a few ribs."

"How?"

"I told you; I fell."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying!" he insisted. Tony glared at him, knowing that the kid was concealing at least a part of the truth. "Fine. I, uh…fell out of the sky. Hulk threw me after he smashed me against the ground a few times."

"Bruce did this?! Damn, I told him not to leave the crypt. Where is he; has he de-greened by now?"

Peter realized with a sinking heart that Mr. Stark didn't know what happened to Dr. Banner. He'd been underground the entire time, so he hadn't seen what he'd become. "Mr. Stark, um…this was a bit of a different kind of Hulk."

"Last time I checked, we only had one Hulk."

"We do. Or…we did. One of those White Walkers…" Peter choked on the words, "it killed him. And then, when the Night King brought all the dead back, he changed. But he wasn't green Hulk, he was white. He came after me, and I tried to stop him, Mr. Stark, I tried, but he was too strong. I'm sorry."

Peter expected some sort of reaction, but Mr. Stark remained stoically silent. He ran a tired hand over his face, smearing some of the blood from the two shallow cuts. "Quit it with the 'I'm sorry,' Peter," he finally said. "If anyone needs to apologize, it's me."

"No—"

"Yes," he cut Peter off sternly. "I should've kept him in that crypt. He was just Banner, it would've been so easy to force him to stay. But I didn't try hard enough, and he left. He left, and he died, and he hurt you—" Tony's voice broke on the last part of that statement.

"No, Mr. Stark. It's not your fault! Dr. Banner made his own decision."

"If I'd only been more convincing, you'd be okay." Tony looked up at him with watering eyes.

"I am okay. I'm right here. What's a few broken bones?"

Mr. Stark chuckled drily, "Only you."

"Besides, it was really cool. He threw me so high, I was flying just like you!"

"Let's not talk about that because, now, every time I close my eyes, I see that image and it shaves a few years off my lifespan."

"Okay."

Samwell half listened to their exchange from where he stood nearby, enjoying a brief lull in the inflow of patients. He could tell the two cared for each other, almost like a father and son. Maybe they were, though he doubted a son would call his father Mr. Stark. But then again, maybe their customs were different than his own.

He sensed a change in the energy of the room before he heard or saw anything. Then he heard Captain America's voice shouting desperately for help. Samwell dove through the crowd of people and watched the man storm in with a limp figure across his shoulder. Oh gods, it was Jon. Samwell instantly recognized his best friend's long black hair and the white wolf hilt of Longclaw.

The crowd parted frantically, forming a pathway leading straight to Samwell. He froze, terrified by the sight of his friend being carried like a sack of grain. But Samwell Tarly wasn't a coward anymore. He was a mostly-trained maester, and he would not allow something as trivial as fear stop him from helping Jon.

"Set him down here," Samwell instructed, surprised by the authority in his own voice. Cap complied, easing Jon off his shoulder and onto the indicated bed. The former Lord Commander was shivering violently from a combination of cold and blood loss. There was so much blood, Samwell could smell it. It soaked through his clothes and coated Cap's arm and shoulder where he'd held him. Samwell recalled those enforced hunting trips from his childhood, when just the sight of blood made him vomit. He wanted to vomit now, but he quelled the sensation with sheer willpower. Jon needed the Samwell who had slain a White Walker, not some despicable coward.

Cap instinctively bent down to help Samwell strip Jon, his time as a soldier and an Avenger ensuring he knew how to handle combat wounds. Indistinct sounds came from Jon's throat, and he seemed to be drifting right on the borderline of consciousness. Neither of them wanted to remove the layers keeping him warm, but they needed to assess the damage. Cap held him in a seated position while Samwell worked off his clothes.

Ser Davos Seaworth and Tormund Giantsbane eased their way through the crowded hall to Jon's side. They stood just behind Cap while he and Samwell set him back down shirtless. Jon's eyes fluttered woozily open and met Samwell's gaze with a flicker of recognition. Samwell watched the corner of his mouth quirk up in an attempt at a smile.

Samwell couldn't find it within himself to smile back. He couldn't even focus on Jon's eyes because his gaze kept falling back to his body. He noticed the two fresh wounds, one on his left side and another in his abdomen, both still steadily bleeding. But it wasn't the new injuries that ground Samwell's thought process to a halt, it was the old ones. Seven deep, puckered scars littered his chest and abdomen, each representing what would've been a fatal wound on its own. In conjunction, they were beyond devastating. Samwell's maester-trained brain tried to figure out how his friend had sustained such injuries and survived, but he came up with nothing. His thoughts turned to white noise.

"Jon, how are you not dead?" Samwell asked the only sensible thought his frazzled mind could string together.

"I was," he murmured incoherently. Through the fog of pain and dizziness, Jon recognized the shock and horror in his friend's eyes. Samwell knew everything about Jon, even his real name and true heritage, but he didn't know about this. Jon hadn't wanted poor Sam to ever know. His throat made a noise that was definitely not a whimper because Jon Snow didn't whimper.

Samwell heard Jon whine, and the sound of distress snapped him out of his reverie. He swallowed the bile that had crept up his throat and started binding the fresh wounds. Distantly, he heard the doors fly open, and suddenly Queen Daenerys herself was staring over his handiwork. Ghost trotted silently forwards and plopped himself at Jon's head. Tormund and Davos exchanged a knowing glance, remembering where the direwolf had stationed himself that fateful night at Castle Black.

Daenerys edged her way to Jon's head and ran what she hoped was a comforting hand through his hair. She didn't care how many people around her saw. She'd watched Rhaegal fall from the sky with Jon on his back, and then she hadn't seen either of them again throughout the remainder of the battle. Once she dismounted from Drogon, she was surrounded by Ser Jorah, the blue woman, and the man with the red runes on his face and body. Despite the chaos around her during that time, she'd thought only of Jon…until Jorah had been slain. That was the first time Dany wept in a long time.

Jon's dark brown eyes tracked her movements. The position reminded her of the boat, when he'd bent the knee after returning from beyond the Wall almost frozen to death. His faint whisper of "Dany," only solidified the memory. This time, the nickname didn't remind her of Viserys. She smiled and kept carding her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch ever so slightly.

With pressure, the bleeding gradually slowed and finally came to a stop, much to Samwell's relief. Cap had handled the two in his leg while Samwell had busied himself with his torso and arm. Doctor Strange brought materials for stitching, verifying they'd already been sanitized—seriously, what was it with this guy and cleaning?—and one of their last doses of milk of the poppy. Samwell thanked him and set the items aside. Daenerys extended her hand, silently asking for something. He handed her the milk of the poppy and she gently raised Jon's head and coaxed him into swallowing it. He'd never expected the dragon queen to be so capable of tenderness.

Jon didn't manage to remain awake much longer, the drug proving the last straw in dragging him into unconsciousness. Samwell carefully stitched the gaping wounds closed, mindful of Daenerys watching his every move. Frankly, she scared him.

Cap didn't think there was much else he could do here. He stepped back and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Trudging through the snow with a nearly lifeless human on his shoulder, he'd feared that he wouldn't make it in time. But now Jon was in capable hands, and Cap could relax a bit.

He walked away and wandered aimlessly around for a few seconds before he saw another familiar face: Tony. He rushed over to the man's bedside, where the young Peter was already stationed. Tony's eyes met his, and he nearly wept. Why, he didn't really know. The engineer had come out a little worse for wear, smeared blood marring his cheek which bore two long but shallow gashes.

"Steve?"

"Tony." Before he could stop himself, Cap stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tony. The older man bit back a wince and Cap immediately retracted guiltily.

"I hear you're the hero of the hour," Tony remarked.

"What?"

"You brought back their precious Jon Snow. Apparently he's a pretty important dude around here."

"Oh."

"Can I pet his dog?" Peter cut in eagerly.

"What?"

"That big white dog."

"I'm not even sure that's a dog, Queens," Cap said, utilizing the teenager's nickname from the airport fight. "Anyway, what happened Tony? I thought the crypts were supposed to be safe."

"Yeah, well you know how the scary thing about the Night King is that he can reanimate the dead? He reanimated the dead. Very few of us were capable of fighting back. Tyrion and I took the brunt of it."

"Tyrion? Really?"

"Surprisingly, yes. The man can hold his own. But I am never going underground again."

"Understandable."

"I see you've got a new shield," Tony remarked. Then Cap remembered that Stark still had his original one after the fight in Siberia.

"I had to make do. And I'm sorry for taking things so far."

"Now? You think now is an opportune time to apologize?"

"There was never going to be an opportune time for me to apologize for something so important. I thought I might as well get it out."

"Fair enough. How was life as a fugitive?"

"It was great," Steve drawled. "It was like being on vacation. But then this big purple guy showed up and spoiled the party."

"I missed the field trip to MOMA," Peter complained.

"You've been in a Model of Medieval Atmosphere ever since we got here," Tony said, eliciting a small chuckle at his own stupid joke.

"I'm not gonna lie, the aesthetic of this place is incredible," Peter said. "Now I'm going to pet that dog even if it tries to bite my hand off." With that, he marched off towards Ghost. Tony sighed half in exasperation and half in awe at the kid's youthful enthusiasm.

~0~

After an immeasurably tense few hours, even the most critically wounded had been stabilized. Nobody showed any signs of dropping dead any time soon, though Samwell felt like he could sleep for weeks after the combined exertion of battle and leading the care of the many injured. He walked outside for a breath of air that didn't reek of blood and observed the commotion just outside the walls of Winterfell.

Heaps of the undead littered the grounds, the piles steadily growing as the unscathed soldiers added bodies. Others built pyres of wood and laid their fallen soldiers in neat rows. Of course, Samwell almost forgot that they'd have to burn all their dead. Firstly because they didn't have enough manpower to dig a grave big enough, and secondly because of lingering paranoia. The Night King was vanquished, but everyone felt safer with fewer intact dead bodies around.

Lyanna Mormont passed him, a rotten corpse slung over her little shoulders. "Can I help?" Samwell offered.

"Invite anyone who's able to help chop wood and carry bodies," she replied with her usual matter-of-factness. Samwell complied and returned, somewhat reluctantly, inside. He approached the man who'd brought Jon first, recognizing him as an authority figure among the newcomers.

"Mr—er…Captain?" Samwell's shaky address was clear enough, as the man turned his head. "We could use some help erecting funeral pyres. Are any of your soldiers capable?"

"Of course. We'd be happy to help," he said with a smile. Cap set about gathering up the uninjured members of his team. He found Thor joking with a collection of people from space he hardly knew, one of which appeared to be a raccoon and another which appeared to be a living tree. He told them of the cleanup protocol and they hurriedly got to work.

Falcon and Rhodes were already exhausted from urgently flying in all the injured, but they still offered their assistance when Cap requested it. He encountered Natasha chatting with the young Stark girl. Rumors spread quickly of their involvement in destroying the Night King, and Cap marveled at the fact that their entire world had been saved, not by any of the genetically enhanced soldiers, highly trained sorcerers, or literal gods, but by two mortal women.

"Well fought," he greeted them. Nat smirked, while Arya granted him a disdainful glare. "Samwell asked me to find more help gathering the bodies to burn. Have you seen Wanda anywhere?"

"I saw her wander off in a bit of a daze," Nat relayed. "She might just be exhausted. I'll find her and figure out what's going on."

"Great, thanks." Natasha mock-saluted him and headed off in another direction. Cap politely nodded goodbye to Arya and headed back into the busy hall. He'd last seen Bucky somewhere around here. Cap caught sight of Doctor Strange, still flitting around busily. He finally spotted Bucky, next to Stark of all places. Cap headed over and ground himself to a halt when he picked up on the topic of conversation.

"I could've been stronger," Bucky sighed. "I could've realized what they wanted me to do and resisted."

"It's not your fault," Stark insisted. Steve was shocked by the sincerity of forgiveness in his tone. Not so long ago, he'd turned on Bucky with a viciousness Steve had never seen in the engineer before. Bucky, admittedly through no fault of his own, had taken Tony's parents from him. As furious as he'd been with Stark in the heat of that moment, he had to admit the man's rage was warranted.

"Hey Buck," Steve finally cut in, unwilling to eavesdrop any longer. Bucky looked up at the sound of his voice, but so did Stark. "We could use your help outside."

"With what?" he asked.

"Collecting wood to burn the dead."

"They're burning the dead?" Tony confirmed.

"Yes. Many are still afraid of potential resurrection."

"But the Night King is dead."

"Old habits die hard, especially here in the North," a passing stranger informed them. Cap shrugged and waited for Bucky to answer his summons. Instead, Stark brought up an unexpected topic.

"What about Banner?" The slight quaver in his tone betrayed the depth of his grief.

"What about him?" Steve asked cautiously.

"He deserves some semblance of a funeral rite. Was there a body?"

"No, he shattered like the other White Walkers. I'm sorry Tony, but there's nothing left of him."

"There has to be something," the engineer insisted. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward to stand. Cap stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To ensure Bruce gets the remembrance he deserves."

"You are in no state to be going anywhere. We will make sure Dr. Banner is properly recognized."

"Let me go," Stark growled. When Cap didn't move, he said with even more ferocity, "Let me go, Steve. He was my friend, and now he's dead; I have to do something."

"You have to rest," Steve persisted.

"So does he!"

Cap had no words to formulate a response to that. He slowly retracted his hand and watched Tony rise unsteadily to his feet. His face paled distinctly, and Cap braced himself to catch him if he fainted, but Stark held his own weight. He set off with a determined gleam in his eye, and there was nothing Steve or Bucky could do to stop him.

~0~

Wanda was satisfied with the outcome of the battle, though she considered the entire instance an unfortunate distracter from Thanos. Once it concluded and the wounded were rounded up, an uneasiness gripped her, as if someone was gently tugging her in one direction. She followed the sensation, on the lookout for a potential secondary threat, but the feeling led her to a quiet room with a crackling fireplace. Before the hearth sat the woman in red who had lit the trench with some form of magic.

"The night is dark and full of terrors," she whispered ominously, turning to face Wanda. She stared blankly back, unsure what was expected of her.

"Um….I suppose it is," Wanda responded hesitantly.

"I saw it in the flames," she continued.

"Saw what?"

"You. Your friends. A group of heroes brought from another world." She stood, and beckoned for Wanda to follow. She had absolutely no idea what it meant that the woman had 'seen them in the flames,' but it didn't seem inherently malicious. Wanda trailed the woman cautiously outside into the cold and shivered sympathetically when she shed her cloak. She turned around to face Wanda and removed the ruby choker from around her throat. Melisandre grabbed Wanda's hand and placed the necklace in her palm. Then she turned and walked into the distance, through a path between two massive piles of undead. Wanda watched closely as the woman's startling red hair faded to gray and her proud posture deteriorated into a hobbled slouch. Finally, the red woman fell, finally finished her tenure as a servant of the Lord of Light.

Wanda looked more closely at the jewel in her hand. She sensed a vitality within it, a force comparable in strength to her own. She reached up and fastened the necklace about her own neck. Any trace of exhaustion from using her powers so much vanished as the ruby's enchantment surged through her.

"Nice bling," a voice from behind her startled Wanda. She tore her gaze away from the body crumpled on the horizon and faced Natasha.

"Th—thank you," she stuttered.

"They're burning all the dead and they need help transporting them," the Black Widow explained. Wanda nodded and followed her to the rapidly growing pile of bodies. This would be a relatively simple task for the Scarlet Witch. Soon enough, bodies began to float into the piles, driven by clouds of red energy. She made sure to include the aged body of Melisandre, taking extra care to lay it down gently on the bed of wood. The ruby at her throat pulsed with a reassuring warmth.

~0~

Tony knew he was probably too weak to be up and about, but he couldn't sit still knowing that Banner would be left out of the honor the rest of the dead would receive. The scientist was one of his best friends, and he'd failed to stop him from gallivanting off to his doom. He would not fail this time. He found Peter, who was staring at the white wolf from a few meters away looking positively agonized, and dragged him out by his good arm.

"Mr. Stark, what are you doing? Shouldn't you be lying down?" the teenager asked frightfully.

"Probably," Tony said curtly. Hopefully he could complete this quest efficiently, or he might pass out in the process.

"Where are we going?"

"Show me where Bruce changed."

"Umm…okay." Peter grabbed Tony's wrist (not just to guide him, but to surreptitiously keep a reading on his pulse) and started off towards where Banner had emerged from the crypts. Peter looked up and recognized the building he'd perched on top of when the White Walker sprang from the darkness and stabbed Banner.

Tony let go of Peter's hand despite the boy's resistance and paced the area. He kept his head down, poring over every inch of the snow-powdered ground beneath his feet. "Mr. Stark, what are you looking for?" Peter asked. Tony didn't answer; he was too focused on the task at hand. Several minutes passed, and Peter spoke up again, "Mr. Stark, if I was the one that badly injured, you would absolutely not let me run around in the cold like this."

"Because I'm the adult," he replied without breaking his concentration.

"You're also the one without enhanced healing powers."

"Shut up."

After about twenty minutes of relentless searching, Tony finally found it. He bent down, wincing as the movement pulled the new stitches in his side, and picked it up. He held out the object for Peter to see, and the teen scrutinized it. Realization dawned, and Peter sighed knowingly. No matter how stretchy the material, it always failed to keep up with the tensile demands of covering a massive, muscular green—in this case, white—chest. In his fist, Tony held a scrap of Bruce Banner's shirt.

~0~

When Jon finally awoke and felt strong enough to sit up, smoke from the funeral pyres filled the sky around Winterfell. Ghost rested his massive white head beside him, and Jon scratched him lovingly behind the ears. His baleful red eyes stared intently, as if asking a pressing question.

"How're you feeling?" asked the resounding voice of Tormund Giantsbane.

"Like I came back from the dead," Jon huffed.

"Don't let Sam hear you say that. I thought his eyes were gonna pop out of his skull!"

Discussing Samwell's reaction made Jon distinctly uncomfortable, so he changed the subject. "How many did we lose?"

"A lot. Your queen reports half the Dothraki and Unsullied fell."

"And the northmen?"

"They fared a bit better."

"Anyone we know?"

"Edd Tollett." The news struck Jon like a blunted training sword. He'd elected Edd his replacement as Lord Commander when he'd fled to Winterfell, had trusted the position to him. And now he'd given his life in defense of Jon's home. It was a debt that could never be repaid.

"Anyone else?"

"The Mormont."

"Lyanna?"

"No, no. She's fine. Killed a giant, actually, with the help of the spider boy." Jon smiled at the mental image of little Lyanna facing a giant. If he was that giant, he'd probably back down immediately. Lyanna Mormont, in spirit, was more bear than girl.

"How's Rhaegal?"

"A bit beaten up. But he'll be fine. A bit like you, I reckon." Jon chuckled.

"Where is the one with the shield?" he asked.

"Helping with the fires," Tormund answered.

"I have to thank him."

"We all do. I don't know what would've happened to all those kneelers if they lost their Jon Snow."

"What about you and the free folk?"

"We'd say good riddance and go back home now that you've cleaned out all the White Walkers for us!"

~0~

The survivors all crowded into the mess hall for a victory feast. Jon sat beside Dany after being carried in by Tormund, nobody trusting him to walk all that way. He looked pale and exhausted, but so did most of the people in the room. Drinks flowed freely from one end of the massive tables to another. Someone filled Peter's cup with something intoxicating, and the boy picked it up to take a sip only to be stopped by Tony.

"You're not of age," he growled, putting the cup out of reach.

"It's medieval times, there is no legal age," Peter countered. But he was silenced with a Look. Thor enjoyed himself thoroughly; Asgardian culture more closely mirrored that of this time period, and he felt right at home. He and Tormund were currently engaged in a lively discussion of how to properly cook wild swine. Arya and Natasha giggled like children in an isolated corner.

Queen Daenerys silenced the room, and all heads turned toward her. "We have won the Great War," she announced, eliciting much cheering from the assembled soldiers. "Now we will win the Last War."

"Wait, there's more?" The Avengers all met eyes, wondering how these people could possibly contemplate another war in the wake of the one they'd just fought. They knew from experience that back-to-back wars always spelled disaster.

"We will take King's Landing and oust the Usurper Cersei Lannister!" Dany called, earning more cheers. How exactly were they planning to do that with their armies devastated? "We'll rip her out root and stem."

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, no tree metaphors!" Rocket added, effectively translating Groot-speak. Cap, unable to passively listen to this ridiculous talk, stood up and marched to the middle of the room to face Daenerys.

"You're suggesting that after narrowly winning this war, you want to immediately march off to another, unrelated conflict?"

"That is exactly what we mean to do. The Iron Throne does not belong to Cersei by any right, yet she sits upon it."

"Who cares?" Quill added his voice to Cap's dissent.

"She is a wrongful queen who must be stopped!"

"Stopped from doing what?" Bucky asked. All the natives clearly abhorred Cersei, yet none of them, with the possible exception of Tyrion, presented any solid evidence regarding why.

"From ruling the Seven Kingdoms."

"Are we in one of those kingdoms right now? Strange inquired reasonably.

"Yes, the North is a part of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros," Jon explained.

"Did Cersei order you to fight the Night King?" T'Challa questioned, his Wakandan accent raising a few eyebrows on the Westerosi's faces.

"No. We traveled to King's Landing and requested her assistance, but she lied about sending aid," Daenerys said venomously.

"So you fought this war of your own will, entirely separate from Cersei?" Natasha confirmed.

"Yes," Jon said.

"Then just live your lives like that!" Thor suggested eagerly.

"We cannot merely 'live our lives' while that tyrant sits on my throne," Daenerys explained menacingly. "As we speak, she is amassing an army to prevent our conquest of King's Landing."

"Then don't conquer King's Landing," Wanda said matter-of-factly.

"We must take King's Landing to secure the Iron Throne."

"It's just a chair," Rhodey reminded them.

"The Iron Thrones was forged in the f—"

"Yeah, we know. Forged in the fires of Balerion the Dread, all that jazz," Tony remarked. "But you've got some pretty cool dragons, too, and an equally awesome origin story. How about a throne forged in the fires of Drogon after the salvation of the human race from the Night King? You could choose who sits upon it."

The natives paused long enough to consider this prospect. To many it seemed utterly preposterous, but a few more liberally-minded people wondered why they hadn't thought of this sooner. "If we do this, word will reach Cersei and she will send her armies north to force us to bend the knee to her."

"The North is a harsh place," Tyrion finally added his voice to the tumult of opinions. "Southern soldiers and the Golden Company of Essos are not accustomed to the harsher climate. We'd stand a much better chance if they seek us out than if we take the fight to them." Tony admired the dwarf for being the first of his people to speak in favor of the Avengers' proposition. He was an influential figure among them, and swaying him was a crucial first step in preventing these people from unnecessarily marching to their doom.

"He makes a valid point," Ser Davos Seaworth commented. "Cersei is unlikely to seek us out, but she will not hesitate to fight back if we invade." Murmurs of assent traveled up and down the tables.

"The rest of the Seven Kingdoms kneel to the Iron Throne, to Cersei. They will revolt if we do something so brash."

"Not if they know what you did for them," Strange pointed out. "Royal subjects value protection, and you just saved them from the greatest possible threat while Cersei stood in her tower and drank wine. Given the choice, most will bow to you."

"They make a convincing argument," Jon said. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life avoiding more wars. "We are in no state to start another war."

"No more war!" someone called from the assembled crowds. Nobody could pinpoint who it was.

"No more war!" Peter Parker repeated. He didn't want to see any more of these people die, especially for no good reason.

"No more war!" Of all the people in the hall, nobody expected the Hound to be the next to speak up, yet he joined his voice to the steadily rising chorus.

"No more war! No more war! No more war!" the phrase echoed around the hall until everyone's ears pounded with it. Daenerys looked over the crowd in disbelief. All her life, she'd focused on the Iron Throne and how she'd reclaim it in the name of her family. To change that goal now seemed despicably traitorous to the Targaryen dynasty. But then she turned her gaze to Jon beside her and watched him chanting along with his people, the color returned to his face and the light returned to his eyes. She could still be a queen. She could liberate the Seven Kingdoms from the slave master that was Cersei Lannister, just as she'd done in Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen. People would choose to bow to her of their own free will, ensuring their loyalty would be twice as strong as any imposed by fear.

Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen added her voice to the cacophony of her company: "No more war!" She met Jon's eye and he smiled wider than she'd ever known he was capable.

~0~

Aegon Targaryen forged the Iron Throne with the thousand swords surrendered to him by his subjects and the fire of his great black dragon Balerion. Daenerys Targaryen forged the Obsidian Throne with the thousand dragonglass weapons utilized to banish the Long Night and the fire of her great black dragon Drogon.

Those who'd seen the Iron Throne agreed this one was far more beautiful. The symbolism behind it made the Iron Throne look like a gnarled old stool. While everyone admired the mighty seat, Tony snuck off to complete another project. The remaining nanoparticles that made up his suit had returned to the housing unit on his chest. He didn't have enough for another suit, but he had plenty for the task he had in mind.

He popped the detachable unit off and worked on reprogramming the particles to take a new shape upon activation. He worked in silence for an hour, wishing he could play some AC/DC in the background to help him focus. When he was finally satisfied he carried his creation back to the crowd around the newly-forged throne.

Daenerys stepped up and took a seat upon the slick black surface. She'd dreamt of this moment for years and years, to sit upon the throne and look down upon her grateful subjects. As she did just this, she noticed only one thing missing: a crown. Her head felt despairingly light without anything to mark her as a rightful ruler. The crowd before her parted to reveal Stark, the man who had valiantly protected everyone in the crypts at his own expense despite the fact that he was an outsider.

He continued forward and stood before her. Daenerys's eyes lit up at the sight of the object he carried in his hands. He reached slightly towards her and paused, asking for permission to continue. She nodded eagerly, her violet eyes shining with admiration for this man. His hands drifted upwards and placed the object upon her silver hair, where it rested neatly among her intricate braids. He stepped back, revealing the hot-rod-red crown edged with gold.

~0~

Now that the Avengers had redefined the politics of an entire nation, only one issue remained: how to get home to their own dimension. The power of all six Infinity Stones had brought them here, and they suspected something of equal fortitude would be required to bring them back. Tony shot ideas back and forth with Strange, missing Bruce desperately. The scientist would be invaluable in helping figure this out. Samwell and Tyrion, apparently some of the brightest minds in Westeros, offered their knowledge as well.

"Is there a reservoir for magic within this universe? A relic of sorts?" Strange asked. "If I have access to a large quantity of existing power, I may be able to harness it to create a dimensional rift.

"What's the most magical thing you've got?" Tony paraphrased, afraid that these poor people would have no idea what the sorcerer was saying.

"We have two dragons," Tyrion offered.

"Not enough. We'd need something more…universal," Strange replied.

"What about Valyria? There has to be residual from the Doom," Samwell said.

"What's the Doom?" Tony questioned warily.

"The entire civilization was wiped out."

"By what?"

"We're not entirely sure. Something fiery."

"Let's try not to go there if at all possible," Tony insisted. "I've had enough fiery doom and gloom for a lifetime."

"Well, what about the Wall?" Samwell suggested.

"What about it?" Tyrion asked.

"It's imbued with magic. And it's huge."

"Magic and huge; that's exactly what we're looking for," Tony said.

"It's seven hundred feet high and stretches across the entire continent."

"Where is this wall?" Strange inquired.

"Just north of here."

"Can we reach it? And is it safe?"

"Yes. And it should be now that the Night King's gone. And with the new alliance between us and the wildlings, there's very little use for the Wall at all," Samwell informed them.

"Perfect. Let's do it," Tony stood up and started to head out to gather up the team.

"Stark, don't rush into this. We need a plan of action," Strange insisted.

"Right, right, a plan. Here: We go to this wall, and you do your wizard thing to use its magic to get us home. Simple enough?"

"No. It's not simple. If magic is an integral part of this wall, extracting it could be impossibly complex. Removing it without proper technique could cause a cosmic event that destroys us all."

"The Night King took down a part of the Wall without incident," Tyrion said. "According to those who were there at Eastwatch, he burned it down with Viserion the ice dragon."

"Well, we have two dragons. We could do that," Tony proposed.

"But Drogon and Rhaegal are not undead. The Night King's magics may have drastically altered the makeup of the dragonfire," Samwell explained.

"And even two dragons could only handle a small section of the Wall at once. We will need access to all its magic at once," Strange added. The group lapsed into silence as everyone pondered more strategies. Tony and Strange were at a loss, having no knowledge of the workings of this Wall.

"The Horn!" Samwell exclaimed.

"The what?" everyone else stared at him in puzzlement as he stood and began excitedly pacing.

"The Horn of Joramun. I read about it at the Citadel; legend says blowing it can bring down the Wall. That would release all the magic at once!"

"But nobody knows where it is," Tyrion countered.

"I do. I found it beyond the Wall with a cache of dragonglass weapons."

"Where has it been all this time?"

"At Castle Black, hidden in Maester Aemon's chambers."

"Why didn't you mention it sooner?"

"Well, when I found it, the Wall was still necessary to keeping wildlings and White Walkers out. If word got out that the Horn had been found, one or both of our enemies would have breached it easily."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go toot our own horn," Tony stated confidently.

~0~

The Avengers stood gathered outside the walls of Winterfell, listening to Samwell and Strange brief them on the plan. A vivid description of Castle Black would allow Strange to sling ring them a portal there—transporting things within this dimension was still possible, though he couldn't simply get them home that way. Once there, Samwell would fetch the Horn of Joramun, blow it, and hopefully the Wall would crumble, releasing all its magic. Ideally, the power would be enough to reverse the effect of Thanos's snap that had brought them here.

"Any questions?" Strange asked authoritatively once he'd concluded his briefing. The assembled Avengers all shook their heads silently. All were just eager to get home. Samwell stood next to Strange in awe as the sorcerer conjured the distinct sparkling ring of orange. Within it, they could see the massive wall of ice before them. Strange stepped aside and ushered the various Avengers through. Once Samwell—and the horse they'd prepared for his eventual trip home—stepped through, Strange followed him and the portal sealed behind them with a pop.

The Wall needed a more majestic name, Cap thought to himself. A wall was something on the side of a building, but this dwarfed any structure he'd ever seen in his lifetime. Tony wondered what marvels of medieval construction technique had allowed them to create such a monstrosity. It stretched infinitely out to either side, as if the world simply ended here. Above, it reached into the sky like the tallest of New York skyscrapers.

"Wow," came a collective gasp. Only Samwell, who'd seen it many times before, remained unfazed by the Wall's grandness. He entered Castle Black and returned a few minutes later with an ordinary-looking horn.

"You're sure this is the super-magical one?" Rhodes asked skeptically.

"Only one way to find out," Samwell replied. He looked to Strange and the two exchanged a nod. He brought his lips to the horn and exhaled. A long, low note rang out and echoed in the brisk winter air. The Avengers watched as the Wall shuddered and enormous cracks drove themselves up its face. Obviously they couldn't see magic leaking out, but the look on Strange's face betrayed the fact that he sensed an immense force. Wanda and Thor felt it too, a centuries old enchantment cracking under the pressure of the Horn's sound.

Samwell separated himself and the horse from the group of Avengers, not wanting to be transported along with them if their plan proved successful. With a resounding crunch, the structural integrity of the Wall failed and tons upon tons of ice crashed to earth. The Avengers huddled together behind Strange, who stood with his hands extended as if to soak up the released magic.

Samwell watched the sorcerer grit his teeth against the full force of the Wall's broken enchantments. He and the Avengers behind him glowed with an ice-blue aura, which steadily brightened until Samwell was forced to avert his eyes or risk blindness. He heard a snap and the snow around his feet swirled in a strong breeze. Samwell cautiously opened his eyes and watched the white powder settle on the ground once again. He looked to the spot where the Avengers had stood, and all that remained was disturbed snow. He smiled, thrilled that his idea had succeeded in returning his new friends to their homeland.

~0~

Thanos hadn't succeeded in eliminating half of the universe with his snap, but he still remained at large. How did the Avengers defeat him after returning from a medieval world overrun by an army of the undead?

It turns out Mad Titans are also vulnerable to dragonglass.