2,781Author's Note: Holy guacamole! Is this it? Are we really on the penultimate chapter? I don't even think I believe it myself. Hyperventilating a little here. This is probably the biggest, most important chapter. There will be an Epilogue in two weeks time; you won't want to miss it!
Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. Whether you first picked TDR up at the beginning and have been with me through all the years of posting or blitzed through it a week ago, you're all my heroes. I am so grateful for your loyalty to this project and to me. You were absolutely instrumental in giving me the encouragement, energy, and fortitude I needed to reach the end. You're all the best!
And I could never have gotten this far without my handy-dandy betas. It can't be understated how vital they've been. Catzrko0l joined as a beta reader for this project around Chapter 50! That had to have been at least 4 years ago. While my pace hasn't been exactly breakneck, it's been unrelenting and they've been there the whole way. Couldn't do it without the both of them! You're the best!
Discord: See the end note.
Twitter: GroovyPriestess
Chapter 158
Aemon LXI
He sat upon Rhaegal and watched the approaching blizzard as the light of the sun faded away. It was far too early for the sun to be setting. Though he hoped his visage was calm and projected confidence, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He tightened his grip on Rhaegal's reins. The dragon could sense his nervous energy and swung his tail back and forth restlessly, eliciting grumbling noises deep in his chest.
The Long Night was upon them once more. The Winterfell contingent had arrived only two days earlier with the Army of the Dead veritably nipping at their heels. He thought the Night King may have drawn back upon seeing Moat Cailin's towering spires now repaired. Moat Cailin was a large castle, larger than even Winterfell. Yet even it couldn't hope to contain the nearly one hundred thousand men now stationed there.
Quarters were tight. Tents had been pitched on the training grounds for those who couldn't fit. Even lords were forced to share rooms. Tempers were running high, but Jaime was far fiercer. He brooked no arguments and anyone who dared open their mouth with a complaint found it died on their lips at his murderous glare. Aemon was sincerely concerned he might deliberately kill someone who dared to say a cross word, but he wouldn't soon mention it for fear of his own life.
Over the last several days, Aemon had been surprised at the number of reunions he witnessed, even from a distance. The Night's Watch men shouted at each other as new ones entered. He pretended not to notice when Renly had discreetly pulled Ser Loras aside. Aemon had barely recognized Renly. The man had aged considerably on the Wall and much of his face was covered by a thick bushy beard much like Robert Baratheon's. As much as he was loathe to speak with Ser Alliser Thorne, he asked about Renly and learned that he'd made a name for himself as a mason and had quickly risen to a position of leadership, training the new recruits.
There are worse fates than the Wall, he reminded himself as his memories from those days rose to mind.
This was it. He and Jaime had put their entire effort behind this battle. While he didn't think the realm would be lost entirely should they fail, it would be much harder for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to mount a better resistance. With the help of Drogon and Rhaegal, they'd torn down trees and blocked the gate with the trunks. If the wights still attempted to get through, they were to be quickly ignited, trapping everyone inside for the short time. He and Dany had spent much of the last several hours setting the swamp to light. It would be uncrossable by wights for many miles. The road was no longer passable either. Men had spent the last week hauling logs and stacking them to create a giant bonfire. The dragons' main job—apart from torching wights—was to keep the wood burning no matter the fierceness of the winds. They were also to keep a weather eye on the ocean to prevent the Night King from sending wights around the castle should it freeze over.
Although he was on Rhaegal, the plan was no longer for him to be there for the entirety of the battle. It left him and the dragon far too open to attack. He shuddered thinking about the conversation he'd had with Bran.
"You know," Aemon began, "you were the Night King's target. We need to keep you safe."
Bran had blinked at him and considered him for a moment. Whenever Bran looked at him, an eerie feeling crept up Aemon's spine. His cousin had been strange in the time prior, but that had more involved an unearthly maturity and quietness. Aemon couldn't quite understand, but he felt that this Bran wasn't entirely human or entirely Bran either.
"I don't think he's nearly as concerned with me as he is with the both of you," Bran said in a drawl, staring placidly into the fire of the war room.
"Me and Dany?" Aemon asked.
Bran chuckled and looked at him with a smile that appeared mocking. It was then that Aemon realized he'd been subject to much of the same mannerisms by David.
"It's not Queen Daenerys who curries the Gods' favor. Should you both perish tonight, the Night King will have won. All of this … planning, the … sacrifices. It'll have been for naught," Bran said bitterly, his mouth twisting and his adam's apple bobbed nervously. "And you … you must stay clear of the Night King until Lightbringer is in your hand. You still have a chance. The Gods will accept Ghost's life."
Aemon gritted his teeth and tightened his grip even more on Rhaegal's reins. Perhaps he was foolish to forgo killing his wolf, but Aemon felt a pang every time he saw him playing with his brother, plowing through the snow in his exuberance. It also didn't escape him that killing Ghost would mean denying or stifling his Stark heritage. Though Rhaegal had required most of his attention of late, he'd grown up a Stark. He spent half his life thinking himself only a Stark, even if not in name. Aemma and Daeron weren't going to be brought up knowing only the Targaryen half of their family. In an ideal world, he'd insist that his and Robb's family meet every few years so that his children could know their cousins. Perhaps that would be possible with the use of the dragons, but the distance was still quite a barrier.
He shook his head and noted the clouds moving to obscure the sun. He had wanted to do a quick flyby while there was still light so that they could get an idea of when the Army of the Dead would be upon them. He nudged Rhaegal, who launched himself into the air. He worried his lip as Rhaegal quickly covered the distance. The Night King would know it was him. They'd have to be careful.
After Bran had imparted his cryptic message, Aemon had sought out Jaime to inform him that he, too, was marked for death by the Night King. He wasn't sure what he expected, but Jaime acting completely unconcerned was not it.
"As if I wasn't already aware my head was on the chopping block for this battle," Jaime scoffed. "We're putting all of our efforts into this fight. Of course I'll die if we fail."
Aemon growled in frustration. "I'm not talking about him just killing you. He will actively seek you out. He may even try something underhanded. I'm telling you this so you can be prepared; I don't want you throwing your life away."
"Of course I won't throw my life away! I have every intention of seeing my children again," Jaime replied archly before walking away to continue in his ceaseless preparations.
For the battle, Jaime had found his place on the ramparts above the door. He'd fall back as each barrier they'd erected was breached. Ser Brienne and Ser Pod were in the training yard and Aemon knew Jaime was determined to be at hand instantly should they run into trouble. He had to trust his friend would make it through alive as he was wont to do.
Aemon cast a glance back to Moat Cailin, barely noticing a line of torches on the outside, where the calvary was waiting to fill the gap in front of Moat Cailin once the barricade fell. Lord Lyonel Corbray was waiting to lead the calvary into battle; his reward would be the return of Lady Forlorn as his house's sword. He angled Rhaegal when he saw the field of blue lights from the eyes of the Army of the Dead. They weren't more than a few miles off. "Let's make a mark," he called to Rhaegal.
The dragon gave an answering cry and fanned toward the edge of the line before blowing a clean sweep of fire mere feet ahead of the dead. Aemon had Rhaegal wheel around and gasped when he heard the whoosh of a spear rush harmlessly by. The Night King was determined to draw blood.
Do be careful, Dany, he thought with some trepidation. Not that she wasn't careful, but the danger felt so much closer than it had in previous skirmishes. He alighted on one of the towers near Drogon and called out. "Not more than a few miles now. We marked the line and just barely dodged a spear."
A shadow fell across Dany's face, but she nodded, hunching down further in her saddle. Olyvar rushed off to spread the word to everyone else, the echoes of his voice could be heard faintly from where they sat.
Aemon decided not to waste any more time and climbed down from Rhaegal. With a spear already thrown, he couldn't risk himself in another sweep. He motioned to Rhaegal, who brought his head down close. "Stay safe out there. Don't take chances. Keep high above the fray if you can," he said.
Rhaegal blew a breath in reply and grumbled before settling himself back down. Ghost happily loped up to him; he normally gave Rhaegal a wide berth and indulged in whatever companionship he could receive. It just made Aemon even more uncertain about sacrificing him. Was this the Gods' will, that his wolf die for the world? Or was this just one of many routes to reach the same destination? He had a greater understanding of Jaime's longstanding resentment and ire of David. He would give anything to question him now. But, apparently, now that he was gone from the world, he was reduced to using a mouthpiece. Was Bran merely parroting the Gods' will or was that the wisdom he'd learned from becoming the three-eyed raven? Prior to the battle, Bran had been rowed out to Lord Redwyne's flagship to be out of reach of the Night King. Should Moat Cailin fall, they were to return to King's Landing.
Ser Barristan stepped up instantly. He, the Hound, Ser Daemon, and Ser Andrew Tollett would all be at his side for the battle. Ser Torrhen had been stationed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with his own father and had been lost there as well. Aemon pitied the poor boy because he'd hardly had the opportunity to prove himself. According to Prince Oberyn, he'd fallen trying to carry his wounded father to the ships.
And now he's likely walking among the dead as one of my enemies, Aemon thought somberly.
Ser Jorah hadn't been quite quick enough to escape the collapsing of the Wall. Though he cared little for the man, especially after his actions against Dany, it still pained him that another familiar face was bound to be an enemy. The very thought made the bile rise in his throat.
Daeron is safe in the Eyrie. Should this battle go ill, he and his sister will remain safe from the grasp of the Night King, he thought. He pulled forth Blackfyre and studied the blade. Much like the name suggested, the steel was not the bright gray of a regular sword, but the dun gray of ash. A ruby was affixed in its pommel and it glinted like fire to Aemon's eyes. Though he had taken the opportunity to train with the sword, to get a feel for its weight and movement, it was yet untested in a battle.
Aemon was pulled from his reverie as the guttural sounds of the wights reached his ears. With a thunderous flapping of his wings, Drogon rose into the sky and drifted over to the wooden road block, engulfing it in his red-blackened flames before turning away. Dany was apt to strafe the swamp with another stream of fire to keep the undergrowth hot and impenetrable.
"Are you ready?" Aemon looked over his shoulder at his Kingsguard.
"As ever, Your Grace," Ser Barristan replied.
Though the Hound's face and eyes reflected the light of the fire now burning in the distance, he twisted his mouth into a snarl and growled, "Let's fucking get 'em."
"Never better, Your Grace," Ser Daemon replied with a smirk. He'd received a dragonglass spear to carry into battle for the Long Night.
The wind suddenly blew up and began to roar in their ears, causing the Targaryen and Tallhart flags to whip and wrap around their poles. The cold air grew sharper and Aemon squinted as he tried to see through the thick curtain of snow that began to fall.
Jaime began shouting his commands. In the cacophony of sound from the wights and the robust cries of the soldiers, they were lost to Aemon's ears, but he noted the cauldrons of oil being tipped over the side before a torch was thrown on it, causing a fire to burst and the wights to squeal as they instantly came alight. One of the soldiers had been peering over the wall and was blasted back. He screamed and beat at the flames on his body, but lost his footing and fell in a heap despite the others reaching for him. There he lay unmoving.
Aemon blew out a breath of frustration and gritted his teeth. The rest of the men atop the ramparts had taken out their bows and were raining down dragonglass arrows onto the heads of the wights eliciting more screams. Jaime raced back and forth along the rampart to assess the situation.
"We need more oil! They're climbing up one another to top the wall," Jaime roared. A man hurried across the yard with a bucket. Jaime himself casually tossed a piece of tender over the Wall and quickly ducked as the flames roared over the side.
For the moment, Aemon felt uplifted. They were holding their own against the wights and making sure that they stayed at the bottom of the wall. It wasn't going to last, but he felt heartened that they were having such success thus far. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his racing heart in check.
"This is how it felt at the Wall at first," the Hound muttered.
"Hmm?" Aemon flicked his head to him. Had he seen the hope on his face?
"Then that fucking Night King tore down the Wall in a matter of minutes, killing hundreds in an instant."
"Well, that horn was only useful to get through the Wall. He'll have no use for it here," Aemon said.
"The wall is a lot shorter here."
"Yes, it is. It won't last," Aemon said. "But any time we can buy is good."
"Remember to stay behind us, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said, causing Aemon to roll his eyes.
"I know the Night King will not get past you," Aemon replied.
"Not without a good fight," Ser Barristan growled.
A shout rang out and Aemon looked toward the far wall. Despite Jaime having lit a bucket of oil, the wights had already recovered and were attempting to climb over the edge.
"Stop them! Stop them now!" Jaime shouted, rushing over, his new sword in his hand. Men rushed to the spot and stabbed them with their dragonglass daggers. Even as that threat was dealt with, more shouts called out as wights could be seen at the edge of the wall in a dozen different places. Now the cries of men dying mingled with the screeching of the wights as they clashed.
Aemon frowned as Jaime rushed from one spot to the next. His friend hadn't mentioned any trouble with his seizures for some time, but he remembered starkly that it didn't take long for Jaime to quickly become overwhelmed by the sounds of battle. From this distance, he wasn't sure how Jaime was managing.
A booming noise began to echo across the walls, drawing Aemon's attention. They were trying to burst through the door. The fire blockade had held them at bay, but had finally been snuffed. It stood in the way of the calvary. From what he saw, it was already bowing under the weight of the wights as they put all of their strength behind the effort. Aemon gritted his teeth and licked his lips, bracing himself with Blackfyre at the ready.
Suddenly a stream of reddened-black fire streamed down on the door as Drogon made a turn before flying off once more. A cheer rose up from the men as most of the wights suddenly burst apart on the Wall, blowing away like dust in the wind. They got a white walker, Aemon thought delightedly.
The victory was still short-lived as a new flood of wights quickly took the place of the lost ones. Brienne gave a mighty roar as some of the wights came down the stairs to the training grounds and she charged, stabbing one through with her single dragonglass dagger. Pod was right on her heels and pulled her back almost as quickly, felling another wight that took a swipe at her even as she scrambled back. Aemon's heart went into his throat as Jaime stopped to regard Brienne for a moment in spite of the melee going on around him. But Jaime's uncanny battle instinct saw him immediately turn to slash through another wight.
With a mighty crash, the gates broke and soon the training grounds turned into a pitched battlefield as everyone now fought with a wight. Those that fell were just as quickly replaced by more. Aemon ground his teeth and restlessly paced. Just as he was turning to run and join the fray, Ser Barristan grabbed him. "Your Grace, no. We agreed. The plan was for you to stay here and wait for the fight to come to you."
"Fuck waiting! My men need me," Aemon snarled.
The Hound snorted. "You won't have long to wait. Here they come."
All of the Kingsguard wheeled and raised their weapons toward the doorway as they heard the telltale sounds of the wights screeching.
At last, Aemon thought, feeling his blood rise. He'd spent the last several weeks riding dragonback. Though he'd undoubtedly have been of far greater use there, his wolfsblood screamed to kill. After weeks of having to turn away from the bulk of the fighting and glare down from his perch on Rhaegal in envy, he would finally join the fray.
A sound drew his attention. He watched Dany and Drogon swoop down once more and Aemon heard another splintering sound before they flew off. Then Dany blew her horn. That was the signal for the cavalry to join. She must've been clearing the way for them, he thought.
He shrugged it off as the fiery blue eyes of the wights burst into the balcony.
Ser Andrew Tollett shouted, "For the king!" He used his sword to cleave the wight in two and the light instantly died in its eyes. Aemon had granted him use of Lady Forlorn for the battle.
As Ser Barristan had intended, Aemon was stuck waiting for the wights to reach him as his Kingsguard readily dispatched the ones that had come barreling through the archway. Aemon took the moment to peer over the parapet to see the battle. A maelstrom of chaos greeted his eyes. The wights were like a flood of ants attacking another hive. There was too much activity for him to pick out any individuals. He didn't see Jaime's telltale blond head and prayed that a seizure hadn't taken him. Despite the carnage, there was still no sign of the Night King.
He huffed in frustration and turned back to the wights. With a growl, he launched himself at the oncoming foes.
Jaime LXI
After spending years in the lion's den listening to the blacksmiths work and then walking amongst the Lannister soldiers training, he thought he'd inured himself to the sound of battle. Since he'd returned to Casterly Rock, he'd had a seizure every five to eight months. He'd even managed to stave a few off by recognizing the early signs and secluding himself for a quiet day away from the pressures of being lord and a father.
He had merely been fooling himself. At first, he felt strong and confident as the wights poured onto the walls of Moat Cailin. The sounds of their death cries were music to his ears as they fell under numerous dragonglass arrowheads and wildfire arrows. Even the jagged gray ribbons of their cries virtually blended in with the deepening night sky and into the snow. He was so focused on the early fighting, that he hadn't even noticed the wind kick up as the blizzard the Night King brought with him settled in. He was in his element.
But he'd never put his mind to such a strenuous test and after barely an hour, the cracks were forming. First, he felt a throb in his right temple and he winced. He pushed it aside and focused on supporting the ramparts as wights were climbing over the walls like creeping vines. Now mixed with the wights' horrid cries were the sounds of his men. Their screams of terror, rage, or sadness ripped across his vision and he was forced to squint to see around all of the litany of colors. He gritted his teeth as the nausea began building in his throat.
No, no, please don't. Don't let me seize now, he found himself praying. As was the case with any battle, collapsing would be a death sentence. He refused to be felled by something as insignificant as a seizure. His cheeks warmed in shame at the thought of children being told of how he fell. They were familiar with them. He'd made it no secret to them that he suffered from spells that left him momentarily weak and shaky. Even despite their age, they were well aware that loud noises—especially screaming and shouting—did more than merely try his patience.
I know you're listening, Stranger, Jaime thought sourly, giving a quick glance to the sky, before running another wight through.
Unsurprisingly, their men were getting overwhelmed. Their excessive preparations and training meant they were holding, for now, but every inch the wights gained, they kept.
At one point, Jaime had been pulled away by hearing Brienne's roar. He stopped momentarily to stare at her with something akin to awe as she rushed up the stairs to the rampart to kill wights on the stairs. Pod was on her heels, at her side. Yet despite her still tender stump, she was ferocious with the dragonglass dagger. Her mouth was curled into a growl, her short hair was already frizzy and wild, and what little of her pale skin he could see seemed to glow in the dark. He wished he could show her this image; he'd never seen her look more beautiful.
He was just preparing himself to rush over and send her back to the ground, when Pod grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. They were meant to stay in the yard for the time being. The wights would spill in through the gate and that was when they'd engage. He shook himself of his reverence and turned once more to shout orders and swing his sword.
All Seven Hells broke loose when the gate finally crashed open and the wights flooded into the yard. His vision was a rainbow of colors rising like a mist before him. Some of the more exuberant shouts streaked across his vision like lightning, leaving ghostly trails in their wake. He could barely see what was in front of him. He was grateful they were facing against wights as they were easily distinguishable with their glowing blue eyes and rotting bodies. He didn't even pause to think, he simply lashed out.
His heart was pounding with the drumbeat that was now increasing in his temple. With every swallow, he tried to settle the bile threatening to rise up in his throat. He staggered for the stairs, struggling to focus his vision on the steps in front lest he fall downward. His hand clenched Daybreak. Despite the urgency, he was aware enough to know that he'd be giving Pod a severe lecture if he caught him holding his sword so stiffly. But he was too afraid to drop it. I won't lose it like I lost Widow's Wail, he insisted to himself. He stretched out his hand to guide himself down the stairs, even as he took them two at a time to stay out of reach of wights.
"Jaime!" He heard Brienne call out.
He didn't trust himself to look for fear of being caught off guard. Sure enough, he heard the creaking snarl of a wight and he turned behind him to stab viciously, allowing the body to fall by the wayside. He only breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the filthy rags on its body that assured him it wasn't one of his own men.
Brienne reached out to him with her stump and she peered into his eyes. He could just see Pod covering her back before he dared to look at her.
"Is it your head?" she asked, the worry plain on her face.
He nodded, blinking fiercely to clear the color from his eyes. "I can't manage much longer," he murmured.
Brienne formed her mouth into a frown. "We'll get through this. Stay close to us," she said.
"I should be the one telling you that," Jaime grumbled. He leaned heavily against the wall to keep himself upright, staring past her and Pod at the chaos beyond them.
"You can't help your head," Brienne shouted, turning and roaring as she stabbed an approaching wight on her flank.
A wight slipped past Pod and Jaime ran it through, allowing the body to slide off his sword. He leveled his gaze toward the open grounds and then froze. A white walker on horseback rode through the gate, leading a new crush of wights.
Jaime pointed his sword. "A white walker! A white walker! Get it! Kill it!"
The fist of wights surrounding him was quite thick and he could see men approaching and falling under it. Jaime leveraged himself to his feet, willing the pain in his head to fade and he focused his sights on the white walker.
"We need to kill it," he said, when Brienne and Pod had returned their attention to him.
He thought Brienne was going to argue for a moment, but she simply nodded grimly.
"I don't care who kills it," Jaime said, "but let's punch through."
Brienne and Pod took places on either side of him and they began an arrow formation, though they were slow and measured with their pacing, stopping only to fell any wights that approached them. Other men saw them and fell in behind them as they slowly cleared a path, stepping over the bodies of wights and men alike.
Jaime breathed in deeply, forcing his will to shore up and narrow to focus on the white walker. It turned to survey them with disdain, as if it hardly expected a challenge. Jaime bared his teeth in a snarl and their group began carving their way through the crush. The white walker pulled out a spear and spurred its horse. Only the creak of its bones gave away its movement. Jaime used all of his training to bend enough for the spear to pass him harmlessly ashe slashed out at the dead horse's legs. It gave an unearthly squeal, a mere facsimile of a horse's scream. The horse crumbled and then Jaime stabbed it through the chest so that the blue glow faded from its skull.
The white walker opened its mouth and raised the spear to the sky, giving a throaty call. The wights in the surrounding area immediately turned to descend upon them. Before Jaime could turn his attention to the white walker, he was forced to contend with another two wights. He stepped sideways, conscious only of the fact that he needed to keep moving. He hissed as the spear bit into his armor and passed his side, grazing him, but he immediately turned and with a wild swing of Daybreak cleaved clean through the white walker's head.
For a moment, it stared limply, the spear falling through its bony fingers and its jaw hung limply before it exploded into dust. At the same time, scores of wights fell in heaps around them. A cheer went up among the men at the brief reprieve. But almost as soon as their shouts of joy ended, more wights were charging through the open gates.
Jaime had breathed a sigh of relief during the lull and promptly shrank back at the new wave coming over the walls and through the main gate. Brienne and Pod once more fell back with him, as did many of the other men who joined their formation.
Jaime clapped Pod on the shoulder. "You have to lead them, Pod," he insisted.
Though a man grown by now, it amused Jaime how he still looked so much like a boy. His expression was a tad fearful, but he stood taller, puffing out his chest, and nodded. "Stay safe, m'lord. M'lady."
Jaime clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe in slowly, willing the desperate pounding in his head to lessen. Even with Brienne at his side, he wouldn't survive the night if he were to collapse here. He rubbed his forehead and cursed the Stranger. Damn you for not leaving behind any of your tonics.
He started when he heard Brienne growl and then he heard the animalistic screams of the wights as they fell before her dagger. He raised Daybreak to his eye and then slid his gaze to her. Did he dare give her the sword? He remembered when he'd first been amputated that a short sword felt so awkward in his hands. She was more used to a long sword at that. He held it out to her.
She did a double take. "My dagger suits me well," she barked.
"I can barely stand. This will suit you better than it will suit me."
Brienne roared as she viciously felled another two wights and turned to glare at him. "Promise you won't die?"
Jaime chuckled. "I have no intention of dying if that makes you feel better."
"Marginally," she muttered. She shoved the knife to his body, giving him the flat edge and relieved him of Daybreak, roaring once more.
He smirked, but it was short-lived as he looked past her. Riding through the door on horseback were half a dozen white walkers. And him. The Night King was at the front, instantly recognizable by the cold, steely crown on his head that caught the firelight. His was the only skin neither rotted nor wounded.
"The Night King!" Jaime shouted. He couldn't decide if it was an order to attack or a warning. Nothing would be effective against him. Only Lightbringer. He craned his head to look up to where Aemon was, frustrated to see that his view was blocked by stone. Ghost was with him.
Kill that goddamn wolf and end it. Do it! He wanted to scream. But he was having trouble even focusing on the Night King. He once more girded himself and used the wall to brace himself.
He's coming to kill us. The both of us. We have the Gods' favor and as long as we live, he loses, Aemon had told him prior to the battle.
I'll make damn well sure he doesn't end me without a fight, Jaime thought, bloodlust once more coming to his eyes.
Aemon
"It's the Night King!"
The shout filled Aemon with dread and relief all at once. He could recognize Jaime's voice even above the roar of the wind. After he'd lost sight of him, he'd feared the worst.
Still, his insides turned to ice and he felt a thrill of fear as he dispatched the wight menacing him and turned once more to peer over the parapet and onto the grounds. The Night King was staring straight at him. But even as it found his gaze, it slowly turned his gaze elsewhere.
He was jarred by the gurgling screams of another two wights. Ghost leapt and grabbed one by its bony hand, shaking it vigorously until it separated from the body. He promptly dropped it and leapt again, gnashing his teeth ineffectively at its throat even as he incapacitated it with his weight. Aemon killed the free wight and stabbed down onto the one Ghost pinned.
"Good boy," he whispered.
Aemon was torn and he stared painfully down at Ghost, even as the dire wolf's lip curled and he leapt again at a new target. I can't. But I should. How many more are going to die because I couldn't kill my wolf? he thought wretchedly.
"Kill his white walkers!" Lady Brienne commanded.
Aemon peered over the side to see their men valiantly fighting toward the Night King to surround him and his white walkers. The Night King was unconcerned. He simply began raising his hands.
"He's going to raise the dead!" Aemon roared. "Kill the dead! Kill them now!"
Even as he shouted it, he could see the ground quiver as hundreds of bodies stirred and slowly rose. Some heeded his warnings and set upon their comrades delivering fresh blows to their heads and back with their dragonglass daggers, ensuring that they never rose again. But there were still too many.
"Ghastly," Ser Barristan whispered.
Aemon turned to see the horror mirrored on his Kingsguard's face. He had to turn abruptly away as more wights, freshly risen, barreled onto their platform. Thus far, none of his Kingsguard were dead, but all of them were blowing heavily with fatigue. Virtually all of them had fresh scrapes on their face or dents in their armor. The Hound was favoring his left side, though he shrugged off any offers of help.
Aemon scowled. "We should go down and help."
Barristan barred him. "We're to stay here and keep you safe."
"There's no point in that if everyone dies," Aemon argued back.
They were interrupted by more wights appearing to be slaughtered. Aemon took the opportunity to run for the doors. More wights popped up before him, but just as he roared a battle cry and swung his sword, they dissolved to dust before his eyes. Aemon turned once more to peer over the parapet.
Two of the white walkers were dead. While the Night King continued to be unconcerned as he readily killed anyone who engaged him with an icy spear, his white walkers were being surrounded and pulled down from their horses. His men fought valiantly against their own undead fellow soldiers to stop the white walkers.
Despite the deaths of hundreds of wights, they were quickly replaced by a seemingly endless number that had crowded on the outside of Moat Cailin. Wights barrelled up the stairs and Aemon once more forced himself to the front to carve a path through them to the yard below. Ghost, Barristan, and Daemon flanked him on either side as he made his way down the stairs to the next level. Aemon swung and although each swipe of his sword instantly downed a wight, he began to feel the wear on his limbs.
It can't be like last time, Aemon thought soberly, willing himself to continue fighting with the strength of his wolf. Another dozen wights were climbing the stairs. He fell back and looked around, finally ducking through the door into the war room. The map was still splayed across the table, but the candles were dark. The only light was from the myriad fires still burning outside. Barristan and Daemon had followed him. He didn't see Ghost, but he could hear his ferocious growls out in the hall and he felt a pang of horror at hearing the pained cry of his wolf.
Dear Gods, he better not be dead. Would it not be the mightiest joke of the Gods that his direwolf should die to wights, thereby the last hope of defeating the Long Night dying with him. He'd never forgive himself if all of their preparations for the Long Night came to naught because of one damn direwolf. He really was a fool.
The wights followed them. Aemon used the table to create some distance between himself and the wights. They cared little for the obstacle and climbed on it, under it, and around it much to Aemon's consternation. He felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He noticed Daemon's face was dirty and a trickle of blood was running from his hairline and into his eye as he stabbed yet another wight. Barristan stood solid, but his movements were stiff as he felled yet another wight. Aemon did a double take; was that blood on his cloak?
"Barristan, are you hurt?" Aemon asked as he stabbed a wight trying to come up from under the table through the school.
"None worse for wear," Barristan replied.
Aemon's concern went up a notch. Barristan never dropped his honorific, even if Aemon wouldn't care if he did. Was that pain in his voice?
"Do you speak true?" Aemon insisted, narrowing his eyes at him.
"It's nothing," Barristan gritted through his teeth.
Aemon opened his mouth to reply when a wild scream drew his attention. He felled the next wight coming for him and rushed to the window. While many of the white walkers were still alive, they'd largely been pulled away into separate battles, but the Night King remained where he stood. Half a dozen bodies were felled around him and Aemon spotted Robb, roaring savagely with his dragonglass knife raised, barreling headlong into the Night King.
"Robb, no!" he bellowed, peering down out the window, considering jumping clean out of it. He watched in horror as the Night King turned to Robb. Then Jaime sprinted out from under the overhang straight to Robb, wrapping his arms around him and hauling him bodily back as the Night King jabbed with his ice spear, narrowingly missing skewering them both. They fell onto the ground and Jaime's arms fell away as he began to shake from a seizure. Aemon's horror continued to mount as the Night King fixated on them and took slow steps to approach.
He wrenched himself away from the window and with renewed fury, he began cutting through the wights that continued to spill into the room. He ran back out the door he came from.
"Your Grace," Barristan called after him, trying to follow.
Aemon only saw red as he butchered his way down the stairs, hardly even noticing the pain when a spearhead sliced into the gap of his Valyrian steel armor. Despite his fury, the line of wights seemed endless and at once he felt himself shoved into the wall, Blackfyre jarred from his hand. He slumped, dazed, blinking the blood from his eye as it flowed from a cut on his brow. He held his breath as two wights loomed over him, their spears raised to skewer him.
Barristan crashed into them and they all fell down the stairs into a heap.
Aemon shoved himself up from the wall even as the Hound bent to haul him back up. He scooped up Blackfyre which had just been out of reach and raced down to join Barristan. He felled the two wights and then slumped against the wall.
"Barristan!" Aemon cried, grabbing his arm to hold him steady.
Blood seeped from between Barristan's lips and he gasped heavily. "Duh-don't mind me," he gasped, clutching at a growing red spot at his side. "Buh-but don't-don't let me turn. I refuse to raise my sword against you, even in death. Don't let him have me."
Aemon felt himself go numb. This can't be happening, he thought.
"I won't," Aemon whispered.
Barristan nodded, his strength slowly giving away as he slid further and further down the wall until he was sitting on the stairs, staring blankly up at him. A bead of blood trickled from his mouth and Aemon was tempted to wipe it away. But there was no time. He raised Blackfyre high and brought it down, straight through Barristan's heart. Barristan's head lolled and then flames engulfed the blade.
Aemon raised Blackfyre and stared in awe. A sacrifice is a sacrifice, he mused numbly. Hadn't Jaime been near death as well as he held the Night King fast in his arms.
"Is that it?" The Hound said. When Aemon turned he flinched away from the flaming sword and Aemon held it away from them.
"Yes, Lightbringer," he whispered.
"Then go kill the fucker," the Hound snarled.
"I will," Aemon growled. Despite his words, he sheathed Lightbringer, concerned for a moment that it would burn clean through the sheath, but it didn't. Then he picked up Ser Barristan's sword and turned it over in his hand. Forged from the fires of Rhaellon, same as Jaime's sword, it was suitable in killing wights. He steeled himself and ran through the doors, expecting to find a slaughter. Instead, Brienne was dragging Jaime away. A dozen men had the Night King surrounded. As he turned to one, a man would break away and stab into his back and then leap away.
The Night King's cold eyes swept them and he clenched his hands. Suddenly, a score of wights hit from one side and Pod was sent stumbling into the circle. The Night King whirled and stabbed him clean through. Pod's eyes went wide and he grabbed for the spear, but it was just as quickly yanked out and he fell to the ground.
"No!" Brienne screamed, but she continued her watch over Jaime, holding Daybreak unsteadily in her left hand.
Robb bellowed.
"No, he's mine!" Aemon roared, even as he beheaded a wight who ran for him.
The men who hadn't been caught up in the new fight fell back. One of them grabbed Pod and pulled him away, even as he moaned.
It all fell away as Aemon stepped up, his focus narrowing entirely to the Night King. He would have to rely on his men to keep the wights and white walkers at bay. He couldn't help Jaime or Pod; they would have to find a way to manage. He squared up, bringing Barristan's sword up. Was he mistaken or did the Night King smirk? Laugh away. You won't be for long, he told himself.
Instead of the icy sword, the Night King hefted the spear, ready to jab. Aemon felt himself break out into a sweat; he wasn't nearly as practiced against a spear as he was against a sword. Did the Night King know that? How could he?
Aemon willed himself to relax, blowing out a long slow breath. He was nearly taken by surprise when the Night King jabbed at him with surprising speed, which he sidestepped. In a fight with a spear, it was important to close the distance. He'd sparred enough times with Oberyn to know that much. Aemon rushed forward, but the Night King parried every strike and jabbed back in quick succession; once, twice, thrice. Aemon stopped the first two and dodged the last, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his face.
The Night King was entirely unreadable; Aemon hadn't realized how much he relied on facial cues to predict much of his enemy's movement and he found himself on his back foot more often than not. As he stepped back to gain some distance, his boot slipped out from beneath him and he fell to the ground. He rolled away without thinking, narrowly missing the Night King's spear as he stabbed it into the ground. The Night King pulled it back out effortlessly, even as Aemon was struggling to return to his feet. Where had the ice come from?
His breath caught in his throat as the Night King held up his spear. He rolled away and heard a snarl. When he turned, Ghost had latched himself onto the Night King's forearm and tugged violently. His dire wolf's right ear had been ripped from his head and his once snow white fur was covered in dried blood, but despite the Night King's attempts to shake him off, he held on. The Night King used his left hand to retrieve the pyramid-shaped knife that had killed Aemon in the previous life.
Aemon jumped to his feet, a scream on his lips. And then Jaime had latched himself onto the left arm.
"Hold him! Hold him in place!" Jaime screamed, his own expression twisted into a grimace.
For a moment, everyone was frozen in time. Then Robb threw himself onto his back, using his weight to unbalance the Night King. Olyvar swooped in with his dragonglass knife and stabbed him in the back of the knee, causing the Night King to collapse to one knee.
Still, the Night King looked unbothered. His cold blue eyes slid to his left hand and he clenched it. Ghost yelped and let go, shaking his head. Robb and Jaime screamed, but they still held on as if for dear life. Aemon growled, dropping Ser Barristan's sword, and pulling out Blackfyre, still aflame as Lightbringer.
The Night King's eyes widened in fear. He heaved with his great strength, sending Jaime sprawling, but still Robb held on. He was just turning his attention to remove Robb when Aemon ran up and stabbed him clean through, taking care to avoid skewering Robb in the same way he'd skewered Jaime.
"As the Gods will it, so I will end it. Where you go, the hells burn," Aemon whispered.
It took a moment, but as happened before, the wights disintegrated almost instantly. The white walkers screeched inhuman cries as the magic was ripped from their bones. The Night King stared in disbelief before the magic rippled out from him in a wave and the wind scattered his pieces to the wind. At the very same moment, the snow stopped falling and the air grew still and silent. Aemon bent over, breathing heavily, and let out a breath as the weight of the Long Night finally lifted from his shoulders. He closed eyes and reveled in the peace.
Then the courtyard erupted into shouts of exclamation and cheers. Aemon grinned, but he immediately turned his attention to those closest. He staggered over to Robb, feeling the ache in his shoulders and legs and clapped him on the shoulder. "You well?"
Robb grinned and nodded. "Just a few scrapes here and there." He chuckled, his breath blowing out into a mist. "We did it."
"That we did. Thank you," Aemon said, pulling him in for a hug. He turned away to Jaime who was pressing his fist to his forehead and his eyes clenched. He was curled up and Brienne held his head in her lap.
"Jaime?" Aemon asked.
"Alive," he croaked. "It's over?"
Aemon nodded and answered, "It's over."
"Thank the Gods. They're not so worthless after all," Jaime grumbled.
"Pod," Brienne spoke up, her expression torn between guilt and sadness.
"How is he?" Jaime asked, cracking an eye open.
Aemon turned, looking among the numerous bodies. Olyvar waved him over to one and Aemon fell to his knees. He was still alive, but his face was wan and he struggled to breathe.
"We can't save him, Your Grace," Olyvar whispered solemnly.
"Oh, Pod," Aemon whispered.
"No," Pod interjected, coughing miserably. "I saved Lord Lannister."
"You fought very well, Ser Podrick. History will never forget your name or your sacrifice. Jaime and Brienne won't either," Aemon said, placing a hand on him. "Rest easy."
Aemon was jarred as Jaime fell next to him. "The Gods damn you, Pod," he whispered. "You're meant to outlive me!"
Pod chuckled, but it came out as more of a gurgle as he sputtered blood. "M'lord," he said. Then his eyes faded and his body slackened as the last breath left him. Jaime reached over and closed his eyes.
Aemon pulled himself away and he surveyed the grounds, seeing the multitude of bodies laying across the ground like a thick carpet of grass. His relief and exhilaration at ending the Long Night mixed with his sorrow at seeing so many dead. It would take some time to account for all of the men who died, but for now, they could celebrate life.
He suddenly heard the roaring of the dragons as they seemed to join in on the cries of triumph. He began to turn to look for Dany when he felt a hand in his and turned to see her. She smiled at him. Her hair was flyaway, her face was lined with exhaustion, and soot smeared her cheeks, but she somehow appeared more beautiful than he'd ever seen. He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. She threw her arms around him to pull him closer.
A bright light shined into their eyes and they flinched away. The sun broke through the clouds that were beginning to disperse and bathed Moat Cailin in sunlight. Aemon chuckled.
"What is it?" Dany asked.
"It is even better with you here," he murmured and kissed her again.
Author's Notes: Thank you all for reading! A reminder, I'm going to be holding a QnA on Discord to answer any lasting questions about TDR on November 3rd, the day after the Epilogue gets posted. If you have any final questions, this is your chance!