There was nothing else to be done. The trap had been set and the defenses had been checked several times throughout the day. Now, all that could be done was for the king of Westeros and his men to prepare for what would undoubtedly be their final battle. Word had been sent south to Last Hearth, urging people to flee south, as well as Winterfell, ordering them to either prepare to fight or to run south.
Robb thought briefly about all that he had accomplished in his young life. He had ridden off into a war, relying solely on the experience of his commanders and the knowledge that his father had passed down to him. He had proven his skill against Tywin Lannister, a legendary feat considering his age and inexperience, but he had taken his own beatings as well when he had heard of the Boltons' betrayal and when he had been defeated at Harrenhal.
While there would undoubtedly be some who argue if he truly defeated Tywin Lannister, considering that it had been Aegon Targaryen who had killed the Old Lion and it had been the Knights of the Vale who had shattered his host at High Heart, what could not be argued was Robb's courage when he faced down that Targaryens at King's Landing. While he had the superior army, an army of sellswords, Unsullied, Dornish, and three dragons was nothing to scoff at. While Robb's men had managed to overwhelm or outflank the enemy in all areas of the battlefield, what the historians would likely emphasize is how Robb had dealt with Aegon and his dragon, Viserion. Robb, with the help of his generals, had come up with several ways to neutralize the effect of dragon fire on the men of the Reach during the battle using water brigades and a storm of arrows and spears to keep the beast at bay.
Then there was Robb's political career, which didn't start in the greatest of ways. He had insulted the Freys when he had broken his contract with them so that he could marry Margaery. Politically speaking, command of the Reach was incredibly more valuable than the Twins, but the Freys had been forced to give up a marriage to a king in exchange for his uncle, who was at least third or fourth in line behind the man known as the 'Young Wolf'.
Robb, nor any of his allies, could have predicted the treason committed by the Boltons and Freys, but Tywin had chosen his targets carefully. The Boltons had always coveted the power held by the Starks, and with Walder Frey wanting revenge against the boy who wronged him, the Lion of the Rock had been able to convince both to turn their cloaks.
While the rebellious lords had stained Robb's early political career, there were still some good moments. His marriage to Margaery had been a strong move, as was his ability to flip the lords of the Stormlands to his side instead of allowing them to side with Joffrey or simply remain neutral. His negotiations with the Targaryens, while ultimately meaning nothing, showed that Robb Stark was not as green as others believed him to be at the negotiating table. With his wife's family by his side, he had been slow and meticulous with the Targaryens, never missing a word as messages passed back and forth between the two factions. His attack on the Targaryens after the attempt on his life also proved that he was more than capable of taking matters into his own hands.
Then there was his reign. It had been short, but full of production. Cities and castles that had been destroyed were rebuilt or in the process of being so. Money was trickling back into the coffers. Crime across the realm was kept to a minimum, thanks to the proud soldiers of the King's Company. Robb helmed a continent that was slowly piecing itself back together, but no one doubted that when it was finally put back together, the Young Wolf would lead it into a golden age of prosperity and peace.
When the realization that the Long Night was returning hit him, Robb had truly felt the burden of kingship. For more than half a year, he had been forced to keep secrets, travel great distances, and deal with several threats and nuisances so that he and his men could be ready for the enemy beyond the Wall. There had been many that had stood in his way, as well as ancient knowledge that he and others had been hard at work trying to learn in preparation for the war, but now all that preparations had come to its climax.
"You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders," Jon said quietly, coming up beside Robb.
"An odd time for humor," Robb replied, glancing at Jon.
"I think there's no better time for it," Jon countered gently. "Who knows who here will see the morning, if it ever returns."
"It will," Robb said. "Jon, there's one thing that we haven't covered."
"What's that?"
Robb hesitated before continuing. "If I die, and we win, I want you…"
"Robb," Jon said, holding up a hand to stall his brother. "Do not speak about it. I'd rather not think about it."
"Nevertheless, we must speak about it," Robb pressed. "If I die, I want you to do everything you can to help Margaery and Torrhen. Make sure that my son grows up to be a man that I would be proud of."
Jon wisely knew not to argue with Robb and nodded. "I will. I promise."
"Is everything in place?" Robb asked.
"It is," Jon said.
"And Bran?"
"He's ready."
"Good."
The two brothers fell into a comfortable silence as the rest of the castle roused itself. Men seemed to be streaming in from every room and building, armed with shields, swords, and spears. Bowmen took up positions on the walkways and on any vantage point that they could get while Children of the Forest shuffled across rooftops, also armed with bows and arrows.
Mance emerged from the door that led to the defenses of the second gate. He saw Robb and gave him a firm nod before walking off.
"It seems our trap is ready too," Jon said.
"How long do we have?" Robb asked.
"A little less than an hour," Jon replied.
"Good," Robb said, beginning to make his way towards the mess hall, flanked by Jon and Brienne. When they reached the hall, Robb glanced over his shoulder at his followers.
"Make sure I'm not disturbed."
Robb slipped through the door and closed it behind him. The hall was completely empty, save for the fire that crackled sadly in the back and the young weirwood that took up the center of the room. The windows had been shuttered, leaving the majority of the room in darkness.
Robb removed his crown and sword, setting them a nearby table before he dropped to his knees before the tree, gazing at the bloody-looking face that the Children had carved into it.
"I'm scared," Robb said quietly. "I'm not scared of death. I'm scared of failing. I'm scared of failing to protect my family and friends."
"Fear is natural, Robb Stark," a mysterious female said, her voice hitting Robb like the heat of the sun after a snowstorm. "When you are afraid is the only time you can be brave."
"Aunt Lyanna?" Robb asked.
A black-robed woman emerged from behind the tree, coming seemingly out of thin air. Her robe pooled around her feet, but it didn't look to cause her any difficulties as she seemed to glide across the floor. Most of her face was hidden in the depths of her hood, leaving only her mouth and her chin to be seen. Her skin was flawless and the color of dark, rich soil, which stood out against her bright white teeth.
"I am not your aunt, child," the woman said gently, clasping her hands in front of her. "I am of the Old Gods, and it has been a very long time since one of our kind has shown themselves to a mortal who does not wear a green cloak."
"I'm honored, my lady," Robb said, bowing his head.
Surprisingly, the woman laughed softly and bent down to grab Robb's shoulders before gently pulling him back to his feet. When he was back on his feet, Robb was shocked to find just how much taller the woman was than him as she looked nearly as tall as Sandor Clegane.
"There is no need for such titles, child," the woman said kindly. "I do not have much time, and my power grows weaker as the enemy approaches. I wish that I could be here to give you advice or wisdom, just as I did with your ancestor, Bran the Builder, but I am not."
"You showed yourself to Bran?" Robb asked.
"All the Old Gods played a role in rallying the tribes of Man during the first attack by the Great Darkness," the goddess replied. "We did not need to this time because the Young Wolf proved that he was more than capable of gathering his allies."
"I had a lot of help," Robb said, not wanting to take all the credit. "If you are not here to give me advice, or offer me wisdom…why are you here?"
The woman tilted her head, and her lips curled into an amused, but sad smile and Robb felt like he was being analyzed. For a brief time, the goddess simply stared at Robb before she slowly began to remove her hood, revealing the rest of her face.
Robb had always believed that Margaery was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and not even Cersei Lannister or Daenerys Targaryen had ever managed to change his mind. However, once he looked into the face of the goddess, he knew that he would never again see such a beautiful face.
Her nose was small but perfectly placed in the center of her face, halfway between her mouth and her eyes. Each strand of her curly hair seemed to be a different shade of brown and oddly reminded Robb of tree roots knotting themselves together as they grew longer. Her eyes gleamed and glowed green, like light shining three the leaves of a tree, and were full of love, laughter, and life.
"It has been thousands of years since a mortal has seen the face of a god," the goddess explained. "The last, and the first, to have such an honor was Bran the Builder. He was an incredible man, Robb Stark, and you remind me of him in many ways. He was a man of vision and good nature, driven to protect those he loved, and knew that sacrifice and risk were needed to achieve even a glimpse of victory."
"Sounds like history is repeating itself then," Robb grunted. "Was he scared? When he knew that he had to fight the Others, was he afraid?"
"Petrified," the goddess answered with a sad smile. "No man, not even Bran the Builder, is immune to the sour taste of fear and the stone it sets in the stomach. He feared that he would die with every battle, but he was willing to do so if it meant victory."
Robb scratched his jaw. "I don't suppose you could help in the battle, can you?"
The goddess shook her head. "All Gods are prohibited from taking action on the mortal plane. We can influence the minds of Men and guide them back to the right path when need be, but we cannot directly interfere. This is a law that all Gods follow and cannot break, no matter how hard they try."
"Had to try," Robb said with a slight smile. A knock at the door brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.
"Your grace," Brienne called from outside. "It's time."
Robb bowed his head, feeling the block of fear in his stomach grow larger by the second.
A pair of soft hands were placed on either side of his face, lifting his head until he met the gaze of the goddess. Her green eyes gazed lovingly into his, like a mother looking at her son before she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. Immediately, the block in his stomach cracked and began to crumble to dust.
"Fight bravely, Robb Stark," the goddess said quietly, "and know that the Old Gods will always be by your side."
Robb gave the goddess a brave smile and bowed his head before making his way towards the door. Just before he reached it, he stopped, collected himself, and became the man his men needed. He became the Young Wolf.
When Robb opened the door, not only were Brienne and Jon looking at him but every eye in the castle was trained on him. Archers and infantry, Men and Children of the Forest, wildlings and Westerosi, highborn and lowborn, sellswords and levies. All looked to the King of Westeros, waiting for their orders.
Robb stepped up to the railing, flanked by Brienne and Jon, looking out over the castle.
"I will not lie to you," Robb said, raising his voice so that all could hear him, but keeping it calm and clear. "You all have fought too hard and have risked too much to be given false dreams. I am not sure if we will win today. There's a good chance we'll all be part of the vile horde that waits just outside that gate by the end of the day."
Robb's men shifted uncomfortably, looking around at each other. They had expected their king to say something inspirational, something that would give them hope that they may one day see their families again. They were not expecting their king to speak so honestly to them and to be so blunt about their circumstances.
"I am not sure," Robb repeated. "There are many uncertainties in this world, and we are never promised tomorrow. Our lives are so fragile, and it can be snuffed out in an instant," Robb said, pausing to take a deep breath. Everyone was now hanging onto his every word.
"With this in mind, I can ask only one thing from you all. Fight," Robb said, his voice growing with conviction with every word. "Do not fight for me, I am just one man. Fight for your family, so that your wives and your children and your children's children can see the sun and feel her warm kiss. Fight for your fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Fight for all those who have the honor of knowing the bravest warriors in all of Westeros. Fight for the men next to you, who have endured this frozen hell for months."
The soldiers were slowly reacting to Robb's words, pounding their spears and swords against the ground or their shields, growling fiercely, their fighting spirit growing once again. Like Robb, they also had people waiting for them in the south, praying for their safe return.
Robb drew his sword, holding it high.
"Will you stand with me?" Robb asked.
"Aye!" came the response from thousands of throats.
"Will you stand with me!"
"YES!" was the response, the single word reverberating off the Wall.
"Stand with me, defenders of mankind, and you will etch your names in history!" Robb roared. "FOR MAN!"
"FOR MAN!" the soldiers replied, bellowing the words.
The men began to cheer and pound their chests and weapons as Robb and his companions made their way into their ranks. Robb received pats on the back and shoulders, his name was called out proudly. "King Robb" they shouted. "The Young Wolf", and "Protector of Man". By the time Robb had made it to his place in the battleline, he had been given several new titles.
When Robb reached his place, many of his best warriors were waiting for him. His father, Alysane Mormont, Ser Harras Harlaw, Lord Tarly, Lord Lyonel Corbray, Gendry Baratheon, Edric Dayne, Ser Robar, Garlan, Oberyn, and many others all stood ready to face the enemy.
"We are ready, your grace," Father said firmly, his eyes shining with immense pride and love for his sons.
"Then let's begin," Robb replied, clasping arms with his father before being given a shield by Garlan.
The first sign of the enemy was the banging at the gate. It shook and rattled as the sound of scratching and the screeching of iron filled the courtyard. Those who had survived the first battle stood fast while many of the new arrivals muttered and shifted wearily at the sound.
"Hold!" Robb growled. "Whatever comes through that gate, we will hold here!"
As time went on, the banging and screeching on the other side of the gate became louder and louder. When the sound became almost unbearable to deal with, Robb looked towards Mance Rayder, who stood close to the gate, and nodded.
"Open!" Mance bellowed, grabbing a torch and throwing it into the ditch that encircled the entrance to the tunnel. The trench was about two feet wide, and several feet deep, its walls and bottom filled with oil. Within seconds, the ditch was engulfed in flame.
The thick wooden brace that held the gate closed was removed and immediately the doors were slammed open as a wave of wights spilled into the castle, but before they could attack the host of men waiting for them, dozens of wights tumbled into the fire instead, their piercing screams echoing in the night as they burned.
The men cheered as their enemy suffered, but their minor victory did not last long as more and more wights began to pile into the trench.
Robb watched grimly as wights sacrificed themselves, filling the burning trench with their charred corpses until the fire had been put out. It was just one of the many sights that Robb hoped that he would never have to see or hear again. He had heard of men sacrificing their bodies so that their companions could get to safety, but there was something about the carelessness, and almost ease, in the way the enemy killed themselves that shook Robb to his core. The enemy didn't care if they lived or died, their mind and bodies belonged solely to the White Walkers. They felt no pain and no fear. They were merely pawns to be used by a higher, darker power.
Now they were free to launch themselves at the defenders in the courtyard.
"For Man!" Robb roared, raising his shield as the wave of undead slammed into the line. The young king slashed and hacked relentlessly as more and more wights threw themselves at him, gnashing their undead teeth and swiping at him with their rusted weapons and nails.
Robb began to feel that same numbness that he had felt in the first battle spread across his mind. He simply hacked and stabbed at whatever was on the other side of his shield, ignoring the burning feeling from his legs and arms as they were raked by the enemy. Pain was an afterthought to Robb. All he cared about was killing his enemy. His sword was a glittering wheel of grey as he brought it down again and again, taking off heads, arms, and legs as easy as a knife through butter.
Robb's best warriors fought beside him, shoulder to shoulder, their line as unyielding as a wall of stone that the sea of undead breaks against. Their swords carved through the enemy as corpses piled up around them.
The host of men, inspired by their king, fought fiercely, giving all they had against their enemy. They did not waver under the onslaught of undead bodies, and even the men who had arrived with Garlan and the Blackfish found courage by watching their comrades fight. Like their king, the men of Westeros raised their shields, set their feet, and slew any wight that came within reach. Swords, axes, and maces rose and fell constantly, cracking skulls and lopping off limbs.
Archers emptied quiver after quiver into the horde of wights that swarmed through the tunnel. There was no time to aim or pick a single target. All that one could do was to grab an arrow, draw, and send it flying into the enemy, hoping that it hits something.
Those atop of the Wall showered the enemy with arrows tipped with bronze and iron while the bowmen on the walkways peppered the flood of wights with steel and dragonglass. Robb's best archers held extra quivers of dragonglass, fully prepared to destroy the White Walkers whenever they appeared.
Then there was Robb's secret weapon.
Rhaegal flew over the enemy on the other side of the Wall, destroying any undead giants and animals before they could reach the tunnel, sparing Robb and his men from dealing with more threats. Instead of Jon controlling him, the dragon's mind had been taken over by Bran warging. Robb's brother had spent the last two days with the creature, trying his best to create some sort of link with him before the battle.
Jon was one of Robb's best warriors, and everyone knew that he was going to be needed if or when the Others appeared. The plan for Bran to control Rhaegal had been considered as soon as Daenerys died in battle. Drogon's injury had been a terrible blow for the defenders, as was Daenerys's death, and Robb knew that he needed all the help he could get if his plan had any possibility of working, both from Jon and Rhaegal.
As the battle raged in the courtyard, Bran was locked away in the room of the tallest tower, safe behind a reinforced door with five green men and Summer to protect him.
This battle was the last roll of the dice and everyone knew it. Robb's men fought like demons. Those who fell to the enemy, and there were many, accepted their deaths bravely and fought until the final breath. Many took with them the very wight that killed them.
The fighting lasted for what seemed like hours. There was no end to the wights as they came through the tunnel, but Robb's men continued to fight even as their friends and comrades died around them. There was no retreat. There would be no living to see another day. The Others took no prisoners. The Others needed no prisoners. All the men could do was fight and hope that they were burned with glory instead of being added to the faceless ranks of the thousands of minions bound to the Others.
Surprisingly, the steady flow of wights that came out of the tunnel suddenly came to an abrupt halt, allowing Robb and his men to deal with the last who had made it through. The defenders were beaten and bloody, pushed to the point of exhaustion. Many men dropped to their knees or leaned on their swords for support, barely able to stay on their feet any longer. Servants, cooks, blacksmiths, and the rest of the supporting personnel rushed out of their hiding places, ready with skins and canteens filled with water as healers came out as well.
Lord Tarly was always prepared.
"Something's wrong," Jon muttered, his face and armor drenched with gore. "Stay ready!"
"They're coming," Robb said.
It wasn't hard for Robb to realize what was happening. He and his men were exhausted, hanging onto the last reserves of strength and will. His archers were running out of arrows and a few had even taken up spears and shields and joined the small pockets of men who were charged with protecting the archers. The fighting spirit of the defenders had been stretched and shredded and close to breaking. Now was the perfect time for the enemy to send their best.
A freezing mist crept out of the tunnel, heralding the arrival of the enemy. Ten demons of shadow and ice strode from the darkness, looking no different than the two Others who had led the attack on the Nightfort months prior, save for one.
The Night King was easy to mark out. While his brothers had strands of white hair, their leader was completely bald. Small spikes encircled his head like a crown, threatening to tear through his skin. He seemed older than the others, with an aura of power that turned Robb's knees that nearly sent Robb fleeing at the very sight of him.
As soon as they exited the tunnel, and before Robb could react to them, a hair-raising roar sounded over the castle as Rhageal, his eyes white as milk, dived towards the enemy, a torrent of flames building in his throat.
The Night King glanced up at the sky and as the dragon drew closer, he simply waved his hand at the creature. It looked as if he had done nothing, but Rhaegal's reaction had said it all. The dragon shook his head as the whiteness disappeared and the bronze returned. A faint cry of pain could be heard somewhere in the castle as Bran was forced from the dragon's mind.
Rhaegal slammed his wing into the side of the wall, breaking off a chunk of the icy structure, before letting out a weak roar and flying south, away from the battle.
"Fuck," Jon muttered.
Robb watched for a moment as the dragon retreated before looking back at the Others. The Night King looked almost smug after his effortless show of power. He believed that he had just gotten rid of Robb's greatest weapon.
The Young Wolf stepped forward, glared at the enemy, and spat at him.
"Come on then," Robb said, raising Claw. "There's only one king of Westeros, and you will never have my kingdom."
The Night King's eyes blazed with blue fire at Robb's insolence. He stabbed his sword into the ground and spread his arms wide. Immediately, hundreds of wights filled the tunnel, waiting for their master's permission to rush forward and resume the battle. An undead giant forced his way to the front, towering over the group of White Walkers and letting out a terrible howl.
When the Night King dropped his arm, they all rushed forward.
Line Break
Robb fought with everything he had, but he was struggling to keep up with the Night King. The Young Wolf was a fine warrior and could certainly hold his own against many of his kingsguard, but the Night King was much, much, better than Robb's seven protectors. Over and over, their swords clashed as the two kings fought in the center of the chaos that had taken over Nightfort.
What made things worse is that Jon hovered close to Robb's side, occasionally helping him battle the Night King as he watched his brother's back. Yet, whenever both brothers fought the demon, it seemed to cause him no problems as he effortlessly kept up with both their attacks.
The ranks of the defenders had been destroyed by the undead giant before it had been put down under a hail of arrows. Now, it was simply every man for himself as the last line of defenders between the Others and the rest of humanity fought for the fate of the world.
Around Robb, other wielders of valyrian steel battled the Night King's companions. Randyll Tarly, Brienne, and Father held their own. Alysanne Mormont and Ser Robar fought back to back against their opponent, with Edric Dayne and Garlan were fighting together against one nearby. Lord Lyonel Corbray and Jaime worked together against a White Walker, as did Gendry, supported by Ser Rolland and Ser Balon.
Two of the White Walkers had been slain already. Like the giant, one had been put down by Ygritte and a group of archers while another had been destroyed thanks to the heroics of Tormund Giantsbane and Ser Jorah Mormont.
Ser Jorah's death had been hard to watch. The northern knight had immediately confronted one of the enemy and fought like a wild man, slashing wildly at the White Walker, armed with only a dragonglass dagger and a shield. It was clear that Ser Jorah, while outmatched, appeared to be on a suicide mission. The knight was on a warpath, driven purely by revenge. He still grieved for his mistress, and the appearance of the Others had drawn his rage like a red flag to a bull. The two traded blows for a few tense minutes before the demon had taken Ser Jorah's arm then shoved his sword through the northman's chest.
Tormund had swiftly avenged Ser Jorah's death by plunging his spear into its back while the creature's sword was still buried in the knight's chest.
With each Other slain, dozens of wights dropped lifelessly to the ground, no longer held by the power that had raised them in the first place. This provided some respite for the defenders, but not enough. Eight White Walkers still lived, and those eight still commanded thousands of wights.
A strangled shout of pain erupted from one of the groups of fighters as Lord Corbray fell to the ground, much of his torso and his right shoulder separating from his body. Jaime Lannister was unconscious close by, being dragged to safety by a few soldiers who had seen what had happened. The Other wasted no time as it charged Robb, raising its ice sword to attack him from the rear.
Jon appeared and immediately cut the demon off before it could reach Robb. The man known as the White Wolf went blow for blow with the creature, the clash of their blades making a sound that one would have to hear to know. There was no other way to describe it. Jon finally cut the White Walker down, turning it to powder that was soon taken away by the wind.
As more wights dropped, there were only seven Others left.
Jon soon rejoined Robb in fighting the Night King, but it was proving to be a challenge that they simply couldn't overcome. Several times, either Robb or Jon had seen the perfect chance to strike, but the Night King had always recovered and parried the attack before launching his own at either of his two opponents. His movements were nearly quicker than the human eye could follow, and the power behind his attacks was causing Robb's arm to go numb and rattle his bones.
Robb was sure that, if he had not been wielding a valyrian steel sword, he would have died long ago.
The world seemed to move in slow motion, just like it had when Robb had watched the Green Man be killed. The Night King back-handed Jon, sending him stumbling away and inadvertently turning his back towards his opponent. Robb watched as the Night King's sword came up and he knew immediately that Jon would be dead when it came down.
Time returned to its normal speed as Robb threw himself in the path of the sword, hearing as the blade smashed against his valyrian steel armor, but not breaking through it. The pain was excruciating, sending Robb into a state of near unconsciousness as he slammed into his brother, sending them both to the ground. For Robb, it felt as if a hundred blacksmiths had taken turns smashing their hammers into Robb's side.
Through eyes that saw the world as only a haze, Robb watched what happened next as his soldiers rushed to his side and Jon scrambled back to his feet.
The Night King looked down at him, clearly puzzled and annoyed that he hadn't died like all others had that had been struck by his blade. However, before he could strike again, Robb's father intervened, imposing himself between his sons and the demon of ice and snow. A look of pure and utter fury was drawn across Eddard Stark's face.
"You will not touch him," Father snarled before launching himself at the Night King.
Father fought like a man possessed and managed to force the Night King back a few steps. For a few hopeful seconds, it looked as if he was going to win too, and then Robb saw it. He saw the man who had fought against Ser Arthur Dayne, the deadliest swordsman of his generation. Eddard Stark was a very talented fighter, there was no doubt about that, but he had been helped when he had fought Arthur Dayne.
He had no help now.
Every noise faded away and the world seemed to go still except for the fight happening right in front of Robb. His father and the Night King traded a few more blows, but even Robb knew that the duel was over. The demon parried Ice once more before plunging his blade into Father's stomach, sinking the weapon up to the hilt before savagely ripping it out.
Robb wanted to cry out, he wanted to pick himself up and continue to fight, but he couldn't move and could barely breathe or see. He could only watch faintly as his father sank to his knees, his blood spilling out and mixing with the rest of the bloody slush under his feet before he fell over dead.
"NO!"
Jon came flying at the Night King, fighting with a passion that Robb had never seen before. Jon was just as good a swordsman as Father, but he was nearly twenty years younger and much faster. Others were still holding the rest of the White Walkers at bay, meaning that Jon had no help in his fight against the Night King, but he didn't need help. He fought with the fury of twenty men, smashing his sword again and again against the Night King's. His pace was unrelenting, and he put every inch of power in his body into every strike. If he was going to die, then Jon was going to die giving the Night King the fight of his life.
The Other tried to mount a counter-attack, but before he could even get it started, Jon parried his blade and slammed Frost into the Night King's gut, pushing the blade to the hilt, killing him the same way he had killed their father.
The Night King looked down at the sword embedded in its body before throwing its head back and bellowing a noiseless sound up at the sky. He spread his arms out wide and the weather seemed to become even colder, turning Robb's lips light blue, before blowing into thousands of tiny particles. As his body was destroyed, all of his power and energy surged out, forcing the last defenders off their feet before slamming them back down to earth.
Every Other remaining screamed up at the sky as they too were obliterated, joining their king in whatever hell awaited them, their remains caught by the wind and carried away. The rest of the wights that still fought collapsed soon became lifeless heaps of rotten bones, their glowing blue eyes snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The sky that had once been heavy with grey and black clouds was slowly clearing, revealing a blue sky and a sun that shone warmly on the victorious warriors below.
What was once a raging battle between the living and the dead was now a silent courtyard full of baffled and battered soldiers and hundreds of thousands of black bones.
As the defenders of the Nightfort began to slowly gather themselves, stunned at the very fact that they had won, Robb was already pulling himself toward his father, using the last of his strength and crawling on his hands and knees before falling beside his father's body. He rested his head on his father's bloody chest briefly before gathering his knees under him and pulling his father's head close.
For once, Robb's father looked his age. All the lines of stress that had formed after years of ruling the North had been erased, and even though his eyes were open and staring up at the rapidly clearing skies, there was a peaceful look on his father's face.
Robb leaned over his father's corpse as his body was wracked with sobs. Tears trailed down his dirty, bloody cheeks and slid onto his father's torn and tattered armor, mixing with the blood and dirt upon it. He didn't care that he was surrounded by his soldiers who weren't supposed to see him cry. He didn't even care that they won. He didn't even care that he had survived. All he could feel was an immense void in his life that had always been filled by his father.
Robb vaguely felt another body drop into the snow beside him as another head joined his. Robb knew instantly that Jon was beside him, adding his tears to Robb's.
No one cheered or celebrated. The Long Night was over, but what had been the cost? The war that had pushed them all to the brink of their mental and physical limits was over, mankind had won, but it certainly didn't feel like it. Hundreds laid in the snow, never to rise again. Instead of celebrating, the men of Westeros and the remaining Children of the Forest surrounded their leader, lending their quiet support to him as he grieved.
No one said a word as the sons of Eddard Stark openly wept over their father.