Visenya...
Once again, the wind and the weather were against them, one more enemy they had to deal with, but both were doing their best to stay out of harm's way.
All Visenya needed was the right angle and opportunity to put her plan into action.
However, Viserion seemed to either suspect it, or she was simply that unlucky, because that opportunity did not seem willing to come.
That was, until Rhaegal acted fully on his own, as if he could sense his rider's worry and desperate need to take down his undead brother.
He flapped his wings and headed into a straight line, making himself quite an open target since they had been flying in zigzag motions all this time, to ensure Viserion would have a hard time catching them.
"Rhaegal!" she called his name above the strong winter winds.
Before she could give any command to make him fly like before, the green-scaled dragon seemed to bend and twist its neck sideways until his amber eye connected with hers.
The pure look he gave her silenced her immediately.
Something seemed to click in the back of her mind, some subconscious understanding just randomly existing.
She was unsure how this happened, what it was, or what caused it, but she suddenly seemed to understand what her dragon had in mind.
In the end, she pressed her lips until they formed a thin line and nodded her head.
"Okay, I trust you. Let's do this."
Rhaegal did not make any sound and instead flapped his wings to get a little more altitude.
Visenya held on tightly and got herself ready, fully trusting the instincts of her dragon.
It was not long before dragon and rider flew in sync, too close to the grey clouds but not flying over them. Viserion was flying somewhere around them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get them.
They could not see him, but they knew he was there, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Time seemed to slow down, the wind and her own heartbeat were the only things Visenya seemed to hear as her unique eyes scanned left and right, trying to see around her for any signs that Viserion was about to attack.
She had lost all sense of direction in the blizzard, being unaware of how close or far she was from Winterfell. She did not know where the ground truly was and in which direction.
Then, out of nowhere, she caught a glimpse of a shadow between the hazy and blurry environment around her.
Viserion came from their right, but somehow, Rhaegal seemed to have sensed it. Pulling a risky manoeuvre, the green Dragon twisted his body sideways and brought his back claws forward.
The undead dragon fell full force against them, claws digging into its brother but also receiving deep wounds in return.
Both beasts roared as they started to flap their wings, twisting in an elegant but also spinning dance as both tried to pull the other down.
Jaws snapped against one another as their claws dug deep into each other's flesh.
Viserion kept roaring and eventually chose to use his other two limbs.
His wings moved around Rhaegal, or at least tried to, the claws at the front leaving deep gashes and threatening to take Visenya down with them.
In a futile attempt of Rhaegal to help her, one attack aimed at him but found her instead. By instinct alone, Visenya had pushed her body quickly to the side, almost falling off, but it was not enough.
She felt the sharp stinging sensation against her face, skin being dug out, and for a moment she was not sure whether she had lost her nose or eye.
All she knew was the pain she had not felt before and her vision blurring due to the running blood coming from her wounds, and that blood did not seem willing to stop any time soon.
Her hands shook from the strain and the shock, her muscles sore, and she was not sure for how long she could hold on.
Rhaegal seemed to have sensed her pain, roaring and shaking his own head as if he had been personally clawed, but despite that, he was not willing to let go.
Visenya was not sure how it happened, but she managed to get a blurry glimpse of Rhaegal closing his jaws at the base of Viserion's neck.
Yet, the ice dragon did not let it bother him and moved his head before also sinking its teeth into Rhaegal's neck, too close to the back of the head.
"Rhaegal!" Visenya shouted in worry, seeing how Viserion had locked his jaws and was constantly applying pressure on her dragon.
Her companion tried to free itself and keep a stable grip on Viserion, the spinning and desperate attempts of both dragons making it hard for her to remain on Rhaegal.
More than once, she almost felt gravity threatening to pull her down, and she held on for dear life.
Eventually, the aerial battle offered her an opening.
It was not that close, and with how the dragons were flying, it was becoming tricky to aim, let alone not to slip off the dragon's back. She could not delay for much longer, each second making Rhaegal suffer more in pain.
The green Dragon, though, kept a solid grip despite the pain and injuries, body and wings suffering wounds from Viserion's thrusts. He was earning her time, and Visenya knew that if she were to act, she had to do it now.
She took a deep breath and dared to free one hand and place it on the handle of her sword. In the next few seconds, she pulled perhaps the riskiest move she had ever thought of.
With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself to the side and stopped holding on to her dragon. She kicked against its scaly body with all her might and started to fall straight towards the Ice Dragon.
She had brought her sword forward, and in one single move, she plunged it straight through the exposed chest of the undead Viserion.
The Valyrian Blade passed through the frozen white and blue scales, the gravity and momentum making it go deep enough that only the handle remained outside.
Viserion let out one last roar and stopped moving. His jaws unlocked, and his claws opened, freeing the wounded and tired Rhaegal.
Visenya smiled to herself, knowing she had done it, but her strength gave up on her as well. She could not hold on to the sword any longer, and she slipped from the side of the now-falling Viserion.
Her back was facing the ground, her sore and tired limbs, as well as her hair, being pushed up by the raging winds. Her vision started to become black, barely able to see the two dragons also free-falling in a similar style.
One was dead, the other tired and barely hanging to life, both falling along with her from thousands of feet up in the sky.
The scene all felt too familiar, and Visenya recognised it from her dream.
This was how the dream was going to end, with her falling straight to her death and yet... she was okay with it.
As her vision turned black, her senses started to dull and she could barely focus on the feeling of her stomach going up due to the pressure of the free fall.
Yet, that weak smile remained on her lips because she knew she had done it. She had taken down Viserion, and now she put her utmost faith in the others, to take down the Night King.
She did not mind if this was how her story was going to end, for she knew she had done her best, and she was going down like a true Dragon Whisperer... like a true Targaryen.
Trystan & Loras...
The Half-Lion was leaning against the wall, his hand bleeding heavily and his chest heaving beneath his armour.
His sword hand was shaking from exhaustion but still moved and killed yet another undead soldier that tried to come too close.
By his side was Loras, who was barely able to stand and yet refused to move back or try to retreat. Stubbornly, he kept his sword in his hand as slowly the undead started to trap them, their numbers endless in their eyes.
Suddenly, Trystan felt the extra weight of Loras as he was leaning heavily on him. His powers were slowly giving up on him, and that worried the Lion heir, who had to keep balancing and supporting him against his wounded arm.
"Hey! Stay awake!" he said rather loudly over the raging winds, golden-flecked green eyes quickly glancing at him and then forward to the approaching enemies.
"I am..." Loras replied, although his voice was getting weaker.
"Focus... focus on the enemy..." he reminded him, trying to push himself to stand on his own two legs.
"I..." Trystan wanted to argue, but seeing him struggling and managing to stand once again made him go silent.
He merely nodded his head as he tried his best to remain by the side of his friend and comrade, ready to catch him if he needed another moment to breathe and stabilise himself.
Worry started to spread within him, suddenly finding himself unable to think of what to do. Usually, he always had some plan or answer, but now... his brain was blank.
The enemy was approaching, Loras was injured, and he could not see where his father and uncle were, unsure if they were even alive.
True fear started to drown his worry, his heart beating faster and faster as his eyes constantly looked left and right in frantic motion. Even he was not sure what he was truly looking for.
Was it any friendly face that could help them? A place they could somehow retreat or increase their chances? The enemy that could also sneak up on them from some blind spot?
He was not sure, and that truly terrified him the most. He had been in battle before, but nothing ever prepared him for this.
Not his sword skills, nor his war lessons... nothing.
Right now, he had to truly rely on unknown things and himself.
Something that was becoming harder and harder, the closer the enemy was coming to them.
With the wall almost behind them, their chances of escaping were becoming minimal.
Is this the way we all die? he could not help but wonder as he waited for the next enemy in range, not daring to leave Loras on his own.
Oberyn...
Not that far away, Oberyn's shouts and war cries were muffled by the raging winds. His spear moved with lethal strikes, each one successfully taking down an undead soldier.
He was on his own, the ground around him covered by the bodies of soldiers, and more than once he was threatened to trip on them.
Between them, one could see Obara lying dead.
Multiple wounds covered her body, her lips purple and her eyes closed.
Her sword had remained in her now limp hand, a pile of undead soldiers having been scattered all around her.
Sansa & Tyrion...
It all had happened too fast for any of them to process.
One moment, they all heard the approaching roars of the undead, and the next... they were under attack.
Just as Trystan had predicted, the undead could not spread into the tunnels, but that did not mean they could not fight one another and squeeze themselves through.
The first wave had been blocked by the Dornish, being taken down fast and efficiently, but even the famous Dornish Spears were just human in the end.
Slowly, more and more undead started to fall on their spears, their numbers were too great to be handled like that.
For every undead soldier they took down, three more pushed one another to take its place.
Slowly, the guards started to fall as the undead even crawled and bit their legs through clothing and leather armour. Some spread their hands between the soldiers, screeching as they tried to pass through them or claw their sides.
The sound of their screeches mixed with the frightened screams of the civilians as they all started to run down the tunnel, following the second part of the plan.
They pushed one another, many falling on the floor or being stepped on as they fought against one another like animals, fighting over who would be able to escape first.
In this panic, Sansa tried to stay to the side and help anyone falling down, but her attempts were not enough. More than once, she was pushed against the wall, feeling the rough edges brushing her skin beneath her clothing.
Someone managed to grab and push her behind them, making her stumble and almost fall on the remaining Dornish that tried to delay the horde from reaching the retreating civilians.
Some undead soldiers had started to slowly push through the defences and were heading straight at them. Some were crawling, others blindly attacking forward with extended skeletal hands or even weapons.
Suddenly, an undead Stark soldier managed to push his hand forward and grab her black dress in its hands, threatening to pull Sansa back and even down.
Her first instinct was to try and pull her dress free, but the undead screeched, trying to climb over the fallen body of a Dornish guard and was not willing to let her go.
In a moment of panic, her hand found the hidden Valyrian dagger and just like she did back in the Vale, she blindly aimed forward.
She did not close her eyes this time, and instead of drawing blood, she saw her dagger cutting through the undead arm before eventually killing the once loyal Stark soldier that was now a puppet for the Night King.
Yet, more undead soldiers tried to reach her. One aimed for her neck, but before it could, someone stabbed it.
Tyrion had appeared beneath the tall skeleton and stabbed his own Valyrian dagger through the belly of the Lannister soldier that had almost killed Sansa.
The body got destroyed and collapsed, almost taking him down with it if he had not managed to move out of the way.
Sansa locked her gaze with his, both panting and terrified. He had stayed back, trying not to be kicked or stepped on by the panicking civilians. He could have tried to escape first, but something had told him to stay.
He was glad because he saw Sansa getting attacked as the last of the civilians rushed deeper into the tunnels. He was not sure when he moved or how, but his instincts had gotten the best of him.
Now, he stood next to a defeated undead soldier who ironically wore Lannister armour. However, he knew the place was safe no more.
"We have to go, My Lady. Now!" he said, daring to look behind him as the last Dornish Guard fell under the undead.
Sansa could only nod, her voice lost from the fright.
She grabbed his hand, and the two of them started to sprint, with her doing her best not to trip over her dress or run too fast and cause Tyrion to fall in his attempt to catch up with her. She did not look behind her, but she could hear the screeches of the undead multiplying and getting closer.
All she could do now was run, run and pray they would survive this.
Jon, Bran and Leaf...
The battle was slowly showing who the one true victor would be, and it was not the bastard Direwolf who would earn that title.
Despite his best attempts, his body was getting tired, and one would have to be blind in order not to see the wounds on his body, caused by the ice sword of his opponent.
Jon managed to push the Night King back and take a few steps back, hoping to catch his breath. His knees were shaking, the sword in his hands feeling so heavy, and his dark eyes did not hide the exhaustion he carried.
All around him, Children of the Forest lay dead along with Theon, undead soldiers burning alive by their latest attacks, but more could be heard coming.
The Night King just stared down at his opponent, no sign of exhaustion, not that anyone expected him to do so. After all, he was a magical undead creature that could raise the dead.
Suddenly, Jon's eyes widened in shock as someone moved to stand between him and the Night King.
"Arya!" He called out his sister's name, seeing her standing proudly with a Valyrian dagger in one hand. "Get out of here!"
Yet, the young wolf did not seem to listen to him. She was staring back at the Night King, silently challenging him to take a single step forward.
Slowly, the two of them started to take small steps to the side, circling one another like two predators.
The Night King went first, bringing his ice sword to cut her down, but she was faster and shorter than his usual opponents.
Using all of her training, she moved silently and quickly, dodging one attack after the other. The length of the weapon kept her at a certain distance, but she was not going to let that stop her.
She knew she could not block him, their strengths were unequal, but that did not mean she did not have a plan, or more skills in her arsenal.
Just like when she sparred with Brienne, she remained on her toes and kept taunting the Night King, waiting for the perfect opening.
When that moment finally came, she waited for him to make the first move. As the ice sword was aimed at her, she bent her knees and fell forward, using one leg to push her body ahead.
Bending her body backwards, in an all too familiar move that was originally hers, she slid on the snow and managed to avoid the ice blade. Her momentum sent her forward, sliding right beneath the Night King's arm and eventually managing to end up behind him.
In the next second, she had pushed herself up and spun, bringing the Valyrian dagger Visenya had given her towards him.
The move was smooth and calculated, and there should be no room for errors. The blade was about to pierce his torso when she was apprehended.
The Night King was no mortal man, his reflexes not able to be compared to those of a human. He had managed to turn faster than she had expected, and he wrapped one hand around her neck.
He started to squeeze while holding her back, her hand just an inch too short and the blade so close to piercing him.
"No!" Arya could hear Jon shouting as her vision quickly started to have black dots at the edges.
She tried to keep her hold on the dagger, but the need to try and claw free was becoming too much, even though any attempt would be futile.
Before she could truly pass out or even die, the grip of the Night King relaxed just an inch. He seemed to stare at her, or rather through her, something had stopped him from continuing what he had started.
He felt his connection with the undead dragon being severed, the feeling so sudden that for a single second, it left him exposed.
The very next second, it was game over.
Jon had sprinted towards him when he saw his sister in danger, his sword lifted and ready. He expected the Night King to block him, but all he could think was to save his sister, even if it meant risking being killed himself by the blue-skinned creature.
He did not, though, and Jon did not hesitate. Longclaw pierced him through his back, the Valyrian steel blade piercing through armour and frozen skin, piercing whatever core was fuelling and powering the Night King.
His opponent did not move, but cracks started to form on his skin. Bright blue eyes moved to the side, locking his gaze with the dark ones of his killer before he crumbled.