Chapter 62: The Last Hero

The sight of the southern armies rushing in and colliding with the army of the dead's rear rejuvenated everybody inside Moat Cailin, and as the climbing wights began to reach the top of the walls, Torrhen was amongst the living there to meet them with a new sense of optimism. "HOLD THEM OFF!" Was the cry coming from nearly everybody on top of the walls as the living contended with the dead over the edge of the walls. "KEEP THEM BACK!"

They could see the clash of the cavalry meeting the dead in the distance, and over the top of the rising rotting heads came the sight of the living beginning to sandwich the dead wights between their cavalry ranks, with flames from the dragons roasting the dead in between. Torrhen was grinning and laughing as he hacked and thrust over the walls, stopping the climbers before they had a chance. By now more had joined them, with Torrhen recognising the armour of Cregan Glenmore leading a group of the Glenmore Elite Guard to reinforce this section.

As he knocked down one more wight, a deep, humane roar came from the distance, and Torrhen gulped as an overly large figure came barrelling towards them, pummelling both the living and the dead as it made its way for the part of the wall they were stood on. Torrhen scrambled away going for the stairs as he screamed "GIANT!". The downside of having such a large castle wall was evident as Torrhen ran down the stone steps, his legs starting to ache as he got halfway down, and the burn intensified when he was around three quarters of the way down. Panting, he pushed further on, trying to get away when the first crash came and the entire wall shook.

"How strong are they?" A woman's voice said behind him, Jorelle Mormont. Another crash came and Torrhen also heard some rubble falling.

"Apparently strong enough to knock down a fucking wall." He gasped. "Come on! Move!" He urged her, grabbing the warrior woman's hand and dragging her down. The next crash came almost instantly as he pulled on her arm, and all of a sudden Torrhen found himself flying in the air. He luckily landed sideways on a pile of bodies, but the fall still hurt like all seven hells and his left shoulder was agonising. Coughing from being winded, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the nights sky. It was almost peaceful, the moon shone brightly and small dots of snow drifted down slowly, cooling Torrhen's bloodied face down slightly.

He was content to just lie there, to pretend that his allies and friends weren't being slaughtered around him for just a moment, but he felt an arm pull at his sword arm and he was forced upright. Jaime Lannister was covered in gore and ash, and he looked sternly at Torrhen. "Get up Stark!" He barked.

Torrhen shook his head. "I can't." He whimpered childishly.

"You saved my life for this madness!" Jaime scolded. "The least you can do is fight until the end!" He surveyed the Stark's injuries and his eyes rested on Torrhen's shoulder. "Sit still, don't scream."

"What?" Torrhen asked, confused, when suddenly Jaime wrenched his painful arm in a way that snapped the shoulder back into its socket. Torrhen growled out in pain through clenched teeth but he didn't have time to complain as Jaime was strapping an Arryn shield to his weak arm.

"Don't die!" Jaime ordered, and hoisted Torrhen up on his feet, handing him back Winter's Bite and together, the Stark and the Lannister forced their way back into the madness that Moat Cailin had become.

The giant forcing its way through the walls of Moat Cailin had changed Jon's focus. Instead of having Rhaegal shoot jets of fire away from the castle, instead he grew bold and had the dragon defending the open gaps in the walls, incinerating the dead that were charging towards the breaches. He couldn't think of the potential for the living to be caught in the flames, only that he needed to take as many of the dead out as he possibly could.

As Rhaegal stood guard over what had once been the Winter Gate, bellowing flames out towards the North, he heard the roar of one of the other dragons. He looked up concerned to see Viserion streamlining towards a cluster of the dead, only for the dragon to quickly dodge away and race upwards to the sky. He also saw an almost hesitant Drogon, and he remembered a conversation with Dany as the fleet had pulled into the Fever River.

"Be careful if you spot the Night King." She had warned him, staring out over the snowy tundras of the Barrowlands. "He has an… inhumane amount of strength and wields javelins of ice strong enough to kill a dragon in a single shot."

Rhaegal seemed to know his plan and tried to fight it, but Jon's will was too much as he pushed the dragon to move, intending to melt the icy demon as he stood. Jon felt the rush of the cold on his face and felt his red cloak flap around in the wind as Rhaegal lurched forwards. Down on the ground after barely a minute of flight, Jon saw the small figure of the Night King, blue eyes catching his dark grey ones in a staring battle. The battle may have been raging all around Jon, or it may have stopped, he didn't know. All that mattered to him was the demon on horseback below.

"DRACARYS!" Jon roared, and the heat of the dragon fire was unlike anything that Jon had ever felt before. He was focusing solely on the spot that had once been the Night King that had become red hot flames billowing high into the air. Jon kept the pressure up, willing Rhaegal to continue with such force that he felt himself roaring in unison with the dragon. The barrage of fire continued for as long as Rhaegal could muster it, and after a while the dragon stopped, beginning to pant and his flapping was more laboured. Jon watched on cautiously, not hearing anything else other than his and the dragons breathing. The flames roared below him, but the cold air wasn't helpful, and the fire got calmer and calmer, until suddenly the majority of the area was snuffed out.

The snow had completely melted in a large radius, and bodies and ash were widespread, but kneeling in the middle beside the burning carcass of a horse was the Night King, unaffected by the fire. Jon looked on in horror as the demon got to his feet, a long, thin object of ice in its hands.

"Fuck!" Jon cried, pulling Rhaegal to the left to avoid the exact thing that Dany had warned him about. The dragon swerved, but before he could straighten out and speed away, Rhaegal screamed out in pain. Jon looked to his right to see a hole in the dragon's wing that was edged with blue ice. "No!" Jon cried again, feeling the dragon getting lower in the air as he desperately flapped and tried to stay airborne. It wasn't working however, and Jon braced himself to a crash landing in the bogs not far from the walls of the castle.

Sandwiching the Army of the Dead was easier said than done when there were large holes in the walls of Moat Cailin. Bran's forces had done well with the initial push, but their steel weapons for the most part had been inadequate and so it was the dragons that had been doing the majority of the damage. Bran was performing well though, although very quickly his horse had been brought down from underneath him and he had taken to fighting on foot, Nightfall carving through whoever got in his way.

He saw Rhaegal fall slowly, and the thud that indicated he had collided with the ground shook the snowy ground beneath Bran's feet. He heard Ghost howl from nearby, and suddenly the albino Direwolf shot towards the direction of the dragon. Bran looked around and saw Ser Barristan forcing a wight backwards, avoiding its snapping jaws. Bran rushed towards him, ducking a rusted axe aimed for his head and ploughed Nightfall through Ser Barristan's attacker, dropping it to the ground.

"Find Jon!" Bran roared over the sounds of the battle.

"He can't have survived that!" Barristan called back. He thrust his blade into another wight and wrenched it to one side, splitting the dead Dornishman in two. Bran stabbed both parts quickly, stopping them from moving.

"Then he needs to be burnt!" Bran responded forcefully. "Go!"

Barristan nodded and called to some Tyrell men nearby to follow him. Bran watched the man go before he was forced back into the battle, decapitating a dead Northman. He pushed further towards the castle, noticing a large Hightower contingent led by Lord Leyton and Ser Garth in a heated skirmish ahead of him, and both dead and living were quickly swallowed by the flames of Drogon overhead. Bran shielded his eyes from the heat as the flames leapt dozens of feet in the air, and he swore internally, before he pushed towards his left to look for another way around.

Arya had been lucky. Her position on the walls of the Moat had stayed secure, so when the giant forced his way through the stones she had only stumbled at the impact. She gripped her bow tighter and fired off a few more arrows into the crowd below the walls before she turned to see the giant roaring. Most of its furs had been torn off by the stone rubble and in some places Arya could see bone. She moved her eyes from the giants scarred body to its hands however, and she watched as the giant picked up Jorelle Mormont, who only had one of her legs attached to her body and her back was twisted horribly, and Arya watched in horror as the Mormont was raised to the giants mouth and ripped in two.

Many cries happened at once, and Arya nocked an arrow and fired it towards the giant's head, missing by an inch. She went to reload but in that time he had stomped down on a number of Northmen and Dornish, killing them all.

"Fuck!" She roared, thrusting her bow into the hands of whoever was next to her.

"What is it with Starks giving me their bows." A familiar voice cried in frustration, and Arya recognised the voice of the man who had first truly taught her how to shoot, and her first crush. She turned to Cregan Glenmore, and noticed that through all the gore and sweat, he still looked good. Crushing her lips to his with force, she kissed him roughly for a quick moment before parting. "What…"

"I've wanted to do that for a while." She admitted, bringing her Dragonglass axes out of their holsters. "Seeing as though we're about to die, why not?"

"Arya…" Cregan began, but Arya didn't wait to hear what he had to say. She turned and ran along the wall so that she was in line with the giant that had killed her foster sister, and Arya leapt off the wall towards it.

She embedded her Dragonglass axes deep into the giants back, and her weight forced her towards the ground, the scream of the giant growing the more gravity pulled her towards the ground. By the time she was by its lower back, the giant collapsed forwards and Arya was roughly thrown to the floor. Panting, she picked herself up and looked around. All of the living in proximity were staring at her in awe, but she didn't want that. She pulled her axes from the broken body of the giant and held one in the air. "FOR WINTERFELL!" She roared, and charged back towards the Winter Gate, joining the carnage at the breach.

The next thing that Jon remembered after crashing was two pairs of hands pulling him out from underneath Rhaegal. As he caught his bearings he noticed that he was surrounded by an ongoing brawl, where the Vale Knights were keeping wights away from the fallen dragon. As Jon was lifted to his feet he saw Ghost at his feel and felt relief before he turned to check on the dragon.

Rhaegal was still alive, a fact that Jon was extremely thankful for, but he tucked his wing into his side and the noise he was making seemed pained. Internally, Jon urged for Rhaegal to get somewhere safe before the wights came, and Rhaegal, after looking intently into Jon's eyes, nodded once and began hopping with one wing flapping over towards the Neck.

With Rhaegal out of the way, Jon withdrew Blackfyre and turned to thank his saviours. He saw Ser Barristan and the Bronze Yohn Royce talking with one another. Ser Barristan noticed Jon was alright and bowed his head. "Lord Targaryen."

"Lord Commander. Lord Royce." Jon greeted. "We need to get to the Night King before he enters the castle."

Royce nodded, pointing his Dragonglass longsword over towards the fight. "He's coming this way now."

Jon could see that he was right, and the Night King had withdrawn his blade and was cutting through the living, his eyes focused solely on the breach in the castle. "FORM UP!" Jon roared to anybody that could hear him as he took a position between the Night King and the castle. "PROTECT THE CASTLE!"

Ser Barristan scowled at the demon. "For the fallen." He muttered. He had picked up a Dragonglass blade and twirled it in his hands.

"Aye." Jon nodded, looking along the lines. "We hold him off. If you get a chance, go for his heart." He gripped Blackfyre tightly, whispering a prayer to the Old Gods. He shielded his eyes as a stream of dragon fire from a strafing Drogon hit the floor nearby, and once he had regained his bearings Jon noticed that his men had engaged.

The Night King was ruthless. He didn't toy with his attackers, instead he quickly carved through some of the best swordsmen that the Vale had to offer. Jon watched as Lord Belmore and Nestor Royce fell quickly, whilst Ser Brynden Tully lasted at least three parries before he too fell lifelessly to the ground. Lord Royce charged in immediately as the Blackfish fell, slamming his Dragonglass blade into the ice sword of the Night King. Jon wanted to move, but his legs were planted firmly to the ground as the famed Knight traded blows with the Night King, but even the Bronze Yohn fell to the floor as the ice blade slammed against the bronze armour, causing a burst of some kind of energy that knocked everyone nearby to their feet.

Jon gingerly got up first and noticed that there were small puffs of breath coming from the old man's nose. Before the Night King could choose an unarmoured section of Lord Royce's body to aim for, Jon ran towards the Night King, only to be bundled over by a couple of wights that began clawing at his body. Wriggling as best he could, he managed to impale the first of the wights before cleaving the head off of the second. He took a breath and forced himself to his feet once more, and Jon looked around to see the Night King about to enter Moat Cailin, Ser Barristan Selmy's body at his feet. "NO!" Jon roared, and the Lord of Dragonstone forced himself to sprint after the Night King, his anger rising to a level he had never felt before.

His head was spinning and his shoulder ached like anything, but Torrhen was still fighting, albeit sluggishly. He was grateful for the Valyrian Steel in his hands as the sharp blade made it easier to put a final end to the dead rushing at him, but all the Stark wanted to do was sleep. When a brief moment of respite came, Torrhen took a deep breath and slapped himself hard in the face, psyching himself back up before he rushed in again. He saw his sister ducking and slashing out with her two axes, and he saw Quentyn Martell spinning his spear around in a fury, tears and blood running down the Martell's face. He also saw Gregor Forrester wielding his large familial blade and ending wights coming at him, but in the distance beyond the Forrester were familiar blue eyes stepping over the boundary of the castle.

All of a sudden in Torrhen's mind he saw the body of Asher Forrester lying in a grassy field surrounded by palm trees. He also saw Rodrik Forrester's pyre after he had been slain by the Kingslayer. Torrhen's face contorted into a scowl and he forced his legs to storm forwards. "I will not lose another Forrester." He swore to himself, cutting open an undead Night's Watch brother. "Not again!" His walk turned into a run, and he pushed past Gregor just as the Night King was about to swing his ice blade and he held Winter's Bite firmly, blocking the blow.

The Night King cocked his head to one side as both partied strained against the other, and Torrhen noticed a look of recognition in the Night King's eyes, before the living Stark felt his sword fly out of his hands and a rough backhanded slap against his head. Torrhen flew through the air again and landed twenty feet away on the floor. Groaning, he began to crawl away, but a cold hand gripped him around the ankle. Torrhen frantically tried to dig himself away but he felt himself get flipped over, and the Night King peered down at him angrily raising his blade.

Torrhen closed his eyes ready for the inevitable, a tear leaking down his face as he realised he was once again fated to die at the hands of the Night King, when the sound of a parry filled the air. Torrhen opened one eye and he saw Winter's Bite blocking the Night King once more, this time however it was wielded by a Lannister. Torrhen scrambled back again to get out of the way and found himself being shielded by Gregor Forrester, who knelt down and helped the Stark back up.

"Are you alright?" Gregor asked, and Torrhen just nodded. His sword hand went behind his back for his Dragonglass dagger, but his eyes were trained on Jaime Lannister fighting the Night King. The Lannister was giving everything, and Torrhen, having never seen the Night King actually fight before, was horrified at the speed of which the demon could parry. Torrhen took a step forwards, but the movement made his head shoot with pain, so he stumbled backwards again, leaning against his wife's Father.

Jaime was like a blur as he fought the Night King, dodging and thrusting when he could, but the Night King was seemingly too much, and his lack of draining stamina proved costly for the Lannister as he slashed his blade through the Lannister's sword arm, before plunging it through the Lannister's stomach.

"NO!" Torrhen roared as Jaime fell to his knees, his stump and his remaining hand immediately rushing to the weapon in him. The Night King withdrew his blade and Jaime slumped onto the ground.

"Get the blade." Gregor said firmly. Torrhen nodded, rushing towards the Night King with a roar, sliding on his knees underneath the blade when it came for his head. He rolled over away from the Night King and grabbed the blade on the way, getting to one knee and holding the blade towards the demon. He pushed himself to his feet again and he roared once more, clashing Valyrian Steel against ice.

"You. Will. Not. Take. Any. More. People. Away. From. Me!" Torrhen screamed, with each word being followed by a swing of Winter's Bite. After the last word they locked blades again, with Torrhen's adrenaline causing his strength to make the Night King stumble slightly. The blue eyes showed a hint of concern then, before he pulled his sword away and pounded Torrhen's blade forcefully so that the Stark was forced to drop onto one knee. Torrhen looked up defiantly, but his strength was sapping. He watched the Night King go to bring his blade down, when a black bundle of fur attached itself to the Night King's sword arm. Torrhen grinned as Balerion's strength kept the Night King from being able to swing, and almost as quickly as Balerion had appeared, so too did Ghost, latching himself to the other arm. Torrhen took a moment to admire the sight of the Night King being held down by two Direwolves, when a third came barrelling into the Night King's chest with a thud and knocked the icy demon to his knees. Nymeria whimpered and limped away as the impact clearly hurt the beast, but the damage had been done. Torrhen went to move forwards, but his adrenaline had all but evaporated and he groaned in pain at the step. "No." He whispered. "One more… one more swing."

The Night King grinned, although he was still struggling as Balerion and Ghost managed to keep him in place, when a human roar came from the behind the Night King, and the tip of a sword appeared through the black chest plate.

The explosion of ice particles lifted Torrhen off his feet once more and he slammed to the ground in pain. Panting, he tried to lift himself upright, but he could barely even manage that. He looked back at where the Direwolves had been and saw a tall figure walking towards him, a torn red cloak blowing in the winds. "Tor!" Jon's voice called, and Jon rushed towards him, Blackfyre in hand.

For Tyrion Lannister, he had barely been a part of the battle and even he had been injured. After giving command to his cousin Tyrek, along with the Valyrian Steel blade, the dwarf had been ordered by basically everyone to stay on the outskirts, and it was only once the dragon had fallen had he and his guard slowly moved into the battle. He had managed to kill a couple of wights with a Dragonglass axe, but he had also received a mighty scratch to his cheek by something before every dead thing dropped to the floor in an instant. "They did it." He surmised, and he ran towards the castle, dodging all of the bodies and ignoring all the living celebrating while he searched for the one person he had come North for. As he stepped into the castle he could see the Targaryen Lord kneeling by somebody lying down, and he noticed a dishevelled Ned Stark also rushing towards the pair. He almost went to join the Starks, when he saw the man he had been looking for, leaning against a wall, a trail of blood in front of him.

"Jaime!" He cried, and he waddled over towards Jaime. "No!" The elder Lannister had a gape in his wound and was leaking blood from a stump where his hand should be. "HELP!"

"Tyrion." Jaime wheezed. His eyes were unfocused. "You shouldn't be here."

Tyrion scoffed. "I came here for you. It looks like you needed me." He felt tears sting his eyes.

Jaime grinned, and he brought his remaining hand up to grip the back of Tyrion's neck. "It's ok." The Kingslayer whispered. "It's ok. I'm glad you are with me."

"Don't do that." Tyrion sniffed defiantly. "Don't say goodbye."

Jaime chuckled, but the pain was too much and he winced. "You…" He tried to get out. "You be good."

"You live." Tyrion ordered. "You need to meet your nephew."

Jaime grinned, blood upon his lips. "You had a child?"

"Jaime." Tyrion told him. "Named after his uncle."

Jaime looked deep into Tyrion's eyes. "I'm honoured." Jaime whispered. "May he…" He coughed, blood splashing in Tyrion's face. "May he be a better man than me." Jaime took a deep breath, and it pained him again. "I'm proud of you." Jaime said, and his voice was barely a whisper. Tyrion wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked back over at his brother, but the life had drained out of his eyes.

"No." Tyrion cried through gritted teeth, shaking his brother's body. "No, wake up!" He cried louder, but Jaime didn't. Tyrion couldn't hold back then as he openly sobbed, kneeling next to his older brother and weeping into Jaime's unmoving chest.

The cries of the Lannister Lord barely registered as Torrhen lay on the ground, staring up at the face of his family. He could feel Ned's hand gripped around his own, and Torrhen felt nothing but relief.

"Come on, help him up." Ned said, and Torrhen felt himself being pulled to a sitting position. Winter's Bite was somewhere on the ground, but at that moment Torrhen didn't care. He just looked around the castle as the living were celebrating around the fallen dead, and Torrhen felt a grin appear on his lips.

"We survived." He said quietly. "I survived."

Ned groaned as he sat down on the floor beside Torrhen too, Ice falling to the muddy ground. "Aye, we did." He chuckled lightly. "I can't believe it."

"What happened?" Torrhen asked Jon. "I saw the wolves come in, then…"

"I don't know." Jon shrugged, looking in the sky as Drogon raced overhead, causing wilder celebrations. "I just saw the Night King being held in place and I didn't hesitate."

Ned sighed. "You really are the Prince that was Promised." He muttered quietly. "Howland was right."

"I don't know about all that." Jon admitted. "I do know that we won, and I never want to fight another war again."

Torrhen snorted. "I'll drink to that." He said happily. He held out a hand and allowed Jon to help him to his feet, grimacing as the ache in his shoulder got stronger. "We can share stories and feast tomorrow. For now, I just need a good sleep."