A/N: Thank you all for all the lovely comments. Hopefully I'll get some time to respond to them soon!

The spirit of this fic has been to somewhat stick to the show plot with a few major changes. This chapter sticks to that formula. In another story, with more time, I would have taken this a completely different direction, but alas, here we are. We only have the epilogue left! Hope you guys enjoy!

Jon stood on the hill overlooking Winterfell as the last glow of the setting sun dissipated from the overcast sky. The last few days had been a whirlwind of preparation and planning, solidifying their battle plan and setting up the last of their defenses. The final plan they had settled upon ended up being a fairly simple one. They had to kill the Night King. Anything else would be pointless.

The small council had devised the best plan they could after Bran had told them that he believed that he would be the Night King's target. Most of the men would be inside the castle, defending the walls, while the Dothraki would remain outside, the first line of defense to give the trebuchets time to fire and hopefully cut down on the number of dead. After losing Viserion, Jon and Dany had decided to remain nearby and wait to see what the Night King's plan was. They couldn't afford to lose another dragon, giving their enemy another weapon against them, but they knew they couldn't stay out of the fight completely. They needed every advantage that they could get.

The Lannister army had arrived just that morning, their men looking ragged with exhaustion from the frantic, forced march to escape the Army of the Dead close on their heels. They'd integrated them into their own forces, hoping that what strength they had left would be enough.

"Gods I wish you didn't have to be here," he said softly as snow began to fall slowly from the black sky.

"I've wanted a lot of things in my life," Dany said beside him, watching the fires along the battlements as they waited. "They've rarely come to pass."

Sansa stood on the walls of Winterfell, looking out past the fires at the black field before them. She'd refused to go to the Great Hall when they'd sent the rest of their people there that couldn't fight. They'd initial thought the crypts would be the safest place to house the women and children, but after spending the last few days removing and burning the bodies they could find, they'd determined that the crypts were too much of a labyrinth. The risk of a massacre underground was too great so they'd settled on the Great Hall. Jon had dispatched a small company of soldiers to wait with them, and the rest of the soldiers knew that, besides defending the Godswood, the Great Hall was their main priority. Sansa knew that if the Hall was breeched, there wouldn't be much hope for any of them.

The sound was the first thing that alerted them that the army was close. The sound of hundreds of bodies moving, horrifying loud, drifted across the blackness. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, the snow falling harder as the wind started to pick up.

The commanders shouted out orders, lighting the projectiles causing light to flare across the line moments before the first volley was launched. Light from the fires streamed across the field as the fire illuminated the terrifying sight before them.

A sea of undead bodies as far as she could see stretched across the open ground in the distance, moving at a speed that took her breath away. Cackling screams echoed towards them as the balls of fire hit, moving a short distance into the mass before flickering out. Sansa caught her breath, fear gripping her harder than it ever had in her life, the wrongness of what she was seeing causing her body to shake. She'd heard what Jon had been warning them of for months, but hearing about it and seeing it were so drastically different.

Arya grabbed her arm, pulling her back from the wall slightly. "You have to go below."

"I can't abandon our people," she said through numb lips, fighting the urge to do what he sister commanded and run to the Great Hall.

"You can't help up here. Go help our people."

They locked eyes and Sansa saw her own fear reflected in her sister's eyes, knowing she was right. "I'll see you when it's over."

Arya nodded mutely and turned back to the oncoming terror. Sansa forced herself to walk, her back straight, as she left for the crypts.

Arya turned back to the scene before them. Davos and Jorah were shouting orders to the archers on the wall as the Dothraki prepared to charge on the field as the sea of dead moved inside the range of the trebuchets. They'd talked about keeping the horde inside the walls, but the Dothraki had refused. They were more deadly on their horses and hadn't wanted to give up the advantage of their mounts. All had agreed that they'd launch an initial attack on horseback, hoping to break the initial charge of the dead before retreating to the walls.

The massive line or Dothraki moved out, their war cries rivaling the shrieks of the dead army, their swords a flaming light thanks to the Red Woman who had arrived earlier, from where, no one knew. As they moved into the darkness, Arya tracked the pinpricks of light, holding her breath. She watched them move farther and farther away and then they seemed to stop, the steady progression or light suddenly turning erratic before slowly blinking out, one by one. The fearsome war cries mingling with cries of a different type, ones that sent ice through her veins. A few started to change direction, heading back towards the castle.

Arya gripped her dragonglass spear, ignoring the sweat she could feel on her palms despite the cold, and waited.

Jon watched the light from the Dothraki slowly go out, darkness claiming the small hope that he'd fostered that the riders would be able to slow what was coming. A small sound escaped Dany and she took a step back towards the dragons. Jon glanced at her, noting the look of pain and anger on her face. "We need to wait. You know we can't risk the dragons until we know where the Night King is."

She looked at him and he could see the fire in her eyes. "My people are dying. If we defeat the Night King, but everyone else is dead, what are we really saving?"

Jon let out a shuddering breath, looking back. The dark field was beginning to move like the ground was water, an undulating mass that reminded him of a black ocean. "We give the survivors time to get inside the walls."

Dany didn't respond, just turned and mounted Drogon. Jon hurried to follow.

They dropped off the knoll, the dragons buffeted by the ice cold wind whirling around them, making their flight choppy and rough. As they got closer, Jon felt the familiar dread rise in his soul. When he finally got a good look at what they faced, his heart nearly stopped.

The Unsullied were holding the gates, giving the few Dothraki that were still alive time to get inside. The undead army hit their line like a wave, individual bodies indistinguishable as they clawed over each other to get to the living, crawling over the decaying bodies that fell under the weight beneath them. They hit the Unsullied line like a tsunami, the armored line disappearing under the flood of the dead.

Jon banked back around in time to see Drogon unleash a gout of dragon fire, lighting the scene even further. Rhaegal followed behind, cutting a swath of flame through the ocean of writhing bodies. It seemed to barely slow them down. Even as hundreds, if not thousands of wights fell, more still swarmed into the flames, dying instantly, but slowly extinguishing the flames, allowing more to press forward. It was like trying to stop a river with a bucket, as soon as they destroyed some, more flowing in to replace them. Pass after pass, Jon made, feeling his desperation grow with each.

The weather worsened, causing them to have to fly lower and lower with each strafe to ensure they didn't hit their own troops as they fell back towards the walls. Flaming arrows started to fly from the battlements as the dead came into range, seeming to barely have an impact.

The Unsullied were falling back, faster and faster as they tried to stop the incoming tide, and Jon saw the signal from the wall to light the trenches they had dug around the battlements. Just as he was turning Rhaegal to light them, something dropped from above them. Rhaegal screamed and dipped violently, nearly throwing Jon from his back as blue flame erupted behind them.

Jon scrambled for purchase, barely catching a glimpse of the huge shape that whipped past them back into the swirling fog and snow. He looked around frantically for Dany, saw her making another run at the dead in the distance. He caught another glimpse of the shape in the clouds and Rhaegal let out a deafening scream, Jon hearing the rage in the dragon's voice. He didn't know if Dany had seen the Night King or not, and a part of him hoped she hadn't. The thought of her facing him, with their unborn child, sent fear and desperation shooting though him, and he turned his dragon upwards after the creature threatening them all.

The Night King flew higher, Jon catching glimpses of the undead dragon slipping through the clouds before he lost sight of him completely. Jon looked around frantically, his heart pounding trying to see anything besides darkness and snow before a huge body slammed into Rhaegal and blue fire erupted underneath them.

Jon's stomach dropped as they fell through the air, wings and claws flashing around him as all he could do was hold on for dear life. Rhaegal screamed in pain and anger, his own fire bursting around them as his feet dug into his undead brother.

Suddenly another cry joined the cacophony and Drogon crashed into the other side of Viserion. The three dragons pinwheeled through the sky for a heart rending moment before they broke apart, the Night King disappearing once more into the flying snow. Drogon and Rhaegal called to each other, pulling higher into the sky until they burst from the clouds into cold moonlight.

"Dany!" Jon called, his voice sounding small in the thin air, his body trembling from reasons other than the cold.

"Where is he?" she called back, searching, her own voice shaking.

Jon couldn't respond, searching the clouds below them with growing dread.

"He's going for Bran," Dany called again, and Drogon's wings folded, dropping them both back into the quagmire below.

Jon swore and urged Rhaegal to follow, the fog engulfing them once more. They broke through the cloud bank over Winterfell, and Jon felt numb, his worst fears coming to fruition.

The dead had made it past the now lit trenches, swarming the walls with a mountain of bodies that were stacked to the top of the ramparts. Wights were falling into the castle, and Jon couldn't tell the difference between the dead and the living. A burst of blue light came from near the Godswood and he knew with certainty that Dany was right, cursing that he'd let himself fall to the Night King's distraction. Rhaegal gained altitude, banking around the falling castle until the sight of two dragons, raking violently at each other with tooth and claw came dimly into view, illuminated by the sporadic gouts of orange and blue flame.

Rhaegal's wings folded with a snap and they plummeted downward, the cold wind stealing warmth and sound as they fell for the tangle. The crash of bodies that followed nearly sent Jon spinning to the ground. He clung to Rhaegal's spines, trying desperately to stay in place as the huge beast twisted beneath him, screams and blows flying past him until he didn't know where one dragon started and the other ended. He looked around frantically through the chaos, catching glimpses of Dany's white coat, and the Night King's flashing ice spear, not knowing what to do. He couldn't draw a weapon, he was barely hanging on with both hands. He felt completely out of control, unable to do anything as the dragons ripped at each other.

He heard several high pitch screams, feeling more than recognizing that one had come from Rhaegal. The great green dragon shuddered underneath him and almost before he could comprehend what was happening he felt them fall in the air, catch briefly, and start to fall again. All he could see before they hit the ground, was that the undead dragon was falling with them, Rhaegal's claws locking his brother in a deadly embrace as he bore him down with them.

The impact knocked loose what little grip he had and he fell farther, hitting the ground with a sickening impact that caused his vision to go black. He gasped, trying to shake the threat of unconsciousness, as his body instinctively scrambled to get away from the flailing bodies above him. His sight started to come back in spots and he struggled to his feet, stumbling farther away as he took in his new situation.

The Night King had managed to destroy a portion of the wall surrounding the Godswood allowing him to see into the Weirwood tree, illuminated by the flaming trench they had built around where Bran had positioned himself under the tree with his guards who were fighting off a handful of wights that had managed to get through the castle already.

Wind whipped around him, throwing up a flurry of powdered snow as Drogon whipped overhead, crashing into the ground near the other two fighting dragons. He searched for any sign of Dany, but couldn't make anything out clearly in the darkness and chaos of the battle. He saw movement in the distance and realized that the threat of the dragons was about to joined by the quickly approaching wights.

What could he do? He couldn't fight the dragon on foot, and he would be overwhelmed by wights if he tried. Was this really what the Lord of Light had in store for him by bringing him back? Had he miscalculated so badly that he was going to die in a useless fight against a swarm of undead? He drew his sword with grim despair, torn between trying to find Dany and running to offer what little help he could to Bran, and then saw a figure out of the corner of his eye.

Jon turn and froze, his gaze locking with the icy blue stare of the Night King standing just inside the destroyed remains of the wall. The creature that had previously been a man looked back steadily and then turned and walked into the Godswood.

Jon ran. It was the only option he had left. If he killed the Night King, he could end it all.

He heard a terrifying scream behind him and glanced back, seeing dead starting to swarm the dragons. Blue flame was streaming from Viserion's ravaged neck as he thrashed aimlessly across the ground, but Rhaegal and Drogon had broken off, snapping and biting at the undead that had started to attack them like fleas.

He felt a scream of desperation build in his chest, but turned back towards where the Night King had disappeared into the snow. He could only help them in one way.

He entered the Godswood and came into sight of the slowly disappearing flames just in time to see the last of Bran's guards fall to the Night King's spear. His brother sat unmoving in his chair, his eyes a unsettling, milky white. Jon pushed himself harder, drawing Longclaw back for his desperate attack at the Night King's back.

The creature spun at the last moment, meeting Jon's blade with such force that his hands went numb with the impact, nearly knocking the sword from his grip. He fell back a step, taking in the Night King's disarming smirk that nearly froze his blood. Before he could attack again, the Night King moved, the blows coming at a nearly impossible speed, Jon doing everything he could, using all of his skill, to barely keep himself from being impaled. He felt a frantic, desperate energy, knowing that this was it, this was the only chance that any of them had to survive.

He blocked another blow of the spear, moving in as he spotted an opening in the Night King's defenses, and was met with a foot to the stomach, the unnatural force of it throwing him back onto the snow, blood bursting from his mouth as he felt something break inside of him. Longclaw fell useless in the snow feet away and he struggled to push himself back up through the agony that screamed through him.

The Night King moved forward, his spear raised and then stopped, his gaze rising from Jon.

Fire exploded around the leader of the undead, forcing Jon to throw up a hand to try to protect himself from the heat. He could feel himself burning as he looked up to see Rhaegal's head above him, the dragon's eyes the same unnerving white as his brother's. He dragged himself back, trying to get away from the fire that melted the snow and stone in front of him.

The moment seemed to suspend. The sight before him almost seeming to be detached from reality. After what seemed like an eternity, a lifetime come and gone, the flames died. Steam swirled in the sudden dimness and then parted, and Jon knew they were lost.

The Night King stepped out of the melted crater and before Jon could move, make a sound, anything at all, he drove his icy spear into the dragon's head.

Rhaegal made a pitiful scream, his huge body jerking as he flailed one last time and fell in a limp, unmoving mass. Silence descended on the Godswood, and Jon felt a part of himself die.

The Night King stepped forward, slowly pulling the spear out of the dragon's unmoving corpse, and turned again, towards Jon.

He forced himself to his feet, pulling the dragonglass dagger from his belt as he saw several White Walkers enter the Godswood from the direction of the castle, knowing he was about to follow his dragon into the darkness that was waiting for them all.

He started to step forward to meet his fate when Bran's voice stopped him cold.

"Jon," his brother called softly, his eyes back to their normal brown.

Jon looked over at the Three Eyed Raven, unsure what he was about, when the Night King suddenly spun, catching Arya as she dived out of the darkness, her Valerian steel dagger stopping just short of piercing his chest.

Something snapped inside of Jon. He lunged forward, driving the dragonglass dagger into the Night King's back just as Arya's dagger dropped, catching in her other hand as she thrust it into their enemy's chest.

An unholy screech erupted around them as the Night King went still and then abruptly exploded in an explosion of ice. They both fell into the suddenly empty space between them as the sounds of shattering ice flooded around them.

Jon watched in stunned disbelief as the White Walkers burst around them, their forms bursting into nothingness, and the wights fell into piles of bones and rotting flesh.

He met Arya's wide eyes, not yet comprehending what had happened.

"It's over," Bran said simply.

Jon fell back into the snow, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"We won," Arya whispered in disbelief, a soft, shuddering tenor to her voice.

Jon felt his heart stutter again at her pronouncement and struggled back to his feet. "Dany," he breathed, turning and ignoring the pain that flared through him as he ran back towards the broken wall, unable to even look at Rhaegal as he passed the dragon.

Wights lay everywhere, broken bodies impeding his frantic path back to where he had last thought she was. He found Drogon on the ground, curled around something on the ground, and his heart nearly stopped altogether. He came around the dragon's head and found her collapsed over a body underneath her, wracking sobs shaking her, blood staining her hair and hands.

She looked up as he fell beside her, her face stained with tears and blood, and grabbed him as he wrapped his arms around her. He felt a pang as he recognized Jorah's lifeless body next to them, even as relief rushed through him.

He felt the strength start to leak from him even as he held her tighter, tears staining his own face.

It was over. But at what cost.