The world had fallen into silence. A silence no one seemed to want to be the first to break. Jon's chest heaved as his gaze scanned the destruction, eyes noting the people he recognized as his friends, the ones he could see were still alive. Ser Jamie, Brienne, and Podrick stood against a wall, faces he thought would be paler than snow had they not been soaked in mud and blood. Sam still sat in a pile of bodies, a face smeared with tears and dirt. We did it...but how? Jon shook his head clear. Bran.

At first, he wasn't sure his legs would carry him, and they nearly gave out as he ran towards the godswood. He jumped over piles of bodies, nearly tripping on a dead man's skull in the process. His steps slowed as he found the resemblance of a clear path, one only made by the piles of bodies that had collapsed around it. One body laid in the entrance, dark eyes staring up at nothing. Theon Greyjoy was limp with a spear stuck into his side. Jon swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and stared dumbstruck at the scene before him.

The undead had died, or re-died, all around the heart tree; it created a small wall of corpses surrounding the tree with only two people left in the ring. Bran sat in his chair, eyes as calm as ever when they found his. A few yards between him and his brother stood Arya, and Jon rushed forward. "Arya." He called and she looked up, eyes dazed, blood caked all over the side of her head, her hair hanging in a wet mess. He grabbed her shoulders gently and she blinked at him in surprise. "Are you alright?"

"She was right." Arya muttered, glancing down at the dagger in her hands. Jon looked too. He'd seen it on her hip before, but she hadn't shown it to him.

"Who was right?" Jon reached out for the dagger, eyes widening at the Valyrian steel.

"Melisandre."

"Melisandre?" Jon stared at his little sister, or rather his little cousin, in his confusion.

"She said it years ago, I just didn't know what she meant." Arya held up the dagger again, her dark stare reflecting in the steel with wonder. "I don't think she even knew what she meant."

"You…" Jon turned as he took in the ground beneath them, an old jerkin and belt laid in the snow a foot away from them. A belt he'd seen on the hip of the Night King not twenty minutes ago. "Did you…"

"She did." Bran spoke from behind them, half a smile on his face, something almost as surprising as Arya killing the Night King.

Arya and he locked eyes, and he wanted to smile but he was so disoriented he couldn't. Couldn't process his tiny little sister ending the War for the Dawn. Sansa had told him with confidence Arya could defend herself, and Arya had refused to stay in the crypt. Had she been anyone else he would have forced her down there. But anyone who knew her knew better than to argue with her. Instead, he had pleaded with her but still, she had not listened. "How?" he managed.

He thought she might be as stunned as he was, for it took her a while to respond. "I…" She grinned, a hint of delirium in the grey of her eyes. "I stuck him with the pointy end." He pulled her against him in a crushing embrace and she laughed and so did he; the kind of laugh touched with hysteria.

Arya stepped into the courtyard trailing a little behind her brothers as Jon pushed Bran's chair. Her eyes were cast down as each step grew heavier than the last; the blue eyes were all she could see. She heard people say Cersei had a stare that could kill, but there was nothing like looking into the frozen hells of the Night King's stare, nothing like staring into the gaze of death made solid. Her fingers traced the corners of her throat, it was still cold. His hands had been so cold. Anyone can be killed. She'd always believed that, but she hadn't believed that she could kill anyone. Now she was seconding guessing her doubts, the faceless men had fashioned her a weapon for their god of death, and in turn, she'd killed the one storming Winterfell.

The silence that had held the godswood was lost here, there were shouts echoing off the broken walls. Women and children in search of loved husbands or brothers, men in search of sons or daughters, lovers embracing each other in tears of relief. Faces flashed in her mind. Sansa, Gendry, The Hound, Brienne, even Podrick. Having Beric die for her left a numbness in her chest, one not even the warmest fire could touch. She didn't want to find another dead body of anyone she cared for.

Arya stood still as Tormund slammed into Jon hard as a hammer, nearly taking him off his unsteady feet. "You son of a bitch!" what easily could have been an insult was shouted with relief. She watched Brienne stare fondly into the eyes of Jaime Lannister, half a smile on the man's lips. Studied the Dragon Queen as she stood beside her Hand, tears had left pale tracks on a muddy face, and violet eyes stared emptily at the carnage around her. Arya's heart ached when she noted the Tarly sword in her hand, the one Jorah Mormont had charged the dead with. Another loss.

The Hound came around a pile of bodies, his eyes lighting up with anger when he saw her. "Where the hells did you run off to?" He was pissed but obviously relieved. "Went to find another horde of dead bodies to fall under?"

Arya allowed herself a smirk, "I went to protect my brother."

"Arya." Sansa's voice was soft with relief and in a heartbeat, she had Arya wrapped in her arms. "Gods I feared you were dead."

Arya held her sister tightly, closing her eyes a moment and letting the relief steady her. "Not today." She said softly, letting herself absorb the warmth in the embrace of her sister, trying to forget the icy touch of the Night King's cold dead hands. He hadn't looked dead. The Night King had appeared more alive than any of the creatures he had risen to fight for him. She gave her sister a smile as she went and hugged Bran, and once more Arya took in the scene and counted off the faces. Jon, Sansa, Bran, The Hound, Brienne, Podrick, Jaime, even Sam sat like a dazed child. Where's…

Arya took a shuddering breath, heart pounding a little harder. He can't be dead. She stepped past the reunions, her head and body tuning as she searched the living faces. If that idiot got himself killed, I'll… She'd no idea what she'd do. Davos appeared behind a small mountain of wreckage and stopped when he spotted her.

"Milady."

"Davos." She acknowledged but hardly paid him any mind as she kept searching the scared and hollow expressions of the survivors.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder and her sister was beside her once more. "Who are you looking for?" she asked with blue eyes of concern.

"Have…" she took a breath but still couldn't breathe. He can't be dead. "Have you seen…"

"A broad-shouldered stubborn man carrying a giant hammer?" Davos offered with a soft smile. Arya just stared at him, hope bubbling up in her heart. Davos pointed behind her. She turned and there he was, bent over one of the piles of bodies, turning them over with shaking movements. His hammer was slung over his back and in his one hand was half a dragon-glass spear, wrapped around white knuckles. Arya exhaled with relief, closing her eyes a moment and thanking the Old Gods.

Taking a few steps around some corpses she called to him. "Looking for someone?" His head shot up and she couldn't stop herself from smiling at his bewildered expression, her own heart melting at the emotion in his dark blue eyes. In seconds he was stumbling down the debris and speeding towards her. "If you tell me who, I could help you loo-"

He slammed into her as hard as Tormund did Jon, but instead of knocking her down he lifted her off her feet. Arya suppressed a laugh as her feet found the ground again, tangling her arms around his neck in her own relief. "I have to say." She muttered in his ear. "I'm offended the first spot you thought to look for me was under the dead bodies."

He let her go with a wide smile, and before she had the chance to tease him further, Gendry bent down and pressed his lips to hers. Arya felt her own brows lift with surprise, but she didn't stop him. Instead, she pulled him closer to deepen the kiss before leaning away. His face was a mess of mud and blood, but his smile only faltered when he noticed everyone behind them. Arya glanced back to see Jon's furrowed brows and Sansa's eyes lit up with joyful surprise. Bran just watched as though he knew, and she supposed he had.

Arya laughed as Gendry's cheeks began turning an embarrassing red. "I…" he cleared his throat, untangling himself from her. "Sorry" he scratched the back of his head as if it would stop his face from burning.

"Don't be." She told him.

"Aye!" Tormund lifted his sword to them in approval but turned back to Jon. "So, how'd ya do it, Dragon Glass dagger or Valyrian Steel sword?" Everyone else gathered, looked to her brother for an answer.

Arya turned her head up as Gendry softly touched her wound. "Are you alright?"

"You should see the other guy." She whispered back with a smirk.

"I didn't." Jon spoke with a thoughtful expression. His dark eyes still lingered on her and Gendry, but with a slight nod to himself, he turned back to his friend with a smug smile. "Arya killed the Night King."