130: The Son of Ice and Fire, The Long Night pt.3

Blackfyre met the Night King’s blade with a ringing strike that echoed across the frozen battlefield. The ice weapon shifted in the Night King’s hands no longer a spear but a sword, crystalline and sharp, glowing with that same terrible blue light.

Maekar’s left arm hung useless at his side, the shoulder dislocated, bones grinding with every movement. Pain radiated through his body, his ribs were broken, his breath came in shallow gasps, and blood soaked through the gaps in his armor.

But his right hand still gripped Blackfyre.

And that would have to be enough.

The Night King advanced, his movements graceful and precise. He struck high. Maekar barely got Blackfyre up to parry. The impact sent shockwaves up his arm, threatening to tear the sword from his weakening grip.

He gave ground, boots sliding in the snow as he fought to keep his balance.

The Night King pressed forward. Each strike was calculated, methodical, testing Maekar’s defenses high, low, a feint to the left, then a thrust to the right.

Maekar blocked desperately, his movements growing slower with each exchange. Without his left hand to help guide his blade, to seize and grapple, every parry was awkward, off-balance.

The ice sword came in fast… too fast.

Maekar twisted, and the blade scraped across his breastplate instead of punching through his chest. Frost spread instantly across the steel, crackling and hissing. The cold bit through the metal, through the padding beneath, into his very bones. If it had not been Valyrian steel, he was sure it would have been destroyed—cracked into pieces by the unnatural cold.

He stumbled back, barely staying upright as the Night King followed, relentless in his attacks.

Behind them, the dragons roared and fought.

Neferion found his footing, shaking off the ice that still clung to his scales. Blood leaked from wounds along his neck and flanks, and one wing hung at an odd angle but fury burned in his emerald eyes.

The ice dragon circled him warily. Where chunks had been torn away during the aerial battle, new ice had already formed, sealing the wounds. Steam rose from its body where Neferion’s fire had scorched it, but it showed no sign of slowing.

Neferion lunged first.

The black dragon’s massive jaws snapped down where the ice dragon’s neck had been a moment before. The dragon of ice darted aside with serpentine grace.

It lashed out with its tail a whip of razor-sharp ice.

The tail caught Neferion across the face, opening a gash along his snout. Dark blood sprayed across the white snow. Neferion roared in pain and fury, his head whipping around to snap at his tormentor.

Maekar’s breath came in ragged gasps as he desperately parried another strike from the Night King’s blade. We’re getting beaten badly, he thought.

His left arm hung useless, screaming with pain at every twitch. His ribs felt like broken glass grinding with each breath. Blood ran down his side, freezing before it hit the ground.

The Night King pressed forward. Each strike came faster than the last, forcing Maekar back step by step.

I have to get out of here. He’s too strong.

Blackfyre rang like a bell as it met the ice blade again and again. Frost crept up the Valyrian steel toward Maekar’s hand. His fingers were going numb.

The Night King’s speed increased.

A slash at Maekar’s throat—he ducked, felt the ice blade whisper overhead.

A thrust at his chest—he twisted, the point scraping across his breastplate.

A sweep at his legs—he hopped back, nearly stumbling in the snow.

Too fast. He’s too fast.

But it also felt like he was holding back as if, if he wished, the leader of the Others could have killed him at any moment.

Behind them, the dragons roared, and a brilliant white light erupted across the battlefield.

He risked a glance.

Neferion and the ice dragon were locked in a duel of ice and fire.

Neferion’s jaws gaped wide, and from his throat poured a torrent of green flame, a roaring column so intense that snow melted into a rushing flood around the combatants.

The ice dragon answered in kind. From its crystalline maw erupted a beam of absolute cold, a lance of blue-white energy that seemed to drink in light and warmth and leave only void in its wake.

The two forces met in the air between them.

The collision birthed a sphere of churning chaos: green fire tangling with blue cold, steam exploding outward in roiling clouds, the very air screaming as opposing magics tore at each other. The ground beneath the meeting point began to crack and heave, unable to withstand the power unleashed.

Lightning crackled within the sphere jagged bolts of sickly blue arcing outward, scorching the earth where they struck.

Neither dragon yielded.

Neferion dug his claws into the newly exposed ground, his entire body straining as he poured more fire into the clash. His wings spread wide for balance, the membranes glowing with the heat radiating from his body.

For a moment, the two forces seemed evenly matched—

then Neferion pushed.

The black dragon’s roar shook the earth as he channeled every ounce of his fury into the flames. The green fire intensified, burning hotter, brighter, until it was almost white at its core.

The sphere of chaos began to move.

Slowly at first, then faster, it advanced toward the ice dragon.

The ice dragon tried to match it, its cold intensifying, its blue beam growing brighter but it wasn’t enough.

Neferion’s fire overwhelmed it.

The sphere crossed the halfway point.

Then three-quarters.

The ice dragon’s beam began to falter, the blue light flickering.

And then Neferion’s flames broke through.

The torrent of green fire engulfed the ice dragon entirely, wrapping it in an inferno so hot that the creature’s crystalline body began to glow red. Steam erupted from every surface as ice melted, reformed, and melted again. The dragon shrieked in pain.

It tried to move, to escape, but Neferion’s flames followed, giving it no quarter.

Neferion advanced, step by thunderous step, his fire never ceasing, never wavering. He was a walking force of nature made manifest.

The ice dragon stumbled, its legs buckling.

Neferion was on it in an instant.

His jaws clamped down on the ice dragon’s wing, and with a savage wrench of his head, he tore it free. The wing came away in a shower of crystalline fragments that melted in the heat of his flames.

The ice dragon collapsed, thrashing weakly.

Neferion planted one massive foot on its chest, pinning it down, and his jaws found the creature’s throat.

Fuck yes, Maekar thought at least one of us is winning.

The Night King’s head snapped toward the dragons, a worried expression crossing his monstrous face.

For just a moment, his attention wavered.

That was all Maekar needed.

He lunged forward, ignoring the screaming agony in his body, and drove Blackfyre at the Night King’s chest.

The king of the Others moved impossibly fast, and the blade that should have pierced his heart instead scraped along his ribs; it drew no blood.

Maekar did not stop. He pressed his advantage for the first time in this entire cursed fight.

He struck again one-handed, desperate fueled by fury and the knowledge that he was running out of time. High, then low, then a thrust at the throat.

The Night King gave ground, his ice blade coming up to parry.

Maekar roared and pushed, driving forward, not giving the Night King time to counter, time to think, time to do anything but defend.

For thirty glorious seconds, Maekar was on the offensive.

Behind them, Neferion hurled the ice dragon across the battlefield. It tumbled end over end, smashing through trees, tearing furrows in the snow. Before it could recover, Neferion was on it again, his flames washing over it in waves.

Maekar struck at the Night King’s head; the ancient being ducked.

He went for his legs—dodged again—and then for his side…

The Night King’s blade came up faster than Maekar could track, knocking Blackfyre aside with brutal efficiency. Then his free hand shot out, open-palmed, and crashed into Maekar’s chest.

It felt like being hit by a battering ram.

Maekar flew backward, the air driven from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, skidding through the snow, Blackfyre spinning from his grip.

He tried to rise—

The Night King’s boot came down on his chest, pinning him.

The weight was immense, crushing. Maekar couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His ribs creaked, threatening to cave entirely.

“You are good,” the Night King said in the Old Tongue, his voice like wind over ice. “But in the end, you are still just a human.”

Maekar grabbed at the Night King’s leg, trying to shove it off, but it was like moving a mountain. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the icy armor.

The Night King looked down at him then raised both hands toward the sky.

The storm answered.

The wind howled louder, snow swirling faster, and through the white curtain of the blizzard, shapes began to emerge.

Riders.

Ten of them, mounted on skeletal horses, their hooves making no sound on the snow.

The only light on the battlefield came from where Neferion and the ice dragon still fought green fire and blue cold, throwing the riders into flickering, nightmarish relief.

Maekar’s eyes tracked them as they approached, his heart sinking.

More Others. Gods.

Two riders split from the group, spurring their mounts forward.

As they drew closer, the firelight caught their faces.

Maekar’s breath stopped.

“No,” he whispered.

Uncle Benjen rode the first horse. His face was pale blue, his eyes burning with that terrible azure light. His Stark features were still recognizable beneath the corruption, the strong jaw, the dark hair now shot through with frost. He wore armor of ice, and in his hand was a blade similar to that of the Night King.

Uncle Ned rode beside him Lord Eddard Stark, the honorable, the just transformed into one of them. His grey eyes had been replaced by burning blue. His face was gaunt, inhuman, but still unmistakably his Uncle Ned.

Both were smiling.

The Night King laughed.

It was a terrible sound hollow, echoing, utterly without warmth or joy. Pure, cruel mockery.

“A family reunion,” he said in the Old Tongue.

Benjen and Ned dismounted their skeletal horses and walked toward where Maekar lay pinned, their smiles never wavering.

Maekar looked up at the Night King, and in that moment, his hatred burned hotter than Neferion’s flames.

“I will kill you,” he snarled, his voice raw with fury and grief.

The Night King tilted his head, considering. Then, to Maekar’s shock, he removed his boot from Maekar’s chest.

More than that, he reached down and helped Maekar up, his icy hand gripping Maekar’s arm and pulling him to his feet with surprising gentleness.

Maekar staggered back at once, snatching up Blackfyre from where it lay in the snow. He raised it between himself and the Night King, his hands shaking from exhaustion and barely contained rage.

The Night King stood there, flanked by the corrupted forms of Benjen and Ned, watching Maekar with something that might have been amusement.

Maekar looked at his uncles at the men who had raised him and saw only smiling monsters wearing their faces.

“Three Starks,” the Night King said slowly, his voice carrying across the battlefield. “And one half-Stark.”

He paused, those blue eyes fixing on Maekar with renewed interest.

“I do wish the two on the Wall could join us as well.”

Brandon and Robb.

Maekar’s mind raced. The half-Stark was Maekar but then the third Stark had to be…

The Night King continued, his tone almost conversational, as if they were discussing something mundane.

“My sister once lay with an eastern mongrel as well,” he said. “She birthed a half-breed. A son of ice and fire, they called him.”

Maekar’s eyes widened.

“It was he who ended the first coming of my lord,” the Night King finished.

“The Last Hero,” Maekar said.

The Night King inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“My memory was erased from the weirwoods,” he said, and for the first time there was something human in his voice. “My family thought me a traitor, but only I saw the truth.”

He took a step closer.

“But I remember,” he continued. “I am the firstborn of the Bloody Blade. Older brother to the Builder. Uncle to the one you call the Last Hero.”

Maekar’s breath caught.

Gods. The Night King is a Stark.

“I was the only one shown the truth of the Great Other,” the Night King said, his blue eyes burning brighter. “The only one who understood what was necessary what had to be done.”

Behind them, Neferion roared. There was a tremendous crash as he slammed the ice dragon into the ground once more.

The Night King didn’t look away from Maekar.

“I was commanded by my lord to turn my nephew to bring Eldric into the cold, to make him understand.” The ancient king’s voice dropped lower. 

“I failed my lord once, and I will not fail him again.”

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This was a small chapter.

This was finshed first DB Conqueror update next.