BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

XXV. KING AND LIONHEART

XXV. KING AND LIONHEART
[ 8x03 ]

JON HAD STARED DEATH IN THE FACE MANY TIMES. On some occasions, death had won, but in others, he was victorious. But there was no victory here -- for him or any one else. He feared the Long Night would reign supreme.

When the Night King had raised their dead soldiers, the last sliver of Jon's hope was snuffed out. All their preparations, all their strategy, and they'd forgotten the most important part -- anyone who died would feed his army. If they had wanted to survive, to truly survive, then they had to protect everyone. But it was too late -- the dead had risen once again, on the side of the enemy. As Dothraki, Unsullied, Free Folk and Northmen alike ran at him - azure eyes replacing the life that had lived in them once before - Jon couldn't help but wonder if this was the end. Raising his sword, he swung at every creature, every shell of a person that had once lived, with the same hate and fear and fatigue in his heart. He had lost. And now, there was nothing he could do, but swing his sword till he took his last breath and hope that the people he loved would live on.

A group of the Dead sprung on him like a pack of rabid dogs -- clawing for flesh, for blood, for life. As he blocked their weapons with his last glimmer of strength, something flashed across the night sky above him, slicing the wights with two broadswords of dragonglass. As the figure landed upon the battlefield, they spun to face the oncoming force -- killing three more wights with ease as they proceeded to attack.

As the figure turned to look at him in the brief moment of calm upon the battlefield, she smiled -- lighting up the night sky. "Amodera..." He whispered, as if he were afraid the gods would snap her away as quickly as they had given her back to him.

The young Commander offered him a hand, which he took gratefully. As he stood up, Jon pulled her into his embrace -- taking the few moments of peace they had to relish in her touch. As if by some divine magic, he felt as if his strength was restored through the sheer feel of her in his arms again.

Amodera allowed herself a moment of reprieve in his arms before her gaze fell upon the undead that had turned to fight them once again. The Wildling woman let out a sigh -- exasperated but alive. As long as they were still living, they had to keep fighting, no matter how much she just wanted to stay in Jon's arms and embrace their impending doom together. Slowly pulling away from his grip, Amodera gifted him another sombre smile. "I'll see you on the other side -- dead or alive."

Jon nodded softly, taking his sword from the corpse of a Wight. The two stood back to back as the Army of the Dead surrounded them once again, raising their swords to face the unending force. But it did not matter. They were together, and that was all they could have ever wanted. Amodera swung the swords, destroying Wight after Wight, while the army never seemed to diminish. She felt helpless, but as long as she could feel Jon at her back, she kept fighting. That was the only way to win: to fight, always, even when you were staring death itself in the face.

Just as Amodera felt sure they would be swept away with the Dead, fire engulfed the bodies of their old allies -- destroying the force that had seemed impossible and freeing them from fate's deadly grip. Amodera looked up to see Daenerys landing a dragon a few metres from them in the heart of the battlefield, burning the wights around her.

"Bran!" Jon yelled, looking across at her as if she could give them their path.

"Go!" The Queen replied, to which Jon and Amodera turned, running back towards Winterfell -- leaving Daenerys to whatever fate took her.

There was no certainty, no safety, no time for care and remorse. As the two ran through the gates of Winterfell, they were met with the faces of their friends -- living or dead. Winterfell was overrun; the Dead had taken much from them all. They had to abandon their friends, their family, if they were to win. Killing the Night King and protecting Bran was all that mattered now. The dead would stay dead; the living would go on. That was the only way it could end.

As they infiltrated the courtyard, Amodera's gaze fell upon Tormund, fighting hard against the oncoming storm. They overran him as they had overrun the rest. Amodera's heart begged her to help; to put her friends first, to be selfish, to save the people she loved. But they could save them all, if they only reached the Godswood. As Amodera turned away from her friend, guilt invaded her stomach like a knife to the gut. She could not escape it, but she had to live with it. She had to try.

Amodera followed Jon's figure through Winterfell. She had followed him from Hardhome, from Castle Black; she'd fought by his side in one battle too many, and yet, here she was -- following him to the gates of Hell once again. She prayed they could escape this life one day, but in her heart she knew they wouldn't. They were survivor's, but survival enacted a never-ending toll. The life of a soldier was a long and lonely road, but they'd found escape in each other, if only for a time.

As the two neared the Godswood, the undead dragon crashed into Winterfell, sending vibrant flames across the night sky. Amodera slipped behind a wall for cover, pulling Jon behind with her.

"What the fuck do we do now?" Amodera questioned, rage laced on her tongue like venom. Every step they took seemed to be paved with evil. Fuck the gods, Amodera thought to herself as she looked around the burning remnants of Winterfell, fuck anyone who preaches peace because they've never been to the depths of Hell. Amodera glanced across at Jon for guidance, fear flashing across her face at the expression on his face. He had the face of a man who knew his life would end.

As he turned to her, Jon smiled slightly. "We fight." He began, kissing the top of her head softly before pulling her sword from it's sheath once again. "I love you. Remember that."

With that, he ran from behind the wall -- a scream escaping his lips as he faced down the dragon that had been blocking their path. He was sacrificing himself so that she could pass. Every bone in her body screamed for her to help him, but she knew they had to kill the Night King, whatever it took. Amodera turned away as the dragon opened it's gaping jaws; a tear running down her cheek as she headed for the Godswood.

Allowing herself a final glance at the man she loved, Amodera watched as the fire formed in the creatures throat before it fell to the ground -- whatever life it had fading from it's body as someone, somewhere, killed the Night King. Jon turned to look at her, confusion, fear and relief flashing across his face. "What happened?"

Amodera stared in shock before running across to him, holding him in her arms so tight she thought she could kill him herself. "We won." She murmured, clinging on to him for dear life. In that moment, Amodera vowed that she could not live in a world without Jon Snow. She had promised to follow him wherever he would go, and death was no exception.

《》

AUTHOR'S NOTE;
Sorry part two of my 8x03 chapter is literally going up the day episode four comes out, but hey-ho, enjoy it anyway!

What did you think of the chapter? On fact, what did you think of the episode?
I know it's not been rated as highly as other battles within Game Of Thrones, but I thought it was great (despite the INTENSE STRESS I was under the entire time XD)!

Thank you so much for reading! Dpnt forget to vote and comment what you thought! - CAT c: