I land hard on my shoulder before falling off the roof below and onto the solid ground. I struggle to breathe for what seems like forever and my knees scream in pain. The intensity of the fall causes my vision to blur. I reach my hands out in front of me to bring myself some focus. The earth kind of topples over itself as I try to push to my feet. I grab onto the side of the nearest post, wincing as the pressure attacks my legs.
The area around me is deserted but for a few corpses, but I can still hear the battle fresh in my ears nearby. Then I hear a loud crash from above. I look up to see wights beginning to pile through the window after me. I push myself from the post and force myself to run. Their screams fill the air when they spot me as more and more begin falling from the window after me. I urge myself on, but I'm still so disoriented. My joints ache profusely but something drives me forward.
I make a break for the Godswood, but I know I won't make it through the fastest path. The dead will be on me in moments if I take it, seeing as there's no way for me to conceal myself with buildings or back alleyways. Instead, I cut through the Great Keep towards the direction of the armory. I see faces I don't recognize being massacred by the dead. Fire erupts from all corners of the city as arrows are shot and dragons attack overhead. Blue fire encompasses the entire Library Tower in the distance. The Night King is getting closer and his dragon is getting angrier by the second. This needs to end, and soon, or we'll all be dead.
I risk a look behind me to see a terrifying amount of wights charging towards me, moving in an impossibly large blur. More appear from up ahead, forcing me towards the First Keep and farther from the Godswood. I don't want to run. I want to fight, but there are too many of them. Any that I fight will be more time wasted. More time for the Night King to get to Bran. But the wights are cornering me against the wall... I'll have no choice but to fight my way out and make a path of my own design.
I slip into one of the archways and catch my breath. My path to the Godswood is cut off. The only way now is through the First Keep and past the Crypts. My eyes widen as more wights burst through broken windows and busted doors in the distance. I cannot afford to delay much longer. I take out Lionheart and the blade springs to life with flames. I close my eyes and take a breath, holding the sword in front of me like a prayer. I hear my heartbeat thudding against my eardrums as I anticipate my next move. Finally, I take one last breath and emerge from my hiding place.
My blade collides with a wight almost instantly. I struggle against it, finally stabbing through its neck before taking off into another sprint. Another lunges for me and I barely avoid its touch. I'm yanked by my clothes, my hair, but I'm able to fight the assailants off. I cut down enemy after enemy, running until my lungs are begging for air. I finally stumble against the wall, still too far from the First Keep to reach any form of safety. I turn to see a multitude of wights hurrying after me. Their limbs sway impossibly as they run.
I'm cornered. My path is blocked and all that is left to do now is fight. I ready the double-bladed weapon in my free hand and prepare myself for the inevitable. A few of the living fight in the distance, but they're too far away to seek any help from. Orange and blue fire blaze overhead and I can see glimpses of the dragons colliding above. The darkened clouds light with the colors of fire.
Everything around me seems to slow: the wights, my heartbeat, the sounds of battle surrounding me. Lionheart continues to blaze with fire and I allow myself one more breath. This is it. I have to make it through. I can sense the Night King inching closer to the Godswood. The Ironborn have almost all fallen, leaving Theon alone to protect Bran. Jon is fighting his way through Winterfell to get to them but he's far too delayed. I don't have time to sense much else before the wights reach me.
My limbs fight through the exhaustion, shoving and stabbing wights in all directions. I barely notice the first flaming arrow that shoots into one of my foes. Then another. Soon, a whole shower of flaming arrows erupt from the sky behind me, commanded by a strong, loud voice. Many of the dead fall as they pursue me, and the few that reach me are cut down by my blades.
I risk a look up at the top of the wall and see a group of archers at the ready. At the center stands Jaime ordering his men to release more arrows. We lock eyes and he gives me a nod before motioning behind me. I turn just in time to defend myself against two more wights. More flaming arrows sink into the grey flesh of the dead. Their bodies collapse in heaps on the ground. More of them are coming at me from the buildings in the distance, but I can't wait any longer.
I turn to Jaime and shout, "Bran!"
He nods in understanding, pointing towards the clear path.
"Go!"
I take off in the direction of the Crypts. I'm running so fast that I don't see a wight erupt from the shadows. It catches my shoulder, bringing me down with a hard crash. It disorients me further and I reach out to push the thing away from my throat. It sinks its teeth deep into my arm as I manage to pry it off me, making me scream in pain.
Suddenly a large figure races into view, pushing the wight off me with a ferocious growl. Grey Wind rips into the wailing dead, tearing it to pieces. His armor clanks effortlessly against teeth as he finishes it off. He looks up at me expectantly, as if waiting for an order. A weak smile comes across my lips.
"Good boy," I say, getting to my feet. "Go find Robb, okay?"
But he doesn't budge. He just stands there waiting.
I give him a look. "You can't come with me. It's too dangerous."
I take a step and so does he. Finally, I sigh.
"Stay close. We have to get to Bran."
Grey Wind follows close on my heels into battle. More wights come after me the closer I get to the Godswood. I cut them down with Lionheart and Grey Wind wastes no time in clearing our path. I can see a few men being overwhelmed by wights near the Crypt. They cry and beg for the door to be opened as the dead attack. Grey Wind and I aid them as much as we can, enough to buy them enough time to retreat.
"Go!" I shout. "More men are needed on the walls!"
Then I hear a voice through the doors of the Crypt.
"Lysandra?"
Just the sound of Tyrion's voice brings tears to my eyes. Something comes over me as I press my hand to the stone.
"Don't open this door for anyone," I say, my voice wobbling slightly. "No one, you hear me?"
"Lys-"
"I love you, Tyrion."
I push myself from the wall and sprint towards the Godswood with Grey Wind, trying to ignore the shouts from my brother beyond that door. In my heart, I can't shake the fear that it will be the last time I hear his voice. I wipe the tears from my face and press on.
The entrance to the Godswood is seemingly vacant other than a few weapons and corpses sprawled along the way. I instinctively pick up a bow and a quiver filled with some arrows. It's not nearly enough but it's a start. Then I see one of the dead's hands twitch. Then they all begin to twitch. I'm frozen for a moment with Grey Wind emitting a low growl beside me. The corpses open their eyes to reveal a terrifying blue. Slowly, they begin to rise up.
One by one, their cold eyes lock on me as they push themselves back to their feet. A group of them now block the exit. They almost appear to hover in place before stalking toward us. Alarms ring in my head at the sight. The dead are rising, he has risen them. If we don't get to Bran soon, if we don't end this, the living will not stand a chance.
I quickly place the bow and quiver on my back and ready my flaming sword. Grey Wind lunges into action first before they can run at us. He tears into two at the same time with ease. I parry another's blade that goes to attack him and stab the foe through the eye. I use a broken rope nearby to strangle another that jumps on Grey Wind's back. Together, we manage to get through the entrance and run into the trees. I can already see the old weirwood tree and a few flaming arrows soar just beyond it. I can't see Bran, but I can see glimpses of Theon fighting the dead. Then, he stops, as if the whole world has stopped with him.
I sense him before I see him. The Night King, and the White Walkers he's brought with him. They stand there, staring at Theon in an almost strange curiosity. As if they're surprised he's still fighting when his companions all lie dead around him. Slowly, they begin getting to their feet as well, with the unnatural blue eyes to match. I can sense Theon's defeat, but can feel the determination when he looks at Bran. He looks at the Night King waiting in the distance and readies his weapon. I hear Bran speak to him but I can't quite make it out over the thudding of my heart.
I come into the view of the scene entirely. My blood runs cold when I see the Night King fully. His icy flesh and dead eyes look even more terrifying in close proximity. He hasn't touched his weapon, hasn't even made a move towards it. He doesn't feel threatened in the slightest. His eyes look as if they flicker with blue flame when they land on me. Grey Wind doesn't stop and neither do I. He gets there first, attacking a group of wights with a roar that startles Theon. I throw the double-bladed weapon into a White Walker, spurring on an attack that was at a standstill moments before.
Theon looks at me in bewilderment. The blood and dirt across his face make him look like a madman complete with wild eyes. I only look at him for a moment before turning my attention to the Night King who is still rooted in his spot. The hate in his eyes is certain, and suddenly a jarring, deep male voice echoes in my head.
You will fall.
I know it's the Night King speaking to me. How he's able to, I do not know, but an angry sneer comes across my face.
"I don't need to defeat you," I say, knowing he can hear me. "I just need to keep you from Bran long enough." I look to Theon. "I'm with you."
He nods firmly and the two of us spring into action. Theon's movements are surprising fluid considering how exhausted he must be. When I can manage to retrieve my weapon, I toss it to him and he wields it like a true soldier. Grey Wind manages to tackle the front line with what appears to be minor injuries. His powerful jaw snaps and tears in every direction. His claws rip and shred everything they can touch. The White Walkers are much more difficult foes. Unlike the dead, they have master precision and can use their blades as a menacing art form. I feel as though my training as The Shadow has prepared me for this very moment. Even though every inch of me burns with tiredness and pain, I keep fighting by Theon's side.
My legs are slashed multiple times until I fall to the ground, blood staining the snow. A White Walker goes to finish the job when Theon drives a spear through its heart. He quickly helps me to my feet before coming into contact with another Walker. Grey Wind howls as something is driven through his leg, but I don't have the time to worry when a Walker clashes blades with mine. Ever so slowly, I can see the Night King making his way towards us as his followers make a path for him.
My weakening limbs are taken advantage of when a dagger slices along my arm. I hiss in pain before knocking the blade out of the Walker's hand and retreating a few feet. Two figures emerge from the darkness from behind the attacking group. The flames illuminate the features of one I know all too well. Robb springs into action with a battle yell and attacks a Walker that is ready to blindside Grey Wind. Then I see Jon, who only has his focus on the Night King. He slashes through wights and Walkers until he can reach the Night King, but the Night King is ready for him far before their blades clash.
With just enough distance between me and the dead, I empty my quiver, grasp the arrows and slam them into the snow. I ready my bow, dropping to one knee and grabbing and firing as many arrows as I can manage. I fire at the enemies my allies can't see coming. One Walker grips Robb by the throat while another advances. I manage to protect him with my last arrow, firing it into the heart of the one that clutches him. Robb is able to gather his bearings and end the other one before it can do any damage.
The powerful battle between Jon and the Night King grows more urgent as the Night King manages to inch closer to Bran with every step. He knocks Jon to the ground with a hard blow to his side. I try to run for them but am knocked to the ground. One of the Walkers goes to stab me but my bow acts like a shield. The two of us struggle as the Night King raises his sword above Jon's torso. Robb jumps in front of his brother. He knocks the sword aside with his own, taking on the Night King's fury as he drives him away from Jon. The Night King knocks Robb's sword out of his hand and uses it to crack across Robb's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The Night King then advances on Theon, who is preoccupied with three more Walkers attempting to close in on him and Bran. He doesn't see the spear being aimed at his back as he fights. I struggle with the enemy on top of me. With a sudden jolt of fury, the bow in my hands erupts with fire. The flames surge upward towards the Walker, causing him to reel back in surprise and pain. I use my weight to leap to my feet, cracking the bow across the Walker's chest to light him on fire. I retrieve Lionheart and stab through his chest.
The Night King is merely feet from Theon now. I shout to him but he's unable to hear me over the commotion. With my sword in hand, I run towards the two of them. Blood pours from my face, nearly obstructing my vision as I fight through the remaining Walkers in my path. Robb and Jon fight side by side, attempting to reach the Night King but being blocked off by more Walkers.
I push through the enemies like mad, slashing and kicking in any way I can. And finally, there is nothing left in front of me but the Night King himself. I swing my sword down as hard as I can, but he simple steps out of my reach. He uses his arm to collide with my throat, sending me to my knees before continuing his pursuit of Bran and Theon.
I gasp for air and take in the sight of Bran in his chair. His eyes meet mine and it's almost as if there's nothing there. No fear, no fight, no determination. He simply awaits whatever fate is waiting for him; and then his face changes. The longer he continues to stare at me, the sadder his face becomes. It's a look of distant pity. Then his eyes roll into the back of his head until nothing but a greyish white color remains. His head leans back as he stares at the nothingness of the sky. I wait for him to come out of it, but he remains in his trance.
I look to Theon, still fighting, still outnumbered and unaware. The Night King readies his spear, reeling his hand back in preparation of plunging the weapon into Theon's back. I push myself to my feet, my sword absent from my hand in the struggle. I lurch forward and grab the spear with my bare hands. I hold onto it for as long as I can before the Night King wrenches it upwards. Theon turns around just in time to see me and the Night King, but it's too late. Using the surprise to his advantage, the Night King drives the spear towards Theon's chest. I try to grab for the spear again but it slips through my fingers. And then, in a moment of fear and determination, I jump in front of the spear.
I don't have time to register the spear plunging into my stomach. And for a moment, everything seems silent. The snowflakes and ash swirling around us fall at a slower pace. A puddle of warmth forms around my abdomen, trickling downward in a fatal waterfall. My breathing slows and all I can think to do is place my hands around the part of the spear sticking out from my body. My hands are immediately wet with blood and I pull them away to look at the amount of red covering my skin. My hands shake from the shock.
Suddenly, I meet the Night King's eyes. There's a look of understanding in them, of even... pity? For a moment, he looks just as shocked as I am. But the cold evil in them surpasses all the rest.
I see flashes of my childhood: sneaking down to the sea with Jaime at Casterly Rock, Cersei teaching me how to braid the crown of my head, reading on different sides of the library with Tyrion. I see Lysander in my arms as an infant, the way he cried when I handed him over to Ellya for the last time. I see my mother's face smiling down on me, the rare softness in my father's eyes the day I was sent away to the Freys. I see Tyrion shoot our father with a crossbow. I see the hurt in Jaime's eyes when I returned to King's Landing for the meeting. I see flashes of Jorah, Jon, Sansa, Arya, The Hound. I see Beric dying for the last time. I see the House of Black and White, Jallen's death, my training with Rewan and the last time we'd ever fight. I see my entire life in a matter of seconds, ending with the faces that have come to mean the most to me. Leander's smiling face comes into my mind. I think of all the time we will never have. I can hear father's song playing in my ears.
And then all that comes to my mind is... Robb. How much I love him...and will never get to tell him.
My vision clears and I can see the hateful blue eyes of the Night King once again. Grasping onto the spear, he kicks me hard in the torso. My body falls back from the spear, directly into Theon's arms behind me. The motion sends both of us crashing to the ground. My vision begins to blur, and all I can feel are Theon's arms around me. I can see the Night King advance on Bran, still in his trance. They're nearly feet from each other now.
We've failed.
But... the shadows whisper all around us. Something lurks unseen in the trees. And then in the corner of my vision, I see her. Arya leaps from the trees like a warrior in the night, straight towards the King himself. He catches her in time, his hand on her throat and the other clutching the hand that holds her dagger. The blade falls, but Arya is not finished. She catches the blade in her free hand with expert precision... and plunges the dagger into the Night King.
The King erupts in a shatter of ice, sending Arya falling to the ground with a hard thud. All around, Walkers and wights alike shatter and fall. Jon and Robb get to their feet, bloodied and injured but alive. I can see the immense relief on Theon's face as he cradles me, but it fades quickly as he looks down at me. He keeps my wound covered the best he can, but the blood will not stop flowing.
"Robb!" Theon shouts in a strangled voice. It echoes in my ears, as if I'm trapped underwater somewhere.
I can't feel anything anymore.
The smile fades from Robb's face when his eyes land on us. Without hesitation, he sprints towards us. Grey Wind is close behind his master, limping but otherwise unharmed. The color drains from Jon's face as he watches Robb fall to his knees and take my bloodied body from Theon's arms into his own. I can see Arya for only a moment, unable to stand, staring at us from beside Bran. Then all I see is Robb as he cradles me.
"It's alright," he says gently, tears spilling from his eyes. "I've got you. You're alright."
He reaches for my bloodied wound, but by now it's swimming with so much blood it's difficult to see the wound itself. He lets out a sharp breath as he tries to control a sob. I feel Grey Wind by my feet and he lets out a low whine.
My bloodied hand touches Robb's face, and more tears spill as he cradles my hand with his own. Blood and tears mix on my face as I take in his beautiful, natural blue eyes. The unwelcome music in my head comes to a halt at the sight of him.
I gently grasp his hand and pull it down to my chest, now cradling his hand in both of mine as if intertwined in ceremony.
"I am yours and you are mine," I whisper. Robb's eyes close briefly at the sound of those words. "From this day, until..." I struggle for air and a trickle of blood falls from my mouth.
"Until the end of my days," Robb finishes in a broken whisper.
I smile weakly and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my lips.
The last thing I see are the eyes of the one I love.
The Godswood
Arya's heart is numb as she watches Robb close Lysandra's eyes with his fingers. His entire body convulses as he cries, kissing her forehead before resting his own against hers. Arya didn't know when Jon came to stand by her side, but his presence was known when he placed his hand on her shoulder. But she could barely feel it, even then.
One of the few friends she had in this world is lost forever. She didn't make it in time for Lysandra... but Bran. She looks to her brother and tries to focus on the fact that she did make it in time to save him. Her siblings are safe, even if Bran is... somewhere else. She still isn't sure how the Three Eyed Raven thing works, but she knows that Bran is safe. He'll come out of this... at least she hopes.
But her eyes keep straying back to Lysandra's body in Robb's arms. Grey Wind laying in mourning at her feet and Theon standing nearby with his head bowed. Arya doesn't know how long they stay there until Jon finally approaches Robb. With a hand on his shoulder, he says a few words to him that she can't hear and Robb eventually nods and stands; still holding Lysandra in his arms. Together, they all make their way to the center of the city.
The Courtyard
Jaime still feels the aftershock of the battle and the fact that, in retrospect, they've finally won. He didn't believe they could, but they did nonetheless. He exchanges a look with Brienne that's a mixture of disbelief and tired excitement, when he sees the Stark children approaching the Courtyard with a direwolf and Theon Greyjoy. He sees the forlorn look on all their faces and only then does he notice the body in Robb Stark's arms.
Jaime tries to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be Lysandra. Especially since Lysandra was now fearless these days and full of more fight than she had ever been... but he knew he saw her run for the Godswood. He knew she went to go protect Bran. But surely she isn't dead. The Maester can fix her wounds as he's done before. His sister will be fine.
But the look on Robb's face says otherwise.
Jaime makes his way through the crowd until he's close enough to see for himself.
"Stark," Jaime says.
He's about to say something else when he sees the look on Jon and Arya's faces. Robb meets Jaime's eyes, his face streaked with fresh and dried tears. He slowly approaches Jaime before carefully placing Lysandra into Jaime's now waiting arms. All it takes is for Jaime to look at his little sister's peaceful face before he sinks to his knees. He weeps for the first time in a long time, rocking his Little Shadow in his arms.
No one around them says anything. No one touches Jaime or the Starks or attempts to comfort. There is no comfort, and there won't be for a very long time.
People are let out from the Crypt due to the newfound safety, and Sansa and Tyrion are smiling at one another by the time they reach the Courtyard searching for their loved ones. Tyrion stops in his tracks, followed closely by Sansa. He doesn't need to be close to tell who Jaime is holding; who he is crying over.
Sansa almost feels guilt at being relieved that her family is safe as she watches Tyrion fall to his knees. His cries overwhelm him, and Sansa stoops down and holds him in his grief. Her heart is filled with so much relief and sorrow in one simple moment. And as Tyrion clings to her, he knows as well as the rest; nothing will ever be the same again.
As Robb begins to make his way through the wreckage to be alone, Arya is the only one who hears the words he utters.
"Cersei will pay."
~
You've reached the end of Chapter 26 - An Eternal Night.
Thank you all for being so patient with this release. I hope the wait was worth it. Please don't forget to vote, it means SO much. Let me know your thoughts about the chapter below! Your support keeps Lysandra's story going, and I'll always be grateful to all of you for that. :)
The battle with the Night King has ended. Our heroine has fallen and Bran is trapped in a warg state.
The fallen will be remembered... as will Cersei's betrayal.
But what does Lysandra's death mean for the people of Winterfell?
Chapter 27 will be released Wednesday, June 10th.
*Writer's Fact: I listened to a mixture of Ramin Djawadi's masterpieces while writing this, especially The Night King and Goodbye Brother. During Lysandra's death, I picture the Winterfell/Stark theme playing as she says her goodbye to Robb. Lysandra will always be a Lannister, yes. But a portion of her heart has been a Stark for a very long time, and I believe that is shown with the selfless actions surrounding her death. What are your thoughts?