The Battle of the Bastards: Part 6

A/N: Well, I have several good news to share before we begin. First of all, I found a replacement charger quickly for once, and thus was able to continue with the chapter quickly. Secondly, this is the final chapter of the Battle of the Bastards sequence so labored to make it extra special. And to celebrate, I also decided to make it extra long. In fact, it is not only the longest chapter yet, it is also around TWICE as long as the now second longest chapter. So, there will be a lot more content than usual to enjoy with this update.

Finally, scattered across the chapter, there will be several references to the World of Warcraft video game that I have alluded to in earlier chapters. Like I have mentioned before, I am basing much of my cosmological lore on that franchise and making comparisons between it and establishing counterparts/explanations between some of the religions, supernatural sources of power, and prehistoric past of ASOIAF and WoW. To clarify a bit, if you must know, this won't turn into a full-blown WoW crossover anytime soon, especially with major characters of the main planet from the game, Azeroth. In my plans for this timeline, however, please be aware that Planetos IS a world located in a distant corner of the World of Warcraft universe and shares some aspects with Azeroth and Draenor when it comes to the dawn of life on that planet.

Again, this story is mainly ASOIAF set. I am not planning on making huge crossover situations between the two series in this story at all, at least on a contemporary level instead of just filling the gaps in Planetos cosmology and mythology with WoW lore. Maaaybe I will one day make an actual crossover sequel but that would be years away. Until then, enjoy the references and mild connections. They will imply immense impact on stuff further down the line, as far innovative developments for the future of Jon's rule is concerned. More on that later.

But for now, enjoy the biggest chapter yet and have fun!

Epigraph:

So, I ask again, R’hllor: Support me.

---

Lord Rodrik of House Forrester gritted his teeth as he struggled to defend himself. He had been swinging his ancestral blade on the front lines, assisted by both bannermen and Free Folk on both sides; many of them even rushing to block hits that came his way from other directions. And earlier in the fighting, he had been able to slay Lord Cerwyn in combat, an act which, when combined with another chilling attack from the winged behemoth above them, had sent most of Cley's remaining bannermen scrambling in retreat.

But then, Lord Umber had arrived and brought his finest warriors with him.

"You should yield while you still can!" He had shouted at the ruler of the Last Hearth. "The Ice Dragon blasted frostflame on your ranks half a dozen times already, wiping out scores of traitors with every blow. And this is just the beginning. You cannot win!"

"Maybe," Smalljon had grunted in acknowledgment. "But that ship sailed long ago and I do not do things in half-measures, Forrester. Besides, did you really think we would have all marched here, knowing we had to face legendary a dragon as an enemy without planning ahead?"

The ruler of Ironrath had frowned but before he could demand he elaborated, they heard an unmistakable shriek of pain from powerful, draconic lungs.

The battlefield paused for an abrupt moment and Rodrik could 't help but look back. Then his eyes widened when he saw a boulder start rising to the sky and begin hunting the dragonriding duo with unnatural persistence. And then, another large rock joined the chase.

At that moment of shock, he was too slow to react to the arrow he saw when he turned back to face the Umbers but fortunately, an Ironwood shield covered his face at that moment, blocking the blow. Rodrik looked to the side and saw his trusted brother, Asher, feeling abundantly grateful.

He, on the other hand, was scowling.

"You dare attack the Lord of Ironrath unawares, like backstabbing scum?!" His sibling roared. "You will pay for that!"

The archer to the side of Lord Umber nervously swallowed and melted back into the lines of infantry of his comrades, a spearman pushing his way to the front. Lord Umber for his part, smirked and pointed at the skies.

"There is your proof, men!" He yelled. "Even dragons are not invincible. Now, let's press the advantage and follow me to victory against these Wildling cunts and the ones that spat on their Northerner ancestors for siding with them. With me!"

And so the fierceness of combat heated up and he started fighting side by side with his brother.

"So, is this what I missed during the War of the Five Kings before the Red Wedding?" Asher asked with a wry grin as he slashed away at a now bleeding enemy before blocking another blow with his shield. "Treacherous Lords overcompensating for something?"

"The treachery was less open back then until the end," Rodrik grunted as he thrust and hacked. "But I suppose you could say that, yes," He added with a brief chuckle.

"Give a **** that outnumbers us to fight against over that any day," His brother responded as he used his tough shield as a battering ram on an enemy's face.

"Agreed."

And with that they stood firm, holding the line alongside their men while Karstarks reinforcements approached.

---

King Jon cursed as another dizzying, fast motion from his dragon interrupted him from thinking hard enough to compose a sentence that would work as a wish that could take care of the boulders. The incredibly fast hunt across the skies and all it entailed left him breathless and hanging for dear life, still unused to that kind of flying, much less while under such an attack. Whoever that sorcerer was, they were clearly keen on breaking his concentration.

Unfortunately, he knew that he needed to come up with an idea quickly. The dragonrider could tell that his familiar was getting tired and, as a result, slower. Between that and the second boulder climbing the air to chase him as well, he was not sure how long she could remain in the air unassisted.

But then, as they dodged yet another rock-hard swing, Jon's eyes widened as he realized there was something he could do on much shorter notice. Swallowing his nerves, he grabbed one of the chains that he used to help direct his dragon with his left hand and then turned around. Then, he closed his eyes momentarily and urged his companion to go slower. He could sense her hesitation through their bond but before long, she obeyed him and adjusted their height in the air as he wanted.

And so, vowing not to let her down, the young god opened his eyes, and with willed the Giant-sized strength he had access to in order to refill his muscles once more as he punched the flying boulder with all his might.

He still felt considerable pain at the action as his knuckles started bleeding but then he smirked fiercely as the boulder clashed back with the other one and the two rocks destroyed each other, pebbles dropping to the ground without rising.

There was a moment of sudden silence from the Glover men as he did so but by that point, the new king was not in the mood to allow them the time to recover. So, moving swiftly, he urged his powerful she-dragon to approach and she fired her first blast of frostflame at the western flank.

The men below scrambled in terror as many died left and right but soon, Jon realized that the injuries and additional exhaustion his winged companion had gone through ended up draining some of her strength, and that reflected on the lower amount of deadly ice that erupted from her jaws.

So, Jon broke off the attack and urged her to go higher, especially once he noticed that he had tumbled the pyramid of rocks he had seen from the distance with the final bouts of frostflame. Then, with more distance between his foes and then, he started to think of a wish to restore his dragon's strength.

But then, another rock hit her from below and she screeched, the sound surely echoing for miles around. Jon cursed mid-thought. And then, looked down. It appeared the sorcerer had survived and still had some rocks left.

But before he could urge his injured companion to fall back out of range, his eyes widened when he noticed that at least a couple hundred archers were aiming at him with powerful, ironwood bows.

And their arrows-tips were covered in fire.

---

Battlefield Outside Ironrath: Western Flank

Skrel of House Magnar, Keeper of the Order of the Emerald Weirwood from the island of Skagos, had been watching the sky with a great deal of apprehension from high up a tree near the Glover lines. After all, the Ice Dragon that had finished consolidating Jon Stark's position as the prophecied savior that his people had been waiting for had been injured and was being relentlessly chased by enchanted boulders. It had been almost enough to make Skrel swallow, wondering if the High Keeper had interpreted the omens wrong when he had proclaimed that after all their centuries of preparation, the time of Great Prophecy was soon at hand.

But then, he had felt something oddly similar to a heartbeat press against his chest from the outside and his mind started cascading with implications when looked down and gazed upon his pendant.

Skrel had been guarding the ancient crystal for well over a moon's turn, ever since he had been assigned to infiltrate Pyke using his mastery of glamor magicks to alter his appearance in order to spy on the new Greyjoy King. At the time, he had felt uneasy about the idea of carrying it and not just because it was one of the oldest magical artifacts that were kept in the Order's Vault. It was also because, since the First of the Founders had come into its possession, they had learned enough to understand that without careful protection, the dark crystal would injure the exposed skin it came into contact with, draining the life out of that patch of flesh.

The few times members of the order had been unfortunate enough to have that happen to them, they had discovered that no herb, medicine, spell, or healing art known to them could renew the part of the body that was damaged by the crystal. As a result, he had opted to keep the dark stone on a necklace but also to cover his chest, back, and shoulders in thick mail so as to have a layer of defense against his skin. And even with those measures suggested to him, he had been quite tempted to turn down the mission.

But then, he had listened to the vision of the Dragon Dreamer. And now he knew that he was holding a prophetic omen in the palm of his gloved hand.

"The crystal used to be far darker than it is now," Skrel remembered. "It was as pitch-black as the darkest night, like a living embodiment of shadow. And yet, now it's starting to brighten from within...as if golden light was starting to come forth with every pulse."

He inhaled sharply and quickly searched for the piece of parchment he kept on his personal pouch at all times. Finding it below the glass candle he had used to reassure and advise Rickon Stark, he unfolded the written sheet and read on, remembering the words that the Dragon Dreamer had shared with him with every line.

"When Ice wings falter and rocks hunt high,

Dual blessings shall fill the land.

Be of the Wilds or of the Light,

They will support the Dragonwolf.

__

As danger looms and bolts are aimed,

The First Witness to Flame and Frost

Regains resolve and breaks the chains;

Her sacrifice spreads far and wide.

__

When Darkened State reclaims the Light,

Its Lord, the Rogue, and the Immortal rise.

For victory be won that day and herald with it

Golden Age.

--

But beware conflict born from pride,

Misreadings lead to one more rise.

With Champion waking and fighting anew,

The oaths are torn unknowingly.

--

As the once dead Dance with the living,

Across the skies through roars of might."

Skrel bit his bottom lip in deep, anxious contemplation before nodding to himself. The Dragon Dreamer had assured him that she had seen him on the visible aspect of her visions, declaring that he will start recognizing the signs and portents when he actually saw them. And now, he had more to go on than just the spelled rocks chasing the icy wings of the dragon that their king rides. He had a formerly shadowy crystal growing brighter.

"As if a Darkened State was reclaiming Light," He muttered from his hidden position high up a tree. "By each and every god...the time of Great Prophecy is truly at hand. For the following line clearly refers to the Lord of Light and if that's the case then the Rogue and the Immortal can only have one candidate each that makes sense in this context."

And all three are currently in Skagos...

Marveled as he was, however, the Keeper of the Order of the Emerald Weirwood shook his head, realizing that he needed to focus on the present if he wanted to ensure he would be able to do his part for the prophetic lines at hand. And so, he squinted his eyes and looked around from his high vantage point; trying to find Melisandre of Asshai, the Red Priestess that was involved in the resurrection of their prophecied savior.

After all, his order had known of the First Witness to Flame and Frost from past omens, they just couldn't tell who it was going to be before the awaited resurrection finally happened. But now that she had been identified, he could put that knowledge to good use.

And so, Skrel kept looking and bit his bottom lip, hoping he hadn't misinterpreted something crucial through his pride, as the second to last section may have hinted.

---

Melisandre of Asshai dismounted from her horse near the trench beside the river that separated their army from the Glover forces. She had come to the battlefield hoping she would be able to arrive soon enough to be able to use her affinity for fire magic for the defense of her king. After all, she had heard the scouting report that the Glovers had many archers and she was certain they must have considered that attacking an icy beast with flames made sense. So, it was probably the biggest amount of support the Glover forces could provide the YiTish sorcerer while her king was still in the air.

And yet, when she arrived and realized that they were already preparing their arrow tips with fire, her heart dropped, paralyzed. She was too far away still to be able to affect so many fiery weapons. It wouldn't do.

Once more, doubts crept into her mind, trembling at the thought that she had interpreted the signs wrong again and that the hero she had chosen to put her newfound faith in was about to die. And the mere idea made her sick and shook her mind with sorrow, as a betrayed and **** face flashed back into her memories.

Before she knew it, Melisandre felt overwhelmed, falling to her knees. Her face was awash with tears, fearing it was all for nothing.

"I am so sorry, princess," She blurted out, her knees feeling weak all of the sudden. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I am so, so sorry."

Her lips trembled as the weight she had been carrying since the Stannis' downfall kept her down, the feelings of shame and guilt tormenting her, as she knew they should.

"And what do I have to show for it?" The Fire Witch said, gasping for breath. "Proof that a deity can answer my prayers if I offer to commit atrocities in its name? How is that any better than not having faith?"

She closed her eyes, as guilt threatened to overflood her throat. "If I could trade places with you, I would. That would be a sacrifice I could get behind and believe in with all of my being."

Suddenly, she noticed that a shadow had passed over her and she almost wished that it was an enemy soldier coming to finish her off. But then, she recognized the voice.

"Do you mean it?" Josera Snow asked.

Melisandre looked up and gaped in shock, sensing an overwhelming about of power coming from him.

"How...did that come from the weirwood?" She wondered, her thoughts reeling.

"Do you mean it?" He repeated, his voice echoing the might of something higher.

Melisandre **** herself to remember the question but and her eyes widened in realization as to what it was that he was asking. But then, she narrowed them again and rose to her feet as she locked her gaze with him.

"I do," She said with conviction, unable to shake the feeling that she was in the presence of something transcendent. "My life for Shireen Baratheon's.

Josera examined her and she could feel something incredibly ancient gazing at her from behind those eyes. But then, he nodded.

"The Old God of the Weirwood that blessed me with some of his power tells me that he can't grant you that boon himself," He told her. "But he assures me that he can plant veridic and first-hand information about R'hllor, from back when my Patron had met him millennia ago, deep into your mind. He hopes that the explanations therein, especially involving his imprisonment about 5,000 years ago, will help you understand the confusion that crept into your religion over time. And fill you with enough resolve to help him, so that he can then help you by granting you the boon you seek."

And without giving her more time to contemplate his words, he approached her and placed his thumb upon her forehead.

"Light be with you, First Witness to Flame and Frost," He pronounced.

And with that, his eyes turned the pale, milky white of warging.

Then, Melisandre felt lightheaded and she lost track of time.

---

Sansa Stark saw them approaching well over a minute before they arrived but she still clenched her teeth in frustration. Somehow, Ramsay and some of his men had managed to sneak around their lines.

And now, they were heading straight for her.

Arya took a moment to hold the redhead's hand and nodded to her, determination filling her gaze. So, Sansa didn't need to say anything, as the message was clear: the pack will stand together.

As if they were reading their thoughts, Ghost and Lady started snarling, getting ready to spill blood. Besides her, she had a handful of Tully guards to the right and 2 elderly giants to her left. She gripped the banner of her House Stark tightly and raised it with pride. Her tactics may have depleted her guard, so the odds were not as great as they could be.

And yet, her head remained leveled, because she was still confident they would succeed. She didn't know how just yet. But she did and ever since her brother restored her faith in divinity that was good enough for her.

Ramsay halted just 10 paces away, the men around her gripping their weapons defensively as they braced for a direwolf attack.

"Last chance to surrender with your life intact, Sansa!" He called out. "I suggest you take it."

"My sister is NEVER going back to you!" Arya yelled, her eyes fierce as winter.

The violent **** blinked rapidly for a few moments as he focused on her and then he grinned widely. "Well, if it isn't Arya Stark! Who would have thought I would actually have the need for a second, backup Stark and then you show up? Not me, certainly, but sometimes surprises can be pleasant."

Sansa glared at him with venom before lifting her chin. "I swore to myself that you would never take me alive, Ramsay. So, do your worst. We will match it in kind."

Her hated husband stared at her for a moment longer before sighing, as if making up his mind about something. "So, be it then. Bolton Honor guard, attack!"

With that, giants rushed to the offensive, as the faster pack of direwolves did the same. Then Arya unsheathed a Valryian Steel blade run forward and moved, her yells promising retribution as she lead the Tully charge.

---

Asher Forrester grunted, his shield arm starting to hurt where the wound made by that arrow had connected with his shoulder. Unfortunately, he had been pushed to the defensive recently due to the Karstark reinforcements so he needed to keep his ironwood shield steady.

But then, just as their forces were getting dangerously bold, Princess Val arrived with her own reinforcements, with Lyanna Mormont following close behind.

"**** to the traitors!" Howled the ruler of Bear island she fired an arrow from her horse, which hit the neck of a nearby opponent and made him collapse. "For the North!"

"FOR THE NORTH!" Echoed her islander bannermen as they clashed with their enemies, yelling with the fierceness of bears.

The former sellsword smirked at that. "Just when I think that I can't like that strong little Lady any more, she finds a way to prove me wrong."

Then he turned around just in time to see Rodrik's duel with Lord Umber being interrupted by Val, the warrior princess joining the fray as they combined their efforts.

"I heard you joined our enemies because you hate my kind," Val shouted as she parried a blow of his. "How is that working out for you?"

"Better, now that I can kill the leader of the goatfucking Wildlings!" He declared as he blocked an attack from Rodrik with his shield and swing at Val again.

However, she dodged with ease and slashed back at him, her blade rupturing the chain mail above his shoulder, which made him scream in pain. The blonde warrioress scoffed. "You and what army? In case you hadn't noticed, you don't have many committed soldiers anymore."

Smalljon jumped at her then tried to get his large, strong arm around her neck but Asher was faster and so he tackled him with his still intact plate pauldron and slammed the ruler of the Last Hearth into the snow.

The attack left him a bit breathless but he still grinned, as more warriors rushed in to defend them from the sides now that three leaders of the army were so close together. "Oh, I have been itching to do that for days," He said. "Now, do you yield?"

Before Lord Umber could respond, Harald Karstark rushed in, trying to break through their lines in an attempt to support his fellow oathbreaker. But before Asher could decide whether or not to try and use Smalljon as a hostage to get some of them to back off, the battlefield went still again.

Or rather, all the enemies in front of them went completely still, as if they had become statues.

Asher gaped at that and blinked rapidly, wondering what was happening and why were hundreds of soldiers suddenly paralyzed, as their eyes and lungs were clearly still moving, but otherwise, they were standing still in the position they had been seconds before.

"By Old Gods, what sorcery is this?" Asked a familiar voice behind him, which the Forrester warrior recognized as belonging to Tormund's.

More whispers were echoing across the field as time passed and their enemies remained motionless.

"Who is doing this?" Lyanna Mormont asked, sounding surprised.

"That would be me," Yelled a strained but righteous voice.

Asher immediately turned to it and saw his bastard half-sister. "Elsera!"

The army made a path for her as she approached the frontlines, her face clenching as sweat fell from her brow.

"The Old God of the Greenseers of Old decided to bless me and my brother after our service, temporarily increasing our power to astounding heights," She announced loudly. "I am using my Blood Magic to manipulate the blood inside their bodies and **** them to stand still but I can't control so many hundreds of men at the same time for long. Quickly, remove their weapons to **** their surrender. Our king will deal with them later."

For a moment, it was their own side of the battlefield that stood still, pondering the enormous implications of such abilities and looking at his sister with awe and, yes some concern too. But soon, Asher decided to break the silence and lead by example, trusting in his sister's plan and running towards Lord Karstark's side before quickly taking his blade. Then he looked back at the still surprised faces of his fellow warriors.

"What are you waiting for?" He demanded. "An even more golden opportunity? You heard my sister, the spell will not last long. Hurry the hell up!"

And with that, the men rushed into action chattering excitedly at the sudden turn of events. Smiling warmly, Asher approached his half-sibling and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Well done Elsera, you have just saved many lives from both sides," He told her "I am proud of you, little sister."

The Blood Magic sorcerers still looked strained and focused but she spared a smile to throw his way and he could tell it reached her eyes.

---

Jon Stark was trying to think of a wish quickly that could remove the flaming arrows from his path but it was surprisingly difficult to come up with coherent sentences that also included his siblings in order to ensure they would work, all the while under pressure and on short notice; especially while getting dizzying sensations from sudden turns and drops while on the air. Still, he tried because the alternative was dangerous hits from the barrage of arrows. Yet, his second attempt failed to produce results, probably because he rushed the sentences enough to miss something, so he cursed and mentally urged his Ice Dragon to turn her head again, hoping she would be able to blast the central arrows away in time.

But he never got the chance because suddenly, the fire from the tips consumed the shafts before his eyes and the metal tips fell to the ground the very next instant. Blinking, he wondered what had happened as he was certain he hadn't wished for that effect. However, he then saw the men below cry out in shock and Jon looked back when he noticed as well.

Light enveloping the sky well after dusk.

So, he did and the young god's jaw almost dropped to the ground far below as he stared at the golden dome of glimmering light that had suddenly covered the clearing of the Wolfswood, the banners across the battlefield flapping with the abrupt gusts of wind.

Then, just as suddenly, he felt reinvigorated by that wave of light, his muscles no longer sore and his right hand no longer bloodied from punching a large boulder. And after a roar of excitement, he could tell that his dragon's strength was renewed as well.

He watched in awe at the concentration of power and couldn't help but wonder if the Lord of Light, R'hllor, had something to do with that. But then, the light started dissipating just as suddenly as it had appeared and before long, it was gone, leaving a moment of sheer, absolute silence in its wake.

Jon took a deep breath and that was when he realized that he didn't know what had just happened, which gave him pause. He had given himself the ability to understand how different branches of magic worked after watching their displays of power. And he knew that that wish was still active because he had been able to quickly intuit information about the YiTish Earth Magic that the enemy that had hunted him had used. But when he witnessed that golden display of supernatural might, no bit of insight came unprompted to his mind.

"So, if that wasn't magic, then what was it?" Came the sudden thought to him.

Exhaling, he nodded to himself as some quick suspicions came to mind. But all the same, the young god knew that he would be able to find the answer later, so he turned the chains around and urged his now stronger she-dragon back into the flank.

And before long, she opened her jaw.

---

Arya quickly paced herself into a deadly rhythm. The giants distracted their enemies as a group with their unignorable, powerful blows, the direwolves then jumped at a couple of enemies and distracted them by mauling them with their shredding fangs, later Arya moved fast to finish them off, and finally, the Tully guards pushed their way forward to guard her while she took a step back in order to reassess her position.

The tactic served her well for a while. Before long, she had already killed six traitors, their armors unable to even slow her down, the incredible quality of steel-hard sharpness of her Valryain steel blade. At least 5 more were also wounded by the dual giant attacks. But then the remaining soldiers managed to wound the huge warriors enough to **** them back, one of them even howling in pain Ramsay fired an arrow through its eye and then, finally, collapsed on its back with a heavy thud.

Arya stared for a moment, shocked that she had just witnessed the **** of a giant. But unfortunately, the usurper's "honor" guard recovered more quickly and started attacking her Tully's guards left and right. A couple more enemies were taken out in a matter of seconds but in the end, the Bolton men still managed to slay all 5 guards.

The former acolyte of the Order of the Faceless Men gritted her teeth as she clenched her sword's hilt and placed it on a defensive position before her as Lady and Ghost rallied to her side, howling menacingly.

Ramsay took a glance at his now more depleted **** and narrowed his eyes as he scowled at her.

"Alright, now I am done playing nice," Ramsay declared. "Surrender or die."

Arya spat at his feet, which only made his eye twitch. But before he could nock another arrow, a bolt suddenly flew through the air and impaled itself on his hand, making the sadist cry out in pain.

Arya's eyes widened and she looked to the side, at the source of the arrow. There, she saw a man with hair and beard the shade of grey with a crossbow in his hands. Soon, however, he dropped it and unsheathed his own blade.

"That was for Stannis Baratheon, you murderous sack of shit," He proclaimed, his eyes stormy. "Everything that follows now, is for my new King and his family."

And with that, he set up on a warpath. But before Arya and her pack could join him...a sudden blast of utter brightness resonated through the air and she was swept off her feet.

---

Skrel shook his head, trying to snap out of his awe and failing at first. Eventually, however, the scholarly Skagosi looked at his pendant and almost covered his mouth, the awe returning.

Marveling at the new winged form of the artifact, he realized that somehow, the prophetic line had come to pass and the dark crystal has been purified and reshaped.

Staring, he was aware that he still did not understand what sacrifice the First Witness had to pay to ensure such an outcome, nor did he know what the did that same line meant by that action echoing far and wide. Hell, he didn't even know why the crystal had taken a winged shape. But he did know one thing for sure: his next visit to Skagos will be beyond exciting.

For one way or another, the patience of many was about to be rewarded.

---

White Harbor: The North's Eastern Coast

Beric Dondarrion was sitting around an isolated hearth in the Manderly Keep of White Harbor, continuing with what had become a nightly ritual to him for more than a moon's turn: staring at the flames alongside his good friend Thoros and hoping he would be able to remember something else about his previous afterlife, beyond the single, if crucial, word known as Maldraxxus.

He was about to give up for the night when, abruptly, his wounded heart started beating again.

Gasping heavily, the former Lord of Blackhaven placed a hand on his chest, feeling stunned. His heart had stopped beating after his first ****. Only the will of the Lord of Light has been able to keep him standing. But now...

"Beric?" Thoros shouted at him in alarm. "What is it?!"

The revived man was barely able to pay attention to his friend, feeling overwhelmed with emotion at what was happening. And realizing in full how much he had missed being able to listen to the sound of his own heart beat. Through it all, he felt a comforting surge of emotions. A sense of hope washed over him and for reasons Beric could not explain, he felt courageous enough to take on the entirety of the Lannister army and win despite all odds.

Then, he heard Thoros gasp himself. "My friend...look at that light!"

The once-dead man looked down at his chest again and this time saw a golden brilliance glimmering from the spot where his heart was. Before long, he noticed his face illuminating with such splendor as well, and then, he choked up, removing his eye patch.

For now, he could see again through his other, destroyed eye.

Visibly shocked, the Red Priest started kneeling on the floor immediately and started whispering prayers. However, Beric couldn't have focused on the actual lines if he had tried. He was so happy that he started crying for the first time since being brought back to life, all those years prior.

But then, he felt the glow of brilliance begin to fade, the light that enveloped his body becoming dimmer. He gasped once more, feeling dread as he lost part of his sight again. But then, he heard the echo of a voice that urged him to be calm. And strangely enough, it did, despite becoming half-blind once more. He couldn't recognize the voice or even the exact words that were being used but they felt...familiar, somehow.

And he just knew, right then and there, that the light of hope had not deserted him, even as his heart stopped once more.

A thick silence enveloped the hearth then, broken only by the crackling of the flames. Thoros got up eventually, stared at him up and down, and eventually, asked him what he felt had happened to him. So, Beric told him.

The Red Priest shook his head in wonder. "I...I am afraid that I am not sure how to interpret what you just experienced, my friend. I have heard that the rare possibility of revival was possible through the power of the Lord of Light but I have never heard of that kind of healing after the body was already raised."

The leader within the Brotherhood Without Banners didn't answer him immediately. Instead, he got closer to the flames and looked at them without bothering to put his eye patch back on.

He stayed completely silent for a couple of minutes and Thoros didn't dare interrupt. Eventually, he turned his gaze back to him.

"Something unmeasurably important has just happened that involves our Lord," Beric declared. "I don't know what exactly yet, but I can tell that it will change the outcome of the approaching Long Night...and of the wars to come from here to there."

Thoros looked at him with awe. "Did you see such a vision in the flames?"

"Only part of it," Dondarrion responded. "The rest comes from what I felt while experiencing our Lord's pure essence inside me. It felt like...conviction incarnate had married hope itself and they had a child, of Holy Light. And I could feel the warmth of their embrace."

Then he shook his head. "And somehow, someway, I simply know that King Jon is slammed right in the middle of this."

---

Josera Snow felt as his eyes adjusted once the light had faded and it stopped overwhelming his eyes. All the same, he was still stunned at the spectacle of might as the mental presence of the Old God that had blessed him started receding from his mind. And he bowed his head at the dying Red Priestess, a feeling of solemnity engulfing him

All the same, he couldn't help but feel a bit distressed. Whatever he had shared with Melisandre, it had clearly worked well if it got her to strengthen her connection to the Lord of Light in such a way. And it was clearly a monumental revelation that would be next to impossible for the Red Priests to figure out on their own, or else he would have probably heard of displays of power on that scale from other Red Priests.

So, the fact he realized that he could not remember a single piece of information he had seeded in her mind made him curious and worried in equal measures; especially given that it was ultimately enough for Melisnadre to sacrifice her life for, at least s far as she was concerned.

Suddenly, he heard the melody of the leaves singing with the wind once more and his eyes widened as this time, he understood the True Tongue involved without another intermediary.

"I know you have questions and they will be answered in time," The Old God of the Greenseers assured him in a comforting tone. "For now, however, know that you have done well, Honored Friend of the Wilds."

Josera bowed his head in deference, feeling beyond pleased and satisfied in being addressed that way by the Old God of his ancestors. Still, there was one thing he needed to ask.

"What about the rest of my blessing?" He asked. "Should I use it against the rest of our enemies?"

"There is no need," His Patron replied. "Victory is near enough already. Your sister did her part in this battle and soon, you will do yours in a future one. You will know what to do when the time comes, over Nagga's Mount."

Josera's eyes widened, remembering that was a sacred place to the Ironborn. But before he could truly focus on just one trail of thought, his mind was filled with the melodic language again.

"From now on, know that you go with my blessing," He declared. "And if you seek answers about what you saw today, accompany the Dragonwolf King to the mysterious island of Skagos. It is there, that a legacy of magic will change the course of our world's history...it is there that the time of Great Prophecy will be at hand."

And with that Josera felt his god's presence retreat from his mind and then he was just there, standing in the clearing as he looked down at the dying Red Priestess from a distance, as the man that had joined Jon's court alongside her got closer and held her hand.

The experienced warg sighed and decided to echo the last words he remembered from before he had lost track of time. "Light be with you, Melisandre of Asshai."

And with that, he turned back and rushed to look for his twin.

---

King Jon watched on as Lord Glover surrendered, his men following suit as they dropped their weapons. Glaring at the Lord of Deepwood Motte he commanded the men to restrain the now **** YiTish sorcerer he had personally placed on a deep slumber and to put cloth around his mouth to prevent him from casting should he end up waking up before he was ready to deal with him. Then, he gave the oathbreakers a very direct choice.

"March or freeze," He ordered simply.

And so they did. He didn't really have soldiers on his side of the battle to ensure the prisoner transfer but after all the recent bouts of magic, none of them wanted to mess with his mighty she-dragon. Thus they marched, their faces grim as they crossed the river and then the trench. He directed the whole process from above, with his companion firing short barrages of frostflame at the air every couple of minutes to keep them motivated on following his orders.

Through it all, however, he couldn't help but frown as he thought back to his performance in the battle. While his dragonriding assistance certainly turn the tide of the conflict, the earth magic ambush that Ramsay had prepared for him exposed a flaw in his powers when needed to be used under pressure: concentration was key when it came to forming the long sentences he usually needed to produce something that would benefit him while also granting a boon to his family members. And if his enemies found a way to hunt him relentlessly while in the air that was made all the more difficult due to the fact he still wasn't used to flying under such dizzying conditions.

So, he resolved to practice more, flying in the air under more difficulty while trying to focus on his trails of thoughts, in order to reduce those kinds of potential problems in the future. But, as more men started approaching his prisoners in order secure their captures, he squinted his eyes from his high vantage point before smirking, noticing that the Knights of the Vale had arrived on the field of battle and with hundreds of prisoners that had deserted the battle to the south after his arrival, thereby running straight into them.

Then the King of the North and Trident narrowed his eyes. That meant there was only one, last enemy to take care of before the battle was finished. And from the sky, it didn't take him long to find out exactly where he was.

---

Ser Davos Seaworth shook his head as he slowly got up, trying to understand what had happened. One moment he had seen a pillar of intense light and the next he was swept off his feet like he had been thrown from a catapult. Even more strangely, such an impact should have injured him or at least leave some bruises but he felt fine. In fact, he felt better than fine. His joints and muscles hadn't felt so reinvigorated in years.

Confused, he looked around for Lady Stark but instead, he found another familiar redheaded figure laying nearby on the ground. And she seemed to be gasping for breath, clearly struggling with it.

Approaching her quickly, he checked for a pulse in her neck and found it but it was incredibly faint. More than a little shocked at what he was seeing, the Onion Knight tried to stir her awake.

"Milady! Listen to my voice! Wake up!" He insisted, shaking her up.

Soon, her eyes opened when they came into focus, she gave him a sad smile.

"Ser Davos," She whispered. "I...did it. I wasn't sure that I could at first, but I...really...did it."

"What did you do?" He asked, trying to get her to keep speaking.

"I...made my peace with my Lord...and basked in the essence that surrounds him," She managed to get out, coughing. "And in the process...opened a door that has remained shut for my people for millennia."

Then she started coughing again, this time puking blood. The former Hand of the King inhaled sharply, realizing it was as he truly feared.

The Red Witch that he had opposed and attacked, argued with and support, and that had shown the unbeliever in him that miracles were indeed possible, was finally dying.

Davos felt torn. On many other past occasions, he might have been tempted to use the words good riddance but lately he couldn't help but acknowledge that he had grown closer to the Red Woman, especially after she got more humble. And now that Stannis's army was decimated, he will be the last one on King Jon's court that had served under those banners after she was gone.

The situation made him feel unexpectedly sad.

"Is there anything I can do?" He whispered.

The Red Priestess shook her head. "But do not...worry about that. In...succeeding...I...managed to correct the biggest mistake I ever made. As the wise say...only...****...may...pay...for...life," She gasped out. "You will find her soon... near Winterfell."

Suddenly, the countless haunted expression he had seen on Melisandre's face, especially when she thought no one was looking, made a dreadful amount of sense. He removed his hands from her shoulder, reeling as if struck.

"You didn't!" He yelled, feeling horrified.

The dying woman teared up. "I did. And I deserve to burn for that. But once I knew for sure that there was a chance to...fix my mistake, I knew I had to take it, even...even if it killed me."

Then she coughed even more blood some of it spilling into his armor. "I know...I know she will never forgive me...and she shouldn't," She admitted, her voice coarse. "But please, tell her that...no words can express...how sorry I am. And tell her that...for what it's worth...I hope she is able to...live along and happy life...now that she has a second chance."

Then she sighed, her breathing growing ever more labored. "I know she will be in pain for a long time...feeling betrayed and ****...because of my actions. But please, tell Shireen...that...the hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. So... convince her to be brave...and to live."

Davos's tears had fallen on her chest, a mix of fury and unbearable sadness gripping him tightly. But then, he took a deep breath and nodded.

Melisandre's lips curl into another small, sad smile. And then, with one last burst of strength, she removed her necklace that carried the gemstone he had always seen her wear around her neck.

At first, she looked at her hands after that, placing them before her face. But then, her expression of confusion gave way to one last moment of joy, as she looked up at the darkened, clouded sky.

For a moment, Davos could have sworn that he saw another glimmer of golden light from her eyes. And then she gasped out with an expression of dawning realization.

"I...do..not...see...only...darkness...before...me," She uttered, her relief palpable in her face as she uttered her last breath.

Then, **** rattled her lungs, and Melisandre of Asshai closed her eyes on the snow.

Davos knelt there in the cold for a long moment, an enormous wave of emotions furiously pushing him in different directions as everything started to sink in. But eventually, he wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and gently picked the Red Priestess necklace in his hands, as he stared at her young face, resting at last.

Then he inhaled sharply and stood up. "I will find you Shireen," He vowed. "I swear it."

---

Ramsay Bolton stirred from being knocked off his feet when that abrupt, eruption of light flood their sense. shaking his head as he stood up in alarm, he looked at his hand and noticed that the arrow was gone, shockingly the major wound on his hand had healed completely.

"What in each and every hell was that?!" Ramsay demanded, looking around frantically as his remaining men groaned, started getting up.

But they wouldn't get a chance, for the direwolves got back on their feet more quickly and immediately started biting his men for all they were worth. Three had managed to stand up and get their weapons ready but then before they could use them against the enemy pack, a huge Snowbear of all things attacked them from behind, quickly mauling two of them with his enormous paws while the last one was cut down where he stood by the tall and blonde female warrior that he recognized as his wife's guard from the meeting before the battle.

And then, Ramsay realized with a start that he was completely alone and surrounded by his enemies.

He froze, trying desperately to think of something, anything that could get him out of this predicament like he has always been able to manage. But for once, he found none. And it was with that thought in mind that he understood the truth.

He was going to die that night.

And so, feeling like a cornered beast, he decided that if he was going to die, he was going to bring down with him the woman that would gain the most pleasure from his **** among all of his enemies.

Sansa Stark.

So, he threw his bow and quiver at the two direwolves, hitting them square in the face as they jumped towards him, the blows giving him a moment's reprieve as he advanced with a blade in hand, yelling the motto of House Bolton.

"OUR BLADES ARE SHARP!" He shrieked.

But before he could get anywhere near his hateful wife, he felt a painful blow to the head and he fell to the ground. Blinking back tears of pain, he looked to the side and saw that Rickon Fucking Stark had managed to hit him in the head with a rock, already had another in his hand.

"That was for Osha, you monstrous cunt!" He screamed.

Ramsay gaped, stunned as he realized that this was how it ended. Defeated, by quite literally the smallest of the Starks.

Then, the direwolves approached, and just when he was sure they were going to crush his neck with their jaws, he heard his wife's voice calling them off. They barked but ultimately obeyed her and backed off a little.

Then, he saw footsteps to the side as he laid on his back and soon found the smirking lips of Sansa Stark glaring down at him, an infuriating expression of triumph on her face.

"Ramsay Bolton," She said with satisfaction, "You are now a prisoner of House Stark. But do not worry that much. I will personally see to it that you will not remain imprisoned for long."

---

Jon Stark finally urged his winged familiar to land his smile growing wider and wider as he got closer. For he noticed that Ramsay had been restrained and more importantly, Rickon had returned to them.

The smallest Stark in question looked at his Ice Dragon, his eyes wide and full of wonder. But soon he shook his head as his feet hit solid ground and rushed to hug him.

"Jon! I have missed you so much!" He told him, his voice quivering.

The young god sighed in relief smiling as he embraced his little brother. "I know. I missed you too."

Before they could break away, he felt another person tackle them into the hug and he laughed merrily, with Arya hanging on for dear life.

Then, he opened his eyes and saw his beloved sister smile at him, her face a true vision of delight.

"I had been concerned about arriving a little too late to the battle," He admitted, one sibling by each side. "But I should have known better. No one was going to be more vested in planning Ramsay's defeat than you were. And even when outnumbered more than two to one while I was away, your tactics worked so well you managed to turn the tide in your favor even without my dragon. I am so proud of the woman you have become, Sansa," He told her, grinning widely.

His future wife looked at him with a very affectionate gaze as her blue eyes sparkled. "Well, someone had to represent House Stark over here while you were finishing your very important missions. So, I am most pleased to hear you say that."

Then she shook her head, and wiped away a few tears with her hands before running into his arms, her red mane covering his neck.

Thus there he stood atop the snow as he embraced his pack; more regrouped than it had been in years. And then the direwolves howled, to praise another reunion.

But as their mouths turn up to face the moon, his Ice Dragon roared alongside them to celebrate something huge.

For they have won the battle. And now, they could go home.

---

A/N: Well there is the end of the Battle of the Bastards guys! I hope it was worth the wait and build-up that took me time to get to this point. And I want to take a moment to thank all of you, for supporting me along the way and inspiring me to write ever better and ever grander stories. You are all great!

So, I really hope you had fun with this and I would imagine that most of you guys hat are not familiar with WoW are quite confused. So, if you have any questions at all about this chapter that you wish to ask, just let me know and I will reply to your comments as soon as I can.

Please leave a review if you liked it, and if you would like to commemorate the end of the Battle of the Bastards. And until next time guys, see ya!