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Shadows clawed across the cobblestones of Karhold, tearing wights apart. Men of Karhold and lords from the south pressed themselves to the walls, weapons raised but useless, for the battle in the center was one no mortal could enter or participate in.
Aeron and the Night King faced each other, silence heavy between them. The frozen crown of the Other glimmered pale in the torchlight, his blade of pure ice catching the reflection of fire and shadow alike. Aeron stood opposite, Drakyrzor clutched in one hand, its black edge shuddering with dark flame. His eyes cold and focused locked on the Night King's.
Neither spoke, The Night King blocked Aeron's attacks, and his speed impossibly fast, ice cracking beneath his boots. His blade arced down in a clean, merciless strike. Aeron's greatsword rose to meet it, and when steel met ice, the sound was like thunder splitting the sky. A shockwave ripped across the courtyard, hurling snow and shards of stone into the walls. Men shielded their faces, crying out in awe and terror.
Aeron moved fluidly, faster than his bulk should allow. He pivoted, letting the Night King's blade slide past, and drove a knee into the creature's chest. The impact echoed, frost exploding outward from the Night King's form, but he did not stumble. His hand shot out, gripping Aeron's forearm with freezing force, ice crawling along his hand. Aeron snarled, dark fire racing across the metal, shattering the frost before it consumed him.
With a twist of his wrist, Aeron wrenched Drakyrzor free and spun in a brutal arc, black flames trailing the blade. The Night King ducked low, his movements precise, the edge of the sword clipping one of the icy horns crowning his head. The chip fell into the snow, hissing as it vanished.
The Night King countered, summoning jagged spears of ice from the ground. They burst upward in a deadly forest, impaling anything in reach. Aeron's eyes flared violet light blazing and the spears halted midair, caught by his will, Ruler's Authority.
"Seven hells..." someone whispered from the walls, voice trembling.
Aeron clenched his fist, and the spears reversed, hurtling back toward their master. The Night King raised a hand, a wall of frost surging up to absorb the assault, the clash of ice and shadow shaking the stones of Karhold itself.
The two closed the distance again. Aeron shifted from swordplay into brutal strikes an elbow across the jaw, a kick that cracked the courtyard stones, a punch that rippled through the Night King's torso. Each blow landed with terrifying weight and strength, but each time the Night King met it with equal coldness, parrying with his icy blade, countering with a frozen grip, strikes that could split steel and ordinary men like twigs.
The courtyard itself became their battlefield one half consumed by creeping ice, walls and stones glistening with frost, the other burned with black flame and stretching shadow. The air screamed with the clash of their power, so fierce that even seasoned warriors could not stand near.
Aeron's face remained calm, but his eyes burned brighter, locked unflinching on those endless blue pits before him. He pressed harder, swinging Drakyrzor in vicious combos high arc, low sweep, sudden thrust each move a predator's strike, flowing into kicks and punches when the blade found no target.
The Night King's ice sword catching blow after blow, sending crystalline shards spinning into the blizzard. He matched Aeron stroke for stroke, his own attacks slicing through the air with killing precision. At one point, their blades locked, and Aeron's dark flame hissed against the Night King's frost, heat and cold warring, steam rising in torrents.
From the walls, Lord Karstark's knuckles whitened on the rampart stone. "I didn't think the King would be this monstrous, I don't know which one I should fear now.."
Doran Martell's eyes glinted in awe and fear, "I understand where you are coming from..."
With a roar, Aeron broke the lock, vaulting into the air with inhuman agility. His greatsword came down in a flaming arc, the black fire hissing as it melted snow before it touched ground. The Night King raised his ice blade to block, and when they met, the shockwave this time cracked the keep's stones, shattering windows, sending soldiers sprawling.
****
The host moved like a dark tide across the snowfields, boots and hooves sinking deep into the frozen crust. Torches burned low, their flames little more than orange sparks against the vastness of this strange North's winter night. At the head of the column rode Robb Stark, grim beneath his furs, his direwolf Grey Wind pacing at his horse's side. To his right, Jon Snow kept his hood drawn tight against the wind, Ghost a pale shadow beside him. On the other flank, Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall or rather formerly so, scanned the horizon with sharp, wary eyes.
Karhold's towers were finally in sight, jutting up black against the pale snow. But long before they reached the keep, they heard it the clash of steel, the thunder of roars, the unearthly shrieks of the dead. Then they saw.
The gates of Karhold blazed with fire and shadow, men and monsters locked in a frenzied struggle. Black shadows fighting the undead, pulling wights apart. Yet for every corpse that fell, another dead staggered up, eyes pale and merciless. The air itself seemed alive with chaos.
But above the keep… the heavens were torn open.
Great shadows thrashed within the storm clouds, followed by blasts of foggy ice and darkness. At one heartbeat, the sky flashed with pale frostfire, turning the snow to glass. In the next, a torrent of abyssal flame cut the storm apart, black fire that made the night itself recoil. The clash shook the clouds like thunder. Every strike lit the world for an instant, revealing the massive forms of dragons tearing at each other, vanishing again in shadow.
The men of the North and the Free Folk alike slowed, many faltering to a stop. Awe and fear rippled through the ranks.
"What in the seven hells…" muttered a clansman of the mountain, clutching his axe as if it were suddenly too small.
"What kind of battle is going on here..." another breathed.
Robb Stark's jaw clenched, his blue eyes fixed on Karhold. "Those shadows..." he said under his breath, though his voice carried. "That is Aeron. And by the look of it, he is in a fight with the bastard himself.*."
Jon drew in a sharp breath, his gaze darting northward. "Not just there…" His hand rose, pointing.
From the distant treeline, a second tide advanced vast, endless, cold. An army of corpses, their pale forms moving as one, filling the night with silence that was heavier than any war-cry. At their front, tall figures strode, armored in frost, their eyes like shards of winter. The White Walkers.
The sight silenced even the wildest of the freefolk. Men muttered prayers. Others cursed in hollow voices.
Robb's horse shifted beneath him, restless at the smell of death. He turned to Jon, urgency in his tone. "If that army reaches Karhold before we do, the keep will be swallowed whole."
Jon's breath clouded in the freezing air, his face stark with resolve. "Then we meet them here, before they even get to touch the gates." Ghost growled low at his side, hackles bristling, his red eyes locked on the advancing dead.
Mance Rayder spat into the snow, his face grim but alight with a wild fire. "Aye. The gate is already a battlefield. Better we break our blades on this host than let both armies close around us. The living stand no chance pinned between."
Robb looked once more at Karhold at the writhing shadows, the roaring undead, the flashes in the sky like storms colliding. He thought of his father, of Winterfell, of the North itself. His hand tightened around his sword hilt.
"Form the line!" he shouted, voice cutting sharp across the cold. "Archers to the front, spears behind, horse on the flanks! Every man holds, or every man dies! They will not take another step south!"
The Northern host stirred, grim-faced, tightening shields and strapping helms. The freefolk raised their ragged banners and weapons, some singing battle-hymns, others laughing madly in the face of what was to come.
Jon mounted, Ghost pacing ahead like a phantom. He turned once to Robb, voice steady though the storm above cracked with dragons' fury. "Aeron will kill the night king I have no doubts about that, but we have to stop this army in the meantime."
Robb nodded, lifting his sword toward the oncoming horde. "Then let the North remember who we are."
The army roared, a sound fierce and desperate, and began its march into the teeth of death.
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If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC
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