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123 AC, Lands of Always Winter
The dagger's glow had turned red, almost as if it was on fire, one that had enveloped Cregan, strengthening him even beyond what his ancestral sword ever had, and he lunged towards the Night King with a roar, and stabbed the Last Other in the heart.
Cregan Stark had pushed the dagger deep into the Night King's heart, and for once, since he had gone beyond the Wall, he had not been thinking of his people, of the threat of a second Long Night, or even of his ancestor. Instead, it had been a burning rage that drove him, the anger and grief that he had felt at Leaf's death. It was strange; he had not known her long, barely more than a day, really, but they had fought together in Hardhome against that traitorous Greenseer and saved each other's lives.
He had seen her at her lowest, as she realised that those she had trusted had lied to her about things that were fundamental to herself. He had sympathised with the heavy weight she wore on her shoulder, the last Child of the Forest born, chosen by the Old Gods themselves. They thought her to be their saviour, and she had proven them right.
The young Stark remembered her last words to him, an urgency, while his body ached, barely able to move after crossing blades with the Night King. She had cut her palm with the dagger that Harry Potter had given him, and told him that he only had one chance, to strike when the moment required it.
And it had worked. She had jumped onto her sworn enemy, knowing that she would perish, giving her faith in him. He had not even noticed the blade's glow turning red, nor did he feel the power it gave him, the sudden primal feeling of anger coursing through his veins. He simply ran at the creature who had killed his friend and stabbed him in the heart.
Clarity returned as he stared into the creature's eyes, the blue tainted with sickly black. There was surprise, realisation, but mostly fear. Suddenly, the world around them started to rumble, the night sky above them seemed to almost recede, moving to a single point, being absorbed into the creature before him. With every moment that passed, he could feel his medallion, one that belonged to Bran the Builder, himself, shaking against his skin.
For a fraction of a second, Cregan feared that it had not worked, that the Night King would survive, but then the creature's figure collapsed into itself, acting like a wound in the world itself. The air bent inward, drawn toward the dying creature as if the very realm wanted to reclaim him.
The Night King's mouth opened, but no sound came, only a thin trail of frozen mist leaking from his lips, dissolving before it reached the air, and the corrupted blue of his eyes began to dim. The black veins crawling through his form thickened, overtaking the blue glow entirely, until nothing recognisable remained.
The very world around them shuddered, and while it did not look like it had changed, it felt different, more natural. The endless white mist that shrouded the Lands of Always Winter disappeared, and for the very first time since crossing the Frostfangs, the sun's light shone on his face with a warmth that he had forgotten he had missed.
Finally, the Night King's figure collapsed into itself, shrinking while absorbing the corruption into itself, every last fragment of his dominion failing to cling to existence, or perhaps, wishing to maintain the Night King's existence, before all that remained was a single point, which finally snapped shut.
Cregan's necklace finally stopped shaking in a way that had not happened since he set foot beyond the Wall. He had almost gotten used to the faint hum, the constant warning of the Others' existence and the constant threat that they posed.
Even in Winterfell, the faint warning had been there, in the back of his mind, but for the first time, there was only silence. The glowing dagger in Cregan's hand slowly turned to ash, having finally achieved its purpose. He found that he did not mourn the weapon. It should die with Leaf, the Earthsinger. Cregan was nought more than the instrument that delivered the final blow. It had been Harry Potter who forged the sword, his wife who had tempered it, and Leaf's life who had quenched it.
It was only then that the realisation set in.
They had won.
The Long Night had been averted, and the Others had been defeated, not pushed back, but defeated, a feat that the founder of his house and the magics of the Age of Heroes could not do.
He had saved his people, his kingdom, his family. He had likely finished what the Builder started.
Then why did it feel so bitter?
For the first time since he landed the blow, Cregan finally took on Leaf's form.
Her blood was nowhere to be seen, as if it had disappeared with the monster it killed. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that she was sleeping.
The survivors of the battle slowly approached, starting with Harry, whose scythe had disappeared, looking down sadly, his wife following after him, and then the handful of remaining Children of the Forest. They had been the ones who turned the tides of the battle, who had allowed Daphne to destroy the Heart of Winter, and they had suffered for it.
Barely more than a dozen of them remained, and they all seemed tired and sad, despite their victory. It was bittersweet for them, for so few to remain, though the Others had been defeated.
Still, they all seemed to have eyes only for Leaf's body. Slowly, they opened their mouths and let out a mournful but proud song. It was a song of hope of an unextinguished flame that had burned even in the coldest night.
As they sang, the ground beneath Leaf shimmered faintly. The frost shifted, and the snow retreated. Roots sprouted from beneath her, curling gently around her arms and legs like old friends welcoming her home.
Slowly but surely, Leaf's skin whitened, its bark-like texture becoming more and more pronounced as the roots enveloped her. Her hair lengthened, each strand turning into soft red leaves that fluttered in the wind. It had not taken long for Cregan to realise what was happening, but he still found himself staring in awe, as all that remained of Leaf was a Heart Tree, with her face still recognisable on its trunk, looking as if it had been carved into it. She looked at peace, and a small knot in his stomach tightened even further.
When they were done, Cregan slowly walked towards the tree and touched it. It might have been his imagination, but he felt a small familiar warmth when he had done so. Cregan looked around and noticed that the surrounding giant trees had shrunken, losing their golden hues, and returning to normal Weirwood, or as normal as Weirwood trees could be.
The Children of the Forest seemed to have slowly walked away, probably to deal with their dead, leaving Cregan with the Potters. They had lost many of their numbers and would likely never recover from this, and Cregan could not begrudge the fact that they did not celebrate their victory. After all, he didn't feel like it either. He wished he could speak with them, but they likely did not know the Common Tongue. Alas, their shared mourning would have to suffice.
He instead stared at Leaf's features on the Heart Tree, realising that the valley that they remained in was akin to a gigantic grove, with all of the Weirwood creating a circle that surrounded Leaf's tomb, almost akin to a monument to her sacrifice, a symbol of when Winter fell, and the living triumphed against the cold and darkness.
He slowly walked to where Ice had fallen during the confrontation with the Night King and sheathed his ancestral blade, while a thought simply would not leave his mind, no matter how much he wished, "Was there any other way?"
Harry's voice was the one that answered, "Have you ever heard of the tale of Azor Ahai and Nissa-Nissa?"
Cregan turned to the sorcerer, feeling a spark of anger at him, "This is not the time for tales, Potter."
"Life is a tale, for the story is all that remains after the end. Though I have a feeling that this particular one will interest you."
Cregan nodded in a reluctant acceptance, and the sorcerer continued, "It's a rather old tale from the East, though the followers of the Red God like it quite a bit. Azor Ahai is a legendary warrior who fought in ancient times against an all-encompassing darkness. It's not exactly a unique idea, but one that had spread across the Known World, from Yi-Ti, to even here, in the North."
"The last hero," the young Stark commented.
"Exactly. But in this version of the story, Azor Ahai needed a weapon against the darkness, a hero's sword. And so, he laboured for thirty days and thirty nights, forging it. However, when he went to temper it in water, the sword broke. He was not one to give up easily, so he started over, taking even longer to create an even better sword. To temper it this time, he drove the sword into the heart of a lion, but once more the steel shattered. The third time, he worked for even longer, and with a heavy heart, he called for his wife, Nissa-Nissa. The woman willingly bared her breast, knowing what was to come, and he drove his sword into her heart, creating a mighty weapon of fire and light, a weapon so powerful that it almost seemed as if it was aflame. He called it Lightbringer, and using it, he banished the Darkness to the end of the world. Quite a familiar tale, isn't it?"
Cregan froze in realisation. The sorcerer was right. Hadn't Leaf all but done the same, willingly sacrifice herself to empower a weapon, one that looked as if it was aflame, to destroy the Night King.
He did not think that Leaf had been overly interested in Essosi myths or even cared for their beliefs enough to sacrifice herself to recreate a story with the vague hope that it would work against the Night King.
Yet, he could not deny the similarity, "How?"
"Fate can often be cruel. So, to answer your first question, there could have been other paths to victory over the Night King. Even though many of my choices were limited, given the authority that Others had over their realm, and the usage of the weapon of a god so terrible that the rest of the divine feared him, there were other ways, though some were rather destructive. However, Fate seems to have chosen this ending for the battle, and it had been rather heavy-handed with its influence to ensure it. Why precisely, I do not know, but what I do know is that defying destiny is already tricky by itself, let alone while fighting something that wielded Death itself."
Cregan remained silent. Harry spoke of Fate as if it were a living, thinking creature, with its own desires. He did not know how to feel about this, though he had seen far more disbelieving things alongside the Potters.
The young lord did not answer, and luckily, the Potters had not expected him to do so. Harry instead walked towards the Night King's weapon, a dreaded sword that still radiated danger to Cregan, "Speaking of which…"
Harry raised his hand, and the weapon rose up, floating impossibly in the air. The blade seemed to almost writhe in excitement as he approached. To Cregan's horror, the sorcerer grabbed the weapon by the blade and squeezed it, the blade moving as if it were a floating liquid.
The man's words were almost gravelly tainted with a seriousness that he often lacked, even during his battle against the Night King: "By my will, I release thee, Death, for you are bound no longer."
Suddenly, the blade seemingly shattered as if it were made of glass, its crimson shards seemingly floating in the air, before slowly fading away as they dissolved into red mist.
The young man turned to the sorcerer and asked, unable to hide the discomfort from his voice at what he had witnessed, "What was that?"
It was his wife who answered, though she seemed amused by his reaction, "It was simply righting a very old wrong. Death was never meant to be bound, not by anyone. I personally think that many forms of magic will find themselves… troublesome to perform. However, I do not think that it will be something that will concern the North, or even Westeros, much. If I were you, I'd focus more on the change in seasons."
They had started to walk back to the Frostfangs as they spoke, though that statement made Cregan freeze in his tracks, "Seasons?"
Harry perked up in surprise, "Oh, yeah. I completely forgot about that. The seasons here were not exactly natural, which makes sense given that a realm of Winter had been pushing against the world for the Long Night, creating long seasonal cycles. With the Heart of Winter destroyed and the Others killed, the seasons should return to what they always should have been."
Did… Did the man mean that winters would be shorter? If he had known this earlier, he would have likely jumped to the fray, ready to fight the Others just for this. Wars had been waged for less in the North, let alone something as fundamental as food security.
Still, he should not get ahead of himself. "How long do you think winter should last?"
Harry shrugged, "Given the size of this world and the tilt of its axis, it should be around three to four months per season. Oh, sorry, three to four moons. I forgot that you call them that sometimes."
Cregan stood still as he digested this information.
A winter that lasted only four moons…
The mere thought alone was staggering. To a Stark, to any Northerner, winter was not a season but a sentence, one that arrived without warning, lingered without mercy, and starved the foolish. The unpredictability of its length was often what doomed entire Houses. But four moons… only four moons of winter at a time would have been a blessing that he did not even think the Gods themselves could have made happen.
He did not realise how shaken he had been until Ghost appeared beside him, giving him a troubled look. Cregan smiled fondly at his companion, whom he patted on the head. He was glad that the Direwolf was uninjured. He had not played a big role in the battle as he could have, but he was young and would soon grow large enough to ride.
And so, they walked in silence. It was only when they walked past the Haunted Forest that Cregan realised that they had company. Scores and scores of Wildlings seemed to have been roaming it, and they all stared at them as they approached. He had been tempted to unsheathe Ice in case they were attacked, but it did not take long to realise that they would not.
There was awe in their eyes, and Cregan supposed that their battle was hardly subtle, especially given the fact that the world seemed almost warmer and less oppressive than it once was. A few released thankful whispers as they walked by.
Cregan did not have a doubt in his mind that the Wilding incursion was gone. These people would remain beyond the Wall as their ancestors before them had, especially with the danger to their lives being gone.
It wasn't long until they reached the Wall, the structure looking just as imposing, though an instinct told him that it was much less than it once was. He did not ask the sorcerer why that was, instinctively feeling that its purpose had been fulfilled.
As they appeared near Castle Black's gates, he heard a loud groan as the chains rattled to grant him passage back to his kingdom. He turned towards Potter and asked, "What of the Corpse Queen and the Children of the Forest?"
Harry simply shrugged, "With the Others' influence lessening, and the Corpse Queen's life force having been drained for thousands of years in the Heart of Winter, I do not foresee her surviving for long. Without the Night King's weapons, there is only so much damage that she can do. I say leave her mourn her love in peace, but that will be up to you as Lord of the North. As for the Children of the Forest, you can treat with them, if you wish, but I do not think they intend to do anything more than return to their endless dreams until they wither away into myth once more, their prayers to the Old Gods remaining unanswered."
The young man turned to Potter, feeling slightly confused, "You seem certain of this."
"Gods are uncaring, Cregan," the sorcerer replied with surety in his voice, "Your Gods do not demand their worship, just the memories of those who perish beneath their soil. The Children of the Forest are born of their forest to act as their defenders, but they do not need them, not anymore, especially after the Others are gone. Perhaps the day that the men of the North would start cutting down the Weirwood, they shall be born once more, but that is likely only a slim possibility far into the future."
Cregan almost bristled at the implied accusation that his people would commit such an act, but stopped himself; Harry Potter was not one for implied slights, for he was uncaring of anyone's opinion of himself.
By then, the gates were almost opened, and he looked at the sorcerer and his wife, "I suppose this is it?"
"Well, not quite," Harry answered, "We didn't find the connection to Valyria. Sure, the Outsiders' presence is there, but something must have arranged for the Walls to weaken, wanting the Others' invasion to succeed, a force that Fate is battling against."
Daphne elbowed her husband slightly, "Harry, he's saying goodbye."
"Oh! Right, sorry," the man sheepishly retorted, "I suppose this is goodbye, yes. Unless…"
Cregan snorted, knowing Potter's offer, "I have a kingdom to govern, and I'd say that the last few days alone were enough adventure for a lifetime."
"That they were," Harry agreed while chuckling.
"Farewell, Potters," he said, looking at them in sympathy.
"Farewell, Stark," the man answered.
And in the blink of an eye, they were gone, leaving no trace behind them. He shook his head in amusement and walked through the gate, finally coming to Castle Black.
Looking up, the entire fortress stilled at his appearance. He was sure that most had assumed that he had died, though he had only spent a few days in his journey at the most. However, the battle against the Others had likely been noticeable from the Wall itself.
Then again, he guessed that his return must have been a sight to behold, walking alone with a Direwolf companion next to him, and the original Ice. He did wish that his Valyrian Steel blade had not been destroyed. The weapon alone was likely worth more than a small kingdom, but its loss was but a small price to pay compared to finally wielding Bran the Builder's weapon.
He had even seen his uncle Bennard, who had been speaking with the Lord Commander, staring at him with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. He suppressed his mirth and spoke up loudly, "The threat beyond the Wall is dealt with. The Wildings will return to their homes. A quarter of the men shall remain maintaining the Wall for the next six moons in case a group of Wildlings foolishly attacks us. The rest shall return to their home."
The crowd around him continued to stare at him, completely stupefied, and he yelled loudly, "Now!"
That seemed to finally break whatever spell had settled over them. While he would admit that this had been amusing, he was starting to feel the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. For while the war for Dawn had been won, there was still much to do, and he did not have the luxury of using magic to do it for him.
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AN: This chapter is mostly supposed to show the results of the Others being defeated and their effect on the world. Death being free, and the seasons returning to normal, which should reduce famine and allow civilisation to progress past the Middle Ages. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me, check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.