Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

No. He would be a fool, to abandon such a defensible position. Jon jolts, his eyes widening as he realizes the fight has already begun. Down below, the Night King’s lips curl back into a toothy grin, and Jon’s nostrils flare in response. Even from all the way over there, the other God had been trying to influence him. Poking at him, prodding at his defenses. The urge to go down there and fight two Gods by himself had not truly been Jon’s own inkling. No, it was spurned on by the God of Death and Darkness, by a primal fight or flight instinct.
 
For Jon, flight was an impossibility. Always had been. And so that nudging had very nearly provoked him towards fight instead. But that too would have been a mistake. Rushing in, leaving the Wall behind, trying to take the fight to the Night King and his Corpse Queen… it would have proven the end of Jon, more than likely.
 
Instead, he had to pick the third option. Neither fight nor flight. He had to stand his ground.
 
The Wall wasn’t just the greatest mortal defensive structure ever made; it was an incredibly powerful form of divine defense as well. So long as he remained atop it, he was protected in a way that could not be discounted. With that in mind… he had to stay right where he was and force the Night King and Corpse Queen to come to him.
 
Pushing away the Night King’s shadowy influence is both difficult and easy. He does it in a moment and watches the Night King’s grin turn into a snarl. Without wasting another beat of time, the God of Death and Darkness flings a clawed hand forward, and the Army of the Dead launches itself at the Wall, screaming so loudly that Jon is sure it can be heard up and down the length of the entire structure.
 
The War for the Dawn has begun, and as Jon watches on, he can’t help but be proud of all that he’s accomplished, all that he’s done to prepare for this moment. He didn’t even know he WAS preparing for it… but nonetheless, the forces arrayed here, the Army of the Living that he’s brought together… it would not be half this size without his direct assistance.
 
Dothraki, Unsullied, Northmen, and Free Folk fight alongside one another, as the dead and damned attempt to scale the Wall and overwhelm its defenders. They have no choice, which Jon finds somewhat fascinating. The Wall is not impenetrable, as the wildlings have proven time and time again over the last several thousand years. But at the same time, to these creatures… it very much is.
 
The wildlings had been ranging south of the Wall through a variety of methods all this time. They had hidden tunnels beneath the Wall, as well as boats that they used to travel by sea around the Wall’s edges. As the Night’s Watch had crumbled further and further, these tunnels had stopped being discovered and filled in, and the boats had stopped being caught and destroyed. Wildling rangings had become a fact of life for those in the North that lived closer to the Wall, and not even the death and destruction they wrought had been enough to stave off the ultimate demise of the Night’s Watch.
 
Hm, Jon found himself wondering if this was part of the Night King’s divinity at work. Had he turned his Domains of Darkness and Death to the task of weakening the once ascendant organization? Had his divine power slowly turned mortal opinion of the Night’s Watch from reverence and appreciation, to indifference, apathy, and even scorn?
 
Heh, or perhaps it was just the human condition at work. Greed, selfishness, and a distinctly mortal sort of apathy, all at work to slowly but surely erode a certainty in the need for the Night’s Watch as time continued to roll on by and the true purpose of the organization fell further and further away from human memory.
 
Honestly, it could have been both. In the end, it mattered little whether it was the Night King’s plan or not. The Night’s Watch had died, and if not for Jon, even the Free Folk likely would have crumbled when the Army of the Dead finally came upon the Wall. Instead, all along the Wall, Jon could see with his divine sense that the Free Folk were holding strong, right alongside his own armies of Dothraki, Unsullied, and Northmen.
 
Former slavers and slaves from far away lands, working in unison alongside First Men from both sides of the Wall. It was a beautiful sight to be sure, made all the more beautiful by his dragons winging back and forth along the top of the wall, breathing their fire across the first remnants of the dead to make it to the top.
 
The wildlings had never struggled particularly hard with getting past the Wall, at least in living memory. But that was because the Wall had never been made to keep them out in the first place. They were Children of the North, same as the Northmen they now fought alongside. With the ancient ways closed, the tunnels beneath the Wall filled in all along its length, the Army of the Dead had no choice.
 
They could not dig like the wildlings could, because the magic of the Wall did not allow it. They could not swim, because water seemed to be anathema to their kind. In the end, all they could do in the face of the Wall’s magic was climb. Climb, and try to overwhelm the mortal defenders at the top.
 
Needless to say, despite how innumerable the Army of the Dead seemed to be, they were not having a good time of it. The Wall was too defensible, and too well-manned. Jon suspected that the last time this happened, there were not DRAGONS on the side of the First Men. Certainly, as he watches the Night King and Corpse Queen from afar, he sees a glittering anger and inhuman rage directed at his dragons in the former’s eyes.
 

While his divine sense keeps him abreast of how things are going all along the Wall for his forces, Jon’s true focus remained fixated on the Night King and his bride. The Gods of Darkness and Death, and Ice and Frost, command the lion’s share of his attention. And a good thing too, because it means he bears witness to what happens next.
 
A nimbus of shadow and darkness explodes from the Night King, but Jon pushes through it with his divine sight, likely the only one to see as the Night King reaches out and grabs the Corpse Queen forcibly by the back of her neck, jolting her and all but shaking her around as he snarls in her ear. The inhuman female Goddess’ face twists into an unpleasant grimace, but the Night King merely shakes harder.
 
A moment later, and her hands come together before slowly spreading apart. Between them, a spear of pure ice is formed. Jon flinches back at the sheer power radiating off of that spear, even as the Corpse Queen’s hands spread further and further apart, until eventually the Night King’s free hand snaps out and snatches the spear from her grasp.
 
The nimbus of shadow and darkness collapses in on him, and coalesces around the spear itself, settling into the ice’s core and giving it a flickering darkness to it that Jon is pretty sure he only sees because of his nascent divinity.
 
Gritting his teeth, the young Dragon God begins to prepare to defend himself. The Wall is a great force and a powerful shield, but he will not rely upon it entirely. The Night King would not go so far to create a weapon that could not penetrate, that would not do its grisly work. And so, Jon tenses up, ready to dodge, ready to block, ready for anything as the Night King takes the Spear of Ice and Death in hand and rears back, preparing to throw it.
 
Or… Jon thinks he’s ready for anything. His eyes widen, when the Night King abruptly changes course at the last second, his preparations turning out to be nothing more than a deception. What does a God like him have to worry about the physical, after all? He needs no wind up time… in the end, it proves to be just a feint.
 
Whipping around, the Night King lets the deadly spear fly… but not at Jon, nor at any of the other humans on the Wall. Instead, he aims with pinpoint accuracy at one of Jon’s dragons, and the godling can do nothing but shout in horror as the weapon flies true.
 
“NO!”
 
The spear catches Viserion right under the wing in his breast, and with divine sight, Jon watches as the Corpse Queen’s Ice penetrates through the natural armor provided by Viserion’s scales. A moment later, the Night King’s death magic explodes inside of the great big green dragon, and Jon chokes on his own spit as the beast lets out a strangled cry and immediately begins to fall.
 
Perhaps it wasn’t right to play favorites, but Jon had long given Viserion the least consideration of his three dragons, in the deepest recesses of his mind. He’d almost come to regret letting Daenerys name the green dragon after her older brother. Viserys had not left the best impression in Jon’s mind, and he’d unconsciously come to attribute similar qualities to the dragon that became his namesake.
 
And yet… and yet, in that moment, as Viserion plummets like a rock, Jon feels as if a piece of him is being torn away, as if a piece of his heart has been ripped out of him. Worse… worse still, is the feeling that continues to spread through him. A near-certainty that mere death is not all that awaits his loyal dragon if he does nothing.
 
The death magic laced through the Ice Spear had certainly done its job of tearing through Viserion’s insides. The dragon is dead even before it hits the ground, and there’s no helping that. However, Jon can feel a secondary effect already at work. It’s taking longer then it would otherwise, because of just how large and magic-laden a creature, Viserion is. What would take mere moments to work upon a human corpse, will take minutes to work on Viserion.
 
But… how is it that he can even see the Night King’s necromantic magics at work so clearly within the dragon’s body? How… no, Jon knows how, and he jolts into action the moment he realizes what he’s missing.
 
The Night King is the God of Death and Darkness. He’s attempting to use both of his Domains to pull Viserion over to his side, to turn the great dragon into his creature and make an undead revenant of his flesh. But he’s struggling because Jon is unconsciously holding on. And Jon is holding on… because Viserion is HIS. Not just his dragon because Jon and Daenerys hatched them, or anything like that. But his in the way a loyal follower of a God belongs to that God.
 
For Jon is the last of the Dragon Gods. He is the inheritor of Old Valyria’s Divine Essence. He is all that remains. And its long past time that he start fucking ACTING LIKE IT!
 
With a snarl, Jon reaches out and begins a tug of war with the Night King. With his feet planted firmly on the Wall, he is unassailable. Which puts him in the perfect position to hold back the God of Death and Darkness as he seeks to save Viserion. The dragon is dead, there’s no doubt about that. But death… death is not the end. It is merely a new beginning.
 
As the Night King’s necromantic energies war with Jon’s divinity within Viserion’s corpse, scales and flesh alike begin to fleck away from the dragon carcass. More and more of Viserion’s bones are exposed, as the creature’s essence is drawn away, towards the Wall. The Night King tries to stop him, but to Jon’s great satisfaction, the older God is left clutching nothing but fragments, nothing but scraps.
 
In the end, there is no undead revenant to be made of Viserion’s body. The dragon is stripped down to his bones, and then those too fade away without a flicker of the telltale blue of undeath every coming aglow in the eyes.
 
Meanwhile, Jon holds out a palm… and in it, Viserion’s essence coalesces. When all is said and done, Jon holds in his hand a bright green dragon egg. Viserion Reborn, the cycle of life brought back around, the closest to resurrection that Jon could get.
 
The Night King had still scored quite the victory, destroying one of Jon’s greatest allies, killing one of his dragons. But the shift in the battlefield that the older God had hoped to create does not materialize. Without an undead dragon of his own, Balerion and Rhaegal continue to enjoy aerial supremacy, dominating the skies with their majestic forms.
 
Of course, now Jon knows what the Night King is capable of. And the God of Death and Darkness has no reason not to try again, if only to remove another dragon from the battlefield, even if Jon has shown himself capable of saving them from the Night King’s undead clutches.
 
As the older God whirls around towards the Corpse Queen again, Jon knows he must respond. He has an opportunity to strike here, while his enemies are distracted. The only problem is… who does he strike at? He is the God of Dragons… and Freedom. And it has become quite clear to him by this point, that the Corpse Queen is not Free. The Goddess of Ice and Frost is very clearly in the Night King’s thrall, and not at all happy about it.
 
He might never have found that out, if he’d decided to take the fight to them. Even in the slim chance that he’d been able to win two-on-one, he would have likely forced the Corpse Queen into survival mode and forced her to fight to the death to protect herself, if nothing else. Tch… the only question now was, did he trust her?
 
In this moment, he could strike at the Night King… or he could strike at the Night King’s control over the Corpse Queen. That collar around her neck seemed like a safe bet. He would be extending himself either way, but it was the only choice he had. Hanging back had been the right call at first, and the Army of the Living were WINNING against the Army of the Dead.
 
But if he kept hanging back, the Night King would likely fell his two remaining dragons, and force Jon to focus all of his divine might on keeping their souls and bodies out of the necromancer’s hands.
 
No, this was his moment. But to strike at the Night King while his attention was turned to the Corpse Queen, or to strike at the Corpse Queen’s collar? What if… what if the Goddess was a worse monster than even the Night King? Could Jon afford to unleash her without knowing where her loyalties would lie once she was freed?
 
Could he afford not to, on his foundation as a God of Freedom?
 
Only half a beat to decide… so whatever he chose, he needed to make it quick.

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