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The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont	By : Meowshi Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 13397 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, nor any of the characters from these series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
The howls started as a low rumble.
At first Jon thought it was distant thunder, but the moonlit sky above him was clear. Soon the rumble swelled into a full-throated crescendo of growls and yips that echoed through the forest. Strangely the sound did not frighten him. The tenor of the howls felt joyous, almost celebratory; as though the canine denizens of the wood were sending their blessings to Jon Snow.
This was especially odd because prior to entering the mist, he hadn't seen a single wolf that wasn't bloated and rotting from the Night King's corruption. Even Ghost had disappeared into the fog without a trace, though Jon trusted the direwolf to fend for itself.
Taking a cue from the wolves, Jon tried to let his nose lead him. There were areas of the woods where the Night King's corruption was more prominent and the stench of death was more overwhelming. He had initially tried to avoid these areas, but now he pressed into them, convinced that he would find his quarry lurking within.
Jon found the Night's King standing beneath a tall, eerie statue carved from weirwood and ebony. The statue depicted an old and forgotten Northern lord, but the Night's King seemed to recognize him and was gently caressing the figure. Jon found that the old lord looked a lot like his own father, only this one had on a crown made of weirwood antlers on his head. Jon withdrew his sword and prepared to ambush the corpse-king, but his foot inadvertently snapped a twig and the creature spun around to face him, eyes glowing blue in the moonlight of the haunted forest.
In the freezing heart of the Wolfswood, Jon Snow and the Night's King faced each other under the pale moonlight. Jon shrugged his shoulders, not much caring if he got the drop on the creature or not. He had determined that today was the day the Night's King would meet his end, regardless of the circumstances.
“The mayfly thinks it will be the one to bring about my end?” The Night's King hissed, “Arrogance!”
Jon hesitated. How had the corpse-king repeated his own thoughts back at him?
Taking advantage of that moment of trepidation, the Night's King glided over to Jon with an ethereal gracefulness, unsheathing his crystal greatsword in a dazzling display of speed. Jon planned to dodge backward, but his opponent seemed to anticipate that and lunged forward at the last minute. Jon felt the tip of the crystal sword pass through his gorget and tickle his throat, as though the metal armor was not even there. “Impudence!”
Jon suddenly realized something strange. The Night's King was speaking to him directly. Normally, when the corpse-king spoke, it was through a cacophony of whispers on the wind; but now he spoke with one voice, and it sounded weak and fleeting.
“Ignorance!” the Night's King hissed as he pressed the attack, “I still control legions!”
Once again, Jon was taken aback. Clearly, the creature was reading his mind. Had he always been able to do that? How could he possibly defeat something that could see his attacks coming?
To test his theory, Jon lunged forward himself, and the Night's King dodged before the attack ever came. That all but confirmed it.
The Night's King responded to the attack with a riposte aimed at Jon's heart. Jon parried the blow, but the force behind it was overwhelming, and he staggered backward, struggling to hold his ground.
“Sluggish!”
The Night's King pressed on, his attacks relentless, each strike sending sparks of ice through the air. Jon defended himself with all his might, but the Night King's strength seemed truly insurmountable. “Feeble!”
The Night King reached out a hand and slapped Jon's sword away, not even bothering to strike it with his own. Jon was flung to the ground by the impact, his forehead cracking against the hard ground.
“Hopeless!”
Weaponless and disarmed, Jon retreated, knowing he needed to find an opening to strike back. The Night King advanced, his chilling laughter echoing throughout Jon's ears. Jon's thoughts turned to his fallen comrades as he darted through the trees, and fell to the ground as their faces began to flash in front of his vision.
Arya, his little sister, was freshest on his mind. He still remembered her confident, determined face when she had told him her plan to sneak behind enemy lines and take out the Others. Even as he commanded her not to go, he knew she wouldn't listen.
Ygritte, the woman he still thought about when he was lying in bed with Daenerys, came unbidden to his mind next. The girl kissed by fire who had fallen in love with a crow born of the snow.
He then so Robb and his father, standing together in death as they often had in life. They looked down at him expectedly, as if they were confused as to why he hadn't already vanquished the corpse-king. As they he were deliberately stalling. Despite himself, he couldn't help but smile. It was so like them to browbeat him even in death.
The faces came faster now. His friends from the Night's Watch; Grenn, Pyp, and Edd. The men who had shaped him into the man he was; Mance Raynor, Jeor Mormont, Maester Aemon, and Stannis Baratheon. He saw Theon Greyjoy, restored and healthy, staring at him with that satisfied smirk on his face.
Suddenly it felt ridiculous that the Night's King thought that the dead gave him strength. He didn't even know them! It was the living who were inspired by the dead! It was the living who relied on their strength!
Jon fell against a tree, panting. Despite the chill of the forest, he was hot. Too hot. What he had assumed was blood dripping down from his lacerated forehead was actually thick drops of sweat.
He flung off his heavy cloak and began desperately ripping off his armor. He was sweltering. He felt like he did when he was a little kid and he stood too close to the fireplace. He looked down at his hand and noticed that he was holding Longclaw.
That was strange. He hadn't even remembered picking it up.
“Insufferable!”
The voice came from behind him.
Jon spun around just in time to parry an overhand slash intended to separate his head from his body. Longclaw exploded into flame in his hands, illuminating the dark forest and causing the snow beneath Jon's boots to sizzle and snap.
“You are futile! Bastard! You doom everything!” the corpse-king roared, but Jon wasn't listening.
Gripping his flaming longsword with both hands, Jon unleashed a flurry of strikes. The Night King seemed momentarily taken aback, surprised by Jon's renewed vigor.
The clash of their swords rang through the forest, and Jon's attacks became more precise and fierce. The corpse-king could not anticipate his moves by reaching into his mind, because he was fighting on pure instinct. He didn't know what he was going to do before he did it. He didn't know that he was going to close the distance and disorient the Night's King with a mighty overhand strike. He didn't know he was going to bring the flat of his sword down on the Night King's knee. He didn't know that he was going to shatter the Night King's crystal sword by striking it dead in the center.
The Night's King fell to the ground, raising its hands up defensively.
“You mustn't! You can not! How do you not see it? The threat on the horizon? The Doom of the dragon lords magnified tenfold! The Hells themselves rising to reduce everything to cinders and ash! Can you not see? I alone know how to stop it! I alone know—”
“You know nothing,” Jon said simply and slid his smoking blade through the Night King's living heart.
The Night's King shrieked. The sound was high-pitched and shrill, so unlike the deep, resonant voice he had when speaking. The corpse-king's mouth fell open as though he suddenly lost the ability to control the connective tissue holding his jaw together. He grasped wildly for Jon's face with his sharp nails, but he could no longer see as his eyes were melting and dribbling down his cheeks. He reached for the sword in his chest with the intention of wrenching the smoking blade out, but when his fingers made contact with the weapon they sizzled and thawed until his hands were reduced to a slimy mush. The Night King's shimmering glass armor, which was now revealed to have been nothing but spell-forged ice, ran down the creature's legs in thick rivulets. Without its armor, the Night's King looked far more human than Jon would have expected; with thin paper-like skin, jutting bones, and a swinging cock. But soon this flesh was melting and peeling off of him face like melted wax. The creature of ice and death fell hard against the stone-and-wood statue it had been admiring. The Night's King glared blankly at Jon, yet the expression on its face was clear. Even without eyes, and with a jaw that hung loosely from his skull, Jon could recognize the emotion surging through the dying creature. It wasn't relief, sadness, confusion, or even fear. It was the expression he had worn ever since the first time Jon had laid eyes on him. Hate. Hatred for not only Jon but all living things. The sort of hate that poisoned the soul and lingered even after death. The type of hate that ended up killing you many times before you took your last breath.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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The Humiliation of Lyanna Mormont