For the thousands of years, the words of the Strarks of Winterfell, "Winter is Coming" have rung true, and never have they been more true than in the last few years. But despite the recent hardships, the people of the Westeros rejoiced, for while winter had indeed come, now they knew summer was once more on it's way.

The army of the dead, numbering near millions, led by the White Walkers, had been defeated. The army of the living, made up of men from all seven kingdoms; of the Free Folk from beyond the wall; of Dothraki riders and Unsullied soldiers from the Free Cities, and among them here and there could be seen the red priests of the Lord of Light. Together they had stood to face the oncoming horde and had been victorius. But it was not their numbers that secured them victory, nor their weapons of dragonglass and Valyerian steel. The battle was not won by the duo of Dragons that still circled overhead, nor by the grace of the Lord of Light. The battle was won, and the Long Night ended by one man, an unlikely hero who had fought through the lines of the dead and struck low the Night King himself. With the Night Kings fall, so to did the army of the dead fall.

Throughout the battle field the voices of men rang out in celebration, to cheer the unlikely hero."AZOR AZAI!" cried the red priests. "HOUND! HOUND! HOUND!" cried out the rest in joy.

Looking back from the corpse of the Night King which yet lay at his feet, Sandor Clegane gazed upon the army that cheered for him.

"Bunch of fucking cunts," he muttered.