From the yard, churned up into ankle deep mud from hours of stampeding from many heavy boots, Davos spared a glance up at the wall. The signal fires burned low, no longer tended, no longer carrying color coded warnings. What was left to warn? The dead had overwhelmed all of their carefully prepared defenses. Their remaining numbers had retreated to the minimal safety to be found within the walls of Winterfell.
They'd planned, they'd fought, and they'd failed. But they had not yet fallen.
It was defeat in slow motion.
Hope seemed like an ever waning dream, but he'd keep hoping just as long as there was life in his old body, no matter how low his spirits sank. He wasn't much of a soldier, but maybe his hopes could help in some small way. Maybe some god, old or new made no difference anymore, hell, he'd even take the Lord of Light at this point, would see his hope and hear it for what it was, a desperate and final prayer for survival. Perhaps it wouldn't do much, but it would certainly still do more than his swordsmanship.
The onslaught outside battered relentlessly at the gate pulling his attention back from his reveries. It was too loud, the sights and sounds of battle too pungent as well, to escape for long. He could see the archers on the walls trying and failing to keep the wights at bay as the bodies surely piled high beyond. Either they'd come over or through the wall, it was just a matter of time to tell which would happen first. The bodies themselves would serve as a ladder allowing the fortress to be overrun by the dead if they didn't manage to bring down the gate before then.
He searched around for ideas, for one last spark of brilliance. He wasn't near as great a thinker as Varys or Tyrion, but sometimes you didn't need greatness, sometimes all you needed was a bit of dumb luck. At this point, he'd take any luck he could find, even the dumbest.
The yard might has well have been turned upside down for the chaotic energy surging through every panicked soul. Soldiers scrambling in a directionless, undulating mass, too shaken to heed the shouts of their captains.
His insides turned to ice. He'd seen this before, too many times before. He felt the the unquenchable heat of wildfire at his back and the cold tide pulling him under.
Nothing but death. There was nothing but death and loss to be found in war. Why had they waged so many? Why had they fought and died to place one man higher than another on a throne that no one but a power-crazed fool would want? Why had so many died needlessly before the battle against the dead even began?
He spotted Brienne, for the one thing the lady knight could not excel at was blending in, several yards away. She was pale as a ghost, but seemingly unharmed and still in control of her faculties, bellowing at soldiers. He could not begin to imagine what orders she barked, but they seemed to be lost, even on the soldiers under her command. There was no commanding boys and old men who's senses were lost to terror.
A flash of white drew his gaze to the parapet. A small band of Unsullied surrounded the small but recognizable figure of the queen as they ushered her up, though to where Davos couldn't afford to put much thought. The parapet was no safer than anywhere else. He couldn't even imagine that above was any less chaos then below.
Davos wasn't overly attached to the little Targaryen queen, but Jon Snow believed in her and he believed in Jon, so he wished her good fortune to preserve her through the long night.
"Ser Davos." A familiar voice cut through the chaos. It was equal parts pleasure and pain to hear it. One of those gods had heard him after all, the one he most believed in and most detested.
He turned and slowly took in the figure of Melisandre. The dark and dangerous beauty met his gaze.
"Still alive, I see?" Davos said, despite himself, he was relieved to see her.
"It is not yet dawn." She returned, slowly coming to stand beside, eyes on the heavily assaulted gate.
"Where's your Lord of Light now?" He asked.
"He is with me." She said, reaching up and fingering her necklace, her expression far away. "He is always with me."
"Well, if he's got any big plans, now would be a good time." Davos said.
"Remember his hand is in all things, Ser Davos. Had either of our paths diverged, we would not be here now. Me to die and you to live."
"No god gives two shits what becomes of me." Davos said.
"You have a part to play before the long night is over." Melisandra assured him.
Then she turned her attention back to the gate. She closed her eyes and brought her hands before her chest in what looked like a prayer. Then she stretched her arms wide.
And flames rose up from the very walls of Winterfell.
Sorry for the wait! As I'm sure everyone can agree, life has been a bit crazy of late. Unfortunately, that means I can't commit to a regular update schedule. But I can tell you that finishing this story is still very much important to me and I will continue to update as often as I can manage. In the meantime, thank you for all your reviews and support. It's what keeps me motivated when life gets away from me and this fic ends up neglected as a result. I hope this update find you all safe and healthy!
