Season 8 episode 6 part 1: The Long Night

The Kingspyre Tower

Jaime

Jaime used his left hand, and dabbed at Jon's wound, the one that he had gotten from the sharp stones when almost falling to his death, off the tower.

"Thanks." Muttered Jon.

"My honor."

"Why didn't you just let me fall? You're a Lannister."

Because I respect you, more than I respect the mad queen.

"Because I respect you, and because I know that you don't deserve to die, much less by her hand. Because you were one of the only people to not call me Lannshitter behind my back. Because you understand honor as I do. Are those enough reasons?"

Jon plainly nodded. Jaime glanced behind him, at the Mad Queen, who was, it appeared, being given a harsh talking - to, by Ser Duncan the tall. They both were too far away for him to hear them, but he could still tell that Daenerys had tears in her eyes.

Making sure Jon was good enough, Jaime walked over to those two: "Can I get a promise, your grace, that you shan't attempt to kill anyone in the Army of the Living without giving them a fair trial after the battle?"

She nodded. Man, those tears looked real. Maybe they were real.

"Alright, then." Said Duncan. " Now, get back to your dragon, and kick some undead ass."

"You - You're - You're gonna let me fly a dragon, after all that - all that I did?" She asked, sniffling.

"Make no mistake, regardless of the fact that you are a queen - whether or not you are a usurper - what you did is not forgivable. But right now, we need as many men - and women - as we can get."

Duncan turned to Jaime. "Commander - in - chief of the armies, I think you have a bit of commanding to do."

Jaime nodded, and went back to the strategy table, one floor down. A messenger was already waiting for him, bearing news of the battlefield.

"Milord."

"Yes? What is it? Have we sighted the southern branch of the dead yet?" Jaime craned his ear upwards, to hear if there were any more fights happening. Hopefully none would.

"No, milord, but the rest of the Army of the Dead have stopped, about one mile out from our lines. It is utmost strange, never, in any of the other battles in which we have fought the dead, have the Others displayed so much control over their wights, to be able to instantly command -"

Another messenger entered: "I beg your pardon, milord, but that news is outdated. That news came when you were upstairs, there is now newer news."

The other messenger shut his obnoxious trap. "Well?" prompted Jaime.

"The southern branch has been sighted, and they are all charging. We will have contact with the enemy within two minutes."

Jaime swore. "Have the catapults fire, and have the archers use the fire from the catapults as light, to see where to fire. And you, go up, and tell the Queen and Aeg - Jon that it is time to fly the dragons out to the enemy."

Both messengers scurried off, one headed upstairs, the other headed downstairs. Jaime looked out of the window, over the assembled troops. A low fog hid the Armies of the dead from his eye, but he could still see his own men. The Golden Company's golden armour glinted red in the light of the setting sun. The peasant spearmen looked weaker than ever, and that was saying something. The Unsullied wore heavy armour, although that wasn't their strength, it was their Phalanxes. And he was counting on those phalanxes to get them through the night. The Long Night. To many down below, it would be their longest night yet.

Please, Jaime thought, sending up a prayer to the Warrior Please let our men stand, give them courage, the strength, don't let them break, please. It was only after he finished the prayer that he realised that it was probably the Old Gods he should be praying to. Was there a weirwood in Harrenhal? He knew that there was a god's wood, but he doubted there was a weirwood. Wait, didn't Jon Snow bring a weirwood plant with him from the Isle of Faces? So there was a weirwood. But he shouldn't leave his post and go to pray, for that would be -

And then he heard the screams. The screams of one and a half million undead, the screams of thousands of children, murdered in their beds, of men making a stand, of fleeing people cut down, of -

"Milord. We have made contact with the enemy."

Twenty seconds earlier.

Eastern flank of Harrenhal

Artos Tarbeck, Commander of the Golden COmpany

Artos had been in his fair share of battles, alongside Harry Strickland, that arrogant, pompous ass. But he had fought, and he had fought well, never having lost a single battle. Until that fateful battle on the Kingsroad. How stupid had Strickland been, to fall for the Unsullied ruse that they weren't in proper formation? How dumb was he, to send fivve thosuand cavalry against eight thousand Unsullied?

He deserved to have been burned like he had been, that man was the sole reason for so many deaths. Had he been in command, he would have defected as soon as he realised that the Dragon Queen was fighting against the Undead, not Cersei. That imposter deserved whatever fate she had gotten in King's Landing, that stinking city.

Artos continued riding behind his men, making sure that they were all ready.

A messenger walked up to him.

"Lord Tarbeck, The commander commands you to launch the catapults, and to have the archers fire using the catapult's shots for light."

"Very well."

Artos turned toward his men, their golden armour shining so brightly, it's glint could probably be seen from the Kingspyre tower.

Artos held the reins of his horse, directing it towards the catapults -

"HELP!" Thousands of voices cried as one, along with the sounds of flesh breaking, armor cracking, swords shattering, men routing -

Artos whirled back around, and saw that the Golden Company had indeed engaged with it's enemy, for better or for worse.

Northern flank of Harrenhal

Tormund Giantsbane

He was called Giantsbane for a reason. But he was Giantsbane, not Wightsbane. How the hell was he supposed to hold the line against these undead bastards?

"You good, Tormund?" Asked Beric Dondarrion, next to him. The two of them had become friends in the past few weeks.

"Yeah, just the pre - battle jitters."

"Well, don't piss yer breeches."

How funny was the jape, really, when Giantsbane had made that exact jape to Eddison Tollet, who had sacrificed himself, allowing the rest of them to escape Winterfell? If Edd hadn't slain that White Walker in the last few seconds of his life, Tormund would be dead.

Urmond readied his twin axes, staring out over the harsh, cod landscape. A strange fog hid the majority of the Army of the Dead from his view, not that he particularly wanted to see them. For the third time in one minute, he readjusted the straps of his armour. The background howling noise became louder, and Tormund doubted it was owls.

"Steady…"

The howling became louder and louder…

And then, it was all a mass of arms, of legs, of swords, of axes, of everything. He felt something warm ooze from his left chest - region, felt his breeches wetter, and was lifted off his feet by the force of the wave of the Undead. He hit the ground with a loud "Ooomph", and twisted around, slamming his axe into the back of the knee of an undead.

He roughly got to his feet, feeling a sword slam into his side, and swung one of his axes in a wide circle, killing the offending wight.

Looking around, tormund looked for a familiar face, and saw Beric, several feet behind him, hacking his way through the undead, trying to reach him.

"Tormund!" He yelled. Tormund turned around, and ran to Beric, and saw the shieldwall being hastily prepared. The two of them managed to get behind the shieldwall right as the wights slammed into it, battering it, but not breaking it.

"How many.." He keeled over, catching his breath. "How many men did we lose?"

"Do you want me to go out there and count?" Demanded Beric, who was still catching his breath.

"If you lover - birds are done reuniting, then join the line!" Roared someone in the shieldwall. Beric and Gianstbane both grabbed their shields, and added their number to the line of shields.

Tormund placed his shield in such a way that he had the least possible amount of weight, so, if the shieldwall did break, it wouldn't break from him.

The wights ran forwards, straight at the shieldwall.

"Umph!" Yelled literally every single person on the line as they struggled against the dead. The goddamned bastards pushed and pushed, until, some poor idiot on another side of the line fell backwards, causing another poor bastard to trip and fall backwards, and on and on, throughout the whole line.

Beric Donarrion

Northern flank of Harrenhal

As the shieldwall finally broke, Beric fell to the floor, losing sight of Tormund. As he hit the ground, all the air fled from his lungs. A wight stared at him, his emotionless blue eyes glaring at Beric. Only instinct allowed Beric to shove his flaming sword into the thing's eye, which, along with the rest of its body, caught fire, and burned down within seconds. Beric leapt backwards, his legs stumbling over bodies, before turning around, and all - but fleeing towards where someone was raising the Stark Direwolf high over the battlefield, likely the only survivors of the shieldwall breaking.

They accepted Beric without a question, ingratiating him within their ranks. Beric saw that there were barely more than a dozen of them, nowhere near enough to fight a battle. But they would hold. Yes, they would hold.

The first wight to come at him was clearly a man of the Vale, given his peculiarly coloured clothes. The flaming sword appeared in his chest before he could even raise his own sword. The second one was a wildling, possibly one of Tormund's friends - Where the hell was that guy? -. The wight managed to deflect his first hit, but the second one broke the rusty iron sword the wight had, while the third strike slew him.

The next wight to come at Beric was a woman, her silks still looking pretty. Likely, some poor lordling had thrown a ball when the Undead crashed the party. She was unarmed, so it was easy for Beric to simply kill her. The next one, however, was an Unsullied. How the hell is an Unsullied a wight?

Then, he remembered that the Unsullied had been attacked by wights from the Easterlands whilst on the Kingsroad. Beric tried to dedge the spear, but doing so caused him to get away from their formation of men - a bad choice, in hindsight.

Four other Wights, who were probing their formation, looking for any weaknesses, lunged at him. Beric charged at the Unsullied Wight, deflecting his spear, and plunging his sword in the place where once, the former man's heart had been. Beric swung his blade back around him, blocking three blades from stabbing him, while the fourth cut through his side.

Wheezing, he reach down into his belt with his left hand, withdrew the dragonglass dagger that all of them had gotten from the Dragon Queen, and lunged forwards. In one strike, he slew all three wights in front of him, before whirling around, and blocking the fourth one's strike with hsi blade, sending the dagger under his blade, and into the wight's stomach.

"Get Back, Dondarrion!"

Beric didn't recognize the voice, but knew that his command was correct. Beric turned around, and saw the man who had shouted the command. He was one of Tormund's wildling friends, a Thenn. The wildling lunged forwards, overextending himself, whilst trying to finish off a wight. Four others leapt on him, dragging him away from the formation. Beric lunged at him, using the dagger to pick of the wights off the man. Beric offered him a hand, but, rather than accept it, the man simply fell, and died. It was only then that he noticed the blades sticking out from the man's stomach. Beric nodded at the man, as he bravely accepted his death. At the last moment, he strangled out his last words:

"Be- Be- Behind… You…"

The sword entered Beric's side. He twisted around, and saw dozens of wights, how was he supposed to fight them? No, this was the end, the true end, the -

A man, no, a giant, appeared, and leapt into the storm of the undead. Within a few seconds, the entire swarm was defeated.

Beric ran forwards, to Giantsbane, who had done the deed.

"Tormund…"

"You… Have… A… Purpose." Tormund gasped, catching his breath, and spoke again: "Your god brought you back…. For a reason. Go, Beric Dondarrion, go, fulfill the mission for which you were brought back from the dead."

It was only then that he saw the seven blades emerging from Tormund Giantsbane's limp body.

This is the part where "Final Countdown"plays, written by Joey Tempest.

Also, I did warn you guys that this was gonna be a bloodbath. This is just the first death of many. One of the reasons why season 8 was disliked so much was because of how many characters survived. Imma change that, so RIP Tormund.

Lillian81: Yes, she's certainly got some grovellign to do. Unfortunately, I'm not as good at writing out such scenes, so I decided to just have it in the background of Jaime's scene, for now. Hopefully, when I'm a better writer, I can come back, and add that in.

SV: Yes, Jaime finding out means that Jon and Jaime will soon enough become best pals, I might write a sequel to this, in which you will see more of their friendship.(If I don't decide to just kill them both off, that is.) While I would love for Duncan to give Dany a good "Bitch Slapping", I'm no good at writing such scenes, so I just shoved it into the background of Jaime's own scene. Hopefully, when I'm a better writer, I can come back, and add that in.

Next chapter is coming soon, until then, Valar Dohaeris!