Season 8 episode 6 part 2: The Long Night
Sorry for this chapter being a bit delayed, irl stuff came up.
Last chapter, I forgot about the casualty counter, something which I wanted to include at the end of every war chapter in this episode. So I am putting last chapter's casualty counter at the start of this chapter.
Current casualties, as of last chapter:
Northmen: 1,900 dead of 2000 (Broken, only a few dozen men left alive)
Company of the Rose: 1,900 dead of 2000 (Broken, only a few dozen men left alive)
Golden Infantry: 150 dead of 15,000 (Holding the line properly, few casualties)
Golden Cavalry: 0 dead of 5,000 (Not engaged in combat yet)
Dothraki: 0 dead of 60,000 (Not engaged in combat yet)
Lannister soldiers: 150 dead of 5,000 (Holding the line, few casualties)
Unsullied: 3 dead of 14,000 (Holding the line, very few casualties)
Peasant spearmen: 400 dead of 2,000 (Holding the line, heavy casualties)
Total: 4503 dead of 105,000
Army of the Dead: 30,000/1,500,000
The Kingspyre Tower
Jaime Lannister
Jaime stared out, over their fighting troops, feeling sad: He would never see Cersei again. Never see her, feel her luscious hair - never withstand her fits of madness.
Contrary to his expectations,it had been the northerners who had broken first. Given that they had already faced the Army of the Dead, and lived to tell the tale, he had expected them to break last, possibly even outlasting the Unsullied. But they had broken first, even before the Peasant Spearmen, which was saying something. The Peasant spearmen, on the other hand, had stood tall, and even filled the breach in their lines caused by the fall of the Northmen. He was, quite honestly, very impressed with them. He was also proud to say, as a commander, that the rest of his army hadn't broken in the face of such odds, they stood tall.
But how many of these men would still be alive, come morning? How many widows would be made tonight? One hundred and five thousand men, doomed to certain death. Thousands of children, orphaned. Really, this was going to be nothing short of a bloodbath, the likes of which have never been seen before. Never before, did the Dothraki fight alongside the Golden Company and the Unsullied, their sworn enemies. Never before did the Northerners fight alongside the lannisters.
Jaime tried to imagine what would happen if Tywin Lannister, or, as they were calling him these days, Tywin Lannshitter, saw that his two sons were about to die defending a castle alongside the Starks, Boltons, the Dothraki and Targaryen. Not Targaryen, Targaryens. Jon Snow was Aegon Targaryen. If they survived this, and Jon - no, Aegon, - wanted the throne, Jaime would support him till his last breath.
The messenger behind him cleared his throat, impolitely, clearly impatient to give him news.
"What is it?"
"The Golden Cavalry is awaiting your command to engage with the enemy."
Idiots, the lot of them. He had told them several times, the cavalry was their reserve force, to shore up any gaps in the line that other infantry units couldn't cover. But they wanted to fight. Maybe he should station them behind an actively fighting unit, to boost the morale of the fighting soldiers, and to tell them how useless their thirst for blood was, because the enemy didn't even have blood. That should sufficiently scare them enough that they didn't send messengers asking to fight every two minutes.
He paused, before deciding to array the Golden Cavalry behind the Peasant Spearmen. It would boost their morale, and also calm their nerves.
"Have the Golden Cavalry array behind the Peasant Spearmen, to help them hold the line. They are not to charge, because charges don't work against a sufficient amount of undead."
The messenger scurried off, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts, and the battlemap.
The northern flank was not looking good, not at all. The peasant spearman, two - thousand men, were holding a line meant for ten thousand men. Sooner or later, they would break. The Golden Cavalry would delay the inevitable, but it wouldn't stop it.
When Jaime had designed this strategy, he had done so with the assumption that Bronn would be here, along with at least five hundred pots of Wildfyre. He had assumed that they would be able to hold the line, engaging the Army of the Dead while the catapults hurled pots of unlit wildfyre into the undead. At the last moment, the wildfyre would be lit, causing a large portion of the Army of The Dead to be obliterated, hopefully even the White Walkers, if their catapults were accurate enough, and if the Wildfyre burned hot enough.
But Bronn hadn't shown up. Had Bronn become trapped in King's Landing when the Night King attacked? If that was the case, he most certainly would have died.
Jaime sighed, hoping Bronn had made it out.
Three miles southeast of Harrenhal
Bronn.
Forty thousand pots of Wildfyre.
Forty thousand.
Forty Fucking thousand pots of fucking wildfyre.
What the hell was Aerys thinking when he ordered this made?
Oh, right. He wasn't thinking. Exactly. No wonder he had all this much wildfyre made, who, in their right mind, would have so much wildfyre made?
These thoughts had played in his mind constantly for the past several days, as his caravan marched north, towards Harrenhal. Even now, when they were in sight of a massive castle, his brain couldn't stop that train of thought.
"Gods, Harrenhal is huge." Said Reven, from besides him.
"You aren't the first to say that, although you might be the last, depending on whether or not the Living can hold the night."
"Will they be able to?"
"That depends entirely on whether or not we can get this wildfyre to them in time, and how heavily they are besieging Harrenhal, and if we can run the blockade."
Bronn glanced behind him, looking at the long row of carts, all stacked with wildfyre. At night, they had been unable to light a fire, from fear of what would happen if even a single spark touched the wildfyre. Most had been unable to sleep at night, thinking about their family, their friends, their loved ones. Many of them had family to the north, who had gone missing with the arrival of the Army of the Dead.
He unconsciously fingered the crossbow he held at his side. It was the same crossbow that Cersei had given him, the one that had been used to kill Tywin Lannister. Cersei had wanted that very crossbow to be used to kill Jaime and Tyrion. What a dastardly family. Kinslayers, the lot of them. Except for Jaime.
Oh, well. Time to try and fight through the Army of the Dead.
"Alright everyone, look alive, We gotta get this wildfyre, through the Army of the Dead, and to the living. Now, you ask me: 'How we gon' do that?' And I say, we're gonna use the catapults we brought, and we launch the wildfyre into the army of the dead. Then, one of us lights a flaming arrow, and launches it into their ranks, and, KABOOM, we have a free path to Harrenhal."
The majority of the men seem to be happy with his plans. Hopefully the Undead won't be as happy with it.
Bronn moved towards the rear of the caravan, where his far - eyes were. Grabbing the exquisitely carved Myrish Eye, (Once belonging to Cersei Lannister), he swiftly climbed the nearest trebuchet to him.
His new, higher vantage point allowed him a good view. Putting the Far - Eye to his eyes, he gazed over the assembled troops.
He saw that the side closest to them was being guarded by what could only be the Unsullied. Despite being fighting for at least several hours, they still stood tall, their phalanxes standing proud against the onslaught of the Undead.
To his right, to the East, he saw a large army, wearing golden armour, which glinted from this far. Beyond that, he couldn't make otu much, other than the castle itself. It was lit up by what seemed to be an otherworldly glow, which he knew to be thousands of candles. It's five towers scraped the sky, into the clouds, leaving long, open marks in the clouds, where they had passed through the towers.
"Help!"
Bronn dropped his far - eye, which clattered, shattering, and breaking to pieces, coming to rest on the frozen ice of the God's Eye.
Bronn cursed, swinging himself off the trebuchet, and hit the ground hard. Cursing the man who had shouted, Bronn leapt forwards, and then froze, staring into the ranks of Wights.
The Army of the Dead had arrived.
The Kingspyre Tower
Jaime Lannister
Jaime cursed as he watched the bonfires raised by the caravan coming north towards Harrenhal were put out by the sheer number of Wights.
He was pretty sure that was Bronn's caravan, and it going out meant that their last hope to defeat the wights - the second last hope, that is, for Aegon and Daenerys were still alive.
He hoped.
The two of them had flown off on their dragons, and were flying around.
He took his far - eye, and glanced over his men. The Golden Company and the Unsullied were holding great.
He froze, in shock.
He readjusted his far - eye, to make sure he wasn't seeing things, and cursed.
"Fuck."
Normally, when two armies fight, especially when one army is heavily outmatched, the forces start to lag back. This is entirely normal, and isn't even a bad thing, as long as the troops actually break - which they weren't.
The problem here was that the flanks of the Golden Company were lagging back, but the center was still holding strong. This meant that the entire army could be outflanked and surrounded. But this still wasn't even that big of a problem. The true problem was that the Golden Company's right flank was protected by the Unsullied. And the Unsullied weren't lagging. When one army lags, the army next to it automatically starts to lag, but not in this case. The Unsullied weren't lagging, but he Golden Company was, which caused a gap to appear between the two forces, one that the Undead could take advantage of.
Speaking of flanks and lagging, how was the northern flank holding?
Northern flank of Harrenhal
Davos Seaworth
Three wights came at him. Davos blocked the first one's strike with his sword, sending the dragonglass dagger into the man's armpit with his other hand. He withdrew the dagger, twisting the blade, deflecting the second and third wight's hits, and swung the dagger, causing both of the surviving wights to disintegrate.
Now that the immediate threat was gone, Davos surveyed his surroundings. The surviving Northmen and Company of the Rose had integrated into the peasant spearmen, and were now fighting the waves of wights. But he knew that, soon, they would break.
The Golden Cavalry had arrayed themselves behind the Peasant spearmen, "boosting their morale", "Helping them to hold the line" - the cowardly bastards. -
He hoped they died a very, very painful death.
Suddenly, the Undead stopped attacking.
"What the - ?" Asked Beric Dondarrion, a man a few men to his right.
Why were the undead retreating?
He found out the answer within a few seconds. The undead retreated until they were about twenty feet from the peasant's line, then they started piling themselves on top of each other.
And then they charged.
It was a massive wave of undead, simply sweeping over them, lifting him off his feet. The line didn't break. The line no longer existed.
The wave of the undead continued their charge, the wave cresting into the Golden Cavalry.
The Kingspyre Tower
Jaime
As Jaime watched the Peasant specimen finally break, and the Golden Company get overwhelmed, he felt a strange pit - sensation, knowing that his plans were being ruined before his eyes. Knowing that his men wouldn't last the night, that defeat was certain.
Jaime turned, and looked out through his far - eye, and saw that the gap between the Unsullied and the Golden Company was increasing every second, as the Golden Company's flanks were pushed in by the constant charges of the undead.
Finally, when the gap was more than thirty feet wide, the Undead retreated, like they had at the Northern Flank, and charged the gap. The gap widened with thousands of wights forcing their way into it, and then the Golden Company sent men back, to try and hold the breach, but all for nought.
The wights were officially behind their lines, and the Golden Company was officially being outflanked.
Jaime turned to the messenger, and commanded him: " Have the Dothraki split in two, and charge the two breaches." That was their last hope to contain the breaches. If the Dothraki failed, then the Golden Company was officially done for, and everyone else was officially outflanked.
Jaime held his breath as he watched the Undead run free, behind their lines, spilling forth from the north and the south.
So many men, dying today. So many men.
So many orphans made, so many widows made. How many tears would fall, soon, because of the events happening today?
He saw the Dothraki leave the Courtyard of Harrenhal. He saw them split into two, he saw them charge at the Undead. Sixty Thousand Dothraki. Sixty thousand.
Sixty thousands bodies, for the Undead to reanimate. Sixty Thousand.
Jaime felt a tear appear in his eye.
He looked forth, and saw them charge, their screams piercing the night sky, being audible even from the Kingspyre Tower.
But as they were about to charge into the Undead, their screams twisted into one, massive cry:
"VALAR MORGHULIS!"
"Valar Dohaeris." Whispered Jaime.
But the Dothraki didn't shout in response. How could they? They were now wights.
Casualty counter:
Lannister men: 300 dead of 5,000 (holding the line well.)
Unsullied men: 350 dead of 12,000 (holdign the line well.)
Golden Infantry: 2,000 dead of 18,000 (Outflanked, still fighting)
Northmen: 1,998 dead of 2,000 (only Davos Seaworth and Beric Dondarrion still alive)
Company of the Rose: 2,000 dead of 2,000 ( all dead )
Peasant Spearmen: 2,000 dead of 2,000 ( all dead )
Golden Cavalry: 2,000 dead of 2,000 ( all dead )
Dothraki: 50,000 dead of 60,000 ( routed, broken, surrounded )
Army of the Dead: 60,000 dead of 1,500,000 , + 80,000 newly weighted men.
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Lillian 81: There were a bit too many buts in that sentence for me to understand what you meant, sorry. Could you tell me in PMs what you meant?
SV: "Can't wait to see how long they last against the Others": As you can see, not that long.