Episode 6 part 3: The Long Night

Eastern Flank of Harrenhal

Artos Tarbeck

He shoved the dragonglass sword into another wight, who disintegrated instantly. Artos leapt back, knowing that, he wouldn't be able to have a good grip on the overall situation, if he was at the frontlines. He gave a tight - lipped smile to the man behind him, and left, allowing him to hold the line behind him, pretending not to notice the dirty look the man gave Tarbeck as he left.

Tarbeck leapt onto his steed, smugly named Castamere, and galloped off, towards the command tent.

The first thing he noticed was the amount of soldiers simply running around aimlessly, behind their lines.

The second thing he noticed was that the command tent had been ripped down.

The third thing he noticed was that the soldiers running aimlessly were all running from the flanks of the Golden Company.

The fourth thing he noticed was that the soldiers running aimlessly didn't have the signature golden armour of the Golden Company.

The fifth thing he noticed was the fact that the soldiers running aimlessly had blue eyes.

The sixth thing he noticed was that they were all wights, and that the Golden Company had officially been surrounded.

"Artos!" Yelled someone, from behind him.

"I'm getting our flanks to pull in, to make a circle, so we can hold out!"

It was Volar Veren, one of the division commanders. Normally, Artos would have hated someone giving such a command - one that only he should be able to give - from such a low position, but now, Artos was appreciating the man.

He was recognizing when his commander was overwhelmed and incapacitated, and was stepping in, to help.

"Let's go." Said Artos, and Castamere picked up speed, as he galloped back towards the fighting men. As Artos watched, the flanks of the Golden Company (The new flanks, since the old ones were destroyed) curved inwards, deliberately, this time, until the two flanks of the Golden Company were touching each other, forming a full circle.

Artos knew that it was impossible for them to escape, but he knew that they would fight till the end. He knew that the Golden Company would never rout. They would prove their worth as being as good as the Unsullied, better, even.

The Golden Company would live on forever, in songs and tale.

Castamere, his horse, whinied.

"The rains of Castamere." Murmured he, thinking of an appropriate name for the Golden Company's last stand.

"The Golden Stand."

The Kingspyre Tower

Jaime Lannister

Had he even felt this depressed when Cersei had died? Or even when the Lannshitter joke began? Probably not. But seeing eighteen thousand men consign themselves to dying, seeing them willingly seal off their own path to escape, just to kill as many wights as possible? Even before losing his hand, Jaime doubted he was so brave.

Jaime slumped deeper into his chair, sighing. All he wanted to do was to melt into the chair, and die. He fingered the small dagger on the table lifting it to admire it in the light. It was made of normal steel, but it was very nicely made, he could see.

Such a shame if the Commander in Chief of the Army was found dead, by his own hand. No, they wouldn't find him, nobody cared about him anyways. He would just stay up here, in the Kingspyre tower, until the Night King wighted everyone who died, and he would come back to life as a wight.

No.

He dropped the steel blade, and picked up the other, dragonglass blade. If he were to kill himself with this blade, he wouldn't come back to life as a wight.

He lifted the blade towards his chest held it out, and steeled himself for the hit.

One.

Two.

Thre -

"Milord, the soldiers are asking what to do."

The Soldiers.

Something clicked inside of him.

The Soldiers.

People were depending on him, depending on him to get through the night, depending on him to meet their families. Depending on him. He couldn't let them down, now, could he? He couldn't take the coward's way out.

"Have everyone retreat back to the castle. Not a single man is to be outside the castle. Have our archers and catapults provide as much support as possible to the Golden Company, and try to have them move slowly towards Harrenhal."

Jaime stared back at the wights, which had entirely surrounded the Golden Company, entrapping them less than a mile out from Harrenhal. If they tried to reach the fortress now, they would be obliterated. If they stayed still, they would be killed. What should they do?

For that matter, what should anyone do? They were losing the battle, and would thoroughly lose it soon enough, their one - hundred - and five thousand men being added to the enemy force.

What was even the point?

The point was to be brave in the face of unbreakable odds. His soldiers - those who were still alive, his brain quipped - weren't breaking, so why should he?

He had a duty to his men, to lead them, to make sure they didn't break. He would fulfill that duty.

Eastern Flank of Harrenhal

Artos Tarbeck.

Four wights came at him. His dragonglass sword blocked the first one's hit. He twisted the blade,shoving it deep into the wight's gut, enjoying the sickening crunch of his bones. The second wight swung, it's rough and imprecise swing bouncing off his golden armour. Artos easily ended the poor creature's misery.

The third one had a valyrian steel sword, which cut his shoulder. Artos yelled out in pain, and brought up the dragonglass sword, but the blade shattered. That was the disadvantage of dragonglass, it was literally glorified magic glass. Glorified and magic it may be, but, in the end, it was all but glass.

Sure, it was technically called obsidian, but names didn't change the material.

Artos leapt back in shock, he hadn't been expecting the balde to shatter this early. The men to his right and left, however, leapt in, and saved him from certain death, fighting off the wights. He took off his helm, and wiped the sweat gathering on his face despite the cold.

Artos went backwards, getting on Castamere, and riding to the rough center of the circle formed by the Golden Company's remnants. The circle's diameter had shortened by more than half in the last few hours. It was now well past midnight, only four hours from sunrise. They had lasted the majority of the night. But they wouldn't last the whole night.

Artos saw a group of men trying, in vain, to hold back a massive group of wights, and set his horse to a gallop, as he charged them. Castamere lept forwards, having seen enough battles not to shy away from a fight - Artos was often unconscious after battle, but his men claimed that Castamere would drink the blood of fallen enemies, which explained the horse's bloodthirst, if a bit unsatisfactorily, for horses weren't vamps - and they both charged into the undead.

Several wights stabbed at him, but the shattered fragments of his dragonglass sword was enough to keep them at bay. Within seconds, he had obliterated the vast majority of the wights in the general area, but promptly fell off of his horse.

Upon getting up, Artos realized the reason as to why he had fallen off his horse, and why he hadn't taken a single stab from the dozen or so swords: Castamere had taken all of the hits for him. His loyal steed, his first horse - and probably his last, too - had taken dozens of swords.

The tears he had been welling up at all of his comrade's deaths finally poured. All those men, dead. They had one hundred and five thousand men at the start of this battle. How many did they have now? How many more were yet to die?

He saw a wounded man on the ground, who, it appeared, had taken a blade to the chest for his Commander.

"You… You took a blade to the chest for me."

"It is what I should do." Said the man as he coughed, and Artos lifted him up, leaning him against his dead horse. His men ran up, and fought the wights, preventing them from coming at him.

Artos removed the blade, applying a handkerchief to it, preparing to -

"Night Gathers."

"What?" Asked Artos.

"Night Gathers, and so my watch begins." Said the man, kneeling on the ground. Artos still didn't recognize the man's voice.

"It shall not end until my death." Said several men, joining in the chorus.

"I shall take no wife." A dozen men.

"Hold no lands." Several dozen men.

"Father no children." Artos joined in.

"I shall wear no crowns, and win no glory." At least a hundred men had joined in their chorus now.

"I shall live and die at my post." Artos felt his heart swell with pride at having fought beside these men.

"I AM THE SWORD IN THE DARKNESS!" Roared at least a thousand men.

"I AM THE WATCHER ON THE WALLS!" Five thousand.

"I AM THE FIRE THAT BURNS AGAINST THE COLD!" Eight thousand.

"I AM THE HORN THAT WAKES THE SLEEPERS!" Ten thousand men, voices screaming out into the night, piercing the cold.

"THE SHIELD THAT GUARDS THE REALMS OF MEN!" The entirety of the Golden Company was yelling out the words now.

"I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night -" Everyone fell silent, for they were in no illusions, that they had no more nights. "And any more nights I may have."

Artos Tarbeck froze, feeling a strange tingling feeling. He turned around, and saw two, massive, blue - eyed dragons flying straight towards the Golden Company.

BOOM!

And then he knew no more.

Casualty count:

Golden Company: 300 dead of 300

Lannsiter men: 500 dead of 5,000 (retreated into the castle safely)

Unsullied: 400 dead of 12,000 (retreated into the castle safely)

Night's Watch: 9,000 dead of 18,000 (Surrounded, obliterated, outnumbered, smashed, routed, attacked by dragons, still fighting.)

Ser Davos Seaworth: 0 dead of 1 (I can't bring myself to kill him off)

This chapter is a bit shorter, I know, but I needed to end this chapter at such a cinematic moment as this, with the entirety of the Golden Company taking the black.

Please review! Reviews are what encourage writers to write faster!.

Lillian: Yep, it's gonna be pretty hard to unfuck this fuck - up.

Jeremiah: It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?

SV: Yep, the next victims are here.