I am really sorry for how late this chapter is. In payment, this chapter is twice as long as the longest chapter I have! Hope you like it!
Please review, I really like it if you guys review. I would ask that, even if this isn't the last chapter you see, (When I upload the next episode, this won't be the last chapter.) please still review, so I can see how well I did in here.
Casualty Counter:
Lannister Men: 1,500 dead of 5,000 (Inside Fort, depressed, fort breached)
Unsullied: 2,000 dead of 12,000 (Inside Fort, depressed, fort breached, Queen dead)
Stark Retainers: 1,000 dead of 3,000 (Inside Fort, depressed, fort breached, commander dead)
Night's Watch: 17,600 dead of 18,000 (Broken, routed, surrounded, attacked by dragons, outflanked, commander dead)
Army of the Dead: 700,000 dead of 1,500,000 (Forty Thousand pots of Wildfyre exploded in their literal faces), 500,000 wights aflame.
The Godswood
Brandon Stark
As a human, he couldn't walk. But as a raven, he flew. He flew high over the battlefield, observing the situation much better than Jaime Lannister in his tower. He saw Artos Tarbeck fall before thousands of dead. He saw the last remnants of the troops in the field fall, the rest of them simply abandoning their comrades, and running for the relative safety of Harrenhal's walls. He saw men running everywhere inside the castle, finding bows and arrows, to fend off the undead.
He watched as Harrenhal was breached once, then twice. And then thrice. And then four times, and then five times, and then six times.
Bran watched as Jon and Daenerys failed in their quest to kill the Night King. He watched as the Night King sadistically summoned back Jon's own men, and Daenerys, to kill him for the second time. Bran, not wishing to see his brother die, expanded his gaze to the events outside of Harrenhal.
Yara Greyjoy took the Iron Islands, but a secret fleet was hidden away, on the northern coast of Harlaw. The Iron Islands entered a temporary peace, but it wouldn't last long. The Reader prepared his island for winter, so it was in a much better position than the other Islands.
Bran started moving back towards the battlefield at Harrenhal. He saw the sellsword of Cersei get wounded by a wight, the undead twisting the sword inside of him. He saw him lose consciousness, he saw the two dragons unleash literal hell on Harrenhal, he saw them fly back, lured out by the sellsword's arrows. He saw The Night King jump from his dragon, onto the sellsword….
Bran exitted the ravens.
"Theon." Theon turned back. He was in the middle of reloading his bow, whilst shooting down wights.
"Yes?" Asked Theon, turning around.
"You and your warriors. Look away from the east. If you do not do so, you shall go blind."
"What?" Asked Theon.
"LOOK THAT WAY, NOW!" Yelled Bran. Theon and the majority of his Ironborn warriors obeyed.
BOOOM!
A massive, white flash lit up the entire eastern portion of the sky. Bran turned away, and then the shockwave hit.
It tore through Harrenhal like a tornado, window shattered, bricks flying, dust everywhere -
Bran's chair was flung to the side. Bran himself flew out of it, but he knew that no harm would come to him, for his trajectory allowed Theon to catch him. Bran was saved by Theon, but many of the Ironborn had hard landings on bricks. Theon placed Bran back in his wheelchair, and ran back to help his fallen comrades. Bran turned to the side, and looked at the massive green fireball rising over half of the battlefield.
Bran warged into ravens, to see the true scope of the destruction.
In front of Bran's raven - eyes, the massive green fireball tripled in size. Both undead dragons tried their best to outrun it. But they both failed. The wildfyre tore through the wings of the two undead dragons, then the ribs, ripping open their bellies, tearing through their skin, their organs, their blood, everything was vaporized in a blink of an eyelid. The fireball tore outwards, ripping through the army of the dead.
It expanded outwards, heading towards the edge of the forest. And by the edge of the forest, stood eleven Others. At sight of the Wildfyre, they immediately whirled around, and started to ride away on their undead horses.
But the wildfyre didn't stop for anyone. The wildfyre tore through the eleven White Walkers like they were nothing, all of them shattering into nothingness.
All throughout Harrenhal, the Wights went limp, like puppets with their strings cut. The majority of the undead fell, but some of them were still alive, along with most of the ones from King's Landing, because it was the Night King who had raised them, and the Night King was still alive. Plus, there were thirteen White Walkers in total, and only eleven had died. That meant that two Others were still alive. One of them was the Night King, but there was another White Walker. Another one.
The Living's Stand
Beric Dondarrion
Beric plunged his flaming sword into another wight, helping to defend Harrenhal's walls. Not that it made a difference. Behind him, Ser Duncan lopped off the heads of four wights in one swing. He seemed to be having fun.
Beric turned back, barely keeping a flaming wight at bay.
"Beric." Beric whirled around, and saw Ser Duncan, busy relieving several wights of their, honestly useless heads.
"Did you say something, Ser?" Asked Beric.
"Yes." Replied Duncan, stabbing three other wights.
"What is it, Ser?" Beric was nearly impaled by a wight with a spear. Once his surprise was surmounted, Beric easily killed it.
"Do you remember?" Asked Duncan, as Beric watched in awe, watching the taller man slay at least a dozen wights with one swing. The Dragoness had said, before the battle, that each of them needed to kill fifteen men for them to win. Duncan had killed at least a hundred, and the wildfyre must have killed a hundred thousand, at the very least. Beric had noticed that many of the wights had dropped, like puppets with their strings cut.
That meant that many White Walkers had been killed. On the northernmost side of Harrenhal, there were barely any more wights. The southern side, the one that came from King's Landing, still had many wights.
"I remember a lot of things, Ser. Could you be a little more specific?" Beric wondered where he had caught the sarcasm from. Possibly one of the millions of wights that had come knocking on their doors this night.
"You know very well what I speak of, Beric Dondarrion. It is time. You must ride out, and bring it."
"It?" Asked Beric, frustrated at himself for getting distracted so easily, another wight with a spear - Unsullied, this time - had attempted to kill him.
"You shall see. Now, ride."
Beric found no words with which to dispute with the Knight.
The Living's Stand
Sandor Clegane
The sight of the wildfyre had been enough for his breeches to wetten, and for him to contemplate running. What was the point in staying, anyways? They were all going to die. To the north, the waves of the undead had somehow thinned to the point that it was possible for a lone rider to try and break free. Not more than two or three, because then, more wights would come after them.
Sandor thought these same thoughts in a loop, over and over again, as he saddled his horse. He moved towards the Postern gate in the north, before leaping on the destrier. Sandor began to ride.
"Coward!" Roared someone from behind him.
Sandor turned to see Beric Dondarrion, on another destrier.
"We aren't gonna win. What's the point in fighting, if we can't win?"
"Tell that to her." Said Beric, pointing at one of the many sloping rooftops of Harrenhal. A teenage girl was holding back a dozen wights, her back to the wall.
"Fuck." Said Sandor, riding his horse to the closest staircase, and then running up it. He did not notice Beric Dondarrion turning, and riding out the open postern gate.
Sandor kept running up the stairs, and then leapt onto the roof. Given how many wights were up here, she hadn't even noticed the thump Sandor make leaping on to the roof.
Three wights came at him, from two sides. He kicked the first one back, whilst simultaneously stabbing the second one. He pulled back his sword from the wight, and twisted around, slicing at the other two. Wights were very easy to cut through, compared to humans. His blade cut through them both in one swing.
Sandor leapt towards Arya, killing two wights who were about to attack her from the rear. Arya turned around to face him.
"Sandor?"
"It's me, wench." Said Sandor. As he leapt forward and rid several wights of their heads, he realized the calling her a wench might have been a little too harsh, given their history.
"Sorry." Mumbled Sandor, the word seeming foreign on his tongue.
"Who are you, and what the fuck have you done with Sandor Clegane?" Demanded Arya, leveling her sword at him. For a moment he was shocked, betrayed, and then he realised that it was because he apologized. Fuck, did he really apologize so rarely?
"Good to see you too, girl." Said Sandor, carefully inching away from her blade. She spun back, and it was then that he realized that her weapon, which he had thought to be a dagger, was actually a strange, double - bladed spear. She had been training.
Arya smirked, spinning around with the spear, and slew several wights. Sandor killed another wight, and was shocked to see that there were no more wights on the rooftop.
"So it appears that our enemies have run out of fodder to throw at us." Stated Arya simply, scanning the regions around Harrenhal. The southern side was still jam - packed with wights, but the northern side of Harrenhal was nearly devoid of wights.
"That wildfyre must have killed most of the White Walkers off. So there won't be many wights." Said Arya. Sandor merely nodded. Not cursing two times in a single sentence was starting to hurt his tongue.
"There still are some."
"Some."
The frozen over God's Eye
Beric Dondarrion
Beric rode hard and fast, straight towards the wildfyre. Ice was hard to burn, so the majority of the wildfyre had been put out. Some patches of the green fires remained, burning through the ice. But by the time the sun would rise, all of the wildfyre would be out.
By the time the sun would rise.
That was their only sliver of hope, now. The army of the dead's numbers had been slashed by two thirds. That meant that, if they lasted two more hours to dawn, then the Dead's numbers would have dropped to the point that they could be killed off.
Two more hours.
Before those two hours, he needed to find Azor Ahai's blade. If not, then there was no possible way to kill the Night King.
Beric's horse went past a particularly brightly - glowing patch of wildfyre. His horse whinnied, and reared up.
"Steady, Steady." Said Beric, trying to get his horse under control. He kept rearing up, and Beric nearly fell off. But, contrary to his expectations, the horse moved closer to the wildfyre, rather than away from it.
Why? Why was a horse, which was afraid of wildfyre, moving towards it?
The answer hit him as hard as being thrown off the horse: The horse wasn't afraid of the wildfyre, it was afraid of something else.
Beric followed the horse's gaze, to see what it was scared of. It was staring at the horizon. For a few seconds, he couldn't make anything out, and then, he saw shapes on the horizon. And then more shapes.
Beric cursed, and fumbled around the horse's saddlebags, looking for the far - eye. He'd stolen it from the officer's quarters in the West Wing of Harrenhal. He deftly picked it out of the saddlebag, but realized that it would be impossible to use it properly while simultaneously being on a rearing horse, unless he wanted to go blind in one eye due to the far - eye being slammed into it by the force of the horse moving.
Beric tried to dismount, but ended up slamming face - first into the hard snow. Swearing and cursing the horse through the seven hells, Beric put the far - eye to his eye, and looked through it. He saw, on the horizon, undead reinforcements. But what surprised him the most was that the wight leading them held a massive trident.
It was Euron Greyjoy.
Harren's godswood
Theon Greyjoy
When Bran had called him into a seperate room, to give him something, Theon had been expecting a dressing - down about when he'd taken Winterfell, something he regretted tremendously. He had been expecting a warning: 'Don't you dare betray me again', or something along those lines.
He had not at all been expecting a weapon:
"I had this trident made specifically for you." Bran had said. The main shaft was made of steel, and the prongs were made of dragonglass, reinforced with steel, for dragonglass was, well, glass.
Theon reverently carrased the curving prongs of the trident, as he reloaded his bow. From the corner of his eye, he noted that more than half of his arrows were gone. Around fifty feet from Theon, in a circle surrounding the godswood, were bodies of wights, slain by the arrows. An Ironborn warrior sent another wight to his death. Theon finished reloading his bow, and drew it, aiming.
No wights came forth. A fog had settled over all of Harrenhal, which prevented them from seeing more than about fifty feet.
A wight broke through the fog. Theon instinctively launched the arrow, as did all thirty Ironborn warriors nearby. The wight fell easily.
"There aren't as many of them." Theon said.
"How observant, Greyjoy." Said Victarion Harlaw. He was second in line to High Harlaw, and it had been a surprise when he had volunteered to come with him to defend Winterfell. Theon had assumed that, because Harlaw had put their support for Euron, Victarion may want to kill him, but he had proven to be a great drinking partner.
He might even think of him as a friend. Friend. After all that had happened to him, the thought of having a friend was just so foreign to Theon, he didn't even know what to think of it.
Theon glanced back at Bran, whose eyes were white as milk. He was still warging. The thought of Brandon Stark being the Three Eyed Raven was, well, not pleasing. But since when did things have to be pleasing in order to happen? Exactly. Never.
Another wight appeared, and Theon didn't even bother firing, the other Ironborn took him out easily.
"Truly though, I feel as if the wildfyre did the trick. I don't think there are many wights left." Said Theon.
Victarion nodded. "True."
Theon was so focused at trying to use his eyes to open the fog around them that he never noticed the fog that was in Brandon Stark's eyes clear.
"You are wrong."
"What?"
"Euron Greyjoy, along with three hundred thousand other wights, is here. The Undead have reinforcements."
AOOOUUUUUU!
AOOOUUUUUU!
AOOOUUUUUU!
Roofs of Harrenhal
Sandor Clegane
Arya ran off, slaying the few wights which were still alive, and Sandor ran after her, keeping sure not to hit the roof too hard. Three dragons, and three hundred years of disrepair had its toll on Harrenhal's roofs.
"Hold up, Girl!" Yelled Sandor.
Arya leapt ahead, ridding a wight of its right hand, with the dragonglass causing it to disintegrate.
"Catch me if you can!" She yelled at him.
"This is not a game, girl!" Yelled Sandor.
Arya Stark turned to him, and, in dead seriousness, spoke: "Nothing is a game. Even games."
Sandor was about to call her bluff, when a great force picked her up by her head, and flung her to the side. Sandor leapt back in shock, and barely managed to bring up his blade to block the strike.
CRRRRINGGG!
The strange sound tore at his eardrums. Sandor looked up in shock, and stared into the blue eyes of a creature that once had been human.
Had once been his brother.
Gregor whirled around, and spun with his Ice - Blade, and Sandor kept his blade parallel to his body, and the hit knocked him off of his feet. Sandor nearly fell off the roof, and raised his blade above his body. Gregor brought the ice - blade down on him, and Sandor was barely able to stop the blade.
FuckFuckFuckFuck
He had always wanted to kill Gregor Clegane in a fight, but this? He had never, even in his wildest dreams, expected this.
Sandor leapt forwards, and rolled on the roof, hoping to avoid Gregor's blade. The Mountain Who Rides - Although now he was the Other Who Rides - was very strong. With his newfound strength from being an Other, he could porbably rival the fucking Night King himself.
Sandor jumped backwards, barely clutching his sword. He needed to compose himself. As a White Walker, Gregor wasn't fighting much differently from when he was actually alive. He relied on his strength far too much, and, even though Others were inhumanly fast, he didn't use that speed.
Now that Sandor had overcome the element of surprise, he could take charge of the situation. He looked up and down Gregor, looking for any weaknesses. He found none. His armour was strangely off - coloured in some places, in places like stab wounds and slash wounds. He realized that those were stab wounds and slash marks on the Mountain Who Rode before he became the Other Who Rides.
Sandor quickly counted the number of wounds he had before he became a White Walker.
Fourteen wounds. Fourteen. He took fourteen stabs and slashes from the Fucking Night King before he got turned. Damn.
"Well, you certainly took some wounds going down." Said Sandor, before moving.
Sandor leapt at the Mountain's right side, because that was the side that had more wounds. The Mountain leapt at him, his apparently injured side not hindering him in any way. Sandor parried the first hit, and deflected the second. The third strike was half - deflected, but it cut open his left leg on its way down.
"Yaaaarrgh!" Yelled Sandor, leaping out of the way of the Mountain's next swing. He was about to retreat farther, when he saw an unconscious Arya Stark on the roof, only a few feet away from him. The Other Who Rides followed his gaze, to see her. He smirked.
Gregor leapt at Arya, twisting his blade, to slice her in half. Sandor threw himself forwards, and raised his blade at the last moment. The Mountain's blade clanged off of his, and the force of his own sword rebounding caused Gregor to take several steps back.
Sandor glanced over Arya, to see how she was. Gregor appeared to have literally picked her up by her head, and thrown her into a wall. She was lucky her neck hadn't broken. Or had it?
Sandor had no more time to think about that, for Gregor was coming at him again. Sandor leapt up, moved away from Arya, while simultaneously kicking the limp Arya away from Gregor's blade.
The Other Who Ride's sword hit the stone roof hard, and bounced back, nearly flying out of his hand. But he held the blade, and was now forced to choose between his targets: A well armed man who wanted to kill him and was once his brother, or an unarmed, unconscious girl.
He chose the more gallant choice.
The Mountain lunged at Sandor, and Sandor parried. The Mountain swung again, and Sandor parried. Every day of his life, every second of his life, he had trained to this day. He knew exactly how his brother fought, and him being dead had barely changed that style.
The Mountain was getting frustrated, and Sandor could tell. Sixty - seven, Sixty - eight, Sixty - Nine Sandor knew, and after sixty five strikes, the Mountain would stop his relentless barrage, and reconsider his strategy. Gregor didn't count to sixty five strikes of course, but this was about as long as it took before the Mountain started to feel the heavy blade in his arms. His great strength made it so before that, he barely even felt it.
The mountain backed off. Sixty Nine strikes. Being a White Walker had increased his durability by a bit, but not much. And nowhere enough to save him. Sandor knew that now, the Mountain would try to end the fight fast.
And he did.
Gregor lunged at him, using his White Walker speed, and Sandor knew exactly what he should do to stop him - Sandor closed the gap between them, Gregor swung, a strike to slice Sandor Clean in half, Sandor deflected it easily, and held out his blade, into which Gregor charged. Or so it seemed.
Being a White Walker had given his brother a brain. And he was using it. He appeared to stick to his normal fighting routine, but, in reality, it was all just a way to get down Sandor's guard.
Sandor found his feet wrenched out from under him, and suddenly, he was dangled in the air, as Gregor stared at him. White Walkers didn't speak, but Sandor knew that he was defeated. That he had no chance at winning. That he had lost.
Gregor brought up his blade, to lop off his head, and Sandor couldn't do a thing, because he was held in the air by just one of Gregor Clegane's arms.
"At least I'll die by your hand, brother."
Gregor appeared to pause at those words. Did he understand him? Perhaps.
The momentary pause ended, and Gregor drew back his blade.
I should remain composed as I die. Thought Sandor. I must give him no pleasure. Did White Walkers feel pleasure?
I must die composed.
The Other Who Rides swung the blade.
Halfway through the strike, a dragonglass blade slammed into his exposed armpit. Gregor Clegane grunted, stopping his strike, and Arya Stark twisted the blade. Gregor elbowed her back, dropping Sandor, who hit the ground with a thud.
Gregor's left hand, the hand with which he was holding up Sandor, started to crumble into small ice shards. His right hand clutched Arya's throat, squeezing it. The dragonglass would work, but it would take at least ten seconds.
Which was more than enough time for Gregor to shatter Arya's neck.
Sandor moved, to protect the girl he protected for several months, for the girl who left him to die, for the girl he held as she cried out her brother's death.
Sandor shoved his own dagger through Gregor Clegane's right eye. It exited on the other side.
"I told you it would come to this." Then, as an afterthought, he added: "Brother."
The Other Who Rides shattered into small ice shards.
Battlements of Harrenhal
Sorren
Sorren was a Tully soldier. He started out loyal to Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Then, Hoster Tully died, and his son, Edmure Tully, pledged allegiance to the King in the North. So Sorren became a soldier for Robb Stark. But then the Red Wedding happened. Sorren had been outside of the Twins at the time. He had fled south. He somehow survived, before crossing the Trident, and going north. Upon going north, he found out Jon Snow was going to retake his Half - brother's mantle of King in the North. So he joined him.
Sorren fought in the Battle of the Whispering Wood, the Battle of The Camps, the Ambush at The Twins, the Battle of the Bastards, the Ambush by The Fingers, the Second Battle of The Ruby Ford.
But the most interesting part was, he had fled from battle at each of them, except his first. Normally, a person would flee from battle in his first, but not flee again. It was the inverse for him.
And now, he was about to flee from the Battle of The Living's Stand as well. He had seen their formations fall to pieces, he had seen the walls of Harrenhal get breached. He had seen White Walkers, and he had seen Wights. He had fought against them, and he did not want to fight for them.
So, when he saw the northern flank of Harrenhal clear, he ran to the stables, and saddled his horse. Many of his comrades joined him. They were aware that the battle was over. They had lost. But the northern flank was clear, at least temporarily, so they could escape.
Escape. Flee. Organized Retreat. They all meant the same thing. And he was going to do it, too.
There were several dozen of them, all saddling horses. They all were about to ride out. Sorren glanced at one of them.
"What have you to return to?" Asked someone else.
"My wife. My children." Replied Sorren, instinctively. But that wasn't true. His eldest child had been killed by the Lannister troops at just the age of two. His youngest one had died of starvation soon afterwards. He lost his wife at the Twins. She followed him till the twins, where the Freys took their liberties with her, in front of him, before killing her.
What did he have anymore?
The other man took his instinctive answer as a good reason, and moved on. They were leaving now. They were going to abandon the rest of the living to their fates. They were deserting.
"Let's go!" Said Sorren. Sorren's horse began riding, as did all the other people's horses. They were abandoning the survivors to their fates now. They were deserters. Officially, now.
"STOP!"
Sorren had his steed halt.
"HALT, YOU DESERTERS!"
Sorren turned. The man who had asked him what he was returning spoke:
"Wanting to live to see another day is not deserting."
Sorren saw the man who had stopped him clearly. He was not over the age of forty, but carried himself like a much older man. The man raised his face, and looked over the crowd of deserters. He had golden, almost brown hair, and green eyes. His right hand was made of gold.
Jaime Lannister.
"If you were too live another day, you doom millions not to."
"Millions?" Blurted out Sorren. "There are only a hundred thousand men here at Harrenhal, and now, far less than that."
"But by fleeing today, you doom the rest of the defenders to die. We are humanity's last hope. And if you desert us, you are dooming everyoen else on this whole planet to die."
Nobody said a word against it.
"But we have friends, family, who we are abandoning in order to make this damned stand against the dead. We will lose, and we will die. Better to have a chance to protect our close ones, than dooming them altogether." Said the other man. He continued, gesturing at Sorren. "Sorren over here has his wife and children to go back to."
That's not true. Thought Sorren. My wife and children are dead. But he didn't say it out loud.
The man continued: "We all have someone to go back to, and those who don't, well, we have our whole lives ahead of us. Why should we give it away?"
"Because we ask you too." Said Jaime Lannister. "Because we don't want our loved ones, the women and the children, to have to fight - and lose - to the same enemy that we did. We fight so others don't have to fight, so nobody has to fight. We fight so that there is no danger of death on our loved ones. If you desert today, we will lose. But if you stay, and you fight, we may win."
Those who were about to leave stopped. But nobody returned to their posts.
"Fight tonight for those who are dead. Those who died because of these Wights. Fight tonight for those who are your closest friends, your family. But most importantly, fight for those who have yet to see the cold, blue eyes of the dead, those who have yet to see their closest friends turn into wights, those who have yet to be forced to kill their close ones because they are now a wight."
"Fight, if not for yourself, then for the innocents. But fight. Do not be a coward. FIGHT!" Roared Jaime Lannister.
Everybody was quiet, silenced by his words. Then Sorren found himself speaking:
"I shall fight."
The silence was deafening.
"I shall fight. Is there nobody who shall fight with me?" Demanded Sorren.
"I shall." Sorren did not recognize the voice, it was someone behind in the crowd.
"I shall." Another man.
"We shall."
"We all shall."
Jaime Lannister smiled. "We will fight for the innocents, for the guilty, for the young, for the old, for crippled, for the well - armed. We fight for the living."
"THE LIVING!" Roared the entire crowd, before riding towards their respective positions.
Harren's Godswood
Theon Greyjoy
Theon drew back his bowstring again, the arrow already loaded in it. He launched it into a wight. It fell limp instantly, courtesy of the dragonglass. Theon glanced around. Brandon Stark was, as always, warging. His milky white eyes still perturbed him, although he was starting to get used to it.
"It's strange, isn't it?" Asked Victarion Harlaw.
"Yes." Replied Theon. The second in line to High Harlaw had been getting closer and closer to Theon, striking conversations every few moments. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps he wished for a military alliance with Pyke. But Yara would be a better candidate for that, and, even then, it was likely that Theon wouldn't survive this night.
The long night. There was a good chance nobody would survive this night.
Two wights came at their group, staggering along. Theon didn't even bother firing, that would just waste arrows. The other twenty - four people in their group were more than effective for that role. Sure enough, both wights were hit by at least a dozen dragonglass arrows each.
"We're wasting arrows like this." Said Theon.
"True, Greyjoy." Replied Victarion.
"So only fire if the wight is headed for your particular position. Else each wight will be hit by a dozen arrows, and we'll just run out of arrows faster."
"Very well, Greyjoy."
Why Victarion deigned answering was beyond Theon, for nobody else had answered, nobody wished for the insane cold to freeze their saliva solid inside their mouths.
Suddenly, something changed.
Theon was unsure what, or why, but everyone in the group could feel it. They all grew tense, all at once. Everyone drew back their bowstrings, and loaded arrows.
A thousand screeching voices boiled into one, a loud, piercing screech that tore through the fog that surrounded them. And then, like fireflies, all around them, blue lights began to appear, in pairs. Wights.
All twenty five of them started to fire their arrows into the wights, and they were coming at them. Hundreds. Perhaps even thousands, all of this one garrison of twenty five men, and one teenage boy who could see the future. Theon fired arrow after arrow, and the wights came, one after another. They all stopped roughly one hundred feet out from their group, before individual wights went forwards, a dragonglass arrow taking them out within seconds.
Each man had a full pot of arrows. But slowly, those arrows were used up. And sometimes, a man couldn't load his bow in time, and the wight would walk up to them,, and stab them with their sword.
Twenty five men became twenty four men.
Theon kept firing, arrow after arrow. Wight after wight fell, and more took their place. A mound of corpses started to appear, around thirty to forty feet out from them. But slowly, the corpses began to pile up closer to their lines.
Another wight got through their lines, and stabbed another one of their men. The man to his right stabbed the wight with dragonglass, ending it.
The lines of corpses began to pile closer to them. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet.
One more wight got through their lines, and stabbed the man to Theon's right. Theon gasped in shock, and leapt back, before lunging forwards, and stabbing the wight with an arrowhead.
Theon saw the man the wight had stabbed. Victarion Harlaw. Second in line to High Harlaw. He keeled over, falling to his knees, and fell over. Theon kneeled over him.
"Stay with me, Victarion."
"I'll survive, Greyjoy. Lay me down sideways on the ice, so the cold will seal my wound."
Theon did as the teen commanded. Victarion was barely six and ten. Such a young age to die. But people had died younger.
Theon rose, unsteadily reloading his bow.
"The - Theon." He looked down.
"Stab - Stab me with - With the dragonglass dagger…. So I don't come back and stab you in the back."
Theon nodded, and stabbed Victarrion's side with a dragonglass arrowhead, pushing it in as little as he could while still touching the dragonglass to the blood.
"Now…. Now… Now go, Theon, and Fight."
Theon nodded, and stood up. A burning fire filled him, a desire to kill as many wights as possible. Theon loaded his bow, and fired, slaying a wight. He aimed his next arrow precisely. He released it, and the arrow went straight through one wight's neck, and hit another's chest.
Then, a wight stabbed another man, near Theon. The man to Theon's left stabbed the wight and ended him, but that momentary distraction allowed more of the undead to slip through their arrows unscathed. Three wights leapt at Theon, who jumped back in shock.
The man to Theon's left did not have such cowardly instincts, and leapt forwards, killing one of the wights instantly. He deflected the second one's strike, but the third one stabbed the man, and the second one stopped his mad dash, and finished him off.
The two wight leapt at Theon, who shot an arrow at the first one. The second one slammed into him, and Theon dropped his bow in a mad attempt to stop the wight's sword from hacking his head off. The wight swung its sword wildly, it's flesh dripping onto Theon.
Theon gasped in pain, as the wight slashed wildly at his left arm. Theon jumped back, tripping over himself, and fell to the floor, his left arm a bloody mess from the numerous slashes of the wight.
Theon saw his trident, the one Brandon Stark gifted him: He had propped it up against the heart tree. He leapt for the trident, and barely managed to grab it, and swing it around before the wight was on him again. But this time, Theon had an actual weapon. Theon grabbed the trident closer to the three dragonglass blades, and thrusted at the wight. It fell limp, on top of Theon, dead for the second time.
Theon rose, surveying his surroundings. Of the twenty five men assigned to guard Bran Stark, only two remained fighting, including Theon. The wights had a clear path to the Three Eyed Raven, but, for some reason, they chose to only kill the fighters defending Bran, not Bran himself.
Then, Theon remembered what Bran had said: The Night King wanted to kill the Three Eyed Raven himself, and would give no other wight or White Walker the chance to do so.
Theon decided that he would fight the Night King till his last breath. He would die by the Night King's sword, if need be. That was the only way to repay the debt he owed Brandon.
Theon looked around, waiting for the next wight to come. None did. They were all in a circle surrounding the heart tree, about fifty feet out. There must have been thousands of wights.
The unnatural silence grated at Theon's ears.
Then, Theon realized why the silence was grating on him so much: Over the past eleven or so hours, his ears had gotten used to there being a faint sound of battle in the background. First, far away, outside the walls, then closer, inside the walls, until the sounds of the present combat overwhelmed the sound of the background combat. But now, there was no background sound, and Theon realized why:
All of the living were dead. No battles were happening.
The only people surviving in all of Harrenhal were here. The realisation hit Theon with the force of a Dothraki cavalry charge. They were the only ones alive.
And now, they were about to die.
But he would fight. He would go down fighting. The historians, if any would still exist, would not be able to say that the greyjoys were cowards.
Suddenly, Theon started to feel colder than normal. His teeth began chattering, and his furs seemed to freeze on him. His eyelids felt droopy, and he felt like he was freezing solid. Never had he ever felt such a way.
Is this how dying of frostbite seems like? He asked himself. Most people who had survived it said it was slow, and agonizingly painful. This was very quick.
The ring of wights surrounding him and Bran parted in one particular region, parallel to the gate to the Godswood. The wights formed a column, leading outside. Theon gripped his spear tighter. And then, in walked the Night King, flanked by three White Walkers on either side of him. His ice cold, ice - white skin seemed to shine forth.
The cold was unbearable now. He wanted the Night King to charge at him, to end this farce of a battle, because, if he didn't, then Theon would die of the cold within seconds.
They both stared at each other for several long seconds. Then, the night King raised his right hand, and stretched it out. He beckoned.
The Night King was asking Theon to charge him?
Theon kept staring back, his boots seeming frozen in the ground. Then, he realized the Night King wasn't beckoning him. He was beckoning at a wight. Or rather, not a wight, a group of wights.
Around forty - five degrees to the right from where the Night King stood, along with his escort, in the circle of wights, the line of wights parted, allowing other wigths to come to the front. For a second, he didn't recognize them. And then, when he did recognize them, his legs threatened to give out from under him.
From right to left, he recognized the group of wights. Jon Snow. Daenerys Targaryen. Artos Tarbeck. Tormund Giantsbane. Eddison Tollett. Euron Greyjoy.
Theon's legs threatened to buckle out from under him. Snow, Targaryen, and Tarbeck were the three pillars on which this whole stand was built on. And now… And now… And now… they were dead.
Dead.
Theon turned back to the Night King, who beckoned again. But this time, Theon knew that it wasn't Theon he was beckoning to. Theon tracked his gaze, and found that it was the other Greyjoy that the Night King was pointing to. Euron Greyjoy.
Euron Greyjoy lifted his own trident, and pointed it at Theon.
And then, he charged.
Theon backed up, unwittingly leaving a path to Bran open. But Theon know that nobody would try and kill Bran while any of the defenders around him were still alive.
Euron's trident thrusted at him, and Theon blocked with his own. Euron thrusted again, prodding at his defences. Theon swatted it to the side, and moved in, to try and finish off Euron. But Euron, rather than dumbly standing there and waiting for Theon's trident to hit him, Euron pulled his trident back, and blocked.
Euron wasn't acting like a normal wight, and Theon realized that one of the Others was manually controlling Euron. Maybe even the Night King himself.
Euron went on the offensive himself, launching swift strikes, way too fast for any human to launch, confirming Theon's suspicions that an White Walker was remotely controlling Euron. Theon kept deflecting the strikes, but he kept forced him to retreat.
Theon decided that getting away from the person he was supposed to guard wasn't a good idea, even if the enemy wasn't taking advantage of the opening.
Theon pressed forwards, trying to get back to Bran, and the heart tree. But Euron swiftly blocked him, and all of his attempts to move there.
Theon knew that he had to trick the wight, elser he wouldn't win. He began to move slower, feigning tiredness. Any human would be able to realize that he was faking, but, to the Others, humans were abnormally slow, and tired very fast. He would take advantage of this misinformation.
Euron slowly upped his offense. Theon deliberately blocked where he could have dodged, giving the impression that he was tiring.
The White Walker that controlled Euron was starting to get impatient, and why would it not? They were used to fight being over almost instantly with humans. Finally, Euron went entirely on the offensive, and knocked aside Theon's trident - but THeon was ready for that.
Theon lunged forwards, holding a dragonglass dagger, the one that had been given to everyone taking part in this stand, and stabbed Euron straight through the eye.
Euron Greyjoy died for the second time.
The Night King smirked, and one of the White Walkers flanking him appeared very frustrated - that must have been the one who was controlling Euron -
"Theon."
Bran spoke.
Theon turned to Bran, his heart feeling heavy.
"Thank you."
Theon nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.
And then, Theon Greyjoy charged the Night King, armed with a dragonglass trident.
Harren's Godswood
The Three Eyed Raven
Melisandre of Asshai and Ser Duncan The Tall had been conspiring. Melisandre had used her red magic to hide what she was doing from him, and, for the most part, it worked. He had not been able to tell what they were doing. But now, he slightly understood. Or atleast, he understood enough to know that it was vitally important for Beric Dondarrion to return to the castle with Ligthbringer.
That was now the only way to kill the Night King. The only way. He was immune to dragonfire, most likely dragonglass, and Valaryian steel.
Bran wasn't really sure why the two of them were trying to cloud the future for him. Perhaps they thought that his family loyalty would cause him to try and search for another path?
That meant that the Stark family would likely face heavy trouble. Jon had already died. Perhaps that was it?
No. More Starks were going to die. Was he going to die? Perhaps. Maybe that's why they didn't trust him enough to tell him that information. They thought that he was selfish enough to care for his life.
But he wasn't.
If their victory required him to sacrifice himself, he would willingly do so.
He would do anything to ensure the Night King's defeat. Anything.
Bran focused his attention to Beric Dondarrion. Where was he?
While the future was hidden from him, the present wasn't - the magical prowess needed to do that was simply too great, especially for just one mage.
Bran became the ravens, the ravens became Bran. He became a flock of them, looking for Beric Dondarrion. He searched through the debris of the Widow's Tower, he searched the ruined, but still standing Kingspyre tower, he searched the other three towers. And then, he expanded his gaze away from Harrenhal. He looked over the massive, dirt - and stone packed landscape where the wildfyre had exploded, vaporizing all of the ice. Snow was falling over it, and, if the Long Night persisted, in a few days, this land would be completely indistinguishable from the rest of the land.
He simultaneously expanded himself into thousands of animals, every surviving one nearby. He gave them all one target: Find Beric Dondarrion.
It was nearly a full minute before they found him. He had circled all the way around to the western portion of Harrenhal, where there were the fewest wights: The most wights were in the South, the section where the Night King had arrived, and in the North, where the reinforcements from Dragonstone had arrived. There were also some to the east, the few survivors of the wildfyre. However, the western portion was nearly entirely deserted - not that it mattered, because any attempting escapers would first have to fight through the wights inside Harrenhal.
Beric Dondarrion attempted to climb in unseen, and -
Bran heard a triumphant yell from where his body was, in the wheelseat. Bran yanked his attention back to his own body, and saw that Theon Greyjoy had won his battle against Euron Greyjoy. Bran spoke:
"Theon."
Theon Greyjoy turned around to see him.
"Thank you, Theon."
Theon nodded, a small smile forming on his face, for he had finally paid off the debt that he had wanted to pay off nearly his whole life.
Theon Greyjoy turned to the Night King. He gripped his Trident tightly.
Please, Beric. Be on time.
A disturbance appeared on the upper courtyard around the battlements surrounding the Godswood. Several wights turned around.
Theon Greyjoy charged -
A flaming sword broke through the ranks of the Wights -
Theon reached halfway to the Night King -
The ranks of the wights on the upper battlements broke -
Theon reached three quarters of the way through -
Beric Dondarrion's face appeared on the upper levels of Harrenhal, wielding Lightbringer like a demon possessed, although not to the blade's full potential.
Theon reached the Night King -
Beric Dondarrion drew back the sword -
Theon stabbed at the Night King -
Beric prepared to throw Lightbringer -
The Night King grabbed the Trident, and snapped it in half -
Beric flung lightbringer right at the Night King, with the force to send a spear through a brick wall -
The Night King spun around, impaling Theon on one of the portions of the Trident, using the momentum of his swing to hurl the other half right at Beric Dondarrion -
Lightbringer slammed into the Night King, with the force to tear straight through Harrenhal's walls -
The trident tip impaled itself on Beric Dondarrion, the bottom portion impaled Theon Greyjoy, and Lightbringer bounced right off of the Night King, falling at the feet of the wight next to the wight Daenerys.
A smirk appeared on the Night King's face, having killed the last of the Three Eyed Raven's defenders -
The Night King began to walk towards Theon -
Fifty feet away -
Forty feet away -
Thirty feet away -
Twenty feet away -
Ten feet away -
One of the six White Walkers behind the Night King glanced behind him, for he sensed a disturbance -
The Night King paused, in front of Bran -
A girl, Nobody, A girl without a face, The Menace of The Twins, Killer of Walder Frey, Arya Stark lunged at the Night King from behind him -
The Night King grabbed her from behind him -
Arya moved in, to stab the Night King with the same blade that had been sent by Littlefinger to kill Bran -
The Night King grabbed the hand with the blade -
Arya let go of the blade -
The Night King's gaze followed the blade as it fell from Arya's hand, as did Arya's gaze, and Brandon's gaze -
Arya reached out with her other hand, which was empty -
Arya grabbed the blade out of the air with that hand, and shoved the Valyrian Steel blade into the Night King's chest.
Absolutely nothing happened.
The Night King smirked, and spun around, hurling Arya above the first row of wights.
The Night King turned, towards Bran.
He drew his blade.
"Wait."
The Night King paused.
"I have a last wish."
The Night King tilted his head to the side: I'm listening.
"I see that many of your wights don't have weapons in their hands."
The Night King turned his head, as if to confirm the fact, and it was true: Many of the wights had been disarmed during the Battle of The Living's Stand, and, being dumb wights, hadn't picked up any weapons.
"I want the wights around here to have a weapon in their hand as you kill your enemy, the Three Eyed Raven." Said Brandon.
The Night King smirked, and nodded. Every wight who didn't have a weapon kneeled down, to pick one up -
The wight next to Daenerys picked up a sword, blacker than night itself, laying on the ground, the reason why the blade had pulled the name Dark Sister over itself -
The Night King drew his blade -
The reason why Lightbringer won't yield to you is because you don't have blue eyes.
He raised it high above his head -
You need blue eyes.
The Night King smirked, savoring the moment -
Blue eyes.
The Night King prepared to swing -
The Wight Jon Snow, Aegon Six Targeryen, Former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Former King in the North, Former Night's Watchman, Father of Dragons, Azor Ahai reborn held Lightbringer high above his head.
Blue eyes.
Blue eyes.
But Jon Snow was a wight.
And wights have Blue Eyes.
Every condition of the prophecy fulfilled, the blade yielded to him, glowing liquid red hot. All of the snow in the godswood instantly melted, and a massive shockwave rippled out from Lightbringer, sending
The Night King paused, mid - swing.
Jon Snow held Lightbringer loosely in his hand, and pointed it at the Night King's back.
The Night King turned around, facing Jon.
A bright light shone from Ligthrbinger, illuminating the godswood better than even the sun could, and, from behind the Night King, to the east, a brilliant red glow began filling the world: Sunrise.
We lasted the night.
The Night King charged at Jon Snow even as the rays of the sun flooded the battlefield with new light.
Jon Snow dodged, and stabbed at the Night King, who blocked the strike with his own blade.
The Night King's sword shattered into a thousand shards of ice.
The Night King stared at Jon in shock, his eyes open wide, pupils dilated in fear. But he got over himself, and another Ice sword appeared in his hand. The Night King used his insane speed to dodge Jon's attacks, which he frantically made with Lightbringer.
The Night King got past Jon's guard, his defenses.
The Night King stabbed Jon through and through.
Jon smiled,, and gripped the blade tighter. The Night King's sword melted away into nothingness, courtesy of Ligthbringer, and the wound on Jon's body sealed up instantly.
The Night King took several steps back in shock. He summoned another Ice Sword, but Jon leapt in for the kill, shoving Lightbringer through the Night King's chest at the same time as the Sun rose above the battlements of Harrenhal, flooding not just the plains around it, but also the castle itself with light.
The Night King looked at Jon in shock, before shattering into pieces.
Dawn was here.
The night had ended.
The Long Night was over.
You will get a detailed casualty counter next episode, which will be the final episode, and will wrap up the storyline, and finish up the plot.
To those of you that didn't understand what happened: Jon was always Azor Ahai. But Ligthbringer didn't fully yield to him, because he didn't have blue eyes; Jon's eyes are blackish - grey. However, after Jon died, and became a wight, his eyes became blue. When Beric Dondarrion tried to impale the Night King on Lightbringer, and it bounced off of him, it landed at the feet of the wight next to Daenerys: Jon Snow. As his "last wish", Brandon asked for all of the Night King's wights to hold a weapon in their hands. Seeing nothing wrong with the wish, the Night King allowed it to happen. However, when the wight Jon kneeled down, and picked up Lightbringer, the blade fully yielded to him, and brought him back to life, allowing him to kill the Night King with relative ease.
So how did you guys find it? PLEEEEASE review, I realy really really want to know how you guys found this chapter!