A/N: I am back! More of the Long Night coming at you. I had a LOT to do in this chapter so there are a lot of POVs but I hope y'all enjoy.

Chapter 60: Chaos

The alarms were blaring in the courtyard of the King's Landing Penitentiary when Jaime and Brienne pulled up in front of it. A crowd of police had gathered at the fence, watching the riot that had broken out in the yard.

Jaime went at once to a man sitting on the ground. A man in a prison guard uniform staunching the flow of blood from a nasty head wound. "What happened?"

"Gas came in through the vents," he said. "We were just opening the cells when it happened. Couldn't get them closed again. I only got out because I was already near the exit. A lot of other guards didn't."

"Nothing we can do but wait it out," another officer said.

"And let the prisoners kill each other?" Brienne asked. "They're still human beings. We can't just leave them in there like wild animals."

"You're free to go in there yourself," the officer said. "But you'll be swarmed on sight. There's too much chaos. You'll never get them to calm down in this state. That gas, whatever it is, it's too powerful."

Jaime's brow furrowed. "Did you find the source of the gas?"

"Yeah. Came through the vents," the officer said. "We located one device. Not a clue who planted it though. They must have had a guy on the inside."

"There are other officers looking for the one responsible," Jaime said. "Our job is to keep the casualties at this prison down. Fighting fire with fire won't do anything. We need water."

The officer blinked. "Like…the fire department?"

"No. It's a metaphor, its…" He waved his hand dismissively. "We need another gas. Something that puts people to sleep or at the very least calms them down."

"Jaime, we have no idea how another chemical substance will interact with Long Night," Brienne said.

"No. But we know if we leave the prisoners in there, at least half of them will be dead or seriously injured before the day is out," Jaime said. "At least if we knock them out, we can get medical professionals inside to treat them, right?"

Brienne paused. Then nodded. "Right. I'll call the hospital. Get them over here as soon as possible."

"Demand has them all throughout the city," the officer said. "You'll never get an ambulance out here."

"Well then, I'll go pick up the supply myself," Brienne said. "We work to save lives, officer. Every life. Even the one's you don't seem to care about."

The officer frowned but did not have a retort to that. Jaime felt a surge of affection for Brienne. She really was the type to fight for everyone. An exceptionally rare type.

"You heard her," Jaime said. "Let's get to work."

Catelyn hit the ground hard, cracking her chin against the ground hard enough to draw blood. She rolled over onto her back, her head spinning, and found herself looking up at Lysa.

When they were kids, they used to fight, as most siblings did. They wrestled in the river or threw objects at each other from across the room. Lysa in particular had a penchant for holding grudges. But at the end of the day, they were still sisters. That had remained true even as they grew apart.

Lysa had screamed at her. Fought her at so many turns. But she had never looked at her with such wild hate in her eyes.

She's not herself. She's not well, Catelyn reminded herself.

Lysa lunged at her and Catelyn scrambled to the side, backing up on her hands and knees to avoid her blows. Her sister let out a screech that was barely human and crawled after her, clawing across the floor to reach her.

Thank the gods I got Robyn out of the house, Catelyn thought. He shouldn't have to see this.

Lysa took a swipe at her. Catelyn kicked her in the face hard enough to set her off course. She pushed herself to her feet, backing up down the hall.

"Lysa," she said. "Lysa, listen to me. It's Cat. I need you to breathe."

Lysa rose, whipping to look at her. Catelyn held out a hand in front of her, defensive and placating at the same time.

"You know me. And I know you might be angry. You might want to hurt me. But not like this," Catelyn said. "I don't blame you for what happened. Petyr tricked us both, Lysa."

It was a mistake to say his name. She saw it at once when her sister's eyes blazed. She screamed again and ran at her at top speed. Catelyn had no choice but to throw herself to the side.

Lysa careened past her, and her force carried her right to the railing of the stairs. And Catelyn turned in time to see her sister tumbling over the edge and to unforgiving tile below.

The day at Margaery's had started normal enough. As the tournament began, they sat on the couch together, inching closer with each passing minute. Then, at some point, in the break between games, Margaery had closed the gap between them entirely.

Sansa didn't mind, though she was a little worried about Olenna Tyrell wandering by. Did she know Margaery wasn't quite faithful to her husband? She must, right? Perhaps she didn't mind this sort of thing if it was away from the public eye because Margaery didn't seem at all worried.

But then a commotion on the TV brought them back for air. A fight of some kind had broken out. No, not just a fight. A full riot.

Sansa's mind leapt at once to Arya and Rickon. She knew they weren't in the main sitting area, but still, they could easily be swept up in some sort of conflict. What in the world was happening?

"Switch to the news," Sansa said quickly.

Margaery did. What met them there was frantic news anchors, stumbling through their words. The developing story. Conflict had broken out at the stadium after a strange gas was released through the vents. There were reports of the same gas releasing in other crowded places, including the King's Landing Penitentiary. Those effected were exhibiting symptoms that matched the most violent cases of Long Night.

Long Night.

Sansa remembered well her experiences on that drug. Most of the time, she'd been too out of it to even move. But there were a few times when she was coming down off it that she felt something else. Rage. Aggression. A sort of feral anger that consumed every thought in her brain.

Now the same thing was happening to all these people.

She cupped a hand over her mouth, standing from the couch and pacing to the opposite corner of the room. Her thoughts went to Rickon again. But especially Arya. Arya had been on Long Night before as well. Had the gas reached her or had she managed to avoid it?

"Sansa?" Margaery asked. "What do you want to do?"

Do? There was nothing she could do but play witness to this horror. She wished there was though. She turned away from the corner, back to Margaery who was still staring at the TV.

Just in time to see a new person entering the room.

It was one of the staff she had seen on the way in. A man dressed in a neatly pressed uniform with a thick mustache. But he had not had such a hard look in his eyes when Sansa first saw him. Nor had he been holding a knife.

"Margaery," Sansa called out as the man rushed at her. Margaery turned and threw herself backward off the couch, holding her arms in front of her face in defense.

Sansa's body swayed as her vision seemed to narrow. It was tempting to freeze in her panic. But that's not what Arya had taught her.

If someone comes at you, your goal is to make it so they can't come at you anymore. Or at least don't want to. That's it.

Sansa grabbed a vase from the nearest table as the man stalked around the couch. He was fixated on Margaery. Hadn't even looked at her. And as he raised his knife again, she rushed at him, smashing the vase over his head as hard as she could. It shattered and he crumpled to the ground.

"Fuck," Margaery breathed. "What the fuck?"

"Are you okay?" Sansa asked.

"Thanks to you," Margaery said. "What do we do? Call the police?"

"I get the feeling the police are occupied right now," Sansa said. "Do you have anything to tie him up at least?"

Margaery nodded shakily. "Yes…yes I can find something."

She got to her feet, looking around until she located a scarf thrown over a chair. Then she went over to the man quickly pulling his arms behind him. "Was it Long Night?" she asked.

"Maybe. It seemed different though." Sansa took a step toward the man, trying to calm her breathing. "He seemed…calmer." She looked down at the knife lying on the ground a few inches away from the unconscious assailant. As Margaery tied their hands firmly behind their back, she leaned down over it. There was blood on the blade.

"Margaery," she said. "Did he cut you?"

"No," Margaery said. "Thanks to you."

"You're sure?" Sansa asked.

Margaery finished the knot and straightened, brushing off her hands. "I'm sure. Why do you ask?"

"Because…there's blood on the knife," Sansa said.

Margaery stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes flicked to the knife as she tried to take it in. Then horror dawned across her face. "Grandmother."

She rushed from the room with Sansa following close behind her. They ran down the hall and to the office where they had spoken to Olenna only a few hours ago. And there they found her. Still at her desk. Her teacup sitting half finished in front of her. A red gash across her throat.

Margaery screamed.

Bran had spent the past few years of his life as a witness. Looking in on other people's lives, gathering information…it was the one thing that made him feel in control after he lost the use of his legs. Maybe his life had gone to hell. But no one else was perfect either, and that gave him some comfort.

But now, sitting in the back of an unmarked van with the Night King, watching King's Landing fall apart at the seams—he had never felt so helpless in his life.

His family was scattered throughout this mess. Arya and Rickon at the tournament. Jon somewhere nearby, probably caught in a trap. He had heard an explosion only moments ago. Had that been his cousin? Was he already dead?

And his mother. Sansa. Robb. He didn't know exactly where they were, but they could be in danger too. Caught up in the chaos this drug was causing. And he couldn't help any of them. He could only watch.

He supposed the Night King enjoyed that fact.

"Why are you doing this?" Bran asked. He knew it was a question the man was waiting for. No one asked for a witness unless they wanted someone to understand their reasoning.

"I want to expose this city for what it is," the man said. He didn't turn his eyes away from the screen. He was enjoying the sight of his plan coming to fruition. "It's a corruption. A monument built on the corpses of those that came before. And everyone in this city is culpable."

"Really?" Bran asked. "Kids are culpable? A guy that owns some coffee shop is culpable?"

"They all profit off of living here," the Night King said.

"Yeah. I bet you're going to inspire real change in them with this," Bran said flatly. Maybe he shouldn't be talking back. But he was reasonably sure he would die soon…after he was done witnessing.

"I'm not trying to inspire change," the Night King said. "People can't change. I just want to show the truth of things." He gestured to the screen. To the riots. "Vicious, violent creatures. This is what humans are when all the pretense is stripped away."

"That's bullshit," Bran said. "If this was people's true nature, then you wouldn't need a drug to bring it out. You wouldn't need to put in all of this work." He swallowed hard. "People are fucked up. They can be cruel and awful, sure. But that's only part of what they are. I've been a witness long enough to recognize that. It's just not as simple as you want it to be."

"So you say," the Night King said. "But today is how a great many people will remember their friends and family. As enemies. As wild animals trying to tear them apart with everything the have."

"No," Bran said. "People don't remember their loved ones by their worst day. You can have me play witness for as long as you'd like. You're not going to change my mind."

"That's too bad," the Night King said. He turned his gun in his hand. Raised it to aim at Bran's head. "Perhaps I need a new witness then."

Bran stiffened in his chair, his grip tightening on the arms. He stared the Night King down refusing to flinch. If this man put so much stock in last impressions, he'd give him a worthy one.

But the gun never got a chance to fire. Not before the door to the truck banged open. A hand sized the Night King's collar and yanked him out of the back. And Bran caught a flash of Jon just behind him—battered but alive.

"Jon!" he called.

"It's all right, Bran," Jon said. "It's going to be all right."

Bran let out a breath. Unluckily for the Night King, his family had gotten used to dealing with worst days. And they were going to make it out of this one alive.

Jon saw red when he saw armed men standing outside the van. He might have charged right through them had Ygritte not tightened her grip on his arm.

"Charge in there, you get shot before you ever make it to your brother," Ygritte said. "You need someone to lead them off."

"What, so you can get shot?" Jon asked.

"I'm faster than you." Ygritte winked. "And I have more practice dodging bullets. You know. I walk on the wrong side of the law."

Jon swallowed hard, drawing her to him, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Be careful," he murmured when he pulled back.

"You too," Ygritte said. "Don't let me pulling you out of that rubble be for nothing."

Then she ran into view. "Oy. Got a message from Mance." She tossed something at their feet. There was a pop and dark smoke burst from it. The men coughed as she bolted down the alley. Then they followed after her, leaving only one behind to guard.

Jon slipped silently around the edge of the alley so he could approach from behind. As he moved, he noted Hyle Hunt dead on the ground, discarded like a broken doll.

A lot of officers died today because of this, he thought. And he would let that guilt consume him later. For now, he had to save Bran.

He shifted up behind the man and slammed his head against the side of the man twice. Then he ripped open the door, grabbing the first person he saw, throwing him to the ground.

"Jon!" The sound of Bran's voice was such a relief to him. He was all right. He was still alive.

"It's all right, Bran," Jon said, turning to face him. "It's going to be all right."

Something jammed into his ankle and Jon stumbled, falling to the ground. The man he'd thrown from the van rose, looking at him with almost impossibly blue eyes. His expression was calm despite the attack. Calm but terrifying.

This is the Night King, Jon thought. He knew it in his bones.

The man raised a gun and fired. Jon rolled to the side to avoid it. He kicked out at his legs when he advanced and launched himself back to his feet, raising his own gun. The Night King redirected it before he could fire, head butting him hard enough that Jon saw stars.

He stumbled back, trying to get his vision in order as the Night King continued on relentlessly. He ducked under another shot and punched the man in the face. His head snapped to the side, but he seemed otherwise unbothered by the blow.

"Going to arrest me?" the Night King asked. "Do you think it matters now? I already got what I wanted. No one is going to forget this day."

"That doesn't mean you walk free," Jon said. "Not after all the people you killed."

He lunged at him again. The Night King delivered a swift kick to his chest and Jon stumbled back, gasping.

"Then you're going to have to try a bit harder, boy."

He was strong. Jon hadn't expected a drug lord to be a fighter. Perhaps he was picturing someone more like Petyr Baelish. The Night King was not that at all. He could barely keep up with him and the hits he did score barely seemed to affect him.

I wonder if he makes drugs for himself.

The Night king knocked his legs from under him. The fall drove the breath from Jon's lungs and he regained it in time to see the Night King pointing his weapon directly at his head.

"Not hard enough," the man said.

A gunshot split the silence. But the bullet did not pierce Jon's head. It burst through the drug lord's chest instead.

The Night King crumpled to the side revealing Bran sitting in his chair at the edge of the van. He had a gun clutched in his trembling hand.

"Had one hidden," he muttered. "Just didn't have a chance to reach it…until you came."

Jon rose, running to his brother. He rested a hand on top of his and carefully lowered the gun, easing the weapon out of his hand. "Are you all right?"

Bran nodded once, numbly. "Are you?"

"I'll be fine," Jon said.

"Well, that's two of us then," Bran said. "We have to hope…that everyone else makes it too."

Lysa had hit the ground headfirst. The tile split her skull and snapped her neck in the same moment. An instant death. Or so Catelyn hoped. She had to hope that her sister had not registered the pain.

She on the other hand…nausea welled up inside of her and her vision went blurry. She stumbled backward from the stairs until her back hit the wall. She slid down into a sitting position. Stayed there for a long while.

I need to get out of here, she thought over and over again. I need to get home. I need to find my children.

But for a while, she couldn't even move. Finally, she managed to grab her phone. Clutch it in her hands. Dial a number.

Tywin picked up after only one ring. "Mrs. Stark. Are you all right?"

He must have seen the news as well, Catelyn thought. "Is…Robb still with you?" she asked instead.

"He is," Tywin said. "He's in my office right now."

Good. At least one of my children is safe, she thought weakly.

"You saw the news?" he asked. "Have you heard from any of your other children?"

"No. Not yet," she murmured.

"Are you still at your sister's?"

She didn't answer. She was staring at the empty space where Lysa had tumbled.

"Catelyn?"

"Lysa is dead."

"What?"

"She's dead," Catelyn said. "She was crazed on Long Night. She went over the railing. She's dead." She swallowed hard. "The…emergency lines were busy."

He was silent for a long while before he spoke again. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she muttered. "No. Not hurt. Just…I can't drive right now."

"You won't have to," Tywin said. "Stay where you are. Your son and I will meet you shortly."

She didn't reply. She was staring at the railing of the stairs again. Seeing her sister go over the side all over again.

"Catelyn. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," she said. She ended the call, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Then she sat and waited. Waited for someone to arrive. Waited to fade away into nothing.

I'm just so…tired, she thought. I'm ready for this to be over.

Please…please let it be over.

Arya woke with a start. She was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. She is was in a box at the stadium. But a different one than the one she purchased.

At once, she looked for familiar faces. She found them. Myrcella and Tommen were in one corner, huddled close to each other. Rickon in another with Gendry and Hotpie. And in a chair beside her—

"You're awake."

She looked up at Oberyn Martell, who was leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he observed her.

"Don't worry," he said. "You're in my box. Thought it would be best to congregate in one place. Just in case."

Arya didn't take her eyes off him. What was his game? Why help her or any of them?

"Arya," Myrcella called out, rushing to her side. "Are you all right?"

Arya nodded slowly. She had a terrible headache…but it seemed the Long Night was mostly out of her system. "Is it over?"

"It's died down," Oberyn said. "Emergency services have finally moved into the building."

"How many are dead?" Arya asked.

"Hard to tell. At this stage," Oberyn said.

Arya remembered Lommy then. His face as he reached for her. She dug her knuckles into the ground as guilt welled up inside of her. Tried to push it down. And when she had shoved it back, she looked up at Oberyn.

"I have some questions…Mr. Martell."

"That makes two of us," Oberyn said. "So let's talk."

A/N: Absolutely NO ONE is having a good time right now. Next time we'll take stock of the casualties in the aftermath and see the true cost of the Long Night for the Starks. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time.