Chapter 11 – The Long Night

"Archers! Knock! Draw! Loose!" Volleys upon volleys of dragonglass tipped and flaming arrows were unleashed upon the army of the dead. Without their calvary making rounds to harass their enemy, the wights have already made their way past the second barricade and were encroaching upon the living's last line of defense before the walls of Winterfell. The Unsullied, true to Greyworm's words, had yet to allow any past them, but it was clear to everyone that even their legendary discipline would not be able to withstand any more pressure than this.

Everyone was so focused on the battle on the ground that no one had the luxury of looking up at the battle in the sky. At least not until the battle in the sky began crashing down upon them. "Clear the walls!" ordered Brienne when she saw Rhaegal gliding towards them. One soldier froze at the sight of the giant winged monster that was about to crush them all but luckily for him, Jaime dragged him away by the scuff of his armor with his one good hand just in time for both of them to avoid getting squashed by the dragon's feet.

"T-Thank you, ser!" said the soldier as he got up shakily.

Jaime responded with a nod, noting that it was the first time a Northerner, other than Bran, referred to him as a ser and not the Kingslayer since he arrived at Winterfell. When Rhaegal roared as it took off once more, Jaime could not help but follow with his eyes. When he saw Jon Snow fall, in the back of his mind, he had thought it was the end. The man was unconscious from what he saw but when his sister screamed for him to get up, his eyes had snapped open like a man possessed. Looking at him now; riding atop a dragon, hair untied, and Valyrian sword drawn, Jon Snow looked like the Targaryen conquerors of old. He has only ever known one man who possessed such an aura of grace, confidence, and mysticism. For a split second, Jaime thought he was watching Rhaegar Targaryen, reborn from the dragonfire, ride off into battle.

As the two dragons rapidly approached each other, Jaime felt like he was watching the final tilt of a joust, except what came next was quite literally what songs were made out of. When Jon Snow came back around to deal the finishing blow to his opponent, the adrenaline that came from watching that fight was so high that he couldn't help but let out a loud cheer along with the others. The world had stopped moving as everyone watched the Night King fall from the sky. After the initial cheer for Jon Snow's victory, everyone held their breath for what came next. The wights that were at their door collapsed one by one onto the ground, like puppets who've had their strings cut from their master. Was it over? Had they won?

Jon Snow left such fantasies behind. He would see the job through to the end and make sure it is finished. Flying over to where the Night King had fallen, Rhaegal let out a breath of dragonfire so powerful that it could have brought down the Red Keep itself. The bright orange flames engulfed everything below them and incinerated anything that was within even fifty yards of the blast radius. The undead dragon laid at the center of the attack and Viserion let out one last cry before it succumbed to the flames, forever freed from the shackles of the Night King's dark magic. When Rhaegal was finished, the ground was a sea of fire that was burnt black to the earth's crust.

Nobody could survive that…right? But still, they did not dare cheer for fear of incurring the gods' disfavor. The entire north was silent as a grave apart from the sound of the crackling flames until a single sound broke that tranquil silence. Their hearts sank as a figure emerged from within the flames. The wights that had previously fallen began getting up as well. However, it was not the sight of the dead rising that struck fear in their hearts but the figure of the Night King with his sinister smile as he slowly clapped his hands.

The White Walker generals joined their king in his applause and Sansa saw a sickening resemblance to some of the courts held in King's Landing. As if all of this was nothing but a show to be enjoyed. When the applause finally ended, the Night King let out a screech that grated her ears. The sound was mirrored across the battlefield and suddenly, the wights let out a demonic scream and began a frenzied sprint towards the castle. Their speed almost rivaled that of a horse and the legs of some of the more weathered dead simply broke under the pressure. Those would fall and would be trampled without regard. To make matters worse, undead giants and mammoths stepped out of the storm on the horizon. As the ground shook beneath the marching of his army now at full strength, the Night King cracked his neck and began marching as well.

"Light the trench!" Tyrion ordered as he saw their situation worsen dramatically. No matter how skilled the Unsullied were, there was no way they would be able to hold against giants. "Sound the retreat and get the Unsullied behind the gate!"

Davos didn't need to be told twice as he raised two torches in the air and signaled for the trench to be lit. Meanwhile, the horn of retreat was sounded and while Greyworm loathed the idea of failing his queen, the number of Unsullied soldiers was rapidly diminishing after the dead began their frenzied charge. The once strong shield wall was now being punctured full of holes and soon their entire formation would collapse. "Dovaogēdy! Ropagon arlī (Unsullied! Fall back)!" ordered Greyworm the moment the trench was lit but to his surprise, as he looked back, the flames that surrounded Winterfell were not red but green.

"When did you…" Sansa asked as she watched the dark emerald and jade green flames of the Wildfire consume the wights that were trying to charge through the trench.

"Curtesy from Cersei, as a show of good faith for the 'alliance'" Tyrion answered. "Just because you know someone is going to betray you, doesn't mean you can't extract value from them." Even in these weather conditions, the volatile element had ignited instantly and would stay ablaze for a long time. But Tyrion did not look relieved at all, this was only a temporary patch and even Wildfire will eventually die out. Before that happened, he needed to think of a way to get them out of this situation. Or else soon they'll be finding themselves as replacements for the army of the dead.

But before Tyrion could even put two thoughts together, several wights rained down from the sky into the castle. From afar, he saw the giants catapult the wights over the walls with their immense strength. Such battle tactics were not even within the realms of his imagination before, much less a part of any books he's read on warfare. Chaos broke out as these dead soldiers got up, as if nothing happened, and began attacking the soldiers from within. They would be easily taken care of but these distractions from within are costly when the enemies are approaching from outside at the same time.

"My Lady, it is no longer safe here. Go to the South Gate and prepare a horse. Should the castle fall-"

"I'm not abandoning our people! Where would I even be able to run to if Winterfell falls?"

Tyrion didn't know the answer to that, but he wasn't in the mood to debate. He just needed her out of harm's way so that he could think without having to be worried about her safety. Before he could respond, a wight fell straight in front of them. Arya pulled out Needle in the blink of an eye and before the wight could take two steps towards them, she had pierced the skinny blade through its eye. "Listen to him Sansa, I can't fight and protect you at the same time," said Arya without a hint of remorse.

It hurt to hear her sister say that, but Sansa finally understood that it was necessary. The weak don't get to choose. She could only swallow back her tears, "Come back to me, baby sister." The words 'I love you' was stuck in her throat, she didn't know if she would be able to leave if she said them. After all this time, to finally have put aside their differences and share a sisterly bond for the first time, only to lose it all. How would she be able to live on if she lost her family again? She felt rooted in place, unable to leave but unable to stay either.

When she felt a pair of soft hands around hers, she looked down and saw Tyrion holding her hand as he stared into her eyes. The green flames of Wildfire were dancing in his green eyes and she saw the worry that was within them. A worry so deep that the intensity matched the fire of the substance. "I will take care of her, you have my word, Sansa," he whispered so that only she could hear. It was then that she realized that the worry was for her. Not for the state of the battle that would decide the fate of the world but for her safety and well-being. 'Even now…'

"I'll place my faith in you then," said Sansa and she immediately saw the visible look of relief on his scarred face. "Take care of yourself as well, Tyrion," she added before leaving.

From the sky, Jon tried to give support to the ground troops by raining fire down on the dead, but several generals kept Rhaegal at bay with their ice javelins. Having suffered many injuries from his battle with his undead brother, Rhaegal wasn't able to dodge the attacks as easily as he was before. He saw the generals break off into three groups, the first and largest one joined the Night King on his march towards Winterfell, the second was tasked with keeping him and Rhaegal in check while the third was moving away from the castle. 'Dany…' He didn't have time to think. Looking back at the castle, he saw that the trench had been lit. 'That'll buy them some time.' Without the dragons, the living is hopelessly outmatched nonetheless, they'll have to hold for a little while on their own. The second and third group of generals were way smaller compared to the first. He'll draw the second group out with him towards Daenerys, and once he finishes them off, only then will he be able to properly rejoin the battlefield. 'Stay strong everyone.'

Back on the field, Helech and the other generals pushed their undead steep as fast as they could go to make up the distance between them and their Father. But the living didn't just sit idly by; the ballistic device that sat on top their walls launched fireballs that felled a couple of the brethren that rode beside him. It mattered little to him; the weak would die just as they did in the first war. How long has he waited for this moment? How many millenniums has it been since his spear last tasted the blood of man? To be given the gift of immortality meant that his life had a purpose. To wait on endlessly in the Lands of Always Winter was not a purpose. Riding here, on a battlefield against mankind, that was his purpose. Simply recalling the glorious memories of their first war was enough to stir his bloodlust and he couldn't help but let out a bloodcurdling battlecry as he stood up in his saddle and raised his spear.

His cry echoed across the battlefield, no doubt by his brothers who were just as excited as he was. There were but ten of them left from the Long Night. Originally twelve but Iarhúl died while retrieving one of the sacrifices and Rohar died when Father sent him to kill the one that was promised. Iarhúl's death he did not witness, but Rohar's he had. A foolish death; caught by surprise when his magic did not break his opponent's blade. His thoughts were interrupted when a flaming arrow flew at his head. A slight tilt allowed him to dodge it but many more were coming. These long-ranged weapons the humans used only showed how afraid they were at getting close to death. He raised his spear and parried a few of the arrows but a stray one caught the eye of his ride, causing it to collapse under him.

The fall that would have crushed a few human bones was of no consequence to him but these obsidian tipped arrows were indeed a threat. Parrying each one of them was a nuisance so instead, Helech ordered hundreds of wights to pile in front of him to act as a shield while he proceeded towards the fort on foot. From this distance, he could spot the defenders that were manning the walls and he could not stop himself from grinning from ear to ear. The blue eyes of the White Walkers had nothing but emptiness in them, but those eyes were so full of emotions; fear, courage, determination, frustration, rage. Colors that mesmerized him, that drew him to them. Thinking back on it now, he had fought so often on the frontlines that the humans began to recognize him. What did they call him again, in their tongue? The wall of wight opened up for a split second to allow him to toss his spear at one of the defenders. The spear flew at a speed that was faster than anything a human could react to and it punctured right through the defender's chest and out his back. Before the humans could retaliate, the wall of wight closed again and another ice spear materialized in his hand. 'Ah that's right, I remember now, they called me…Impaler.'

"Fuck me," Tyrion cursed as he watched the White Walker continue its approach behind the wall of wights towards the Hunter's Gate to their west. "Continue to focus him, do not let him get close to the trenches!" He did not know whether or not the general would be able to do anything about it but after witnessing the Night King survive Rhaegal's attack, he wasn't ready to leave it up to chance. However, the spear-thrower wasn't his only worry. Looking back to the north, he saw a platoon of wights led by a White Walker that held a double-bladed sword and a hulking White Walker that stood at least two feet taller than his companion.

The one with the double-bladed sword employed a strategy similar to the spear-thrower and surrounded himself with wights but the other one did not. That one did not command wights to act as a shield for him because he carried one himself. A tower shield made of pure ice that may have been taller than the Mountain himself. The archers couldn't even slow him down and soon he was in front of the trench. With one hand holding up his shield, his other grabbed the nearest wight and tossed it into the green flames. When the dead burst into flames, the half-giant tossed another one in and another. 'Thank the gods this one is about as smart as the Mountain as well.' The highly flammable wights would not be good building blocks for a bridge to cross over. It was just more fuel to the fire as far as Wildfire was concerned.

When the brute finally realized that this plan wasn't going to work, he stopped and let out a glass-shattering cry. For a moment, Tyrion thought nothing of it but when the White Walkers and their minions cleared a path to the gate, he realized what they were intending to do. Jon Snow had told him about the attack on Castle Black, when Mance Rayder had giants and their mammoths siege the gate that blocked the tunnel through the Wall. Hearing about it was one thing but seeing this was something else entirely. Nine undead mammoths charged at the North Gate with a head full of steam. Tyrion could have sworn that he felt the castle shaking beneath his feet, from the mammoths' charge or from his knees going weak he wasn't sure which. The undead siege engines had no regard for the wights that were still in their way and they certainly won't have any for Winterfell's gate. At the speed they were going at, they were going to smash straight through the trench.

"FUCK ME! DAVOS QUICKLY! DO IT NOW!"

Tyrion didn't hear a response. In fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. All he saw was a flash of green before the ground in front of the trenches exploded into the air. The force of the explosion tore the undead mammoths apart, flinging their prehistoric body parts across the battlefield. All nine of the charging death machines were dead for good now but as with the Battle of the Blackwater, Tyrion could only play this trick once. He had staved off the attack, but it had been meant to take out the Night King himself. Before he even had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, his heart dropped as the ground began shaking again. A trailer, a single mammoth that was behind the initial charge, was now charging at them uncontested. The soldiers looked to him for guidance, but he had nothing for them. Nothing but silence as the giant beast charged through the Wildfire and smashed through the trenches. Completely engulfed by the Wildfire at this point, the flaming mammoth crashed through Winterfell's last defense, pulverizing several soldiers within the vicinity, before finally collapsing down.

The dead have breached the gate.

Without a second's hesitation, Eddison Tollett, the acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, unsheathed his blade. "Brothers! With me!"

"Soldiers, arm yourself!" Brienne ordered as she drew Oathkeeper, followed by Jaime with Widow's Wail.

The courtyard instantly filled up with the forces of the living forming a human wall against the dead that poured through the gate. Northmen and Free Folk banded together as they cut down one wight after another while the Unsullied did their best to shore up their defenses. But with each one they put to rest, two more seemed to take its place.

From the front battlement, Arya watched as their forces engaged the dead and instinctively went to join the fight. But before she could leave, her arm was held by Tyrion. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Are you blind, deaf or dumb? The dead have breached the North Gate, I need to go help!"

"And how many do you think you'll be able to cut down before the dead overwhelms you?"

"More than I can staying here," Arya said as she tightened her jaw. "Let go of me, I won't ask again."

"If you are the assassin you think you are," said Tyrion as he tightened his grip and met her glare with his own, "that I think you are, then you must stay your hand until it is the right time to play it. A swing of your blade can wipe out hundreds of them. You go down there, you'll kill a few dozen before you are forced to retreat."

Arya gritted her teeth as she looked back at the battle that raged on in the courtyard just below them. It wasn't supposed to be like this; she wanted to fight and defend her home as the rest of them did, yet she had no answer to Tyrion. "My brother is down there." Arya looked back at him and saw the fierce determination that was within his eyes. "You don't think I want to give the order for every soldier in this castle to go down there? I would go down there with a fucking axe myself if I thought that gave us a higher chance of winning! But it won't because I'm a dwarf and I'm more useful using this," he said as he pointed to his head, "than an axe. And you're more useful from the shadow than on the frontline. Do you understand?"

Arya could do nothing, but nod and Tyrion finally let go of her arm. Their conversation was interrupted when an out of breath soldier ran up the stairs. "My Lord Hand, report from the East Gate!"

"Well, what is it?" Tyrion asked impatiently.

The young lad was visibly terrified as he swallowed nervously. "Spiders."

*Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and thanks to everyone who has followed and favorited this story so far! If you have any comments or criticism, feel free to leave a review because honestly, nothing motivates me more than seeing what my readers think of the story!