After receiving word of the fall of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Edd gathered all the men in Castle Black and sent a raven to the Shadow Tower for everyone to fall back to Winterfell. There was no use in manning a fallen wall. Even so, as Lord Commander Edd needed to assess the damage done to Eastwatch and finding any men he could to help fight the dead. It was truly a sight to behold and certainly not a pleasant one.

"What the shit could have done this?" Edd asked to himself. "Let's get to searching men, we might have some bodies to burn." Edd ordered his men to start looking under the rubble to find any men, alive or dead. Any man found means less in the army of the dead.

Edd could hear the faint groans of someone most certainly alive. "Are you even fuckin' trying to get out, it's like you wanna fuckin' die!" Edd heard the familiar voice of Tormund. "When you've come back as much as I have, eventually you just want to stay in that forever darkness." It was a voice that Edd could not recall but any voices were good. After tying up the horses he and his men began to motion towards the voices.

"Tormund!" Tormund drew his blade but quickly returned it to his belt when he saw who was calling his name. "It's been a while crow," Tormund said giving a quick friendly embrace patting him on the back.

"I see you brought a whole flock of crows," Tormund said observing the men. "Good, need some help with this one," he said pointing his thumb behind him. Edd saw a older man missing one eye covered by an eyepatch. He thought he would most certainly be unable to move, it was by some miracle that he was still sucking air. He motioned his men over to help him lift, after they were able to remove the block of ice it was baffling to see the man was even able to move let alone stand on his own two feet holding his side.

He was about to thank them when as if it had been waiting for them, strong gusts of wind began the push in their direction encompassing them in snow removing any visibility. Tormund's eyes began to widen as he knew what came with the storm and it wasn't just an army of walking dead men they had to worry about anymore. Now they had the skies and all of Winterfell will be destroyed if they're not warned. "Circle up!" Edd screamed but his men were too spread out and the storm was far too thick for them to find each other and slowly one by one they were picked off. Tormund holding Beric over his shoulders backed into another and turned around ready to strike as did the other, they both stopped realizing it was Edd.

Edd's eyes widened at a sudden pain in his stomach as he looking down to see an icy blade sticking out of it. He looked to Tormund with his mouth gaping in shock. Edd began coughing up blood, any words he tried to muster were halted by the gargling of blood pouring out of his mouth. He fell to the ground as Tormund looked forward at the blue eyes in the mist. He let Beric off his shoulder now,

"Get on a horse and get back to Winterfell to warn Jon, I'm gonna kill this fucker." Some force guided Beric that had been guiding him for his entire existence as he ignited his sword and ran, he knew Tormund wouldn't be able to survive as the Lord of Light only needed him to keep Beric alive for whatever purpose he had to serve. He ran through the mist, guided by the panicked sounds of horses. He sliced every wight that charged him and they immediately fell and began squirming on the ground as they burned to their second death.

When he finally reached a horse and mounted it he began to ride away looking back and seeing Tormund slicing every wight that came near, until it was just him and a white walker, he began swinging wildly with the white walker dodging every move he sent, finally disarming Tormund and taking him by the hair cutting his head off like it was cake. He served his purpose and he served his purpose well, Beric only hoped he could do the same.

XXXX
Winterfell

At the lowest level of the ancestral castle, there lies a man named Petyr Baelish who was once a lord Paramount of the Trident on a pile of woods, a former master of Coin for a drunk king and tyrant boy king. He was once a boy who harbored a crush on a woman twice his age and challenged her betrothal to combat. He'd lost quite easily and would've been killed if not for the woman's pleas of mercy to her husband to spare the boy. But that small act of mercy proved to be Westeros' undoing as the young boy grew up to be a powerful lord whose machinations and deceptions led to war that turned the Seven Kingdoms on its head. So many dead, so many lost all to reach one single goal, The Iron Throne. But as he rose in terms of power, he got complacent along the way and that complacency turned out to be his downfall as he found himself dead on the cold wooden floors of the Great Hall of Winterfell executed by the girl who was the woman's daughter with his throat silt years later.

Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell walked towards his body with a lit torch in her hand and set the pile on fire with a purpose. She stepped back, watching as the fire began to spread consuming both the pile and Baelish completely. A war has ended, two more shall continue.