Chapter Eighty-Four
….
The Wall, The Gift, Second Year of Queen Myrcella's Baratheon reign.
There would be many tales telling about the War of the Dawn in the annals stored and taught later in the museums of the Republic. No words however no matter how flamboyant can describe how glorious it is as the newly-dubbed Alliance settle on the open spaces of The Gift behind the Wall.
Winter has set in at the beginning of the year. The cold sheet covers the land in a white and grey landscape erasing all vestiges of green. Even here in the South, the cold drops to unhealthy temperatures that even Rivendell's weather defenses cannot cut it. Sure the land is still as rich as ever and the crop rotations remain the same. The farmers however now have to work in a cold environment instead of the usual warm ones that they are used to.
Delianah herself is no stranger to cold. Dwelling in Hogwarts, winter has always been part of her life. This is probably her first true winter in Westeros. The brief winter she encountered before is nothing compared to what it is now. Her brain accustomed to only the brief months of cold back home finds it a little hard to accommodate the reality that winter here takes years.
Still here she is with the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms for the first time mustered in whole strength. Every holdfast and castle is called to arms for this. No one is exempted from the regular household of a hedge Knight to the mighty banner men of Lord Paramounts all are called into service. The Inquisition makes sure that everyone participates. The newly dubbed Mistress of Shadows, the Head of the Royal Inquisition, the Lady Olenna Tyrell (heavily dosed with loyalty potions) is very thorough, her Inquisitors going through the entirety of Westeros like a fine toothed comb getting men from every holdfast in the land.
Now here all they are with everything that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer.
A hand clasps with hers and Delianah sighs as she turns to the love of her life smiling softly at her. While Delianah admits that never in her long plans does it involves falling in love with someone, Myrcella bulldozes her way inside her heart by being there. The young woman simply has the best of both of her parents squeezed into one, the beauty of her mother with none of the haughtiness and the empathic heart of her father. Other rulers who would usually sit on the Iron Throne would already be drunk with power. Myrcella however remains the same (though Delianah feels slightly guilty that despite Myrcella being queen, it is her who is making the decisions and pulling the strings in the background), still smiling and willing to listen an ear to anyone who would come to her. The Summer Queen, that is what they call her due to the bright outfits that she prefers to wear always.
Back however to where they are currently. Myrcella of course is with her as they stand here watching the muster of everything that they can gather from one end of Westeros to another.
Down below they can see of course at the forefront the Black Direwolf of Winterfell in a white field alongside it's banners. With Bran Stark a young boy, the command of the armies of the North temporarily fell to his uncle, Benjen Stark much to the relief of the Northern Lords. Not everyone after all are happy with the other alternative, the Karstarks in command. Nearly every man in the North is here and it is no wonder seeing that in the event that they would lose it is the Northern Kingdom who would suffer first.
The other banners of the Seven Kingdoms can also be found below in their own respective separate areas. The Gold Lion of House Lannister with its opulently armed levies, under Ser Kevan Lannister. Say what you will of the Proud House of the West but they sure know how to arrive always looking the richest and smelling like flowers. Being brother to the Queen sure has its perks as the trade deals of the Westerlands established by Tywin before to Rivendell are resumed.
The Green Clad Riverland Trout of course with Edmure and Hoster, the former adapting the color of Green in their armor and outfits as a pride for his people's Ranger Corps. Like the Westerlands, the Riverlands have become rich though many of the local houses still argue with one another. Under a more forceful Edmure however, they keep their bullyard issues to themselves.
The banner of Dorne is also aloft with everything that the Desert Country can muster like a sea of yellow and spears, under Oberyn Martell. Doran at first has been skeptical about mustering the strength of his people. However with the rest of the realm committing and with the Inquisition breathing down their necks, the Dornish finally choose their pride and sent their legions of the desert.
Opposite them is the most numerous, the hundred thousand and twenty of the Reach with all its levies in a sea of banners and armor. They occupy almost half the field under Prince Consort Loras Tyrell and his father, who invited himself, Mace. The Reach has been little touched by war, and thus offer the largest military unit in terms of number. In experience though, they are still all a bit green and even Loras would agree that many might cut and run if things start to look a little unfavorable.
The rest being the Stormlands, the Vale and the Ironborn are clumped together. It is not surprising since the three are the worst hit in the war and worse, serve as foes for her Royal Majesty.
The Vale looks more like a beggared lot of Light Cavalry with only a paltry few knights. The Queen Consort has adamantly refused to give them back the weapons and armor of the fallen knights at the Massacre. Contrary to popular belief, it is quite hard to train a knight and have him fully equipped with lance, sword, dirk and armor.
The Ironlands and Stormlands almost have the same in outfit with boiled leathers and rough jerkins. While their lords indeed might look a little better with either ring or chain armor with weapons of swords, and the occasional battle-axe, their levies looks the opposite with majority only wielding axes, pitchforks and the occasional pike or spear, more or less a very unimpressive lot to look at.
The Wildlings are also present in the area. Mance Rayder for all his faults manages to at least rescue fifty thousand of his kindred and brought them South after the loss at Hardhome. Jeor Mormont let them pass with the promise however that they would fight alongside everyone at the Battle Against the Dead. They however remain at least a stone's throw away from the rest of the armies of those who dwell South of the Wall. It's not surprising seeing the enmity between Westerosi and the Wildlings. At least twenty thousand of them however are able to fight and hold a weapon. While the Lords are indeed displeased at siding with "savages", they can't deny the numerical advantage it would give them by having the Wildlings with them.
Not all are Westerosi in this gathering of armies. In fact more than half of the Alliance is made up of foreigners, friends and allies of Delianah through her connections. The Lady of Rivendell isn't stupid, she knows that this would probably the largest battle of her life. She would also not be dealing with humans anymore, but beings of magic and power. Last time her army fought one is with terrible cost. She is under no assumptions that this would be harder.
Many in fact answered her call.
Most iconic are the nations in the continents of the Middle of Planetos where the sun is like that of Dorne, an eternal desert for those who live there. With their white robes and head covers, they are almost invisible in the white background of the snow. Present are the marauders of the desert under Prince Ali, Mighty is He of Ibabwa, consort to the Sultan, Jasmine. There is also Prince Dastan under the patronage of King Tusk of the Empire of Presia. They are mostly levies under the command of different well-known warriors in their retinue.
The Far Eastern countries are the ones who answer her call the most; the warriors of Nihon-Ja in their unique armor that resembles eerily that of early Japan, the proud Steel Riders of Goguryeo and of course the vast legions of Yi Ti whose Emperor unashamedly sent with a good luck card. Delianah's eye twitches as she receives that actually, it is a wish card that comes with an additional hundred thousand men, an entire legion of Yi Ti for "future friendship". While Delianah is thankful for this massive boon, she can't help but wonder if the Emperor is playing another angle. Last time she met the man, he is so gods so honest that if not for Delianah diving inside his head to make sure that he does not have some sort of angle, she might never have believed his direct honesty.
Friends from Essos also come with support. The Ghiscari Legions arrive with their large square shields and red outfits that it reminds Delianah almost of ancient Rome minus the full coordination. From Braavos arrives mercenary group by a dozen including the infamous Golden Company. The Sealord spared no expense. The man does not lack common sense and realized quite quickly that the best way to stop the Long Night from reaching his own shore is stopping the Night King here before he can wreak havoc in his own land. The Iron Bank also puts in their own thick wad of cash. The bankers are pragmatic and even the dumbest of them realize that creepy ice monsters who have a happy fondness of turning people to walking rotten automatons is obviously bad for business. Their contribution is twenty thousand Unsullied alongside a blank check which the Alliance can use to arm and prepare themselves.
Most iconic however of many that answer the call is Daenerys Targaryen herself with three grown dragons. The young monarch of Astapor agrees with Delianah's message of aid. In exchange however for her support she demands a five year grain supply to Astapor for free from Westeros. Say what you will of the last Targaryen, but after Delianah dives in to her mind, she can see that she does take her position as ruler of Astapor very seriously. Ser Barristan has groomed her…correctly, which benefits Delianah's plan. Astapor and its surrounding countryside despite being under the control of the Dragon Queen lacks allies and trade partners due to its stance against slavery. Thus the young monarch is quite in a panic in trying to find food to feed her people. Delianah graciously steps in with a helping hand with an exchange of service for today.
As for her own House, the House of Rivendell is fully armed and marshaled for today. Fifty thousand men comprised of Black Guard legionnaires and Homeguard of the Homesteads. The Silver Wings Order is also in full force with not a man missing. All of them hope to cover themselves in glory today, none of them even entertain the idea that they might lose unlike some of their fellows in the Alliance.
All have come when she called, all have answered the final trumpet to the War of the Dawn.
The Gryphons are also present, all fifty of them as they glare disdainfully at the dragons. The giant birds have been used to be the only powerful flying creatures around the Continent and are giving off very unhappy squawks as they eye disdainfully the three dragons. More than once Godric has to nip and claw a rather uppity member of the herd who gets to close to the dragons in order to pick a fight. Delianah after all fully impressed in her powerful ride that there be no fights until the battle is over at least.
The sound of a horn blaring at the top of the Wall stops everyone from the source of the sound. Everyone waits with baited breathe knowing already by heart the different horn calls. When none are mort forthcoming, even Delianah relaxes as the shout of "Ranger's Returning!" from the Night's Watch. At least for a little while, the battle is being postponed.
…..
The relief of the lack of three other horn-blasts is rather short-lived. The man who returned to them is one of the Rangers sent by the Lord Commander to keep watch of the lands beyond the Frozen Forest for any sign that the armies of the Dead are coming. He looks ragged and tired with his cloak torn to pieces with bits of dried blood on his self.
The rest of lords and princes have been gathered here at the Lord Commander's Tower (including Delianah and Myrcella) to receive the report of the last Rangers to return. It seems that the enemy is closer than they are expecting.
"They come Lord Commander, by the hundreds of thousands. They killed Sam and Pwetr before with those undead wolves of theirs. I am sorry Lord Commander. Last I see them as I am riding is they are approaching the household of that inbred wildling, Craster's Keep," he pants hard even as every commander in the vicinity stares at him.
"How long do you think before they get here Socke?"asks Jeor Mormont to the man.
"I don't know Lord Commander. A day maybe, I think. They would need to traverse the Frozen Forest and the dangers it holds," the man answers.
"They would be here later tonight if your report is accurate Ranger," it is Alliser Thorne's voice who cuts through the silence. "If they don't stop, they would be here by tonight. They are tireless after all and would not require rest like all of us do. They also would not fear the dangers of the Frozen Forest with their numbers and their nature. We should expect that the deadly predators that call it their home would also be turned, which means human wights would not be our only adversary," he glumly states out.
"That would mean that we have very little time to prepare," grumbles Lord Tarly. The old Lord of Horn Hill is a strategic genius. Delianah herself can vouch that after she invaded his mind. Despite the man being their foe during the First War of the Faith, she can respect that there is no one here who could probably outmatch him in wit and planning. The only reason he lost twice during the War of the Faith is because of the cheating of Delianah using her magic.
"Are they spread out, ready to attack all the Wall at once?" he asks the Ranger who shakes his head in negative.
"No my lord, it looks like they are focusing almost their entire numbers here at Castle Black. This seems to be their target though I can't be fully sure since I bolted it the moment they came into view. The weather is also very bad so I cannot see if other wandering bands might have broken off from the main group,"
"I see, good man. Your grace, might I suggest that we should focus our forces here at Castle Black instead of separating them into the different castles as you originally planned," Lord Tarly says looking at Delianah who humms as she turns to the scale model of the Wall at the map laid on the table.
Delianah's original plan is rather simple. It is a classic defense system per say. The Army of the Dead number wise has them beat, that much is obvious. Delianah knows that no matter how much men she puts into the field, the Night King's Army will always have more. To combat that, her plan is to disperse the Alliance all over the Wall with the renovated castles serving as strong points. This way they could avoid being outflanked by their enemy. The dragons and the Gryphons can then serve as mobile units which can relieve any section of the Wall who looked like they might be in trouble of being overrun. It is basically a siege plan, the first one where the defenders wound have an advantage. Those at the Wall after all can simply defend even with a smaller number against a large force easy.
With the Night King however focusing his forces here changes things up a lot. With the Night King placing his entire army here, he is obviously forcing an opening through the Wall instead of attacking it section by section. No, this is the place where the hammer stroke will fall hardest. Once he gets past the Wall, he could swarm past the other sides easy.
"Besides, it's no impossible to think that that Necromancer would be simply wanting to save time and focusing in finishing us all in one blow. The majority of the resistance of this continent and probably beyond can be found here after all," If they are defeated here, the rest of Westeros would not have the strength to resist the march of the Dead, south (not that Delianah is planning to lose in anyway possible).
"What are you suggesting then Lord Tarly?" asks Delianah at the man who naturally gets everyone's attention.
"A full frontal face off against the Army of the Dead your grace. We deploy our forces in locked formations outside Castle Black while every bow and arrow we can spare we send up the Wall. The Army of the Dead will obviously outnumber us by a large margin. However that is their only advantage other than ferocity. They don't have static lines and they don't employ tactics when fighting. They only come as one massive charge overcoming their enemies by sheer force of numbers. That is something we can exploit,"
Inside Delianah smirks at the rather genius of the man when it comes to battles, it barely has taken long for him to be presented facts and in the span of mere moments come out with a battle plan that might work. It is rare to find a man in a lordly house who has that kind of intellect.
"Tell us of your thoughts then Lord Tarly," Delianah waves out giving the stage to the man who bows to her.
"Thank you your grace. What I am saying is we face our enemy head on with shields at the front, a bulwark of pikes, spears and shields, units that have heavy armor in rotation with others. The archers at the Wall above alongside with every siege engine we can cram up there would rain down hell at the enemy once they advance. They will thin out the enemy charge so that they cannot push in one massive mass that would flatten and bury our lines. Instead they would be in ragged ones and twos, smaller in number that our frontal lines would be able to hold. Skirmishers, and units who excel in hand to hand combat would plug any part of the lines that might falter. We must put our trust in the lances, pikes and spears however. The enemy is much more ferocious than us and unlike us can afford to lose a limb or two without the pain of injuries' hindering them. As much as possible, we must avoid getting into grips with them,"
"What about the flanks Lord Tarly?" one of the commanders of the Ghiscari asks. "Won't they try to flank us once our front lines prove impossible to breach?"
"They will and that is where the spikes and other sharpened stakes must be deployed alongside the Skirmisher reserves. They will be preventing any force trying to outflank us from the sides. Also with our army positioned near the Wall, the defenders at the top can drop the oil and barrels of frozen ice to thin out their numbers. The flanks would not be an issue. If the information that I am provided is right, the Night King has never been defeated in battle ever since he tried making again the Army of the Dead. The once he is beaten only was during the time of Brandon the Builder and if the legends are true, Brandon did it with a fiery sword rather than tactics. So no, he would come at us full tilt expecting his old and proven true tactics of overpowering us with his army through numbers,"
"We need to be really sure that we thin out their charge Lord Tarly. We are not facing only the Dead in human form but also those of beasts and if the reports are accurate, giants. Once they become en-massed, the lines would be broken and there would be chaos. Besides, if the cohesion or order is lost in any way then it would be disaster for everyone at the wrong side of the Wall,"
"I am aware of that Lord Tarly. That is why that integral part would belong to the cavalry," answers the bald Reacher lord pointing at the sides of the army. "The cavalry would be kept in reserve at the sides of the army. Whenever there is a strong point in the front, they would be deployed en masse to thin it out before retreating again. Bugles in cavalry groups would indicate for the archers and siege engines on the wall in the presence of a charge and would adjust their aims farther in the lines to prevent us hitting our own men. The dragons and Gryphons would provide cover for any massed sector out of the range of archers and the siege engines. Your grace, I assume that you don't plan to land the Gryphons amidst the Army of the Dead to fight them?"
"No, the pyromancers have been storing wildfires in caches. Me and the other riders will carry them with us and drop them in the safety of the air," answers Delianah. She can feel however the eyes of Myrcella boring a hole on her back once more.
"That is all the plan I propose my lady. With your patronage," says Randyll Tarly finally backing off leaving the war pieces at the large map in front of him.
Delianah simply stares at the table for a minute before looking at the faces gathered around the table. "Any protests or other suggestions?" she asks with everyone shaking their heads.
"Then it is settled. We go with Lord Tarly's plan. See to it that your men are informed and ready. Lord Commander?"
"Yes, your grace," the old Mormont stiffened in being singled out.
"Please have the Night's Watch supervise the builders in surveying and making the defenses on the flanks of our formations. You know the land best, please use it to our advantage,"
"By your will, your Grace," the man bows.
"The rest of you carry out your orders and make sure that everything that Lord Tarly said would be done. Make your prayers, say your peace my lords," she grins at them all. "We are in for one wild night,"
…..
The Queen's Tower, Castle Black
This part of the castle is the tallest part of Castle Black. According to ancient records it has been built by the Night's Watch for the visit of Queen Alysane Targaryen when she visited the Wall with her dragon and stayed here. Like all other parts of the Night's Watch, it has fallen into disrepair and abandoned during the long years of neglect of the realm to the ancient order. With the coming of the Battle of the Dawn though, the Builders have restored it to its rightful glory and it now hosts a queen once more, or rather queens.
Delianah sighs as she leans on the side of the bed where Myrcella is lying with her back, her golden blonde tresses all over the bed. She has removed all the layers of fur whence she is only in her night gown of white, barely hiding anything.
"You do not want me going along with the army?"
"I think it's pretty obvious Delia," Myrcella's voice is a bit of a hiss as she glares at Delianah. "There are thousands of other lords and commanders there. You are THE QUEEN! I don't understand why you have to lead from the front where you can be killed in a thousand different ways, and worse be brought back as a mindless monster under the Night King's clutch,"
Delianah just tiredly lays down beside her wife. Previous Myrcella would never have the backbone of saying all this to her, but the crown has done Myrcella good. She is not afraid anymore of letting her thoughts be heard…..sometimes. If there is one unexpected thing that Delianah has not foreseen in this Battle for the Dawn business is the fact that the undead scares the living shit out of her wife. She has to give it to Myrcella though, despite her fear she still elects to be here with her instead of safely hiding at King's Landing. She makes it absolutely clear to Myrcella however that never in any way would Myrcella be with the main army on the ground. She is after all the queen, and another, she is her wife and the mother of their children. She would not have little Harrison and little Alya be without parents (not that she is planning on dying anytime soon in this battle, but just in case. Having no parents, sucks, Delianah as Harry can personally attest to that).
The sound of a door opening followed by a disrespectful burp make the two queens turn to the entrance their attention though they already know who it is. There is only one person after all who would dare be so disrespectful in such a way in their presence.
"What?! Cella is arguing again hic about you going hic into the battlefield Delia?" a very inebriated Rhaenys chimes out way too loudly being supported in the sides by an exasperated Yasmina and a smug looking Arianne.
Delianah resists the urge to massage her forehead at this. Long story short, Rhaenys loves Firewhisky, no scratch that, Rhaenys REALLY loves Firewhisky. The only reason she is not drinking the damned thing all the time, is because she has a lot of self-control and afraid of the consequences. Firewhisky after all can get anyone plastered by a single glass before they can even fart EMPEROR out. Delianah blames it on the Targaryen part of her lineage. Firewhisky after all BURNS inside your throat and gut. The last time Rhaenys got plastered with the drink, she has been found trying to kiss a rock in one of the streams near Rivendell stark naked.
"I'm sorry Your Grace, but we have to get some hungover tablets you have here. The rest of Castle Black doesn't have them," says Yasmina apologetically already hurrying inside knowing very well that Myrcella and her won't mind.
"Drinking contest?" Delianah asks Arianne even as Yasmina pinches Rhaenys' nose to put the medicine in.
"Yes," answers Arianne as she helps Yasmina make sure that Rhaenys swallow the pellet. "She's stressed, hell we are all stressed. It seems to be a good idea that time," she winces.
"Am I interrupting something?" the voice of Amelia makes everyone turn to the doorway to see Amelia entering in her Death Dealer regalia.
"Amelia, you're here," beams Myrcella at her presence. "I thought Edmure might be tying you to your bed back at Riverrun in his attempts to keep you from joining the army,"
To say the least, Edmure isn't happy that his wife would be joining them in the fight against the Army of the Dead. His worries are legit. With Amelia, he already has two sons, Bernard and Belmont Tully, both of the same age as Myrcella's children with Bernard as the heir. Judging by Amelia's presence here, Edmure might have lost again at the yard. Marital issues within the Tully Household these days are settled via swordfighting or fists.
"He tried, I prevailed," Amelia simply answers with a smirk throwing herself to one of the couches just in time as Yasmina and Arianne finish shoving the medicine down a thoroughly recovered Rhaenys.
"Ughhh! My head,"
"Water's at the table," points out Delianah at Yasmina who takes the jug before bringing it to Rhaenys who gulps it down greedily. As it is, she takes stock of the people around her. It seems just yesterday that they are gathered when they are nothing more than just a House instead at the topmost echelon of this continent's royalty.
"There's no point in trying to convince our lady of sitting this out Cella," says Amelia sitting down as formal as ever in one of the comfy cushions. "You know very well that doing so is only fighting the inevitable. Even if she says yes, she will definitely sneak out one way or another,"
"Hey! I am not that reckless," Delianah tries to protest much to the snort of Amelia.
"Please, my lady. I would be a poor servant of yours instead if I didn't know your quirks in all these years. Out of everyone here, I am the longest one that have been with you so far,"
"I still remember that boat ride with the longships heading to White Harbor. Color me surprised when the warrior that Lord Viktor wants guarding me is a young woman barely above me in age," Delianah recalls.
"For the record my lady, I think that my uncle wanted you to have companions and friends. No offense my lady but despite your great works and projects from before, you have never been the one to be found socializing with others. My uncle I believe wants to change that,"
"Sly old goat," snorts Delianah.
"Yes, may he rest in peace," Amelia replies raising a bottle to the memory of the late Lord Viktor.
The next few moments are spent reminiscing memories as they laugh and drink. Delianah just smiles as she listens and sometimes interjects a tidbit here and there with them. They are her first companions and has been with her through thick and thin (minus Arianne). Whatever happens in the next few hours for good or for ill, the memories she has succeeded on making with them she would treasure.
Too soon, a very familiar and chilling cold can be felt through the air and all five women become silent. It is completely unsaid but all of them knows that the time is finally here. Myrcella who has been leaning at Delianah's side holding her arm tightens her grip making Delianah stare at her wife who looks deathly pale at the realization that the moment has finally come.
"It's going to be alright," Delianah whispers to her before gently prying off her fingers. Standing up, she silently puts on the discarded pieces of her armor littering the place. She says no word of protest as all four of her companions helps her in doing it.
…
Outside the Wall, Castle Black
The rather quick deplete in temperature is as much a warning as the three horn blasts that erupt from the top of the wall. The Alliance armies of humanity which has been scattered all over the area huddled in fires are now in movement, kicking off their impromptu campfires and standing at their designated places. Builders and workers drop their equipment as the spikes and ditches at the flanks are doused with oil. All around it is a bustle of activity as everyone gets to their positions as heavy infantry takes the front with more mobile and specialist groups in close quarter combat stands in the ready.
Loras Tyrell, Prince Consort of Westeros has never seen anything like this, a complete alliance with almost every part of a nation of the known world participating. When Delianah Tully united Westeros under her rule (for there is none that could argue that despite Myrcella being queen, it is the Lady of Rivendell who truly calls the shots), Loras thinks that he has already seen it all. Yet here he is, bearing witness with his own eyes as a far greater unity gather to face one single absolute foe that would bring ruin and destruction to the world.
For Loras, life has been peaceful though busy ever since he has been made Prince Consort of Rivendell. For starters, he has one of the seats at the Supreme Court's seat of Thirteen. Nearly all the problems of the highborn of the realm that does not require the seal of the queen are under his purview. It is exhausting but fulfilling work.
Married life has also been rather….relaxed as far as Loras experienced it. He has been surrendering to the fact that although he would willingly do his duty for his family, he would never be happy because of it. He after all prefers the same gender as his. One only needs to look at the example set of late King Robert and Cersei to know the damage of what a loveless marriage entails.
His relationship (thank the gods) to the Queen is nothing like that. Firstly, he manages with the help of Delianah to beget two heirs from the Queen after that little journey to the Green Isle. One of his greatest fears is that he would fail to perform in the marriage bed after all. He has no doubt whatsoever that the children are his. Little Harrison has that Tyrell pretty look with similarities to his though Little Alya is almost a carbon copy of the Lady Delianah. That is what brings him to his Second Point. It catches Loras totally by surprise when the marriage of Delianah and Myrcella are announced. Others might have been disgusted by it but Loras more than anyone understood. The only stipulation that they give to him is that he performs his duty well to the realm and to the family as the father.
Loras of course needs no egging especially on the latter. He would not let his family name be shamed and the Seven Hells would have to bind him before he gives up on the two munchkins that wormed their way to his heart. This battle would not only be for a chance of another tomorrow for mankind but for a future for his children.
Nodding at the Reachmen that is this section of the line, Loras urges his horse a little at the way of the front. He is Prince Consort after all and needs to be seen. Later he would marshal with the rest of the Cavalry where he would join the charge. Already he could see that the entirety of the army is almost assembled, the braziers and standing torches giving light to the ugly weather wafting all around them. Even more behind he can see at the top of the wall, large amounts of torches and braziers being lit as the defenders scrounge every bit of artillery they can bring up there.
The sudden landing of the Gryphon at the front near him nearly throws Loras off his horse as the nervous beast buckles at the presence of the great apex predator so near to it. As it is Loras pats the side of the horse calming it down even as he stares at the visage of the Queen of Westeros.
Delianah it seems has worn a black and blue bodysuit with golden edge linings hugging every curve and contour leaving none for the imagination. Loras can already feel the disapproving frown of Queen Myrcella at the top of the wall. It seems however that Queen Delianah's choice of outfit is already doing much in alleviating the nervousness of many of the men as they gawk at the Queen forgetting for a moment the deathly situation that they are going to be thrown to. Also aides can be seen throughout the lines handing off Firewhisky to the men both to alleviate the cold and at the same time….seems to make them fierce? Loras has to blink to make sure that he's seeing right and the men who drinks looks more confident than they are before.
"I could talk about our GODS! But they have no place here right now in this hell we are about to face," Delianah's voice rings clear and true from one end of the line to another. Even the ones atop the Wall can hear her clearly.
"I could talk about HONOR! But you are here. You already know enough about honor," her tone is that of wry amusement.
"I know we are all different, yet today, today we are MEN!" everyone is now standing ramrod straight as nearly every eye is bored to her.
"You fight for your gods! For your country! For your honor! For your family! I DO NOT CARE AS LONG AS YOU FIGHT!"
The cheer that erupts from the gathered soldiers is almost deafening as the Queen of Westeros draws the spear at her back raising it in the sky. It might just be his imagination, but Loras can almost see the entire length of the spear glowing, the ice and foul wind not touching the small barrier that surrounds the Queen as she shines like a star.
"FOR HUMANITY! FOR HUMANITY AND THE ALLIANCE!"
"FOR HUMANITY!"
"FOR THE ALLIANCE!"
Is it really surprising that Loras finds himself roaring his defiance against the dark along with everyone else?
…..
Delianah smiles at the rather robust cheers and yells of the army. At least this brief hooray of testosterone would be enough to momentarily distract everyone from the hordes of undead currently running towards them.
Leveling her spear downward to the gloom where the edge of the forest ends, it gives the signal to the engineers of the trebuchets above the Wall. Shouts and orders are barked as sergeants egg their units to set on fire the ammunitions, stones covered in oil, jars full of oil, balls of thick hay covered in tar and oil, anything that can basically serve as kindle or as near to it as possible are brought into service right now.
With the leveling of the Queen' spear, everyone immediately springs into action. With yells of "fire" and "loose", winches, pulleys and ropes are released from their tensions as the siege engines fired. In the span of seconds, dozens upon dozens of great balls of fire streaking high in the sky, can be seen before falling down into the gloom. For the briefest of seconds before each siege engine artillery lands in a cascade of fiery explosions, every eye would witness parts of the Army of the Dead, skittering forward like a wave of locusts heading towards them.
As Delianah expects it to be, everyone immediately balks at the ferocity and the amount of enemies that would soon be coming into grips with them. This is her cue, with a nod at the trumpeter at the back, it immediately let out a weird farting note that could be heard to the Wall above.
In the twenty-first Century, battle scenes are made epic through three things. First of course are the armies themselves and their scale, second are the actions and tactics being deployed, thirdly of course is the music. Music resonates very well to the human soul. As Dumbledore wisely says once, "Music is a magic unto itself".
Pre-prepared orchestras and musicians (secretly engraved with sound amplifying runes at their instruments) immediately strike a sound. Unashamedly stealing the background music of the movie, Narnia, Delianah urges Godric forward to a gallop before his massive wings spread, the powerful flaps taking him to the sky. At his talons are clutched two barrels of wildfire secured with a net.
As Godric ascends to the sky, everyone watches in baited wonder as more and more Gryphons till fifty in all appear over the skyline, each as different in color in coat and feathers. Their piercing cries rent the air and amidst the flying balls of fire, they fly, each carrying their payloads. Reaching the middle part of the Army of the Dead, the talons gripping each of the barrels which contain alchemical wildfire are dropped.
It is pitch black and only illuminated with an explosion of fire that sends bodies flying, courtesy of a trebuchet or another siege engine. The inferno of green fire however explodes like bombs of the twenty-first century, bursting into a sea of green and lime dissolving bodies to dust. As the nature of Wildfire, it spreads into the next body and the next breaking nearly the charge of the army for a moment, pausing the charge at the middle leaving those at the front to charge the Alliance lines without sufficient bodies and backup.
"KNOCK!" the shout echoes from the walls and the back of the line and thousands of archers can be heard loading their weapons.
"IGNITE!" the sound of sizzling follows as pointy ends of arrows drenched in oil and tar light up.
"DRAW!"
"LOOSE!" thousands of arrows lit up the sky like stars of the night alongside ballista bolts and short range mangonels. The arrow fire fell like rain below and the sound of bodies thudding or busting into flame can be seen as wights combust and explode like piñata hit by bat.
"KNOCK!"
"DRAW!"
"LOOSE!"
More arrows follow the call as another wave of fire hit the beleaguered wights at the front lines cutting through their massed gatherings combusting one here and one there. Their confusion however lasts mere moments. The innate programming of their icy masters to hunt down and kill the living immediately kicks in. Even as arrow and ballista fire meets them head on and cutting down hundreds, they throw themselves recklessly at the human ranks of the front line.
"BRACE!" the shout went up from sergeants to captains and the entire front crouches as the dead slams to the human ranks with a meaty crunch that sends some falling off their feet.
Despite the rather powerful clash, everyone can see that it might have been worse if they have faced the entire mass of the army of the dead. Instead the disorganized groups of wights are easily thrown off by the lancers and spearmen that make up the front line. With all their savagery, it is not enough for the wights, not if they can't come in grips with their precious targets. Hundreds of the wights fell with the occasional large animal or giant, courtesy of the scorpions at the top of the wall. They have been properly reserved in the event such as this where large undead might pop up. Now two giants are unmoving, courtesy of massive bolts on its body alongside with five undead direwolves, as big as horses.
As it is, the clash of the front line resonates loudly and despite outnumbered, the valiant lancers, spearmen and legionnaires continue to hold their ground like a rock clashing to mighty waves thrown to the shore.
The wights however continue to advance on the main line of the Alliance. A line of Northmen and Black Guard armed with pikes on the right flank is the first to meet the wave of wights. They face the tide with steel-tipped points with Dragonglass at the edges. The tide breaks under the fierce defense that desperate men can only do. The ground they have, they hold fiercely as the Wights try to brute force their way past the porcupine of pikes. The stout defense however gives ample time for the cavalry, a combination of Westerosi and Gogureyo riders to join the fray. Riding hard from the flanks, their lances lowered, they turn to flank the uneven charge of the Wights shattering the charge in one single pass before retreating to the safety of the lines again. The Wight remnants milling unceremoniously are torn to pieces by brave skirmishers composed mostly of Arashi from Nihon Ja or mercenaries from Essos with sword and axe forcing the battle to a bloody melee along the front.
A Giant leading a large number of Wights this time tries to attack the left side, braving the arrows and crossbow bolts of the defenders in an effort to outflank the defenders. The spikes and the barricades are easily swept through at great cost of Wights however. As it is, the reserves jump in meeting them with sword and shield. The blades reinforced at the edges with sharpened Obsidian, the footmen absorbs the brunt of the assault then cheers in hoarse triumph as one of the dragons makes a dive lighting up the enemy charge, scattering the majority of them. The Giant also fell with a ballista bolt on its back, the massive body burying many of the Wights behind it in a mass of dead flesh and muscle.
The victories however only cast a small amount of reprieve to the Alliance. Growling, bristling and moaning, the Wights of the Army of the Dead roars, charging for another charge despite being whittled down badly by Gryphon Wildire bombing , trebuchet and arrow fire falling down like rain. Also not all Wights only use their rotted hands or teeth to kill, no. Some use great serrated blades of copper while others wield heavier weapons with great strength and force. There are also the great wild animals reanimated to serve the Army of the Dead. They shelter their more human brethre from catapult and arrow fire until they clash once more to the Front Line. The strategies however of Lord Tarly are extremely effective. Powerful large undead are isolated from groups facing lines of three to five spearmen before the ballistas finish them off with razor blessed steel. Wights are also unable to mass making their charge into isolated pockets that the lines would be able to hold and not buckle under the strain.
Then it happens, without warning during one of the Dragon dive bombs, a spear made of literal ice shots upward like a ballista bolt hitting the neck of a surprised Viserion who howls in agony as his neck is near cut in half, the remaining sinews the only thing keeping it still attached to his body. With a thunderous crash, the dead dragon fell like a stone at the ground. Immediately Delianah can feel it, that cold enrapturing energy as the Night King tries to put his magic on the great beast.
With a snarl, she wordlessly leads her cadre of Gryphon Riders to where the source of magic is. They have to stop the Night King from reanimating a goddamn dragon which would make their work harder a hundredfold. The attack vector of the Gryphons however and the remaining dragons of Daenerys is cut short as lesser ice spears aimed at them force them to scatter. The Dragons especially has to be extra careful due to their larger bulks. The Gryphons on the other hand have an easier time since Gryphons are smaller, more nimble and faster than Dragons.
The small delay however is all that is needed by the Night King. Delianah can feel it, the bastard completing his necromancy in magic to the dead dragon.
"SCATTER!" Delianah barely has time to call to the other Gryphon riders just in time for them all to swerve and break away as a torrent of cascading blue fire pass over where they must have been a moment ago.
"Shit!" Delianah curses as she espies the Night King riding the dragon naturally. The bastard is feeling at the top of the world already.
Down below she can see through her pre-placed mirrors that things have taken a bit of a worse for the Alliance forces. Though the lines continue to hold, in some places, the lines bent and ruptured under the strain of onslaught. With the absence of the Wildfire bombing and dragonfire support, the Wights are slowly charging into dense masses than before despite the best efforts of the siege engines and the archers atop the Wall. The only thing currently holding the ranks together is simple human stubbornness not to walk into extinction without a fight. Everyone here after has been prepped that I f they fail in this battle, there simply won't be another. Thus despite the fear, they hold their ground. Wherever the forces of the Armies of the Dead tries to break through, human reserve squads and platoons, skirmishers charge forward meeting breaches with sword, shield, axes, short spears or simply the random hammer or pickaxe by recruited levies. Arrows and Siege fire continue to rain from the top of the wall stemming here and there masses of the teeming hordes. Hails of these powerful projectiles wash across entire enemy ranks, occasionally slowing the momentum of a massed charge till the archers can focus on another of the line again. Thousands are dying on the assault of the Wights. Yet even despite the efficiency, the killing remain real and extensive. The missiles seem to do little more than slow the advance of the numberless horde.
"Everyone except me, Rhaenys and Amelia, go and aid the army!" barks Delianah to the Gryphon Riders and to Daenerys who hovers close to her. "I will deal with the Night King and his dragon. NOW GO!" she barks out the last two words as everyone looks close to protesting her course of action.
Galvanized by a direct order, forty-seven Gryphons left leaving only three behind. The Targaryen simply stares at her for a good twenty seconds before muttering a "Don't die" blessing and urging her two remaining dragons to help out the army.
She glares at the Dragon of the Night King who is now charging at her. She grimaces inside. She would need to use magic on this. The thing about using magic however is that other magic users would also feel your presence if they are near enough. The stronger the magic, the more obvious it would be.
"It's not as if I have any other choice," Delianah murmurs beneath her breathe. The storm itself is magic and would probably mask whatever spell she might throw. Besides she's dealing with a freaking dragon.
"Attack it at the sides, don't go at it full tilt. That thing will kill you with one swipe!" Delianah shouts at Rhaenys and Amelia who wordlessly nods. The two are veterans in fighting, they also have come into the same conclusion that facing a dragon head on would be a bad idea.
"I'll be the bait, now go!" the two doesn't need extra encouragement as they break cover at the right and the left just as the dragon breathes a plume of fire again.
"PROTEGO MAXIMA!" Delianah booms out erecting the most powerful shield she can think of just in time for the fire to wash over her, the shield acting like a buffer. Godric in a panic tries to bolt but her thighs keeps him from following his instincts and get roasted.
Funny thing about undead magical beasts, they don't carry with them their magical core in undeath. The Necromancer that summoned them back must provide the source of the magic. With the magic of the Night King being the very anti-thesis of fire, the best he can do is hold the furnace of blue fire from the dragon's maw for only a few seconds before it turns off and then…..
"BOMBARDA!" the powerful explosion is a bitch slap of power at the face of the dragon making it turn its head to the side in surprise at the spell. Even the Night King is caught off guard by the sudden blatant use of magic.
As said before, Rhaenys and Amelia are veterans of battles. The stunned Dragon of the Night King is immediately set upon by two Gryphons clawing and shrieking at its sides cutting through undead scales and piercing deep into undead flesh. Valyrian swords also plunge deep into everything that they can reach. The Night King roars in anger before trying to aim an ice spear at Rhaenys who pulls out just in time making the Night King graze his own dragon in the process. He doesn't has the time to shout out his frustrations however as he is hit in the face by a Confringo making him sneeze smoke. Amelia herself also disengages the same time as Delianah forcing the Night King to chase after the more nimble Gryphon Riders.
Below the battle rages on forcing Draco who has been associated in command alongside Randyll Tarly as men fight and die in a valiant effort to stem the continuing onslaught of the Dead. Fresh platoons always stand ready to join the line whenever there is a breach. Many places the wights of the Army of the Dead reel backward, however in other plaves, the defenders waver, especially with the sudden absence of Gryphon and Dragon support. The lines tend to breach at the mass charges until another batch of reinforcements of more heavy infantry or skirmishers arrive to plug the hole of the ranks. Though the line of the battle stabilized a bit with the return of Gryphon wildfire bombardment, he can't help but notice more and more wights advance out of the forest reinforcing the charging waves even more. Two polar bears smash through the lines trampling nearly twenty men before being turned into hedgehogs by arbalest rapid fire designed to bring down the massive behemoths that serves as battering rams of the Wight charge. With their heavy hitters down for the count, the mounted cavalry once more charges, the blue united flag of the Alliance flying. The horsemen makes another valiant surge, ripping apart the milling masses to splinters giving the threatened footmen time to substitute with others at the back and recuperate.
Just in time too for out of the forest, another teeming mass comes screaming and howling shattering the stillness of the night. They come like a tidal wave, a mass of dark bodies flooding forward like waters will when a dam breaks. The lines of the Alliance can do nothing but stand firm and ready as the archers and the siege engines whittle down their numbers as best as they can.
There's a change however this time in the order of the ranks at the front. Instead of the usual rank and file militia or infantry, this time it is the legions of Ghiscari that stand ready. Almost an imitation of ancient Rome before it's rise, rows and rows of sharpened spears stand forward shoulder to shoulder with square shields braced. Arrows by the thousands meet the onslaught of the Wights, courtesy of the large number of archers and crossbowmen that provide support. Another two giants go down in a mound of meat, fat and flesh, the giant ballista bolts atop the wall making them primary targets. As it is, the advance barely stalls even as many died and many more are incapacitated, only to be trampled by their fellow wights in their haste to meet the defense line.
The Wights would not be denied for their savagery as they rampage. They reach the lines flinging themselves against it. Shrieks fill the air, one with pain and fear as the advane stalls, the sharpened points tipped with Dragonglass piercing bodies and holding back even the strongest of their kind in transfixed positions. The spear ends pierce bodies and holds back even the most savage Wight. It is not surprising seeing that the smiths of Rivendell are the ones responsible for enchanting said weapons making them specifically to deal with wights. As it is, the lines stand firm against the onslaught. They brace, human muscles heave to throw back the attack. Once more it comes in an instant, the sudden surge of malformed bodies, teeth, crude weapons and claws ripping and again the lines of Ghiscar hold firm and throw it back again. The ground before the defense line grows with the dead's number and the dying. Still the Wights of the Army of the Dead press their attack, endless in number and at last, the ordered lines waver nad breaks, the centre seemingly to fall away, cut down and broken into pieces. Into this breach surge the Army of the Dead bounding, screaming and wailing, pouring in like a stream of water over the broken bodies of fallen legionnaires.
Just as Lord Tarly plans it to be.
In an instant, the ones that advance are set upon by a body of Knights, proud and deadly, especially with the knowledge that this would be the final fight of their lives if they do not win. Their leader, the Grandmaster of the Silver Wings' Order with a silver lance in a white horse leads. The Knights sweep across the front of the Wight rush, lances scything leaving broken bodies behind. Then they are gone, falling back to the safety of the ranks as they retreat. The Wights full of anger at the bait for them gives chase, charging after their pursuers in magical frustration.
Without warning, the proud knights wheel without warning in a rank file that bars the minion advance forward, and the lance that the Grandmaster is holding is raised upward. If the Wights have any intelligence left, they might have panicked as the realization sets in that they are no longer en mass protectively but caught in the open for many yards beyond the front where the battle is ranging. The Wights who apparently "breached" the defensilve line, they fail to grasp their situation. Either side of the broken ranks, lines of cavalry appear like wraiths from the shadows hemming them in all directions. Behind them the focused fire of arbalests scatter the Wights there forcing the Ghiscari legions to reaffirm their lines and hold back the tide.
Desperately those that have fallen for the trap seeks to break the charge about them; but the Knights converge quickly, sword and lance tearing through undead flesh, throwing the twisted forms that tried to reach for them. In mere minutes, the whole of the Army of the Dead advance is finished. Through the length of the clearing, the Alliance's cry of victory sounds off.
The battle does not end there however. For the remainder of the next few minutes, the battle rages on. Time and time again the Wights push en masse for a rush towards the lines of the Alliance armies that face them. Time and time again they apparently manage to break through, battling their way past legionnaires, skirmishers and infantry going through crossbow bolts and arrow fire only to find themselves face to face with the Knights.
The Knights assail and harass them forcing them to have no choice but to give into their simple minded fury to chase the elusive riders unaware of the jaws of steel that await them. Every time when it seems that they would finally catch up with the fast riding horses, they found themselves encircled by Cavalry, their sides unprotected and uncovered, their charge bringing them away from their main force still within the front of the army. In their simple minds, they give into their rage and throw themselves at their enemy only to fall. The Cavalry sweeps them clean, their dead littering the ground.
The Wights of the course does not attack at the front only. Like before, they try to avoid the wall of men and spears, attacking the flanks. They circumnavigate the defense line using their superior numbers and the cover of the bad weather and darkness. They might be invisible to the defenders at the ground but not at the Wall. White feathered shafts cut to pieces the Wight charge sheltering the flanks whose skirmishers join the fray. All forms of Wights try it, those that run, hobble, walk and burrow. One mammoth even tried to jump over the defences of the flanks only to be incinerated with Dragon Fire.
All failed, all died.
Not that it is all good news.
In one of their charges, the Wights of the Army of the Dead bury the center line of the defense when the Gryphons and the Dragons take a breather. They turn back the overwhelmed defenders back across from the main line as hundreds of Wights start to swarm over the reserves and the crossbow ranks, slaughtering the lightly armored ranged archers in the mad rush killing many of them. For a moment it would seem that the defensive line which successfully hold on for hours on end without faltering would fail utterly. With an unsuspecting manoeuver however, the fleet footed Ibabwans, a thousand in all rally around Prince Ali, Mighty is He of Ibabwa and makes a reckless charge toward the enemy advance catching the Wights by surprise as the light armoured warriors crash into their gleeful battlecries. The charge manages to drive the Wights back to the front line giving time for the reserves to reform the ranks and hold their ground. Once more such minions that broke through cannot mass but are out in the open their backs to the human ranks who push back to close the breach once more. The attack falters and breaks apart as the Knights move in shattering once more wights under their heavy hooves.
Almost a hundred thousand Wights manage to lose their undeath life those hours in a senseless mindless savage rush through the defensive line. They attack without pause, surging to their destruction with blind determination oblivious to the destruction and traps of the Alliance that wait. Humans also die in droves at the confrontation. The front line defenders die in the thousands unable to fight as they break the frenzy to stop the Wight advance on its tracks. Out of the one thousand men of Ibabwa, none came back. This strategy however prevents an all out defeat however and negating the numbers advantage that the Army of the Dead has and prevent the disaster that occurred at Hardhome where the Wildlings are massacred. Time and time again, the Army of the Dead push back, the forefront of their assaults being destroyed before it would have the opportunity to gain reinforcements from the main mass that comes after.
Finally during one of the pauses of the aerial support, the Wights launch another one of their mass attacks. They gather at the entrance of the clearing once more, they flood the front lines pushing it backwards by sheer force of numbers snapping it in many parts. Into these breaches, the Wights pour out and immediately there is no longer time for any sort of tactic as it becomes a fight for your life for everyone in the Alliance. Everyone immediately knows that this is the peak point of the battle of the dawn. A powerful horn call blaze and everyone watches as Prince Consort Loras Tyrell leads every member of the Cavalry to strike back at the centre in the midst of the onslaught and the melee. Spear and Lance cut deep into the mass of twisted forms below, Horses and their Knights scream and go down torn apart by the black forms. The lines of battle surge back and forth desperatel as each side tries to gain an advantage from the other.
…
The battle above the skies is just an intense as one in the ground. It has caught Amelia and Rhaenys' off guard when Delianah first started throwing her spells. She can't blame them, this is the first time they have seen her do magic after all. Whatever opinions that they have however at the moment about magic they keep to themselves as they are nearly roasted by the Night King's Dragon during their lapse of attention.
As for Delianah, she has to admit that this is probably the hardest fight that she has ever faced when she first comes into this world. She can't exactly use the instant killing twelve dark spells which she uses for emergencies against the undead dragon. It is after all, already dead and causing organ failure with a spell is as useful as wet tissue paper in wiping shit. Thus she focuses on bouts of wildfire and direct attack spells as she tries to overpower it.
"Confringo!" the extra large Fireball slams into the Dragon's body making it screech in pain before recovering and unleashing its own fire at the Queen of Westeros. Godric banks and weaves, dodging the fireball through pure agility even as Amelia appears at the side of the Dragon letting loose a crossbow bolt.
The Night King parries the bolt easily. He however does not see the other Gryphon appear below, Rhaenys' war cry cutting off a toe of the dragon with her Valyrian sword making it roar in anger. Delianah this time throws another Sectusempra, the dark cutting curse causing scales to be ripped off before banking again as the dragon retaliates.
Godric is good, and strong, that much Delianah can personally attest. However they have been up to it for hours now and despite the endurance of the Gryphon, Delianah can see that he is tiring. The high speed manoeuvres he is doing getting slower and slower. More than once Delianah has been forced to conjure slabs of rocks to block the dragonfire to save their hide due to Godric's mistake. The same goes for Rhaenys' and Amelia's Gryphon. Their ambushes are simpler than before and not as many. The Night King's Dragon however is as spry as ever, the undead flesh needing no rest as it is fuelled by magic. Also unlike Gryphons, it can tank the attacks. A critical hit to one of the Gryphons by the dragon and it's goodbye to them.
."Confringo!" the fireball once more hits the wings of the Dragon, Delianah however is forced to make Godric duck as the Ice Spear zooms above her head nearly hitting her. She mentally curses, one mistake, that's all it takes for….
Something snaps inside her, like she has reached a critical point in life and she turns to see Rhaenys charging in with her Gryphon, her sword aiming at the exposed flank. Normally it is a good move. However probably due to exhaustion, Rhaenys fails to notice that the Dragon is eyeing her and obviously noticing her rather uncalled move.
"It's a trap!" Delianah calls out with her modulated voice but it is too late. The Dragon tail whacks like a sledgehammer with the force of its entire body with it right smack dab at the side of Rhaenys' Gryphon. Even from this distance, Delianah can hear the sound of bones cracking and breaking as the Grypon fell lifeless and a stunned Rhaenys are forced in free-fall stunned.
"Rhaenys!" the shout of Amelia can be heard as the other woman disengages her follow up attack and instead banks her ride to try and save her sister-in-heart. This of course only makes her a prime target for the Dragon of the Night King who is immediately hot on her tail. She is a sitting duck completely.
Delianah grits her teeth as she realizes this is a shatterpoint as she follows the dragon diving downward after Amelia who is chasing after the falling body of Rhaenys. She needs to make a decision, and she needs to make a decision now. She has to save the ones dear to her and there is only one option she can think of. Myrcella would probably kill her if she does it. Still, this is the only way that comes to her mind.
"For victory! For death! For the Republic!" (Joke, let's try that again, this cheer would be reserved for Star Wars).
"For victory! For humanity and the Alliance!" she roars before forcing herself off of the saddle and shooting forward like a cannon with a little help of Depulso at her saddle straight at the completely surprised back of the Night King.
Before it can do anything more than acknowledge her presence, Delianah stabs it straight at the back with her Valyrian spear making it howl in agony as it thrashes. Unlike the rest of its ilk, it does not die immediately but roars in pain and anger even as it is slowly turning to ice. For a few seconds Delianah is afraid that it would throw her off. Then from below, an arrow shots straight and true right at its heart forcing it to stop in shock and surprise. Delianah from her vantage point can see the hint of blonde from where the arrow comes from.
It is enough. With a powerful explosion, the Night King explodes in shards of ice in all directions. Bad news for Delianah, at how close she is, she gets a point black grenade experience piercing clean through her enchanted armour like arrows. For the first time in her life since coming here, she chokes out blood as she can feel her body failing her. She can feel that the damage to her body is fatal and already her eyes are dimming. She can feel the dragon she is riding free falling also.
"Ah shit! Myrcella is going to kill me for hurting myself this much," she thinks before everything is finally claimed by darkness.
…
Down in the inky blankness caused by bad weather and Winter, the Alliance fights on with the savagery and stubbornness of humanity. From behind the broken lines of the Phalanxes, Knights, infantry, mercenaries and legionnaires rally around the Prince Consort. Into the main lines of the Wights where the biggest, largest and ugliest of the Army of the Dead they push forward. Like a hot knife they pierce the vanguard of the massed assault. Less than five hundred of the thousand Silver Wings' Knights lead the charge as they hammer into the horde before them and bear it back towards the front of the line.
They are not alone however. Seeing the desperate charge, Draco and whatever Black Guard Legionnaires that remain of his retinue charge to his aid. The proud Castellan of Osgiliath leading, head bare, blonde hair flying charges over the broken defense line, his spear piercing into the advancing Wights and driving them back, giving time for the front line to recover.
At the back, scores of Wights that manage to break through the crossbowmen and arbalests tear through the archers bringing many of them down and slowly pour past the Alliance army to the open gate towards the tunnel of Castle Black. The Builders and Engineers stand virtually alone in their path. The Wights seeing the opportunity howls in frenzy as they start towards the beleaguered non-combatants throwing off the handful of skirmishers like paper. The Builders to their credit however do not give ground. Grabbing whatever tools they can get to, they smash and bash, fighting with ferocity for their lives, holding the entrance with blood and sweat.
Back at the slowly reformed lines of the Alliance, the army fights in desperation to keep the main body of the Army of the Dead from breaking through. It is a terrible battle and the miasma of death fills the air. Then without warning, Prince Loras Tyrell goes down, his white horse losing half its front, courtesy of an undead Direwolf. The handsome prince of Westeros is shaking and regaining his feet unsteadily fumbling for his spare sword at his side. Randyll Tarly, Paxter Redwyne and a cadre of Reach Knights rally around the fallen Prince. They are not however the only ones.
In an instant, the Wights are all around them howling. Knights and Reachmen fight to reach the small group in frantic desperation, lashing out against the Wights with blades and spears. The Wights however are too many and they watch in abject horror as the small group is overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers.
An undead giant lumbers forward and the Westerosi observe as it reaches down and plucks the Prince Consort of Westeros like a rag doll in its meaty hand, uncaring for the blows of his sword at his fingers. The hand squeezes and the Reachmen roar out in fury as the body of Loras Tyrell pops, blood exploding out all over. Just like the that, the Prince Consort gives out one strangled scream of pain before going still as his body is them promptly discarded at the ground alongside thousands of others.
Randyll Tarly and Paxter Redwyne fights back to back even as undead hands and knives reach for them warding off the two men's blows, pulling them to the ground where they are then torn to pieces. Ser John of Rivendell is dragged screaming and kicking off his horse to the lines of the Wights, his armour rent, his faint cries disappearing to the gloom never to be seen again.
At the same moment, a handful of undead tigers and bears with some giants break through the crush of fighters and goes straight towards Watcher Draco who is now the de facto commander of the Alliance army with Randyll Tarly's death. Through the lines of the humans that battle around him, the Wights come running to lunge out for him. In desperation, he breaks his spear at the jaws of one of the undead bears before drawing his short sword. He is however all alone being surrounded by grotesque figures lunging and testing his defences waiting for a chance to break through his guard. Black Guard Legionnaires who notices tries to fight towards him but the Wights block them off, fighting off those that try to push or dragging to the gloom those unlucky enough to fell. More Wights that manage to push through the front line runs to their aid hands now reaching and grasping at Draco eve as he cut their arms, hands, paws and claws off.
Then through the tangle of chaos hurls a familiar face that Draco recognizes too well. Solemn and grim with silver armor covered in blood, dirt, and grime. At his back is tied a blue banner with a silver swan. His black hair is matted and dripping of blood but he stands firm between him and the Wights of the Army of the Dead. Up against his foes, the silver-armoured human goes cutting through bones, and undead hide with great sweeps of his bastard sword until at last he clears the space around Draco.
Roars of rage rise from their enemies even as they throw themselves at him. Jon Stark however stands fast even with his armour rent and with numerous cuts adorning his body. He holds his ground like a stone wall against the sea keeping Draco's attackers off of him as he cries out the Dol Amroth battle cry. The call is heard and whomever that is left of the Knights of Dol Amroth and the Silver Wings' Order rally around the former bastard in a wedge of iron and steel. Then the battle cry is heard once more and the small group charges forward leaving Draco behind with some guard as they pierce the Wight advance. A hundred men against a thousand. Jon Stark is attacking, one more brilliant charge in a desperate gamble.
Draco however is not letting his former student and friend die in a suicide charge. Grabbing the silver horn from one of his dead men, Draco blows it, the ringing call echoing around as he runs forward. Alliance soldiers from all sides follow her left and right in a mad dash to the aid of the beleaguered Knights. As the forces of the living rally around him, Draco charges forward, the gathered groups moving like a wave driving the Wights of the Army of the Dead off. Like soldiers gone blood drunk in war, they push their way forward, Men of Westeros and their allies with blades, swords and spears shouting the battle cries of their homelands in a savagery never seen by their race before.
For an instant the Army of the Dead holds their ground, the rage and hate of the mad human army charging without self-preservation in their midst. However the former bastard and his knights have given fresh courage to everyone; courage enough to face death without fear, to forget everything but to destroy these black forms that come to destroy their world. In moments the battle is a bloody melee as everyone is fighting for his own self.
Then as if in a snap of a finger, the Wights fell.
Just like that they fell, bones and limbs snapping as lifeless bodies tumble to the ground. It is as if in a dream as exhausted men stares in confusion and wonder at the unmoving things that are now at their feet. It takes a moment for the truth to be recognized and eyes look up, searching for familiar faces among the still alive that are standing. Tears of joy and relief can be seen in many a face. Then a scream, a scream of victory that rises up from one throat to another. Soon the outside of the Wall and the inside can be heard with screaming people, they scream with abandon for they have achieved the impossible.
They have achieved their victory and humanity thus will have a future.
….
Author's Note:
Then there's that. The Second to the last Chapter of this story. Next One is our Epilogue and an ending that you guys would not expect. It would also contain the annals until the reaching of the Modern World.
Hope ya like this Second to the Last Chapter. Its almost 13K words. As I promised, I did try to finish this story.