Blythe
Blythe vigorously rubbed the dog's ears as she listened to the report. Not a single survivor or sighting in days, she lamented. The dog whined and kept looking over towards the dock during the rest of the report. She dismissed her scouts, allowing them to rest up with orders to report back at nightfall. She looked down at the dog and smiled.
"You seem to be doing just fine, huh?" she asked. "How'd you manage?" The dog yipped softly as it broke away from her hands, rushing towards the dock. It stopped on the edge of the ancient stones, facing the direction of Weymouth Bay. Blythe frowned and walked up to join the dog. "Did we leave somebody?" The dog whimpered. Shit. Don't tell me... Blythe turned away from the dog. There was nothing they could do now.
In the Great Hall of the castle, now their operations center. She approached the group of drone pilots. Their VR headsets rested firmly over their eyes, giving the impression that they were immersed in another world. The screens on the tables relayed their movements. One was flying south, approaching the ports of Branton. The Navy, what was left of it, at least, kept one ship guarding the mouth of the port. She glanced over to the next screen. The drone's camera was clearly over Weymouth. She focused her gaze for any possible movement or sign of life. As the drone flitted over the pier and main street, it became clear that nobody was there. Maybe the poor thing just misses his long-dead owner, she reasoned.
The last drone was approaching the shore near Rosby. She strolled over to behind the chair where the operator sat. They controlled the flight stick with ease with one hand while casually reaching for their bottle of water with the other. Blythe reached down, picking up the bottle and placing it in their hand.
"Thanks," the operator murmured casually, taking a sip from the bottle.
"No problem, just keep focused," Blythe answered. The sound of her voice nearly made the operator choke as he quickly reached out and placed the bottle on the desk.
"Ser," they quipped with authority, straightening their back slightly at the realization of who their observer was. The drone whizzed over the abandoned roads and fields near the coast as it approached the highway. Blythe flinched as it came into view. Tens of thousands of the dead were pouring off the highway and making their way to the coast. The operator also noted this, gasping and swearing under their breath. The drone made a hard turn away from the group and followed the highway. Tens of thousands became hundreds of thousands. In some areas, it became all the drones could see, overwhelming the very ground itself.
"Keep filming," Blythe ordered as she left the operators. She grabbed a nearby Knight-Lieutenant. "Where is General Poole?" she demanded. The young officer pointed to the old war room, where she'd spoke to the two Maesters only yesterday.
"In there, ser," they answered calmly before returning to their previous obligation. Blythe marched into the war room, only to see General Poole taking tea with the Seneschal of the Citadel. As always, a single guard maintained their vigil outside.
"General," Blythe announced, offering a salute. The general waved her in.
"Enter," he instructed. "Sit. The Seneschal is giving me a history lesson." Blythe looked over at Meadows and nodded as she sat.
"A history of the Long Night?" she inquired. Meadows shook his head.
"Of Dragonstone," he corrected. She glanced at the general, raising an eyebrow.
"Seneschal Meadows informs me that this island has been used as the last stand for numerous groups of people throughout Westerosi history," he began. "He also informed me of the importance of the obsidian mines." Blythe frowned slightly.
"Yes," she agreed. "It's been a high priority for most of our civilian personnel – to mine the obsidian. I'm hoping now is the time we're told why?" she questioned. Meadows nodded.
"There are only three things that we know of capable of destroying the army of the dead," he explained. "Fire, obsidian, and Valyrian steel."
"I'm unfamiliar with the last one," she admitted.
"I don't blame you – the fascination with Valyrian steel all but died with the last heroes of the Long Night. The need for it actually did die with the advent of gunpowder and firearms," he agreed.
"Humor me," she requested, leaning back slightly in the chair. The General straightened his back and listened.
"Well, as you're aware, Valyria has been a historically troubled place on our planet. Now, we can recognize that it's a rupture in our planet's crust so large and so deep that the outermost layers of the mantle are exposed. However, due to the unique properties of this wound, an immense layer of pressurized magma and gases keeps the sea from collapsing into the planet. If those gases were to ever escape, the chaos would be devastating, to say the least," he explained. "It wouldn't matter, however, as the explosion itself would be large enough to end all life on the planet through a horrific release of kinetic energy. The ensuing wave of energy would most definitely lead to sudden nerve trauma in the vast majority of the population," he concluded.
"And this could occur at any time, without warning?" she scoffed. He nodded.
"Yes, but for some reason, it hasn't. In the long history of Valyria after the doom itself occurred, the land and sea around it have been fairly stable. Maybe not necessarily a comforting thought, as we still aren't sure what caused it, but unfortunately that's all we can say," Meadows answered glumly.
"The people that built this castle," Poole announced. "They came from Valyria before it died." Meadows nodded.
"The Targaryens. Dragon riders." Blythe snorted.
"That's a tall tale, surely," General Poole mused, glancing over at the Seneschal.
"Perhaps," Meadows hummed. "Perhaps not. We would have sworn the army of the dead was a fiction as well, but now we know the inescapable truth of it. Our ancestors weren't crazy."
"Perhaps then there is some sort of truth, then," General Poole offered. "I mean, species go extinct all the time. From mammoths to shadowcats," he trailed off, looking to Blythe for support.
"Indeed," she begrudgingly agreed. "Tell me, Seneschal," she continued, turning back towards the older man. "What about Dragonstone, then? You said this island has been a historic 'last stand' many times." The Seneschal nodded.
"Before the Doom of Valyria, the Targaryens fled here at the behest of a young girl who prophesized the event. They became the last of their kind. During the wars leading up to the last Long Night, the Targaryens were eventually vanquished here. Even relatively recently, during the last war, the communist partisans following Abernathy – the Red Menace himself – holed up here and kept a successful resistance for almost three years before finally being driven out," he explained, glancing around the room. "He very likely sat in these chairs at this table."
"To be fair," the General murmured. "He could have been removed much sooner, but at the cost of these ruins." The Seneschal smiled.
"Then the right choice was made," he mused. Blythe raised her hand slightly, her wrist still resting on the ancient wood.
"The drones spotted the army," she announced. The two men stared at her with grim expressions. "They're approaching the shore between Rosby and Weymouth. Hundreds of thousands."
"Can they come here without ships?" Poole asked. The Seneschal shook his head.
"There's no record of the army of the dead ever using ships," he admitted. "Just as there had been no record of them having ever crossed any body of water until they appeared in Braavos and Volantis. Even then, we're not sure if they crossed, or if they were always there, or if they were summoned," he trailed off.
"I refuse to believe they're gathering at the shore just to stop our scouts," he announced, standing. "If they're going to come this far, we must be ready to believe that they're coming the rest of the way. Blythe," he turned to her. She straightened her back, her eyes wide. Finally, she thought. Orders.
"General," she responded. He pointed to the Great Hall.
"Get out there and stop as many of them as you can now, on the shore. I don't want them to have the chance to get near us. I'm authorizing use of every weapon we have short of nuclear devices," he instructed. "What ships do we have nearby?"
"The Reach is sitting in between us and shore. Her big guns can probably do the most damage, despite her age," Blythe responded quickly. "Near Branton Harbor, the Iron Islands is anchored. She can use her rockets but once she's fired them all, we have no way to resupply her without attempting to retake a naval base somehow. The Direwolf from the North is patrolling between Braavos and the Fingers. She could be here in a day, two at the most. We run into the same problem of resupplying, though." The General nodded.
"There won't be a need to resupply them if the dead make it here," he reasoned. "Call them back."
"General," Blythe acknowledged as she stood. Seneschal Meadows also rose to his feet.
"I'll join you in the Great Hall," he offered.
"Your assistance would be greatly appreciated, Seneschal," General Poole replied. Blythe offered a quick salute and departed the war room. Upon reentering the Great Hall, she observed a large group of people swarming the drone operator's screens, gasping and murmuring to each other.
"All of you," she shouted, her voice booming off of the stone walls and echoing throughout the castle. Everyone froze and snapped to attention. "Prepare for combat! Man your stations!" she shouted. The people quickly dispersed, returning to their respective assignments. She approached the radio operators near the front of the hall. "Contact all of our ships, including the Direwolf," she commanded. "They're to target the army of the dead immediately and begin barrage until they've exhausted all of their weapons. When they're dry, they're to return here at once and prepare to repel invaders."
"Ser!" The operators answered in unison, immediately setting to their task. She then turned and approached another officer standing by for instructions.
"I want every plane we have left in the air immediately. Coordinate their strikes with our ships – I don't want any redundancy," she explained. The officer nodded in understanding.
"Ser," he answered. "We'll load them up for ground attack now."
"The rest of you," she shouted for the entire room. "Prepare for invasion."