Arya

"The horses have lost their momentum."

Tearing her eyes away from the frontline… or what could be seen through the swirling snow that obscured everything - not that the lack of any appreciable moonlight through the thick clouds would've made it easy without the blizzard - Arya glared up at the Hound. "Would you shut up?"

A shrug. "Just sayin' the truth."

"And how do you know that?"

He pointed to his ears. "Hear those fucks?" Arya tilted her ear in the direction of the battlefield, listening through the howling winds for the malevolent growls and snarls of the wights beyond. "Carried one of those fucks everywhere, know how they scream and shout. They got through the barricade."

Arya narrowed her eyes, wanting to prove him wrong as she peered through the darkness… but deep down she knew he was likely correct. Each second that passed added to his assessment… not that Sandor took a victory lap. It was hard to see, but not impossible. Something had happened that allowed the wights to cross over in heavy numbers and they were starting to get their turn at pushing through. The cavalry had been disturbed in their rhythm and they were falling in scores while thousands of wights pushed through with the winds at their backs.

The dragons should have made another pass with their fire by now. They damn well needed to, but there was no sign of any of them.

A horn blasted echoes from the Godswood. Bran was ordering the cavalry to make a full retreat. A similar horn on the battlements repeated the blast but at much louder volume.

The masses of armies far away from the castle began to move to their orders, two great forces parting ways for the wights to make their way was the price to live for another hour. It almost looked like the cavalry was doing it out of welcome for their enemies.

Because of such circumstances, it was clear that this was the moment in the battle that their first defense was truly overcome by the dead. That didn't stop the catapults from hurling their loads at the masses yet to cross, however many thousands were still behind the first wall.

"Brace yerself, girl," Sandor snorted.

Arya blew a strand of hair out of her eye. "Don't worry. I'll watch your back." Sandor said nothing in reply.


Edd

The archers were retreating. Shit.

It was only a matter of time when the dead would get to them here, but why did it have to be so damn soon after the battle started. Edd had taken shits that lasted longer than this.

He could only sigh in annoyance as the squeals of the dead grew louder and louder. It was just like the Fist and Hardhome, but at least now the numbers were better, not being a battle fought twenty to one. And those Unsullied folk had the front lines where they were. It wasn't so bad… who was he kidding, they were going to die tonight.

Shaking his head, Edd decided fuck all if this was his end. This was the duty he swore himself into the Night's Watch for whether he had known it was coming or not.

He turned around, facing his brothers in black. "Night's Watch!" he shouted as loud as he could. "My brothers! Tonight, we fulfill our oath!" He raised his sword up high. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins!"

"It shall not end until my death!" His brothers joined in, a dozen voices growing into every man sworn to the Wall, destroyed or not. Swords were raised up to join their Lord Commander. "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children! I shall wear no crowns and win no glory! I shall live and die at my post! I am the sword in the darkness! I am the watcher on the walls! I am the shield that guards the realms of men! I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come!"

A dozen blades burst into flames and soon every man sworn to the oath was holding a sword shining with fire in the darkness.

The wights began crawling over the walls and the powerful roar of Wun Wun came from where he stood with the Wildlings.

The barricade began to rock and then leaned forward. Seven fucking Hells, what kind of creatures where they? This was just like Hardhome all over again. But now, there were undead giants helping push the barricade down. Hundreds of wights came over and charged them with all their strength and terror.


Davos (Future)

The last of Drogon's wall of fire was finally gone. The cold bodies that burned were nothing but ash, and the army behind had nothing else to block their way leaving through the pass. They were still far out, and the trebuchets were still ready with plenty of ammunition to throw. But damn anyone to be a fool to think that there was enough to hold back the armies ahead.

The faint explosions of flame gave silhouettes to the hordes. They had already gone through two of the trenches filled with the dragonglass, filling them up without a care for their losses just to make a bridge for those behind them. The numbers were thinning out at the front lines, but back at the pass there was no end to them.

"Archers!" Davos called out and the formations began to move forward. Every bow they had was at the ready. "Knock!" The clickings of hundreds of arrows were made as they were set against string and wood. "Draw!" There was a momentary pause, waiting for just enough of those dead fuckers to get close enough. "Loose!"

Dragonglass arrows shot high into the sky, soaring far out and falling just as fast upon the dead.

"Get ready, lads! Knock! Draw! Loose!" Another volley shot out into the dark of the battlefield as the dead had reached yet another trench and once again cared not that the first to fall went to their demise.

It was getting near for King Aurico to lead his men and their beasts into battle. Davos hoped to the Old Gods that they were as fierce as Arya had said they'd be.

Three more volleys of arrows went out before finally the horn was blasted, signifying that the dead had reached the fourth trench. The dead were beneath the arc of their arrows now and the cavalry were clear to fight without the fear of being hit by their own.

A great and powerful warcry of foreign tongue was bellow out before the thunder of hooves shook the dirt beneath all. In a spontaneous moment, thousands of lights burst forth as the weapons of every warrior in the charge were engulfed in fire.

The fight ahead was nothing like the Dothraki's fatal charge at Winterfell. This time it was a fight instead of a massacre. Bodies of wights were set a flame when struck by the Lord of Light's fire.

A great groan was heard before a snap and a crash. One of their trebuchets had broken at the hinge and collapsed.

"Don't falter!" Davos called out. Keep fighting and don't ease up on those fuckers!"

A sudden burst of blue light engulfed the front lines of the cavalry. Blue flames streaked all across the men and their mounts. Rhaegal had fallen to pieces with Drogon, but the latter must have been ripe for revival, which meant there were White Walkers here.

"Focus your aim on the dragon!" Davos yelled out. "We have to bring him down!" The only consultation to things if any was that Drogon appeared to not have the ability to fly or else everyone would have been dead by now.

So many were lost in the first breath of fire, and just as many burned in a second breath. But there was no third. Either an arrow, a spear, or something found a lucky mark for the death from Drogon had ceased. But his damage was a deep wound indeed. The dead found great momentum and were pushing back.

From behind, a warhorn blasted, signaling to pull back.

"Fall back!" Davos called out. "Fall back!"


Daenerys

Even as mighty a dragon that Drogon was, the winds beat at him every time he tried to fight back. The snow was falling harder and heavier, biting at Daenerys' cheeks and her nose.

"Drogon!" Daenerys called out but her words could not reach her child. She couldn't see where they were, how high or how far. The snows blurred out the lights of the fireballs into dull flashes nearly impossible to find where they came from.

In a desperate attempt, Daenerys did all she could think of and steered Drogon to fly up as fast as he could. Her dragon fought with all of his strength, passing storm and cloud until finally they broke through into the night sky. But it was so hard to breathe now, each lungful of air seeming thinner and colder, unable to quench her need. Drogon straightened himself and glided over the clouds.

Now, she had to trust her dragon. There was no other moment to.

Drogon dove back into the storm like a falling spear, going faster and faster, breaking through the winds trying to catch him off his flight. At the last moment when the ground was visible enough, Drogon opened his wings and pulled up, the force and the turn fought Daenerys as much as it could but she would not break. But they finally saw the battle and the dead breaking through.

"Dracarys!" Daenerys shouted with all her volume and Drogon heard.

An unstoppable stream of dragonfire blasted upon the wights below, incinerating them into ash and char. Drogon must have burned hundreds of them in this one blast.

But then there was a glint in the dragonfire, almost like a shooting star. It was enough to panic Daenerys and in a split second she made Drogon move away as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. A spear had grazed Drogon's neck at incredible speeds that no man could throw. Was it a giant? No, that was too small a weapon for a giant to throw. It was one of the White Walkers.

Drogon roared in pain the moment he was marked and flew away as fast he could. A flesh wound, nothing like what fell Rhaegal and Viserion in the nightmare of Jon's past, but it agonized Drogon all the same and served as a warning.

They were wrong. The White Walkers weren't staying behind like they thought. They were going to fight. Daenerys couldn't risk another pass so soon, not if the White Walkers were there. All she could do was plead for the gods that anyone who had to cross blades got lucky.


Jaime

Tommen whimpered at the sight of the barricade toppling over slowly. Through the winds and the cold, the groans and snaps of the wood could be heard also, almost a reflection of their bravery beginning to crack and crumble.

Jaime placed his gloved hand on Tommen's shoulder.

"Stay with me, Tommen," he said, "I won't let you die tonight. I promise."

"You never were good at keeping oaths," Tommen told him.

"No," Jaime said, his voice rising with the sight of the wights spilling over the collapsed wall. "I hope you'll be better than me at that."

Tommen shivered and drew his sword, raising it high.

Jaime also drew his blade and raised it up high, together with his son. "Hear me Roar!" Jaime bellowed.

"Hear me Roar!" Tommen yelled out as well, and the thousands of westermen bearing their family sigil on their armor chorus together that it really sounded like a lion's roar, the most powerful in the history of their House. If only his father could have lived to see it. Maybe then, he finally would have been proud of who Jaime was.

The wights were forming and the shield walls were planting in as firm as they could. But in the distance, even Jaime's courage faltered when he saw the shadows of giants charging at them. All he could do from here was wish the men at the front to have true aim with their spears.


Arya

"Through the glory of the Dawn, let the light emerge."

Their chanting caused Arya's skin the crawl, bringing mind the same rituals of the fellow priests and priestesses of the Red God that nearly led to Gendry's sacrifice and death - never did she doubt their power thought. Beric resurrected, Jon resurrected, and now this. In a line on the battlements behind the necklaces and charms hanging from their necks glowed mightily. First faint but then pulsing with red light, in a sweep they each raised their arms. A silent wave of heat passed Arya, banishing the cold for but a split second as if Drogon or Rhaegal breathed on her.

"Light the way! Light the way!"

Already the effect was making itself known. Icy snow and sleet blowing into their faces melted into rain and vapor, blown back out into the void. Arrows arcing from the battlements ignited midair, while each of the staves hammered into the ground was now topped with a red-orange flame.

They would need every advantage, Arya figured The second barricade fell. Had anything gone according to plan then at least half the army of the dead was gone and were finally outnumbers two to one. But Arya doubted that such luck was with them tonight.

"Ballista!" One of the commanders called out along the wall. "Giants approach! Sharp eyes and steady hands in this storm! But don't hit ours! We only got one!"

All along the wall, the scorpion operators loaded and knocked their weapons. There was one man operating the weapon, but it took another with eyes akin to a hawk to aim for him.

Even Arya could barely see the shapes in the distance, but they were there. The wights were attacking and just met the wall of shields and spears. In her studies and reading back when she was a child, she remembered peeking into a war book that listed out the tactics and strategies during the Dance of Dragons, how footsoldiers meet shield against shield and would spend so long trying to over power each other before blades clashed. But the wights were not men any more. They pounced, crawled, doing anything to get anywhere closer.

"Loose!" the commander yelled and a volley of dragonglass tips scorpion bolts launched into the storm. The force and power of these bolts was so swift and strong that the blowing winds could hardly deter their course.

The bolts disappeared in the storm, but far off there were faint silhouettes that dropped a second later, but only a few.

"Four down on the west!" Someone called.

"Two on the east!" Another man relayed.

"Three in the center!"

Already, another round of bolts were being loaded and cranked to be knocked.

"Watch out!" A man screamed as loud as he could before a great crash came from the west. When Arya looked at the source of the noise. One of the scorpions had practically exploded and the men operating it were thrown back from the battlements.

"Incoming!"

All across the castle wall, crashes began to appear and from the looks of it, it was from boulders being flung at them.

Arya only had a split second to duck and tackle the soldier next to her when her eye caught the sight of a boulder heading straight for them. It missed by mere inches and whooshed overhead into the castle grounds.

"Fuck!" The man she saved exclaimed. "How'd they get catapults?"

Arya helped him up and peaked over the walls. "I don't think they need them when you have giants."

"Knock, you bastards! Knock!" The commander called out hectically.

Looking down the wall, Arya could see that at least half a dozen of their scorpions had been destroyed and the boulders kept coming.

"Loose at will!"

Arya peered over the edge of the wall, looking out for more boulders coming their way. It was all she could do at this point. But then she noticed that faintly, there looked to be another force coming in from behind at great speed.


Grey Worm (Future)

The cavalry did not relent in their fight when the retreat was called, even down to the last burning sword being snuffed out. But their sacrifice saved everyone else from Drogon's wrath, the second greatest weapon the dead had.

The archers on the other hand made a full retreat and set themselves in firm positions behind the infantry lines and resumed their volleys. But the dead were so many in number. The sight ahead brought back the memories of facing the dead head on at Winterfell. There was no sight to their end because of the darkness, but in their position and the residual burning bodies from the lost volley from the trebuchets far away, there were still shadows passing by. Tens of thousands must have fallen already and yet there was still no sight to their end.

"Drop the rocks!" A soldier barked and a host of propped boulders were unleashed to roll down the slope of the valley hill, crushing everything in their path.

"Unsullied!" Grey Worm shouted. "Shields forward!" the great clamor of shields in perfect unison erupted as each freed man stood their ground. Those behind them set themselves in position as well, resting spears upon the shoulders of those at the front. "For the Queen!"

The first rush of the dead was nowhere as strong as that night at Winterfell, but that was only the front line of broken numbers. Once the greater force from behind came forward, it was another experience.

"Hold strong!" strength of arm and leg was on thing, but the ground behind seemed to turn into mud as Grey Worm could feel his feet start to slide back. He would not relent. His spear remained strong piercing the cold flesh it found as did his shield holding back the reach of death.

But even he knew that it wouldn't take long for their numbers to grow and crawl over one another like they did before. Even with the volleys of arrows thinning out the dead, there were only so many that could be shot until nothing was in their way to act in full force.


Jaime

It was utter madness. Even though it was planted in every man's mind that these beasts were dead, they were still shaped like men, and watching them hurl themselves forward into their own demise to falter their foes shook everyone to the bone.

The giants' initial charge broke through several spots along the shield wall and wights used their fallen bodies as bridges to leap over and jump into the mass of soldiers waiting for them. At first, it was tolerable but more and more came.

Glancing over to Tommen, he could see his son's sword shaking in his hand.

"Whatever you do," he told Tommen, "don't leave my side, and keep your shield up."

Behind the first waves of wights trying to cross, shadows of a greater force pierced through the storm. No, it couldn't be, dammit.

First it was dozens, then hundreds of wights on undead horseback. They used the fallen dead giants as a stepping stone to leap into the fray, some of the riders jumping from their steads mid air and tackling soldiers to the ground. The chaotic attacks were so surprising that it caught their ranks off guard, cracking them closer and closer to breaking.

Jaime lost all time he had left to consider things when a group of wights came hurtling down from the air to his location. He pushed Tommen forward to keep him away when they landed, two of which tackled some knights and already gutted their necks before spears and swords could find their decayed flesh.

More and more came down, and the shield wall had finally been broken through. Hundreds of wights pushed forward into the ranks, charging over men and their guttural squeals mixed with the screams of death.

"Stand your ground!" Jaime shouted.

Jaime roared as the wights came closer, raising his sword. He didn't have time to think of where to start, only that his fight began now.

War was a challenge for him in his prime. He revelled in the search for someone who could rival his skill and the battlefield was no expectation. But this was not a battle against men. This was a nightmare. Men in armor would protect themselves when attacked, but these creatures did not know fear, willing or instinctive. They charged as hard as they could, trying to tackle their victims so that those behind could finish the job if they died.

Hacking left and right, Jaime did everything he could to keep his guard up, leaving no part of himself exposed. All the while, he kept on glancing over to Tommen, any chance he could. His son was keeping his shield up. Good.

But Tommen yelled as he suddenly fell down. A wight had grabbed at his ankles and tripped him.

"No!" Jaime left his position and lunged forward, stabbing his sword into the wight and saving the life of his son… at the cost of his own.

A wight had leapt forth and tackled him down and before his head landed in the snow, a blade pierced his neck.

"Father!" Tommen hacked the arm off the wight and stabbed it in the head.

"Form up!" Someone shouted.

Everything was fading.

The last thing Jaime saw after Tommen's tears fell on his face was his son rising up and roaring as a lion into the fray with his men following behind him.


Arya

The sheer force the wights had was unbelievable. Once they had the smallest amount of ground to themselves, it quickly grew without relent. They first broke through the shield wall and kept pushing through harder and harder until the eastern flanks of soldiers were completely cut off from the entire force by this river of dead.

And they kept coming.

With nothing else to fight them back, the wights charged straight for the castle walls and began piling on top of another. The bodies were rising higher and higher up the wall, almost turning into a staircase.

"Spears and swords!" Arya yelled out. "Spears and swords!" her grip on Needle tightened greatly. Don't reach over to stab them, that's what Jon warned. The wights would try to grab the spears and pull whoever held them down to their doom. Wait until the blue of their eyes peaked over.

Sudden bursts of flame occurred all across the wall and happened to the spears of the Fiery Hand.

The noises of the dead grew louder, and skeletal fingers reached up over the battlements.

Arya sucked in a breath when the first of many finally poked its ugly head up.

A great yell escaped her as she thrust the pointy end of Needle's burning blade into the wight's skull, earning the guttural squeal as it fell back. But only a second later, another was there to take its place.

She did it again, killing the next wight. Two down, thousands upon thousands more to go.

More hands of pale and rotted flesh reached up, grabbing the wall and pulling up. Arya killed as many as she could as fast as she could just as the men beside her were. But the numbers were so many, and down the wall from her left, the wights had finally managed to start leaping over.


Rickon

"Look!" Theon shouted, pointing over the northernmost wall just barely visible over the trees. The figures of the men garrisoning there showed them fighting against the approaching dead, their flaming blades trailing in the dark, and one by one they extinguished and dozens of shapes toppled over the wall.

Rickon felt his skin shiver as his grip on Ice tightened.

Shaggydog, Summer, Ghost, and Nymeria and her pack all began to growl and bared their teeth at the shadows in the godswood. Uncle Benjen lowered the mace head of his chain from his hand and it burst into flames while those with bows raised them halfway at the ready.

"We have to leave here," Bran said suddenly without anyone noticing when he returned to himself. "They won't be stopped."

"We'll retreat to the Great Hall," Brienne ordered and Meera placed her bow over her shoulder and began to push Bran's chair through the snow just as the noises of squeals and rustling armor grew louder among the trees.

A wight jumped out from the trees, claw-like hands slicing towards them. Brienne's sword was sharper, hacking its torso in two and sending the pieces careening into the bushes. Another tried the same ambush, but a dragonglass arrow from Leaf's bow hit it right between its eyes. In the shadows, Rickon could barely see the figures of other wights darting back and forth between the trees, most of them heading in the direction of the exit. Uncle Benjen began swinging his chain in hand when a pair of wights came out for him only for a flash of fire to engulf their heads after being struck.

"I think they're trying to cut us off!" Rickon alerted.

Shooting another arrow from her weirwood bow, Leaf looked at Bran. "You know what to do." Immediately, she knocked and shot another arrow into the neck of a wight that darted into the dim light of the Godswood.

Bran took in a hard breath and suddenly his eyes flashed white. The eyes of the direwolves all flashed white along with the eyes of the wolfpack. Without warning, all the wolves charged ahead into the trees and the sounds of ravenous snarls came from the unseen shadows, creatures of the North wreaking havoc upon the servants of darkness.

But wights were still getting passed. Ser Wallace clashed steel with a brute of a wight that almost knocked him over had Osha not stuck her dragonglass dagger in the monster's thigh. Uncle Benjen was at a constant pace with his chain, smashing and igniting the dead flesh he hit into flames.

"Fuck this," Podrick said, dropping his shield and marching over to Bran's chair to pick up Bran and threw him over his shoulder. "Let's go!" He barked and the chair was abandoned.

The timing was perfect because a wave of the dead rolled over the walls. At least a hundred must have come in all at once by the time they reached the passage from the Godswood to the courtyards. A dozen Winterfell guards had been stationed with spears and shields to protect the passage, but now they led the van throughout the grounds.

Theon's men kept the rear and were firing arrow after arrow into the Godswood. The archers in front, Meera, Osha, and the Children kept arrows knocked on their bows as they moved throughout the castle grounds, but they didn't get far before the arrows began to fly from bowstring into wights that appeared around every corner.

The quarters of the castle grounds were proving too close in range so the bows were quickly abandoned and swords were drawn when too many showed their undead faces. Ser Wallace held his blade close, mumbling something before drawing blood from his palm with his own blade. Abruptly, the Valyrian steel blade of Ser Wallace's sword erupted in brilliant fire and immediately he led three men to fend off the wights coming after them all from the north.

Gripping Ice and his shield tight, Rickon stayed close to Brienne, Osha, and Podrick but steeled himself for whatever might slip through and come to kill him. However it wasn't through the line of swordsmen that he needed to worry about. From above, on the rooftops, several wights leapt down without any regard to the damage their decayed bodies would sustain on landing. One of the wights practically broke apart from his legs and simply tried to crawl only to get an Ironborn's spear into his body. But the other wights had better timing with their landings, two tackling soldiers and instantly going for the kill while the others came for Bran.

Ser Brienne roared out, felling the beasts along with Meera and Osha, driving back and protecting Bran, Podrick, and Rickon.

Finding his courage, Rickon found a wight they had missed and ran forward to meet it in steel. Thrusting Ice forward, the length of his blade reached and beat the rusted axe of the wight, stabbing into the damn thing's skull and rendering it limp as a chicken carcass.

A great scream pierced the fight. Rickon turned to look and despaired at the sight of Osha being gutted by a sharp long knife of one wight, and the sword of another. It was no prolonged moment as in one moment she stood up against it, and the next, she was on the ground and dead.

"Look out!" Podrick had to drop Bran's body and fend off a pair of wights that came after Rickon when Osha's fall distracted him. Getting back into the battle, Rickon swung Ice and chopped the leg of a wight and backed away to guard Bran's body.

Rickon put one arm under Bran's shoulder and around his chest and started to drag him, but he was not as strong as he was tall. He only got a few feet when a hand grabbed his shoulder. In a panic, Rickon wildly swung Ice to get the wight before he would die. But it wasn't a wight, it was Theon.

"I've got him!" Theon told him before taking Bran and carrying him on ahead. But what had been a clear path deeper into the castle grounds was immediately festered with many wights.

However, reinforcements came fast.

From behind, several shapes of wolves darted forward and charged into the fight. The Direwolves were covered in wounds from their scuffle in the godswood. Shaggydog ripped an arm carrying an axe off of a wight before bashing his body into it and charging on top of another, thrashing its head off. A wight almost hurled itself at Rickon, but Uncle Benjen's burning chain smashed square into its head, crushing it into burning bits.

"Let's go!" Theon yelled and his Ironborn crew led the way forward into a better position, away from the roofs and falling wights. Rickon's men, the Kingsguard, and Children of the Forest all followed closely, continuing to fight off the wights. It was a saving grace that the dead were not organized and sweeping over them like how Jon said, but that was only because their numbers climbing the wall were few. There would be a tipping point soon.


Grey Worm (Future)

That was it. The last volley was sent. If every arrow found a mark then half the army that was at Winterfell would have been wiped out. And yet the force that kept on pushing felt to have more than twice what had begun that night.

A horn blew through the fighting. It was time to fall back to the caves and bottleneck the numbers.

"Fall back!" Grey Worm shouted and the front line took a unified step back once they felt those behind them signal to. The retreating march was in constant beat, but now things were cracking. The dead were stacking on top of eachother, trying to climb over the shields and tackle down their enemies. It was a spear from behind that kept Grey Worm safe.

But then on the piles of the bodies that fell that made their own wall, figures pale as the moon revealed themselves to the battle. Their blue eyes pierced through the darkness and their spears of ice were sharper than any steel.

In unison, each of the monsters threw their spears with such strength, piercing shield, armor, and flesh. The attack gave the dead the opening they needed to push into the formations.

"Full retreat!" Grey Worm called out. "Full retreat!" His spear had broken in two. He drew his dragonglass sword and made perfect thrusts at the shoulders and heads of the dead that tried clawing their way to him.

But the numbers were too great even for the legendary skill of the Unsullied.

The man to Grey Worm's left had fallen and a trio of wights pushed their way through, one grabbing at Grey Worm's shield and anchoring it aside. Despite killing the bastard, he was overwhelmed and set upon by two more, each of them piercing their blades through the gaps in his armor over and over again.


Arya (Future)

The grip on Arya's bow was so tight that it could have snapped it in two. The Cestrans and Unsullied were wiped out, both unquestionably the mightiest factions of their army.

This was no time to lament on the loss. There would never be time, that much with certainty given the endless number.

Arya took up her bow and loosed as many arrows as she could while many retreated past her into the entrance of the caves. But the dead were following fast. She sent off one last arrow to a wight that nearly caught up with the tail of those who retreated. Having no practical choice, she cast her bow aside and took up her spear.

With a strong thrust, she pierced the barren skull of a wight running up the path to the cave entrance. Across from her on the other side, Podrick cut a wight in half with Longclaw before immediately destroying another two wights that came after him.

"Let's go!" Arya called over to him and the two fell back into the shadows of the cave with few torches giving them light in the dark. A shield wall formed behind them at the entrance, forcing the number of wights who could attack to only four at a time standing shoulder to shoulder, but once enough bodies piled up, the cave would be sealed off and the wights would be even more stuck to get through to Jon.


Sansa

Flying through this storm was near impossible to do. She couldn't see, her head felt frozen solid, and it took all her effort and focus and the strength of her wolfsblood in the midst of the agonizing cold just to hold on every time a blast of wind pushed Viserion out of his flight. All she could do was leave her trust in the dragon that they couldn't crash to the ground.

"Just one more pass!" Sansa shouted through the cold, howling winds. "You can do it, Viserion!"

Without hesitation, Viserion dived with the winds, letting them pull him faster than ever down to the battle. The ground and the armies below became viable once more, though Sansa could not tell them apart even with Winterfell in sight. But Viserion knew. Dragons were far more intelligent than many have given them credit for.

A stream of flame burst from Viserion's jaws and ignited the wights down below in fire and light, creating a wall at the inner barricade to give the armies some breathing room.

Viserion stopped short when they reached the flanks of the wights, and Sansa saw why. The cavalry forces had returned now that the first defense was completely bypassed and the path to ride was open once more. Thousands of horse riders, Dothraki and Westerosi, rode hard and began picking off the back of the undead.

Sansa almost had the nerve to raise her fist into the air cheer, but the sudden jerk of Viserion made her hold on tight.

In one single instant, several things happened at once. First the flock of ravens belonging to Bran swarmed in front of their flight path, then Viserion reacted by dodging instead of flying through, and a streak of white shot past the right wing with incredible speed that Sansa could not follow with her gaze.

She screamed into the air of such fright and sudden reaction. She looked behind her and could see another streak of white coming at them, only now she had a single second more when it missed to see that it was a long shard of ice. It had to be one of the weapons of the White Walkers like Jon had said.

"Viserion!" She shouted, "get away! Don't let them hit you!" Responding to her orders, Viserion began to climb higher and higher into the sky, but then a roar of pain pierced through the storm, only it wasn't from Viserion. Sansa looked back near the battle and saw the shadow of a dragon falling from the sky.


Theon

It was becoming too much. They had been more than sixty brave in the godswood when the battle began, reduced to fewer than thirty, fending off the unrelenting dead and backed into a corner to protect Bran.

Had a host of a hundred Stark soldiers not come to their aid, they certainly would have perished by now. Instead, their defenses were good, a strong shield wall had been formed and the numbers of the dead attacking were hardly enough to break through, even when they grouped together.

Theon and his crew had taken up their bows again, shooting dragonglass arrows to thin out the numbers as best they could. But the arrows were running out, and the bodies were piling up, and the dead were starting to leapt high enough that they might just get over the defense. He shot his last arrow and finally released his bow for the last time, taking up a dragonglass spear and joining the lines to fight off the dead.

"We need to move!" Brienne shouted. "Retreat into the keep!" It was going to be easier said than done. The bodies piled created a low wall around themselves that would be a task to get over unscathed. But the longer they remained in their position, the worse it would become. "Go now!"

Theon made one last thrust with his spear into a charging wight, and in the haste to move forward, Theon was able to pilfer a rusted shield from the very wight he just killed, a shield that bore the direwolf of House Stark no less.

It was a make or break moment for them all now. The line moved forward against the dead, pushing hard and trying to remain in firm formation. More of the Ironborn ran out of their arrows and took up the dragonglass weapons at their hips and the shields from their backs.

But despite this, the dead were unrelenting, never giving a moment for anyone to take even so much as a breath.

"Watch out!" Someone shouted and before anyone knew what to look for, a wight came flying down behind the formation and landed on two of Theon's men, killing one before getting slain.

Looking up at the wall where the dead were pouring in, everyone saw that now they were being catapulted in. How in seven hells was this happening? Wight after wight, they just kept coming, and the darkness of night and cover of the storm made it hard to see when and where the dead were coming.

Theon reacted at the last second when he saw a faint silhouette, immediately falling to one knee to plant the butt of his spear in the ground when he raised it up to impale the wight that came down on him from its disfigured skull to the rotting ass.

"Keep moving!" Theon shouted, losing his spear from the weight of the wight and drawing his dragonglass axe.

The dead charging the shield wall found their moment when a pair of wights each hit hard from their flight, cracking the formation and allowing many to spill in.

Theon landed his axe square in the head of one of the beasts, pulling it free as fast he could when another tried to get at him. But they were too swift.

The wights pushed too hard and broke through the formation, killing many of the Stark soldiers. The Kingsguard with the flaming sword had been cut off with a group of others in the attack, two of the Children of the Forest were with him while the other one, the leader if Theon was right, had been tackled down and killed.

Backing away and raising his shield, Theon retreated to protect Rickon and bran. "Form up! Form up!" He shouted. There was no choice but to abandon almost half the men to fates to keep the Starks safe. Podrick Payne was tackled with Bran in his arms, but saved by Ser Brienne.

Without another thought, Theon dropped the shield he had and darted over to Bran's body, picking him up with Podrick and rushing for the doors to the castle.

"Get them inside!" Brienne shouted, pushing the doors open and ushering in Podrick and Theon after Rickon.

It was almost pitch black inside. All the torches had gone out. But Theon remembered the castle well enough and could see the faint outlines of the halls. To the Great Hall. They had to get to the Great Hall.