The Dragon's Sister || Game Of Thrones (Under Rewrite)

Episode 7: A Battle Of Ice & Fire (Part 1)

Army Of The Dead

Intro

The catapults were already being launched, the wildfire cache was set, and the watchtowers were either used to barricade any weak point in the walls or to allow archers to shoot from afar. Soldiers crawled up and looked outside. Throughout a veil of snowy mist were the marching Wights of dead men and women and children, all wielding weapons with giants walking above and over them. The Wight Walkers were in the far back, to the entrance of the forest, mounted on their steeds. The Night King was nowhere to be seen.

   Kings Landing suddenly turned into a fortified, defensive city. Catapults were built atop the wall that was still intact, women and children were being assorted into the great hall with the entrances blocked off, and a single cache of wildfire from the rest that had been properly disposed of was being carefully handed over. There was fear in everyone, and those who did not fear death were foolish to not fear anything.

   Some were still preparing on armoring themselves, gifted with the sharpest Dragonglass weapons, the sturdiest Valyrian Steel sword, and praying to at least see one more sun of daylight. Men were saying their farewells to their wives and children, holding them for one last time, as many would die even if they were not to participate in the battle. Tears were shed and adrenaline was boiling, boiling with fear and astonishment.

   The soldiers outside were the ones to face the enemy head-on. Jon swung LongClaw around in his right hand, and Arton rolled his shoulders with a firm grip of his halberd. Jaime glanced over at Brienne with a look of fear, and Lord Royce gave out a battle cry as he and Jorah, on their horses, charged at the enemy. Everyone was right behind them without hesitating.

   Every soldier was ready to fight. The feast, the feast that was to raise their hopes and accomplishments, fill their stomachs with delicious food, was enough to have them fight once more. They were brought together, once foes, and now allies by separate leaders from different areas of Westeros. If it weren't for them and the burning spirit inside them, Westeros would have already been destroyed.

   Archers were already lighting their Dragonglass arrows, foot-soldiers stood in front of the city with calvary angled on both left and right, the wildfire cache was being loaded onto a catapult, and the clouded skies of winter and ice were shrouded with cries of dragons. Viserion was one of them.

   A Northerner looked up, catching a faint glimpse of a dragon's wing beating through the clouds of a storm brought by the Night King. Viserion was up there, crying almost hysterically, sputtering out the blue-and-white flames. Rhaenella was creating a fiery divide between the living and dead, running the end of her tail against the ground, knocking every Wight down. But it wouldn't be enough for long. Drogon was nowhere to be seen.

   Giants were already taking initiative, swinging their large club-like staffs around, breaking bones and flinging men into the air. Screams were forced out as some unfortunate fighters were either picked off slowly by undead or torn in half by the tall creatures. Jorah watched in horror as a man on horseback was thrown off his horse by the swinging club of a nearby giant, turning its cold, dead blue eyes at him.

   Realizing he was next in line, Jorah jumped out of his saddle, just in time before his horse was stepped on. It screamed but soon went silent. Jorah pulled out Heartsbane and slashed the metal into the decaying flesh. The giant barely felt anything, that was until it suddenly dropped to the ground. Jorah looked up, spotting a halberd in the back of its skull. Arton gave him a nod, pulled his weapon out, and ran back into the fight.

   Jon could barely take a look over his shoulder, for he was avoiding every slash and forward attack from Wights coming from all around. He swung LongClaw around, making contact in either dead flesh or deteriorating weapons. He heard a cry that made his head spin up, seeing Viserion clashing in with either Drogon or Rhaenella. Jon wanted to be back in the air, but with Rhaegal gone now, he had no mount, and he wouldn't be able to hang onto either Drogon or Rhaenella during a battle with death. Instead, Jon filled himself up with nothing but his burning pride and unbreakable determination and sliced a Wight's skull clean open, returning to where he was best at.