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

Episode 7: A Battle Of Ice & Fire (Finale)

The Last Of Winter

Kings Landing I

-Winter Is Here-

When the Children of The Forest created the Night King from a man amongst the first of The Andals, they never would expect their greatest creation to turn against them within due timing, creating an infinity army of Wights and corpses and adventuring off to The Lands of Always Winter. The Night King had stayed in such a position for thousands of years until it was finally time to leave. The revival of The Long Night and an endless winter was to come.

   For the people of Kings Landing, they would fight for anything but an endless generation of night. They fought for the return of spring, to feel the sun's warmth, and to hold a child in their arms and to love and feel again. Where no war would ever ruin such a precious moment. The Night King's duty, however, was to create a realm the opposite of eternal happiness.

   When outsiders would look at the exterior and interior of the city, a famous city of where the Iron Throne was sat on by numerous of Targaryen monarchs, they would only see an apocalypse. Houses and buildings were crumbling apart from the inside-out, streets were coated in large piles of blood and bones, and the barriers that were to replace the gates were shattered apart into small planks of wood or cement.

   The obvious sight were the walking corpses with blue eyes, deteriorating skin, and ragged hair, if they had any. They were either the former embodiments of a normal man or woman, creature or monster, giant or beast. They were the same regardless.

   Living men and women and fighters were being cut down left to right, hacked apart into pieces with their heads decapitated, their arms and legs sliced and bruised, and their flesh pierced by old blades of weapons that had long gone old and infected by whatever it had first punctured into.

   Spiders ten times the size of ordinary arthropods scouted the walls of faltering bricks and swinging strings of cobwebs. Wights, ones that were killed as normal human beings, would shrill and scream as they cut through their targets. When one went down, three more would pop up to take its place. Wight Walkers, however, former human babies turned and possessed by only the Night King, were either seen elsewhere in the city, or guarding the leader of the entire horde--the Night King.

   Their opponents, fighters symbolizing the living, were only being pushed back than pushing forward. Their blades had grown dull, their blood tainted the ground, and their spirits were beyond helpful in such a dire hour. Many were either retreating to seek out sanctuary in the great hall or were stroke down in their attempts.

   Everyone was scattered practically everywhere. Lannisters soldiers were defying the odds to try and protect their homes, Unsullied and Dothraki were continuously divided with the Ironborn and Dornish, and Northmen, combined with Knights of The Vale and Starfall were only adding casualties to the death-toll. It wasn't enough to turn the tides.

   Among them all was Jon, fighting desperately to keep his feet on the ground rather than in the air. His hair was unraveling and his mind was racing through ideas to hold the line. His sword, Longclaw, was growing as weak as his inner hopes--showered in more blood than it wished for. It would only take a few more hits until it would shatter apart without repairs.

   Jorah, a veteran of a hundred battles since The Mad King's reign, had found himself being dragged outside of the capitol. He was forced to disembark from Lord Royce at a time and join with Arton and Jon before pulling back. A trail of blood ran down his forehead and over his eyes, and his body was bruised and  weak. But he fought on, for he was given no break to heal and recover.